today's moon will there be anyone not taking up his pen? Onitsura
Yesterday, I commented on a news item from an online journal with readership in the millions every day of the week. No, it's not the New York Times. I know what you're thinking (while some of you actually believe the NYT has steady support) - it's the opposite.
The Washington Post printed an article a few years ago defining the news aggregator I mentioned as a "Russian propaganda organization" devoted to America's overthrow.
Bring it on. You're more than welcome ...
I'm kidding, of course. However, my errant dreams and night terrors may contain content in the near future indictable for Espionage, such is the intensity currently demanding prosecution for thought crimes.
It was 2016, I believe, and the authors of the accusations (numerous web sites were targeted, though fewer then than today's catch all for "Domestic Terrorists") described every thing that could go wrong during an election, coincidentally, at the same time Hillary Clinton was caught red-handed soliciting private foreign investments while holding the post of US Secretary of State using a secret server to breach US law.
Their avatar was PropOrNot, the organization of ... well, no one knows who they are, but if it was in print, it must have been true. In the unimpeachable Washington Post, no less. I never read it, my decision in favor of the proletariat and their suppression via pay walls. Never mind the content. Like all mainstream media today, it mirrors NPR (National Propaganda Radio) but for the occasional, lockstep, vastly heralded scoop. Their reporters are such good instinctual news hounds, sometimes the headlines appear before they occur.
But that's a minor distinction. Frankly, I was surprised to learn I'd been an embedded Russian agent all along for my embedded preferences of net surfing in favor of independent journalism over poor quality Kabuki theater. This is a serious matter. My chances for arrest and conviction for pre-crimes is imminent, exponentially heightened since January of this year. Essentially, I've been on the run and recorded for the better part of a decade, without being aware of my crimes and intent.
It's not fair. Let the record show I voted to escalate and bomb Vietnam in a poll taken by my elementary school classmates, the survey initiated by our third grade teacher. We seven and eight year old's hearts and minds were in the right place. Denied cartoons and I Love Lucy during JFK's televised funeral proceedings, we'd seen the light. Otherwise, there must be some mistake.
I imagine the only thing for it is to make a full confession. There are now rumors that dissenters will be offered re-education. If they accept an experimental vaccine. Quite unlike those dangerous Insurrectionists being held in solitary confinement currently. As I stated, I know what it's like to go without Popeye and the Flintstones. Only the nightly Huntley and Brinkley Report of the casualty count of US and Viet Cong dead would prevail over our national grief.
I have failed in the camps once before. For the AFL-CIO union working at the behest of the Obama administration. Should this be held against me? I'm only getting started. I shouldn't let a matter of a quarter million dollars lost, that's MY quarter million in wages lost, to a multi-billion industry of immigration fraud dissuade me again. Yes, I was an anachronism, a dinosaur, the sole bread winner for my family, performing skilled physical labor besides. We called it craftsmanship. Who does that nowadays? We didn't have personal computers either. Some call it the Dark Ages. I have since learned my lesson ...
But, doesn't this global coordinated, corporate/government alliance promise that we'll "own nothing and we'll be happy"? I'm ready to embrace the Nanny State if only they'll let me. I've been training martial arts again just for this reason.
. . . but, I digress. Here's a snippet of a new Zerohedge article just from today;
' Coming from a president who needs a teleprompter to be reminded what day it is, it wasn't exactly surprising that Biden refuted the official White House position set just hours earlier on Friday, when White House deputy press secretary Karine Jean-Pierre told reporters, "the way we see this is that we have the tools in our tool belt to fight this, this, this variant," adding, "we are not going to head towards a lockdown." She added that "our goal is to make sure that we are not headed towards that -- that is not going to be the direction that we take, because we have the tools to prevent that," Jean-Pierre said, unaware that her boss would make a mockery of her words just minutes later.
administration's conflicting comments come as a new study, leaked Friday
by the US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, showed that the
variant produces similar amounts of virus in vaccinated and unvaccinated
people if they get infected, in effect also making a mockery of the
entire previous "get vaccinated and be safe" narrative. But there was no
choice: the finding "was a pivotal discovery leading to CDC's updated
mask recommendation," Dr. Rochelle Walensky, director of the CDC, said
You know something? In my trade, if we didn't pick up an impossibly belated schedule, one interfering with a supervisor's early completion bonus, they'd tell us to "take your tools and go home, we don't need you."
I admire this administration's tenacity. They never fail in policy outlines. I've never heard of it happening. Still, I never watch television either. And I quit Facebook. Two laptops gone rogue was enough to dissuade me. It's that old, bait and switch mentality. Or, is it that old, Colonial-Mind Prison Island mentality? Like the movie. Lord of the Flies. When we were kids we played jungle war, too.
Which reminds me. The theme, not my Manchurian Candidate origins. Morgan Freeman even did a Public Service Announcement on behalf of it's sponsors ... I mean, the anonymous investigators with information too top secret to share. This is where Facebook and Twitter come in handy.
I wrote yesterday's essay after midnight, while simultaneously in the throes of a full-throated marital argument. How serious was it? We're both Libras born on the same day.
I think the tension had something to do with communication. Or, miscommunication. About eighteen months in a row of out right balder dash, in fact. You see, it's obvious - there's no denying it. Let alone openly criticizing it. Tempting, for a loner ... but, you need alliances just as much as you need to eat. Or, venture from your house without fear of arrest or beatings, or speaking to others, facing derision for vaccine "hesitancy", buying a copy of the Guardian to wrap fish in, or comforting a suicidal child ...
As for our argument, I think it was some self-deprecatory comment I made. Which, in times like these sounds a lot like "I want to kill your spirit with a rusty pointed barb".
I think I'll save it for the next school board meeting and the coming restrictions. Yes, there will be more. All these prohibitions are coordinated, you see. Repression will continue until morale improves.
Otherwise, if allowed to go back after this carnage, the people will discover how very little of what was good will be left.
And that will inspire the real Revolt. I mean, it's happened before. Don't take my word for it. History matters. Better to be informed now, don't you think?
Reading an article in Zerohedge recently, I began to notice a pattern, brief asides of gossip, derision and innuendo lent to the factual reporting. Delivered with regularity between paragraphs and talking points, they offer a tongue in cheek critique of actual, or, perceived
actions sourced from governmental press agents and ministries. I realized it's a feature straight from their style book, one opposed to righteous indignation, as one might expect from alleged "knee jerk Leftists" or purportedly "Alt-Right" news purveyors.
Interestingly enough, I've never met an individual self describing as either, though accusations abound. Which pretty well describes the current major media's goal in a nutshell; to divert from considering consequence in favor of creating labels of division. Yet, I still find the dual party apparatus two parts of an eventual whole, most days, a sort of theater for the gullible and/or emotionally invested.
It's flavor is something akin to a back stabbing, ass
kisser employee of minor status demeaning some cohort who shows skill or promise. Essentially, defining a threat to the status quo, even at its mediocre best. Sometimes, derision directed at management, more for alleged incompetence than personal slight or loss. The latter would be admitting to a fear never clearly stated. Nor does it consider proper representation.
Not unlike standing around the water cooler in a segregated clique, finding camaraderie in bitching about the inevitable losses of benefit and security makes it all bearable - because, being with other low achievers, at the same ineffectual level, makes you a "team".
The article goes on to describe how the US Post Office gets a pass on Federal behavioral modifying mask and vaccine mandates - from Joe Biden, no less - for the time being, at least, up until the screws tighten down just a little more - after their Union's contractual negotiations. Okey dokey.
But, we already know all institutions with skin in the game eventually come aboard for the "Big Win". There really are favors to be won through submission, by proxy, as the ticket to ride. Be it in corporate structures, or, other Socialist labels that grow more expensively indebted by the day, when taxes engulf the consumer and other people's money runs out simultaneously with social services and pensions going broke.
For now, the Postal Employees Union executive class is making a show, deferring to such statements strikingly similar to "my body, my choice", a most virtuous stance if there ever was one. And "we" Plebians get to read about it, commenting in approved spaces recently become less sanguine and much more derogatory.
Derived from that wry, sardonic tone from the aforementioned online news aggregator - aside from the anti-Narrative, factual basis reporting - we all have come to love. I know I do. We can sing to the choir, making notations of discord, coded and sanitized to slip by the new ISP censors.
Hell, I've even
had a "membership" to the Hedge's little society for more than a few years. Seven, actually, more than most any of the professional trolls, with their insults flying, casting aspersions to icons far removed, little more than diversionary straw men, to catch the ire and capture the eye of low information mob thinkers that have recently flocked to the boards. Those stalwarts of vision and logical thought, the regular commenters, have thinned, their wisdom fading away, insights dotting the boards fewer and farther between, any relevancy remaining given way to shared memes and catch phrases. The MSM protection team's influence is far reaching, as the news copy still reveals, though even Fight Club has become an inebriated brawl at times.
I frequented the site when I lived in St. Paul, Minnesota, (Minneapolis, it's not so identical twin city, has a police force that wished they had its crime rate). In the best neighborhoods, you know, (wink, nudge) like Rice St, W 7th and the East Side. Home to a working class degraded, a historical anomaly in the shadow of former Industry the likes of James J. Hill and the jump off port for the nation's bread basket reduced to convenience stores, liquor marts, and governmental non-profit partners highlighted by a growing medical market and a few surviving behemoths of corporate manufacture. Government hires half the middle class now, serving a drudgery of intakes from the Rust Belt to Chicago. Which creates a few problems. We didn't have a crack trade or nightly shootings when I was a boy.
Living where I do now in Hudson, WI, that amiable river border town, despite a former Ramsey County Commissioner being Mayor, the cops aren't quite as reactionary as the latter Metropolis. It's a classic American small town, as yet only succumbing to our Americanized, global Newspeak, its status one of the exodus of white-flight, though a City Boy like me would ascertain they do fall in line, rather easily - Presidential elections entirely excluded - even with the onslaught seekers of pastoral and "liberal" views.
I had to rebuke one for looking in my vehicle's window, anticipating a search during a contact in the Walmart parking lot, of all places. One of three responding police officers, that is, arrived to "look after my safety" after some one had called to make a complaint about my "suspicious behavior".
The lone Hero backed the fuck off. A little confused, too, since my tone was authoritative, within reason, quite at odds for being a common citizen of no known repute other than my former city's police department attempt to recruit me, which I declined, by the way.
So, correctly performing my command, I gave him his "reward"; offering my hand at the appropriate moment, after the cessation of determining my purpose and identity verification, without the unwarranted search he desired, any ill will, previous crimes or lingering secretive probation duly eliminated for lack of evidence. His reaction, a suitable response - he offered a fist bump back. The Police are no longer allowed to shake hands with their clientele.
The other two officers, having finished their
display of authority to a man waiting with eyes closed in a used pickup on a warm
day, looked on passively, assumptions and suspicions quelled, keeping themselves quiet while observing
All three of this town's sampling of trained police officers wore masks. No recurring public mandate requiring they do so. Formerly, Executive Order demanded it for all, and public lock downs, and economic closures, and many essential services, as well as traffic stops to check one's reason was for going about one's business, a show of papers, a check of public and private record, misdeeds or pecking order, all under "determination" of a duly sworn police officer at his whimsy or will. All had been defeated in a court documented suit brought against a succession of emergency health directives.
Orders from on high, rehashed and reissued repeatedly despite no logical purpose after their lawful 60 day duration, modifications on restrictions based on disease estimates accompanied by suggestive narration, wherever from, having once expired yet continuously re-applied, wrought by a global Narrative written by carefully vetted psychologists using primary behavioral modification technique, contracting to various governments with a leery eye to dispel revolt while catering to a mass hypnosis now peppered more and more with violence against the slightest dissent.
In essence, The Executive was issuing commands that were both ill advised and against existing law.
Later on, I'll offer my sincere attention to the policeman I corrected, perhaps, offering a friendly reinforcement for his behavior, an acknowledgement of proper courtesy and position. Even gestures are effective, assuming one can see them.
It's a matter of my convenience. Or, is it control?
... labels carry a great weight in the matter.
Meanwhile, my school age kids are going to be the further object of continuous, reflexive conditioning and chemical trespass against their minds and bodies, starting in less than one month from now. Unless, I can stop it before some Authoritarian institution succeeds.
Even if it were successful, it would only be a historical foot note on the passages of Empires, great and small.
I remember those crazy shads. Nemesis brand, as I recall. Everybody had a pair on. Secret agent wrap around style, they kept the dust out of your eyes and wouldn't fall off. I wore them all that summer, 16 hours a day in 100 degree heat, and it only rained once. Don't know if them pipeliners or the Latinos started the fashion. They out numbered us white boys 10 to 1, but we spoke English, took and gave orders.
me. I was the fuckin' new guy, the nigger of the outfit, and,
potential whipping boy. To my good fortune, I stuck with the Mexicans and Hondurans
mostly, steel or poly pipe, depending what work was. My preference, too. They were nicer people than
the drunked up cowboys. Being outsiders, they were more tolerant of my lack of knowledge. You
do get teased, at best, along with the job description. It's the same with any trade. Nice to know what
they're saying about you, too, so you pick up the language little by
drought and dead weeds--
in every road sign
a bullet hole
Not like my chosen profession. That was life or death, and I'm Jack Black, mother fucker. There, I'd worked with hundreds of new "emigres" on thousands of spaces in a Metropolitan numbering a million for a multi-billion dollar industry of fraud, no less, at the behest of our elected leaders. But don't rescue the schedule, however far behind, they might tell you to take your tools and go home. Until, finally, when it all crashed, we all did.
My stance was anybody that worked as hard I did was all right. For that matter, there were people present from every corner of the Earth, all of them on a last chance effort to seek redemption. As for me, here in the oil patch, my comeuppance was a meal of tamales wrapped in fresh corn leaf created by someone's loving spouse just before dawn, its sauce tempered sweetly with crisp green chilies emitting fire ... la familia producion l'amour. Auqi, no es tardes, amigo, de nada, primo, de nada.
in columns march
into the grass
Nope, this was a humbling experience. You see, there's just nowhere to hide on that plain. You might have to stand on a rock to get a cell signal. Ain't no trees ... but glory to God, there is wheat. Waving amber and sunlit on end, from it, you can observe the wind criss-cross the prairie from miles away. Pray, you might escape that splendor, for at night it becomes an Ocean, phosphorescence visible in the seed. You could chart a course by the moon or the stars where they meet the horizon, always ahead, your headlights egging you on, your destiny, perhaps, to just let go the wheel.
an Angus calf all caught up --
a few loose strands of wire
Somewhere in deepest, darkest Central America, there's a video taken on a cell phone in a place five cultural nightmares laid end to end and a little dictatorship away. It's protagonist is a laconic, gangling man, tan as bark but for the raccoon lightness around his eyes, reeling like some mad, shape shifting kami chasing some lads around and over the riven earth, snorting and stomping, pretending to be a bull. They made me do it, and not so reluctantly I agreed. So little children would laugh. All little children share that laughter, yes?
Then came the day I hit that deer, fiddling with my wipers in the convoy and a split second lost. I could have missed him, an immature buck, I'm quick because I have to be, yet it was so close ... the Honduran boys finished the poor fella off with a penknife, his blood soaked up by the dust along side that perfectly straight road.
And later, leaning against the wind carrying the earth's contents to the sky, they feasted on its haunches, lit by the waning sun just before midnight on the only day it rained.
red sky at night -
curlews choose flight
over Black Tail Dam