"They Move... Like Blind Drunks... Searching for Clarity... in a Construction Site... During The Dark of The Moon."

Dog Poet Transmitting.......

Day follows day... with absurdity piled upon absurdity. From the top of the dung heap, the royalty of flies, feast upon the decaying matter that forms the altar they have built to themselves. It is naught but a filthy mirror, smeared with the offenses they have committed upon themselves and others.

There in the marketplace of useless things... the merchants buy and sell. They rub their hands together. They are sure that a good deal went down... deep and low. They are as sleek as otters surfing on an oil slick as it washes up on shore. Their expensive custom suits conceal the horizontal expansion of appetites indulged in... at the expense of others... whose lives and dreams they have consumed. Who can ever stop them?

They have purchased the governments. Law enforcement exists as their own army of rent-a-cops. They administer the cash register religions that have been further and further translated by them into the single dictate; me first, you later... maybe. They crucified the one... who lives still... as a testament of what happens when you get out of line with the currency gobblers. Everything is backward and upside down.

From the cradle... they have shaped the masses to see them as the rightful masters. They have fashioned the template of the temporal, and... the controlled opposition too. You can go the wrong way in either direction! It's so fun! Life is a series of amusement park rides where cartoon characters sell you your weevil-ridden daily bread in Styrofoam shrink-wrap; with a straw.

From Pliny the Younger to Strictly from Hunger, your history is written for you to remember as something that happened at another time, as something that is happening now through acclamation, for... this... is the best of all possible worlds. From Candide to Candida, a fungus in the mind becomes a fungus from the mouth. It feeds on itself in a cannibal culture, where... for some... paradise is a parasite with no one the wiser.

They tell you this is the way it must be, and... the way it always is. Better to be on the top than on the bottom, but... in truth... everything reverses itself. Existence is based on trading places. What you serve up... gets served back to you. There is no workaround except for Grace. This is the inflexible law of action and reaction on every plane. On the higher planes, the residents have learned to exchange only the best of what they desire to receive. The lower down you go, the more brutish, callous, and uncaring it gets.

You don't wind up anywhere you didn't arrange for.

The Scamdemic that didn't happen... except in the minds of the people stupid enough to believe in it, AND... trust authority; when they put a Grim Reaper mask on The Common Cold and Flu... and killed a bunch of old people with respirators... well... it left Common Humanity with a collective; why should I give a shit anymore? What about me! What about me... vibration of static selfishness, due to a case of the real virus called Materialism... born of darkness and stupidity.

It changed The World. The psychopathic dishonesty of the ruling control-freak clique... bled like duck grease through a cheesecloth filter into the subconscious of The World. Yes! Even the really stupid got a whiff of... something that crawled up in there and died!

Then they rolled out The Killer Vaccine, and they are still rolling it out... through the hospital scenes in “Jacob's Ladder”.

Through the press and the education system... where all the people neutered of integrity and self-respect, shamelessly lie to everyone in reach... for filthy lucre... or whatever it took to get them on the team.

And... oh my God!!! The Stupid... the really bone marrow deep-stupid; they just bobbed their Nodwell heads like a hooker in a taxi cab... on a traveling... lunch break... outcall. I see walking-dead people everywhere... with no idea of what's going on, and they will never catch a clue until they get poured into the urn.

As I am hauled up out of the rapture of The Deep... as I start to be able to make out the faces of the people on the deck above... as I start to remember things from long... long ago... I can see all the life forms struggling... in the revealing amber murk of... dream stuff... going backward through the phases of water... as the planet does an Ice-9 on the climate change reach-around.

None of them have a clue; not the people doing all the nasty shit, nor the people getting the nasty shit done to them. Not even the people watching have any idea what's taking place. They're like wax figures that come to life after the museum closes, and they think whatever they see in that museum-mausoleum is all there ever was or will be. Then the daylight breaks and the action freezes and it goes on over, and over, and over again... as soon as night falls.

It's just the way it is on that bandwidth. Materialism reduces everything to the lowest common denominator. It compresses life... like a crushed flower... between the pages of a pornographic book, where no one knows what they are doing... so they don't do any of it very well. They move like blind drunks searching for Clarity in a construction site during the dark of The Moon.

Think of it this way. Think of it as a stairwell that goes from the lighted ground floor to a sub-basement filled with shadows. It's a place where ghosts dance in the parking garage of The Overlook Hotel. They do it in emulation of The Living. They believe that they are alive, but everything they reach out for... their hand passes through it. That is the nature of life in material culture.

It is like being submerged underwater by the docks of Marseille-Fos Port. The Material World of the moment is a massive... living... Venus Fly-Trap Plant. Every leaf is an allurement... a Stygian flower garden in a Damiana night.

Everyone is sleeping in a Black Lotus Dream. Will they awaken? Will they sleep forever? This is why The Avatar comes at his appointed times. Even though he is still at a distance between the planes, and yet to be fully materialized, some are already waking up. As he draws closer, more will awaken. There must be a specific proximity for some narcotic states to come to the surface. Some can only be reached once he has fully arrived. Some will remain unmoved. Something else already has their attention.

This is the Karma of The Power Brokers... The Mercantile Mind... the creatures of the underground who hate The Light... the sybaritic hog wallowers... the money counters... the enforcers of The Temporal World and especially... the lying... craven... priests from The Cash Register Religions. Some will not awaken and some will refuse to awaken. The script was written a long time ago.

I have no malice in my heart for any of them. They make life colorful, even when they are painting the towns and cities red with other people's blood. I know they got sent in from Central Casting. Sure... they rehearsed for the role. Sure... it was in their wheelhouse. Yes... inexplicably... they were right for the part. I feel sorry for them. I really, and truly, do. I know God's Justice is perfect, though I do not understand it.

Many things are beyond the reach of my understanding. It is why I may forever be saying; I don't know.

This was not my finest hour or my sweetest message, but it is the essence of The Petri Dish at this time. I had only to take a short walk through Media World. I needed only a glimpse of the gathering storm.

None of these people are where they are by accident. They chose this side of conditions and events. Perhaps it is in their nature. Some are more comfortable in darkness where they cannot be easily seen. If that is the case, then the present world should suit them just fine.

I do not wish to launch Jeremiads... or rage against what passes by my window... on its way to wherever it may be bound. What there is of it... that has attached itself to me... is falling away at this very moment. At some point, not even Time will be relevant... because I will no longer be resident in its theater of operations. There will no longer be a before or an after.

That will remain for those who are entertained and fascinated by it. Some have issues unresolved... enmities that have not been concluded... ambitions to realize... places to go and people to see. These last two... in a very personal fashion... also apply to me, but they do not happen here. Only the preparation happens here, and... the preparation is nearly done.

End Transmission.......

Many thanks to Ty Vincent for doing this. Some people just have The Gene. This is free for those who might wish to own The Collection. It will end in one month. Thank you a thousandfold for your kindness to me, Ty! Now I no longer have to concern myself with The Big Gun Internet Crime Syndicate. Perhaps there is more going on here than I know about. Well... there always is.

A few links today at GAB=