Archive for December, 2009

A Papal Bull From The Emporium Of Spectacles

December 19, 2009


It seems another edict came tumbling down the pyramid of the Emporium of Spectacles located in the access portal of the District of Columbia. Chris Floyd at the Empire Burlesque has already grappled with the social implications of this ruling by the Great Legal Shoguns of the Emporium of Spectacles so I won’t get into the details of this latest magnum opus that gives the scepter of God to the Uniformity League as well as the supernatural ability to declare whoever they wish “enemy combatants” while simultaneously converting them into “non-persons”; that they can reduce anyone’s status as a “legal entity.”

There was a time when I would respond as equally vociferously. But I don’t necessarily have any qualms about being declared a non-person considering what the “legal” definition of person is and what the word “person” derives from: the word persona meaning mask or character in a drama, possibly derived from the Etruscan phersu. The legal term is a corporation having the rights of a person or a “human being.” There are some more antiquated legal texts that define human being as a monster, or subspecies. I encourage anyone who is curious enough to look into the etymology and semantics of such things as I am no expert. The point is not that things could not be as simple as they are presented from the language constructors but everything coming from the Emporium of Spectacles should be held in speculation. Trust but verify.

If this quote is true, the voice behind Woodrow Wilson, who happened to be Edward Mandel House, had some interesting things to say about altering a person’s identity through the registration of their biological property:

“[Very] soon, every American will be required to register their biological property in a National system designed to keep track of the people and that will operate under the ancient system of pledging.  By such methodology, we can compel people to submit to our agenda, which will affect our security as a chargeback for our fiat paper currency.  Every American will be forced to register or suffer not being able to work and earn a living.  They will be our chattel, and we will hold the security interest over them forever, by operation of the law merchant under the scheme of secured transactions.  Americans, by unknowingly or unwittingly delivering the bills of lading to us will be rendered bankrupt and insolvent, forever to remain economic slaves through taxation, secured by their pledges.” 

“They will be stripped of their rights and given a commercial value designed to make us a profit and they will be non the wiser, for not one man in a million could ever figure our plans and, if by accident one or two would figure it out, we have in our arsenal plausible deniability.  After all, this is the only logical way to fund government, by floating liens and debt to the registrants in the form of benefits and privileges.  This will inevitably reap to us huge profits beyond our wildest expectations and leave every American a contributor to this fraud which we will call “Social Insurance.”  Without realizing it, every American will insure us for any loss we may incur and in this manner; every American will unknowingly be our servant, however begrudgingly.  The people will become helpless and without any hope for their redemption and, we will employ the high office of the President of our dummy corporation to foment this plot against America.”

I haven’t been able to verify this account but considering other quotes made by the men who would be Kings, I would not put it beneath them. It just so happens that Mr. House also wrote a book under a pseudonym called Philip Dru, Administrator that documents Dru as he implements major reforms in the US political system while ascending to the heights of total dictator. Considering how many characters in novels are amalgams of an author’s own subconscious fantasies, I would surmise that Mr. House as his name implies “housed” a hyperbolic inner tyrant. And if there is any question how the men who would be Kings could pull off such a monolithic deception, Les Visible points out as much about the millions of twittering fleas who have swapped their conscience for social mobility. These are those who through graft, countervailing and manipulation of the simple strands of truth have created a Freakshow of epic proportions no different than the dozens of microbiologists and genetic scientists in secret government labs.

I’m compelled to believe it’s a diversion being hung up about the political prisoners in China, Burma or the Palestinian dissidents in Israel though I have more solidarity with them than the gendarmerie with the scroll and keys. But I can’t take my eyes off a bigger ball closer to home. We are all “political prisoners” to some extent. Those who are bound by their pledge of allegiance to a murderous, venomous, wayfaring Sate, who see no right of exit and no recourse, who disappoint themselves every few years under the vainglorious belief that this year’s Congressional blue chip recruits won’t throw their integrity pills into Dante’s Inferno at the first sign of Jezebel’s lactating breast.

There are many examples I could point to. In most homes, you can pick up any item or overturn any piece of furniture and its place of manifest will more than likely be China or some other sub region of Asia. Like those slave labor implants, there are “drugs” and vilified plants that if there were a tracking code we could follow through the hands and cargo space of the intermediaries would lead us through the Underground Railroad of covert extra-governmental operations- a network of ad hoc corporations and agencies that provide the legs for the “official” government’s increasing criminalization of every atom of life. That in turn bolsters the bottom line of the private corporations whose interest in justice is not only tied but superseded by the itching in their pockets. An interlocking feedback loop where a copious amount of those twittering fleas known as “attorneys” and “lawyers” are needed to administer, or as I believe, shield the layman from discovery of the fraud. It’s not wonder the man known as Jesus is alleged to have made this comment: “Woe to you lawyers also! For you load people with burdens hard to bear, and you yourselves do not touch the burdens with one of your fingers.”

They have created a closed union where all of the initiates are trained in using surreptitious language that, rather than upholding and recognizing a man or woman’s unique identity, strips them of substance, diagnoses them as mute and incompetent, fills outs a prescription that re-presents or re-produces them as “wards,” “fictions,” “artificial”, and the nominal layman or laywoman have been so inculcated with the convenient tendency that they must seek out the learned men, the authorities, the knighted, the licensed, the certified to understand the clockwork of the world that when they are referred to as “person” or any other legal moniker, they slide seamlessly into the costume thinking they have preserved their rights or liberties. It is the Linguistic Prison, the descendant of Babylonian Talmudic law that has been used for other industries as well, banking, medicine, etc. and the twittering fleas have sucked the venision out of every other industry with their spiderwebs of red tape.

Not everyone accepts this narrative but I’ve seen enough of the traps of alleged truth devised by those sordid disassembled archons that my credulity is potentially infinite when probing into their extant records. If the gainsayers in the Emporium of Spectacles have committed large sums of money over multiple decades (and some believe, multiple centuries) to convert populations the world over to milquetoast, gophers, sycophants and feeble-minded illiterates, I wouldn’t expect them to arrange the deck of cards so that ever elusive “equality” is paramount in their “Court”, where they have codified all the rules of the game. Naïveté doesn’t even began to detail the subterfuge of this Royal Society of esquires.

The shattered hearts of those still pining for the next inducement of civil rights victories or that vaunted misleaders will demonstrate a bit of constitutional acumen is understandable. But the focus on whom or what organization agrees to recognize me as a living, existing, vibrant will only continue to legitimize their mystical powers. We need demystification, not the further apotheosis of the Emporium Of Spectacles, equating them with the ineffable, the divine, granting them the right to confer to you or I the right to exist or the right to be or to flow within the continuum. We come across so many people (some of us do) and if a passerby were to renounce us, we’d probably find it laughable, annoying maybe, but nothing requiring immense amounts of wasted power to overturn the renunciation or the mobilization of the foot soldiers.

Governments have a greater degree of reputation in many of our eyes still so many yet find it difficult to personally dispose of these edicts from our own minds. So unable to do that, some will cogitate on them until they evolve into more concrete form and shape, they become canonized in our own mind. I have no authority to tell you who or what you are. No group of imperial solipsistic bloodhounds calling themselves “Supreme” or Congress or (p)Resident can tell me who or what I am. That authority is reserved for me only. But if your world is made more bright, if your edges are smoothed out, if your nerves are calmed by a meaningless recognition, a simulacra of kindred identification from the Emporium of Spectacles and its licensed agents, be my guest. But be forewarned; to those we give the authority to define us, we also give the authority to rule us.


Listen, Little Man Of Small Crimes

December 6, 2009

Every once and forever ago, like most of the readers who end up here accidently through data mining searches, I have to do a system scan of my operating system. No, not the technical origami I am interfacing with as I type but the one system I see when I tear myself away from the motherboard and have a tete a tete with the man in the mirror. The conversation that ensues is along the lines of Wilhelm Reich’s imprecations in “Listen, Little Man.” Sometimes, when left to ovulate, fester and grow, the little man inside has an unassailable ego that cannot be broken down through the traditional detoxification ritual. And the strange thing for me is that the little man with his newfound bravado is not moved by honey-combed words or appeals to his valor and probity. 

I’ve heard it said, most noticeably in the Matrix film, that mankind is a virus and that meme has metastasized in the stagnant pools of the so-called green, sustainability and progressive movements. Based on a cursory reading of history which is the uniform one granted to us in our noble education centers, I can see how many people could put their finger on the pulse of events in the last century or two and even a few millennia before that and arrive at that temperature reading. Don’t get me wrong, I am in collusion with many of the green movement’s ideas and strive to be mindful, not of my carbon footprint, but another footprint that I find much more dharmic (or karmic) than how much C02 I’m releasing into the atmosphere. But I digress. This is not about the questionable Weltanschauung of that particular movement. I use that as a reference point.

The reference point is how easy it is to be persuaded by the spirit of rebellion and revolution and finding that instead of alleviating the problem in question, it is discovered that the problem is exacerbated through fight and resistance. Again, this not an indictment against any who pursue this path because I myself am tempted always to ingratiate myself with the most “radical” anti-this or that movement or wonder lugubriously about how the political systems that surround me are far off the path of my own worldview. Not the consensus or the prevailing opinion but my worldview, hopefully one I arrive at not in one livelong consummation but through coming back again and checking, re-checking and holding my current ontological profile up to the x-ray machine or beneath the jeweler’s microscopic appraisal.

There are many prescient folks that I follow that believe that we are at a nodal point in the process of time. This incision in the timewave brings with it not just a ubiquitous awakening whether many respond to it or not, but a great revealing. Depending on one’s place on the spectrum, some of the tremors might be noticeable consequences of this effect and to others they might just be a scatological rendezvous that is apart of the normal pig feed that the men with the slough bucket chuck from over the walls of their fortified palaces day after day. If we’ve become too accustomed to eating someone else’s leftover excrement the shift in the greater exposure may go over without a flinch or a moment of reflection for some. Like the person who bargains away their own integrity to become the lackey for the charlatans in the White House or on Madison Avenue, it soon comes that integrity is indispenable to humanity and selfhood. For others, and I’d include myself in that category, whether any one person’s apocalyptic scenarios are realized or whether the systems we live in settles into novelty again, there seems to be a William Butler Yeats “widening gyre” where:  

“The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.”

That seems to be the case but I am only one seeker and I cannot speak for anyone outside of my limited line of sight. But there are the sentiments in the venues I drop into from to time to sample the minds and revelations of others beyond my own reality tunnel. If you are one of the relentlessly curious ones, you’ve probably punched holes through the Styrofoam wall sometime ago and realized that the reality constructed about you and I was not the only one in existence. This can pertain to the reality that’s registered by its measure of density or lightness but it pertains also to the reality constructed through someone else’s words which is really what the Styrofoam walls are retrofitted with. Sometimes the words are the linguistic materials of others and sometimes we draw them from our own inner lexicon because digging any deeper than the public pool level waters might be too suffocating.

I’ve noticed that with the progressive movements of my times and I’ve noticed that when I survey my own lexicon arsenal. Most progressive movements assume a moral high road though they have no more claim to that road than the very people they lambast for their social failings. This is not to vindicate anyone who may be contributing to the pervasiveness of our current world misery because many of us, no matter what side of the dialectic we fall on, have sewn discord into the world though our footprint may be small and with too little scent to draw the hound dogs from the media kettle. Some have their Margaret Sangers, Edward Mandel Houses and Henry Kissingers. One side might have their Leo Strauss, Michael Chertoffs and George Bushes. There are many names that could be named and retracing the trajectory of many names to their origins provides insights that would be a blessing to a small town detective investigating a murder but become cultural taboo to the laymen who attempts to apply that science of inquiry to the overlords.

And that’s where I find myself, and maybe someone else has hitched his or her raft to that boat a time or two, when like the moral authorities among us I refuse to retrace the trajectories of my own path, to follow the line with the same sure hand that moves this flashing pointer to an icon on the computer. To check and consider its content, its uses, my veracity, to see what has been stored and forgotten in the shadow world of my unconscious carnivale where the tourist drifting through my life or my lines could not intuit by a quick scan. I don’t think I am a virus in the world and neither do I believe that humanity is a virus though I’ve entertained those ideas because of my association with certain movements. But if I’ve failed to reflect for months or maybe longer because my attention has been drawn to the protean waves on the surface of the high seas of political theatre or the latest obscenities, there are viruses that build up beneath foaming titillation. Forgotten sores and cuts and the blood from the unaided malady draws the sharks and other wild sea species. Lack of attention to my own spores and I find myself projecting into the world admonitions against the spores of those “others.” Seems right to some or maybe to those I can gather into a movement to increase the sound of our collective distain. But the more out that I go, the further in is the return path to myself when my own clarion call comes that a virus has breeched my own unguarded compound while I tried the Master Cleanse diet on the “others.”

 I have my Wilhelm Reich moment:

 “You’ve inherited a terrible past. Your heritage is a burning diamond in your hand. That’s what I have to tell you.”

“A doctor, a shoemaker, mechanic, or educator has to know his shortcomings if he is to do his work and earn his living. For several decades now you have been taking over, throughout the world. The future of the human race depends on your thoughts and actions. But your teachers and masters don’t tell you how you really think and what you really are; no one dares to confront you with the one truth that might make you the unswerving master of your fate. You are “free” in only one respect: free from the self-criticism that might help you to govern your own life.”

“I’ve never heard you complain: “You exalt me as the future master of myself and my world. But you don’t tell me how a man becomes a master of himself, and you don’t tell me what’s wrong with me, what’s wrong with what I think and do.”

“You let the powerful demand power “for the little man.” But you yourself are silent. You provide powerful men with more power or choose weak, malignant men to represent you. And you discover too late that you are always the dupe.”

The etymology of the word “represent” is an interesting study in the power of the Linguistic Penitentiary. Without even looking up the word, I could divide it and maybe you would get the message. Re-present. Whether it’s a re-presentation, a re-production, or any other “re”, we are mostly dealing with the act of creating an “image” or a “likeness” of a thing but not the actual thing or person (“person” itself meaning mask or persona but I think it fitting now that I think of it because there is no one layer to bore through). For me, when I’ve allowed my “little man” to usurp the position where my holistic self should very well be, I’m more inclined to go about looking for people, trendy words or catchphrases, authority figures, organizations, religious or new wave spiritual movements, trinkets and such, etc to re-present me. Who I become is a farrago of things picked up from others. But usually those things start to fill the room and life is a drag and I am immobile and stuck circling a wagon of worldly ills while the ones I’ve collected weigh at the knapsack around my waist.

This counterfeit Pax Americana is enough to give anyone with a shameful and  checkered background a chance at redeeming him or herself through comparing their own indiscretions with those of this murderous agency. Again, this is not to make light of the fruit or non-fruit produced by those “others” but I find it unbearable to cower over the tedious record of their crimes when the smallness of my own become huge when I refuse to accept the truth of my own self, abandoning to the flow, surrendering and finding new life in climbing upwards towards the execution place of my own little man. Realizing, once and again, as the gyre widens, that a scepter and sword in the hands of a “little man” can make me feel significant for a moment, especially when the obnoxious rant of my “little man” disappears into the symphony of millions of other “little men” and ‘little women” who forget themselves at our concierta to summon the bands of hell to dispose of the “others” whose crimes we smell like vultures over the decaying carcass though our own is covered in the grand revelry.

Notice how the more attention paid to things allows them growth potential. Object lessons are the war on drugs, the war on cancer, the war on AIDS, the war on terror, the war on poverty and many other types of wars that have been declared, many of them decades ago, that have gotten no better though billions upon billons of dollars have been siphoned through the network of interlocking trusts, foundations, think tanks, and banks that push these agendas. Notice. Consider. My “little man” likes to commend me when I am speaking out and he is more content when the empire is gathering power rather  than when it is losing it because I could be tricked into squandering more energy in hopes that my voice along with the millions of others can topple it. Because the empire’s very mission has been to appeal to my little man, as it leaves crumbs of its activities behind it, knowing that my little man will follow them even if he bump his head into the same conclusion, that my little man will obsess over the crimes of the open conpsiracy and entrain himself to the frequency of the Uniformity League. My little man finds an insatiable Schadenfreude in doing so. Fortunately, I see my little man and I do not wish to sublimate my dharma to him any longer. So listen up, little man. Follow me to the guillotine.