A Window in Need of Repair

A Window In Need of Repair

Jiang Qing -- 

By unidentified photographer [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

A Window in Need of Repair

Dec 4, 2004

The window casement needs to be restored. The window itself has been shattered by a cruel stone.

My force has been spent. Isis has forgiven me for wounding her cheek. I fall down at her feet. What more can a stone do?

As I feel the warmth of The Mother Who Has Forgiven, I realize that everything is different in here. A stereo phonograph is playing, “Let’s Do the Twist Like We Did Last Summer,” and the Houris and Heroes are dancing.

Outside the broken window, everything is in commotion. It’s not just the tanks in the streets.

The angry ghosts that float by, looking like mouths full of sharp teeth with hardly any bodies at all, are denouncing an alleged conspiracy between Nixon and Kissinger, and the Communist Party Chairman who wrote the Little Red Book.

a

Back in the Material World

When I look back into the material world, I can observe that my own body is trying to get some sleep. But Thieu is complaining that her cheek has been wounded, and she is demanding some answers.

I can’t give her the answers she needs, because I wasn’t there. When I look out the window, I can see that there is a cactus with very sharp spines outside the bedroom window. But the spines are not nearly so sharp as the questions that are being asked by the ghosts who have flown in from the Poison Tree.

They are asking, who buried that sheath of faggots bound with an axe, in the courtyard of the schoolyard where they died. Was it the French Foreign Legion? Was it the Catholic Church? Was it something the Samurai forgot to take with them when they went back to their homes in Japan? What is this tree that grew up from the seed, that grows hatchets and vials of poison in place of edible fruits?

a

Fleeing to the Archetypal Place

Thieu is leading me down to an archetypal place. Guided by only the moonlight, we skirt about under the cliff where the Sphinx crouches like some cruel interrogator.

As we continue, we encounter Isis. Thieu asks her why her cheek has been bruised by a stone. I see the bloody bruise on her cheekbone, and realize that I have made a rather ugly impression.

“It all has to do with a jealous little Godling named Set,” declares Isi s. “He has been trying to get me stoned to punish me for an alleged act of adultery.”

“Don’t worry about the paint remover,” the Sphinx calls down from her cliff. “I know that the Men of the World shall do everything they can to restore the glamour of the Jealous God’s monument. . Everything, that is, except to make meaningful reparations to those whom their controlling ways have wounded. And so, since the foundations are crumbling, I am going to let the tower fall.”

a

Voices on the Lawn

Thieu and I are hearing voices out there on the lawn. A furious argument has broken out between a man and a woman. The howling is becoming a violent fight. The spirits who are angry at the way that they died at Tuol Sleng have pulled down the curtains, so that we can no longer see the angels who are singing the Song of the Spheres.

The man and woman are chasing each other around the saguaro cactus that stands guard over the corner of the lawn.

“Don’t get involved,” advises Thieu. “They might be dangerous people.”

The angry spirits, who still burn in shame over the way that carnal agony seduced them into betraying those whom they held most dear, roll back the turf from the lawn. The man and the woman both look down in shock, because the bright light that is shining from below has clearly been generated by Hellfire.

Down there, Richard Nixon, Chairman Mao, Chou en Lai, Pol Pot, and various other figures whose features are obscured by the shadows, are being summoned to something that certainly looks like the Court of the Last Judgement. In the background we hear a discussion about why Henry Kissinger is taking so long to respond to the summons that was delivered to him.

Except for Henry, who is still pleading diplomatic immunity, these souls are in the custody of devils in uniform, who have them all handcuffed together. The Sphinx, who is enthroned in the Judgement Seat, is taking depositions from Tibetan monks who were tortured. The painters are scraping off the paint remover from the walls, and all the scenes of horror the great leaders had hoped would be forgotten forever are coming back to life.

We see the cities burning. We see the napalm falling on the peasant, and on the water buffalo. We watch the Bouncing Betties rise up from under the soil like horrible apparitions to blow off the feet of the children. We watch the crocodile swimming in the big rain-filled crater that the B-52’s have made.

“You must learn how to be able to speak about the pain,” I find myself consoling Thieu. “It’s obvious, these ghosties will not stop tormenting the people of the earth, until they have been given voices with which they can scream.”

a = a

The Pregnancy of Chairman Mao

“These horrors shall be repeated, until they are remembered, and their significance has been assimilated,” declares an intellectual in glasses, who died of torture when Phnom Penh was purged.

“We shall never be able to give a form and a voice to the Theater of Cruelty, unless we are able to sustain each others’ spirits with a little bit of carnal tenderness,” declares Thieu, with a sad little sigh.

I feel a pang so acute that all that I can do is to kiss her tittie. General George Armstrong Custer gallops up from the hole in the ground, to arrest both the man and the woman for creating a domestic violence incident.

Custer empties his Colt revolver into the sky, as a police car arrives to haul off the victims.

“It’s hard to give birth to a Revolution,” declares Chairman Mao. “That’s why I became too heavy to be sent to Hell.”

“Like everything else that you have ever said, that is an out and out lie,” declares a tortured Tibetan monk. “Your waistline attained it’s legendary size, because you were caught eating everyone else’s dinner.”

“And people thought I was the Lord of the Shadow,” declares Adolph Hitler, with a frown.

“Don’t worry, my son,” Custer comforts him. “People will still remember you as the Father of Genocide.”

a = a

“Mao Turned Me Into a Bad Dog”

The man who is chasing the woman about the Saguaro cactus has become a fat Chinaman, who wears a Red Star on a uniformed hat. The woman also has Chinese features, but her body is much more graceful.

“You turned me into your bad dog,” Jiang Qing accuses the fat Chinaman. “I wanted to change the national culture by transforming our relation to the arts, but you were an old pervert who just wanted blood. Every time I had just about gotten all of the stage props in place, you would say, ‘go sic ‘em bitch!’ and I would need to bite someone. But I put up with it, because I believed that you were the world’s greatest revolutionary hero.

“All of this I could put up with, until I noticed all the young girls you were going to bed with in your old age. College girls I could understand; I would be jealous, but then I would think, that perhaps it was good for them to learn revolutionary theory from the Grand Master. But you had a thing about virgins! It wasn’t until I found myself alone in bed, wondering why it always had to be a virgin, that I began to realize just what you were, and what you had always been. You never really listened to anyone who had enough education to give you a proper critique of your theories. You think it is only a little thing, but it was the principal reason why we had to bury so many Red Chinamen in so many shallow graves.”

GGYYgg

When the Church Declared War on Mexico

Morning, Nov 18, 2004

Paranoid Alien Radio

Hello out there in Virginia Wolfeland. It is now 10:00 on the morning of November 18, and there is snow on the lower elevations of the Sangre de Cristo mountains. This is the Back to the Briar Patch Hour. Our mission is to challenge you to step out of the comfort zone of aesthetic materialism, by introducing you to little tidbits of Briar Patch history that shall make your blood run cold.

What
shall happen when we wake up and realize that the Inquisition is still live and well? What shall happen when we wander through the backyards of this desert town, searching for the cars & pickup trucks which have been stolen and vandalized? What shall happen when we come across people who act as though the little brown aliens who pick the lettuce in the fields were the most dangerous creatures in the country?

Shaking
Down the Leprechaun

There

is a Grand Lodge in Americaⁱ which was once descended from distinguished freemasons, but which now has been distanced by the Elect, on account of its longstanding quarrels with the Prince Hall Society, which is composed of Black Americans and which is a Masonic Rite in good standing. Down Mexico Way the distinction between the Freemasons and the Falsemasons is just as sharp as Pancho Villa’s machette. These Falsemasons also call themselves Illuminatti, on account of their exertions towards the restoration of a Solar Monarchy.

Let us ride now with the members of this Grand Confederate Lodge, as they search for little brown aliens who may be hiding in the abandoned shacks and dilapidated farmhouses of Chavez County.

The police are now questioning a man whom the members of the Grand Confederate Lodge have identified as one of these Aliens. He still has spines in his fingers from trying to eat cactus plants.
Apparently he got so hungry or so thirsty when he was making his way through the Sonora Desert that he was reduced to trying to eat them, and was trying to hold the cacti in his naked hands while he tried to peel the spines off with a knife.

We
would like to ask this Alien, just what was so wrong with his country, that he was trying to sneak into this one through the Back Door? He cannot give us a satisfactory answer, because his English is so bad that after ‘hello’ and ‘how are you’ he just starts shaking his head.

The
officers don’t pay too much attention to the Virgin of Guadalupe which is tattooed on his back, from the neck to a place that is so low it is almost obscene. How many poor Mexicans don’t have tattoos? And of course, since the Virgin of Guadalupe rolls the photo of your mother and your girlfriend up into a little cigarette that has been blessed by the Holy Water of the Church, she is a rather popular tattoo. But the Gentlemen from the Grand Confederate Lodge know that there is a growing correlation between these tattoos of The Virgin and those gangs that are transporting heroin tar and crack cocaine from crime labs in the suburbs of cities like Gaudalajara, to distribution centers in the suburbs of the entertainment capitals of the American Southwest. The Gentlemen from the Grand Confederate Lodge know all about this trade, and they don’t tell the cops nothing, because they want to remain in full control.

So
the wetback has got to convince the Gentlemen from the Grand Confederate Lodge that he is indeed, the most sincere of Cristeros.
The cops just don’t get why the wetback makes such a show of his genuflections, makes such a point of claiming that the bishop and the Pope are his personal friends. Of course, the cops do recognize that the bishop is the friend of every wetback in the country, and that the priests are notorious for the demonstrations they make on behalf of the not-so-law-abiding Catholics who are supposed to stay South of
the Border.

The
Hidden Hand, and the Invisible Strings

It is easy
 to say that the cop is not doing his job. Of course, nobody sees the invisible strings – and that is exactly the point. The cop is not supposed to see the way in which the same Cristeros who are combating Freemasonry and Atheism by selling drugs to the grandchildren of the Prince Hall Society of Los Angeles, are also enabling the transport of guns to the various Associations of Benevolent Bonapartists and Falangists who are keeping the masses down, South of the Border in Latin America.

It would be easier
for the poor cops to figure things out, if they had a rudimentary understanding of Mexican history. Unfortunately, cops usually spent their high school days being jocks, jocks who saw their own manifest destinies jumping about in the skimpy outfits of the cheerleaders. So the cop still thinks that “manifest destiny” is what happens when a jock and a cheerleader start “necking” in the back seat of Dad’s car. Where Mexico is concerned, about the only thing that our cop remembers is that his childhood hero Davy Crockett got shot at the Alamo.

But even if our future policeman had been a star student,
would he really have gotten the kind of answers the DA has got to have before he is ready to prosecute a case? For instance, look at this 1875 engraving  in Harpers’ Weekly. That is Andrew Jackson, dressed not as a president but as a general. Look at his left hand – where is it?
Hidden under the flap of the light military jacket he is wearing under his greatcoat. This, for those who were too busy chasing either cheerleaders or jocks to remember much from your high school history course, was the famous “Hidden Hand” gesture that was the personal trademark of Napoleon Bonaparte.

General Andrew Jackson
– the same general who, with the help of gentlemen from the French Quarter, chased the British out of New Orleans. There are other reasons for believing that this King Andrew envisioned himself as the founder of a Solar Dynasty, the capital of which would be founded on the very ground which he had seized from the descendants of the bodyguard of the original Sun-King of the Natchez, who had brought the crown with him when he had moved south to get away from the migrating barbarians, sometime in the early 14^th Century.

Yes, there are plenty of reasons
 for believing that this old Solar Monarch, Great Crocodile of Memphis, who probably sent Davy Crockett on what was intended to be a suicide mission to Texas, may still have more than a little to do with the drug trade which is destabilizing the Mexico of today.

So let’s fast-forward
past the overt Bonapartism of Aaron Burr, and the episode of William Walker selling shares in the Meso-American Empire his mercenaries were intending to conquer for the nation of “Sonora.” However relevant these episodes may be to the history of the Southern Death Cult in Dallas, we’re trying to arrive in the court of Napoleon III, Emperor of Paris, before the representatives of a credible association of Mexican Ranchers walk in.

Well, we almost got there in time – see, they are walking out, with Prince Maximilian in tow. These Bonapartist ranchers have bought themselves a Sun King descended from the Emperor to whom Cortez had pledged fealty.

Prince
Maximillian: La Entrada Segunda

Prince Maximilian
 himself does not realize that he has been selected as the lead actor in a Mexican tragedy. Only those who have made a study of the Southern Death Cult will recognize the significance of the fact, that the Mexican banking crisis, which Maximilian’s regime was intended to resolve in favor of the European interests, also coincided with the American Civil War. The leaders of the rebellious Southern states felt a strong affinity with the aristocratic republicanism of the Second Empire, and the Confederacy was in desperate need of relief from the Union blockade.

The French Foreign Legion
entered Mexico and made a legend for themselves by fighting to the last man at Hacienda Camaron. The Confederate camilia began to wither, and, by the summer of 1866, the ardor of the French had also faded. French Imperialism had found a new game to play in Indo-China, and the Mexican people had proven that they could cause trouble. The Union Army had won the Civil War, and surplus military equipment was beginning to slip across the border, to arm the Federales of Juarez.

What
then would become of the proud Mexican hidalgos who had deluded Maximilian into trying to trying to conquer their country back for them? What would become of the subjects of Austria and Germany, whom Maximilian had convinced to emmigrate to Mexico?

Having
sailed in from the sea like a blond-haired God, Maximilian was sacrificed to the Gods in 1867. Most of the German tradesmen learned Spanish and assimilated into Mexican society; one of them became the father of the revolutionary artist Frieda Khalo. A few of the descendants of the Hidalgos successfully assimilated into the Masonic Republic which had sacrificed the Sun-King for the benefit of the People. But even after the triumph of Juarez, most of these Hidalgos, like their Confederate counterparts in the North, still retained enough land and enough community privilege, that they could afford to entrench themselves behind the banners of romanticism, and bide their time.

Pancho
Villa knew they would be trouble, so where he had the power, he did his best to kill enough of these “Spaniards” that the rest of them would pick up and leave the northern provinces of Mexico. In the process, he gave Dallas, Texas the ideological core that would generate the State Department of the Eisenhower era. Many of the hidalgos that Villa chased out of Mexico became successful godfathers in the Great Cities of Vice like Havana, Cuba or Miami, Florida.

Pancho
Villa had mastered the art of looking and acting just like a dumb Indian who only wanted to do to the Spaniards the things they had done to the Indians – but Villa had a deeper reason for wanting to kick these Grand Illuminatti out of Mexico.

The
Church Provokes a War

The
Freemasons leading the Mexican Revolution had a vision for Mexico that was not anti-Christian but was, in a very real sense, post-Christian. The most charismatic leader of this Fremasonic Revolution, Plutarco Elias Calles, literally told the priests to ring the bells no longer.

• Photo By Aurelio Escobar Castellanos (Aurelio Escobar Castellanos Archive) [CC-BY-2.5 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.5)], via Wikimedia Commons

The Freemasons 
valued their Christian heritage, but they valued that heritage in context. Mexico was a particularly revealing context, because everywhere in Mexico, the ruins of a pre-Christian context which was ruthlessly crushed by Christianity, still rise up to startle the tourist with stylized idols that satirize everything in Heaven as well as on Earth. The gentlemen of the society that had been founded to combat the Inquisition also knew, that if 20^th Century Mexican culture were to revive the repressed dialogue between the Actual Present and the long-repressed Gods who still had their roots in the soil, it would be necessary to exorcize the stranglehold which a Church which now had converted to Bonapartism had been accustomed to exerting over every aspect of the Mexican culture.

Freemasonry
admittedly intended to reduce the Church from absolute to relative power, and to replace the decadent feudalism of the Old Regime with a semi-socialized system of land husbandry in which the peasants’ cooperatives would have a real power to bargain with the landlords. Unfortunately, the children of the hidalgoes Pancho Villa had driven out had now become partners and managers in the fruit companies and crude oil consortiums which were acting as though they were the mechanized extensions of an undead Second Empire. Like so many Third-World countries, Mexico has found itself pushed into socialism, because the national capitalists are in need of support from the laborers and the peasants, if they are ever to differentiate themselves as national citizens, from the Napoleonic forces of world capitalism, which strive everywhere to push Third-World countries back into feudal suppression.

Ever
since 1917, the Illuminatti who want to bring back the Sun King of the Second Empire have had a new battle cry. Whenever the citizens of some impoverished nation have been moved by collective sympathy to place limits on agricultural or industrial exploitation, the cry has gone out that the particular nation is falling for Communist subversion, and that intervention is needed.

And
so it seems that in the 1920's, at the same time the oil companies which pledge a secret allegiance to this very undead Second Empire were having their problems with the Mexican government, the Bonapartist bishops were raising up a Christian infantada which would harass the government of Plutarco Elias Calles, with tactics which give us a sense of deja vu when we compare them with those that are being used by the Taliban to destabilize Pakistan. These Cristeros, as the Christian Terrorists called themselves, cut off the ears of public school teachers – and sometimes went further than that.

a=a

The
cop sees a brief exchange of money between the gentleman from the Grand Confederate Order and the Campesino with the Virgin tattooed on his back – but the exchange is so brief, he can’t be sure just which way the money is going. He tries to make sense of the transaction, and fails to realize that this particular exhibition of slight-of-hand is intended to divert him from inquiring into the significance of the fact that Mexico had a president who was called “The Turk” because he was a trade unionist and a Freemason. It is intended to divert the cop from asking why Schrodinger’s Rapist likes to hang around oilfields built on the ground of countries whose legal codes are descended from those of the Renaissance Iberians. The laws that define minerals under the soil as the inalienable property of the People and their State are a product, not of the Marx-Engels dialectic, but of the legal theory bequeathed by Catholic scholasticism.

It
is the poetic resonance with the practices of that Unbought Church who call themselves Surrealists, that we believe that history shall remember Mexican president Plutarco Elias Calles as the one national leader who actually did tell the priests to ring the bells no longer. Perhaps he just wanted a period of quiet in which people could think for themselves, or perhaps he ws being moved by the greater reverberation of ancestors not very far under the ground who wanted
their voices to be heard.

Perhaps
he was going overboard in believing that the uprising of the Cristeros had been engineered by criminals and foreign agents – a sort of ghost version of Napoleon III that lives on in the dim Underworld. Then again, there really were agents of the European Banking System proclaiming to the Mexican government that the honeymoon period was over. Naturally, since Calles had the dour opinion that what was produced by Mexico should stay the property of Mexico, there was bound to be friction somewhere.

This
is the problem, when a people insists, that Reason is the Virgin Mary. Reason does not do a thing for you if you are a colonialist intent on rape, because Reason is on the side of those who have experienced victimization, yet managed to survive. Reason does not like it when a big Crude Oil consortium sets itself up as a colonial presence surrounded by Mexican slums. Reason sees the Crude Oil Brothers hunting down the union organizers, killing in the ghetto and getting away by bribing anyone who is important.

Call
religious terrorism another name, but it remains a force for keeping the people in bondage. It just so happened that Calles, who saw himself as a victim of superstition, was inclined to respond to the provocation aggressively – pretty much in the way that we would expect the President of Pakistan to act in dealing with the Taliban. After all, terrorism is terrorism, and the fact that one likes a religion should not blind one to the danger which can result if that religion is being abused.

Reason,
the child or stepchild of the Church which had disowned her, asserted that if the people do not have control of the ground and everything that is under it, then the people are being oppressed and exploited. This is a principle of Castillan law, one of the fruits of the scholastic system which gave the High Middle Ages a reputation for being an Age of Faith. If the Church did not want to defend Reason, then she should get out of the way, and allow those who actually were
men to prove themselves.

Since this perspective was considered abrasive by the State Department of a powerful northern neighbor, Calles had every reason to suspect that Bonapartist conspiracies would be everywhere, and that they would be aided and abetted by the Catholic Church. Religious terrorism is a difficult thing to deal with, and there is always something heartbreaking about having to take up arms against people who really believe that they are following the Will of God.

The
suicide squads who point antique rifles at the Federales are not the ones you really want to kill, but the real criminals will not come to the table until they see the evidence that you are able to isolate their goon-squads, and destroy the morale that makes the fanatics believe that they can go to heaven by provoking you into killing them.

Calles
was brutal, and Calles was too often bought, but Calles was capable of waging a cultural offensive, while negotiating, as a Freemason should, with anyone who was willing to be a part of what he considered to be “The Community of Reason.” Calles was able to insist that the Administration of Big Business in Washington DC replace the business-interest Ambassador with one who was willing to be part of “The Community of Reason.” This disarmed most of the Mexicans who wanted to kill Calles, and put Calles in the position of being the only one who dared lead the Mexicans as they entered the Great Depression. Eventually Calles was out-maneuvered by one of his own students, and sent into exile in Texas. Towards the end of his life he declared his faith in God and became a spiritualist.

Like
the Taliban, the Cristeros attempted to close down the government schools by cutting off the ears of the teachers. In one case, they went so far as to burn a government teacher at the stake.

Voice
of a Disembodied Spirit

These people who fight so ferociously against Reason and believe that they are serving God are right about one thing. At the core of their fanaticism lies the unshakable faith that God has tried to gift them with something priceless, and that they have been robbed. They stand at the opposite end of the spectrum from the Communists, who will only have reason and nothing else – yet at the core their complaint is the same. It is a pity to have to send out the army against these people, who believe that by attacking you with their obsolete weapons and forcing you to kill them, they have gotten on the fast track to Paradise. And yet, if you do not send the army, they will cut off the ears of your civil servants, and will sometimes do even worse things.

The Cristeros are right in believing that the peasants should not suffer as they do, and that society is sinful in treating them in the way that it does. But their solution is that everyone should suffer as they do, and that the only recreation should be their solemn holy days and their prayers. They refuse to submit to negotiation, because they believe that Jesus Christ himself has come to them to order their revolt. They are remarkably like the people of the Inquisition, and if we had given these Cristeros their way, we soon would find that Mexico was ruled once more by Paris and by Rome.

Yet the tragedy is that in many cases these Cristeros are the Native People whose culture we are trying to resurrect. They have suffered so much, they have come to see their oppressor as their protector. So as you see, these religious fanatics are the enemies of the nation, because they would destroy everything that gives character and resilience to the working classes, and would reduce our nation to a state of feudal subservience. But if we are to destroy their movement, it is not enough to just shoot the ones who attack government with guns and machettes – we also must work at the level of the village, to make sure that those who are left have something to live for. It is only when the poorest peasants have something that is theirs that they can live for, that the leaders of the state can be free from the fear that they will be attacked by suicidal fanatics.

Eventually,
finding that the Cristeros were doing nothing to improve the Church’s public relations, the Church hierarchy encouraged the rebels to submit to the arbitration offered by the United States ambassador.
The Government was able to establish the separation of the Church from the State. The government maintained nominal ownership of Church properties, but the Church was allowed to use its traditional buildings, pretty much as it pleased. The Church bells began to ring once more, and became a significant part of what the people now think of as the Mexican Culture.

Voice
of Plutarco Calles

The big players were out of the game, but the spirit of the rebellion did not die down so easily. The thought of dying in a holy war and going to heaven is a very intoxicating one, and that is the problem. If all of the players had acted more honorably, it would have been possible to detox the people from their jihad intoxication by introducing them to the real gratification that comes as one finds oneself and one’s family participating in a meaningful way in building up the prosperity of one’s own community.

Unfortunately, this did not happen for everyone. Those who were children before WWII grew up craving the same sort of intoxication. In the years since the defeat of Mousolini, the Catholic Church has become more moderate, but the craving that people who are alienated from their roots feel for unhealthy excitement has not. Religion may be the opiate of the people, but since Mexican Catholicism has been distilled to serve as a stimulant, it no longer has much power to calm people down so that they can listen to reason. And so the great grandchildren of those who were Soldiers for Christ have now become soldiers for drugs.

i Information
on Masonic & related orders was gleaned from Wikipedia &
other web sources

Paranoid Above, Paranoid Below

Paranoid Above, Paranoid Below

 

Feb 9, 2004:

Good morning, all you listeners on Paranoid Alien Radio. We have a few more facts that should make your morning paranoid – but first for a word from our sponsor:

It’s true enough, we all have wandered from the Path. We all have known moments when we have been brutal because our faith was failing. But does not every chronic abuser justify his wickedness by rubbing our noses in the truth of our own inconstancy?

Hello, this is Paranoid Alien Radio, broadcasting on 1519 killing hurts. We who are the Paranoid Aliens are trying to remind you, that the time has come that the Great Tribunal must commence, on Earth as it is in your Heaven. The time has come for all of your bloodlines, and all of your corporate entities which have the audacity to masquerade as persons, to give us a proper accounting of just how they have managed the resources of Earth’s people.

1. We who are Paranoid Aliens are here to make sure that the work of the Genocide Tribunal does not become forever stalled. We would prefer that this Judgement be accomplished by scholars who are experienced in the fields of Human Jurisprudence. We do not want to have to amplify the experience with Cecil de Mille sound effects and Lukas films pyrotechnics, but we have not ruled that option out.
2. We who are Paranoid Aliens simply want those who call themselves serious thinkers to examine the way that you Earthlings commit genocide against your own tribes. Don’t think that you can get away with maintaining your cover-up by striking back at us – it will still be two or three thousand years, at least, before your technology can cross the leagues of space-time that divide us. Two or three thousand years, yes, but the collective mind of humanity works slowly; you are only beginning to wake up to what Socrates was trying to teach in the halcyon days of Old Athens. And so we want you to appreciate why we who are Paranoid Aliens are becoming more and more paranoid about the Human Race. Don’t go on thinking that you shall be allowed to Enterprise other star systems, before your Genocide Tribunal has become a world ceremony that has become internalized within your midbrains.
3. Until you repent and make meaningful reparation to your own tribes, there shall be no room in the rest of the Orion Cluster for your genocidal tradition.

W

We all are called to testify, because the issue on the table of the genocide tribunal concerns our common humanity. The real issue continues to be the same as it was in the days of Sylvia Plath: shall Humanity be allowed to commit suicide, or shall there be a cultural resurrection which shall justify our hopes and dreams?

What shall posterity – if earthlings are allowed to have posterity – make of the romances of men who remain convinced that because their great-grandparents owned plantations, they are a master-race? Shall we allow this sort of romanticism to extenuate itself by declaring that the Black Men needed to be schooled with whips and chains? What is to prevent this pseudo-religious romanticism from becoming so bold that it shall declare, that the Jews needed the scourge of the Holocaust?

The Judges of the Genocide Tribunal shall need to examine the torture chambers, and consider the pain of the victims. They must walk on those decks of the Ship of Shame which once reverberated with the screams of men who were being tortured and women who were being raped by dogs. Lucifer, who was so complacent when he was an angel, must be made to hide his face beneath the highest mountains.

W