Musing on the Times as Lord Apocalypse Appears.

You got to love The Apocalypse. Elie the Weasel is getting brilliantly stripped and hammered by a talented practitioner and someone else wants you to ‘find Eli’s tattoo’ and win valuable prizes. It appears that Elie was never in a concentration camp and stole the identity of someone who was, along with the man’s writings. Once again, The Nobel Prize proves itself to be a travesty and a celebration of all that is dark in humanity.

The debris from the torpedo that sank the South Korean sub was made in Germany. You don’t have to be an Oxford scholar to figure out who is slipping through the Suez Canal with German torpedoes or who has the world record for false flag activity.

The Duchess of York got bagged trying to sell introductions to her ex-husband who is a pillar of righteousness, to hear the media spin it in their usual, unbelievable fashion. You got to love The Apocalypse.

This thing about Obama not being a U.S, citizen won’t go away but I don’t know what to think about that. I know he’s not a member of the human race and that’s probably a lot more important. Now I hear from Wayne Madsen that Obama and Emanuel are both long standing members of Chicago’s oldest gay bathhouse and I don’t know what to think. He really gets into the details too. Reading it is an experience. I can easily believe any of it and pretty much anything else but we are definitely not in Kansas anymore and I was never in Kansas to begin with. I remember living in America at one time but that’s so far away in my consciousness that it seems little more than a bad dream at this time.

What I remember about America is how there were always police about and how they were generally intimidating and looking for trouble. I remember how the presence of crime at every level was a given that you had to keep in mind. I remember a lot of violent bars and the suffocating pressure of materialism on all sides. I remember a lot of things I have never seen in Europe. The UK is the place for that. Here, I’ve never met an unpleasant member of the police force. I seldom even see them. I do not encounter crime and I have yet to discover a violent bar. I don’t spend much time in them in any case… but I’ve never found one in any of the countries I’ve been in.

I catch people looking at me a lot. I don’t know if it’s because I’m tall …or some kind of vibrationary thing. The looks are curious or apprehensive, depending on the age of the observer- it seems -but it never leads to anything. Direct encounters with people in stores or for whatever reason are unfailingly pleasant. People are usually in a good mood, except in parts of Germany, where they labor under the weight of various invisible gravities that we are familiar with. It’s a palpable depression, which I hope they shake because they are an enormously gifted people and I have never seen anywhere else, the degree of honesty that is the normal state of affairs there; lose your wallet and it comes back to you intact. I’ve seen this happen half a dozen times, never for me because I use a waist pack (grin)

Every single day is evidence of the presence and determined operation of The Apocalypse. For years I thought The Apocalypse was some grim, hammer and tongs, end of the world thing. Now I realize it’s one of the best things to ever show up at any time. It’s not a good thing for the bad guys but it’s a breath of fresh air for everyone else; strike that, we’re not talking about fresh air here but… the uncovered stench holds the promise of some fine and long desired transformations and freedoms on up the road.

The ironies of the moment are breath-taking. As one ugly truth after another, lurches like an incontinent alcoholic up out of some deep place beneath the surface streets, the collective of Schmoos who make up the body of the population, continue to march in lockstep toward some unknown destination. The only difference between them and the beasts of the fields is that they have hands to facilitate their appetites for the Imperial Stomach. It’s feeding at both ends. At one end it consumes packaged death and at the other it eats its own regenerative organs, lest some portion of the potential, spiritual light find its way into the tower and exposes the realities that they prefer not to see.

I understand it is my duty to love them, something grand and filled with possibility is hidden within them but it is most difficult to see and they will tear you to pieces if you don’t watch how you go. Under the sway of some atavistic, reptile mind they are at war with their own best interests and have turned the precious gift of free will into a weapon against themselves and everyone they encounter. It’s not an obvious thing that can be perceived in the short run. It’s something that defines itself in the summation of their works. It hides under the banner of patriotism and lip service to an anthropomorphic God. It plots and operates beneath the garments of their posturing as what they wish to appear to be.

They chatter like chipmunks on their cellphones and possess the same attention span. They spin on the wheel of interchangeable fight or flight, believe liars and manifest scorn and contempt upon those who would free them of their bondage to an unshakeable ignorance. Their vanities are the stuff of a sick humor that soars on the wings of a manipulated imagination. They circle their own corpses like a gliding vulture and do not recognize it.

It must be that in opening themselves to the truth, they compromise the possibilities of their hunger for material goods. It appears that there is nothing worse than for them to lose faith in the permanence of temporary things. The Apocalypse will not be kind to them or to their satanic overlords. Conditions will worsen until awakening is unavoidable. It seems to be the only way. It is not the only way but they have built a mighty wall against all of the more benevolent options.

The problem in The Gulf seems a matter of indifference to so many; significant portions are unaware of it at all. It’s a sad and painful truth that they cannot see the danger till it knocks on their door. As long as it is around the corner it has no importance at all. It seems that their unconscious motto is, “Better him than me.”

I’ve studied this phenomenon as it has worsened over time. I’ve thought over many an hour about what it is possible for anyone to do to have a positive and telling effect upon it. I have arrived at no solutions besides the ceaseless effort to rid myself of personal shortcomings. One can only lead by example but the example must be seen. I suspect that the most attractive examples are appearing on Entertainment Tonight and the Fox Channel. It always seems to come back to pulling a Lao Tzu and riding out between the gates of civilization into what remains of Nature.

It’s a difficult thing, abandoning your comrades, who have no idea that you are their comrade. It’s a hard weight, to cheerfully serve those who are indifferent to your presence and it’s near impossible to truly know yourself in a world that hunts to the death its every appearance. We see the truth of it all in myth and legend. The archetypes play out variations on a theme through the whole of the long and winding road of life. It’s always the same story, got up with different characters, in a new environment with the same result.

If I am grateful for anything besides the presence of the ineffable divine, it is having been given the occasional glimpse into the worlds beyond. This has made everything endurable and it makes you wonder if androids really do dream of electric sheep. They are dreaming of something. They do not realize, I suppose, that salvation is not guaranteed, simply by acknowledging the presence of the one who sweeps up after you. It takes a deal more than that but the idea that this is all you need, fits in perfectly with everything else they believe and none of which is true.

When Darkness Falls

The New Shangri-La

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