Shit on a Shingle from Bankerscum Nation

Dog Poet Transmitting.......

May your noses always be cold and wet.

Patrick Willis does it yet again!

In No Man's Land, Seeking the Doors of Deliverance


♫I feel good, like I didn't know that I would now. I feel nice, not like sugar and spice. So good, so good, I got something or other♫ Don't think I missed that comment at Mirrors about missing me. That felt good to see, so Mulțumesc mult, E o plăcere să fiu aici..

Today we celebrate (well, actually I don't celebrate) our quadrennial, voter fraud day. Traditionally, the voter fraud, is exercised by the fascist equation of the demographic but... since both sides of the equation are fascist, as in fascist economy sized and fascist plus size, there's no telling what kind of hanky panky will take place. If Nit Romney wins, war is guaranteed. If Howdy Doody wins, war just continues to march along, with a daily unpredictable push and shove, between the ruling junta of Bankerscum Central and the Muppet, political circle jerk, that rubber stamps their twisted agenda.

I am repeating once again that Mr. Apocalypse is on the scene. Let me say in one of the countless ways one can say it that he has one very significant aspect to his modus operandi. That would be revelation, which is just another way to say, 'apocalypse' as well as 'uncovering'. What does Senor Apocalypse uncover? He uncovers lies and he reveals the truth. Consider some of the monstrous lies that have found their way into a bent perception of reality; whatever the Hell that may really be at this point. Think about the lies that have empowered Bankerscum nation and granted them the dispensation to run roughshod all over the Earth and reduce the quality of life for everyone else to shit on a shingle. I grew up on military bases, so I've had my share of shit on a shingle and I used to like it a whole lot. I used to be blind in one eye and couldn't see out of the other also. That's not the case anymore.

I figure those of us who can see some portion of what's going on, past the point of a certain line of comprehension, are inline for a consciousness upgrade; getting tapped on the shoulder by Mr. Apocalypse, due to our willingness to see things as they are, which is the sole requirement for the upgrade. The rest of us are going to get swatted on the ass, until we can't sit down because there's been way too much sitting down going on 'over there', speaking in a sedentary way. It should come as no surprise that there are so many zombie movies. I intensely dislike zombie movies (it's okay with me if some of you like them). I get the impression that they are supposed to be scary but I find them ludicrous and also reflective of a lot of the world I move through. The only difference between the movies and real life (or whatever this is), is that they aren't eating the unzombified. They are eating themselves and it tastes damned good, probably because they are unaware of this. You'll note that when people age, usually, they are bent over from the solar plexus area and that is because the fire of desire in the visceral, abdominal brain has been burning, lights out, through the day today of those living in perpetual twilight.

♫Don't cry for me Argentina Turner, Wack! Wack! What's love got to do with it?♫ The absence of Love is the problem. That is because the preeminent feature of material culture, is attachment. Attachment inhibits Love, the same way that hate is Love suppressed and why it smoulders under the old paint rags of 'me first, you later, maybe'. People think selfishness is enlightened self interest, because justification is the major tool of going in the wrong direction. Why do people go in the wrong direction? Whatever the perception, it is, in some way, connected to attachment. All of our offenses against ourselves and others, is in some way related to attachment and the initial attachment is to false concepts, which express themselves in wrong action. This is what makes it possible for the shit on the shingle chefs to be serving a standing room only crowd of 'what the Hell am I doing here', only they ain't asking. They ain't asking because all kinds of other demands, are superimposed over the the most most important and ignored inquiry of; who am I?

So, today, election fraud Tuesday, is made possible by Nowell's, basically hood ornaments, plastic flamingos on a drinking glass, bobbingup and down in affirmation of transparently obvious liars, prevaricating punks, who could care less who dies or suffers as long as it's not them; glib shit bags who really ought to be set on fire on these people's doorstep, cause maybe they might get a clue when they stamp it out but probably not. However, Mr. Apocalypse is is going to be doing something about those bent frame, side stepping, broken line dancing, drug store cowboys, who don't mind bad drugs being legal and good drugs against the law because then they might get a clue, should they be exposed to some irresistible impetus banging on their Fox-lock, locked subconscious. Don't go down there, something might change and the level of attachment would experience something like holding hands with The Wicker Man. One would be impressively stunned, were they to be confronted by what is truly happening to them. Given their investment in what is not, it comes as no surprise that they would resist awareness by every possible means. Have another dry martini. That red face really compliments your haute couture, deshabille; nighty night kiddies. Love the neck flow over the collar. It's not everyone who buttons their pyjama top all the way up. Too much blood flow to the brain can be a real impediment to avocational sonambulism, or zombie waltzing; aleman what? I know wrong context but we got plenty of that.

Twit Romney or Howdy Doody? Sounds like a retarded Hobson's Choice to me. Kind of what you expect in a world where Michael Bloomberg compliments Howdy Doody for his splendid work, as portrayed in The Crass Media, also know as Banker Scum, Yellow Journalism, while in the alternative press, tens of thousands are screaming in outrage about a Katrina Redux. Smilin Bama man just takes it all in stride, glib and polished and full of it; knowing that the public is just as dumb as he thinks they are. Doctor Drone Killer is in the house. Hosing to the right of him, hosing to the left of him, hosing on a 360 cause shit happens, especially when you make it happen. It's what's for dinner.

However, Mr. Apocalypse keeps on choodlin. He seems a little slow but that is about compassionate patience, hoping that those multiple, swift kicks in the ass might prove unnecessary but we know better about that, or think we do and maybe we don't, so we remain hopeful that something which never happens, might happen. We sure hope so.

Judgment is coming, sooner or later, waking up or not waking up. A lot of dirty water has passed under the bridge and the cosmic storm troopers, of long overdue equalization, are in their cigarette boats, motoring upstream. These are the Karma salmon coming to deliver the viral spawn. It's a neutral sort of things at the inception. It is given an identifying persona, at the moment of contact with whatever. Good transforms into good in resolution and bad transforms into bad in resolution. It's a universal certainty. You reap what you sow. Many people don't believe this because it is inconvenient in respect of their going the wrong way and because they don't see instant karma, then they think there is no karma at all. As one can see over the short term, looking long term, evil seems to prosper but evil is it's own reward. You get where you are headed and that means whatever environment your intention designates, attended by it's particular weather, it's particular inhabitants ...and it's particular kismet. I realize that it often doesn't look this way but as I have mentioned often (but not in awhile-grin), we are on a Mobius Strip and only see the half of it. Sometimes you see things working out on this end but you may be certain they work out on some end ...in the end. The impression that they don't, is a motivating condition for people to imagine they are getting away with something when, in fact, it is getting away with them.

This is the critical, cognitive dissonance. Our perceptions reflect our intentions and everything comes out looking like we want it to, without actually reflecting what is. What is, comes along later, when what is not has finally pushed the river, until it backs up on itself, which is how your ships finally come in, bearing whatever cargo you had on order.

Yes, it's voter fraud day, when people pretend that what they have chosen to be, becomes the operative make-believe, relentlessly reported upon by the Bankerscum Crass media and then acted out, by the useful stooges, who sold their souls and their asses, for a place in the spot light, never realizing that the spotlight highlights and exposes them in front of the whole world. That Jimmy Savile thing is picking up steam. It's going to be a hot time in the old world tonight. What's the deal with it all having to do with a former prime minister? Can't anyone figure out who that is? Why is there no mention of who the likely top end, rear end happens to be? Questions, questions.


End Transmission.......

Visible sings: ♫ While the President Makes War ♫
'While the President Makes War' is track no. 8 of 10 on Visible's 2002 album
'911 was an Inside Job'
About this song (pops up)