The Reddest of Red Alerts

As Above, So Below

Dec 20. 2012

It had not been a routine sort of sighting. On account of the time and the season, the air controllers had thought at first that it was a Santa Claus prank. But Santa had never shown up on the radar before, and the cigar shaped object did not look like a sleigh.

The Reddest of Red Alerts

It was definitely alien, and since it refused to identify itself, it was no doubt of the illegal variety. But it was traveling far too fast to be any ordinary wetback. By the time that this suspicious craft had crossed the Rio Grande it had slowed down significantly, but its airspeed had still been calculated at about mach 3.

The flight appeared to have originated from somewhere in the Columbian interior. This in itself aroused concern; the only international cargoes that got routed through this territory usually involved guns and narcotics. Air traffic controllers in Oaxaca, Merida, Mexico City and Guadalahara attempted to establish communication on various frequencies, in English, Spanish, French, Portuguese, German, Russian, Chinese, Japanese, and for good measure, Urdu. None of these efforts had produced a response. The Mexican Air Force had scrambled, to challenge this strange object’s right to use Mexican air space. These fighters had been forced down by engine failure before they had gained enough altitude to get a clear picture, but they had managed to radio a warning of the air-space violation to the American bases north of the Rio Grande.

The luck of the United States Strategic Air Command had not been much better. The speeding object seemed to be surrounded by an invisible shield which repulsed their radar signals, their heat seeking missiles, and every other sort of projectile that they could throw at it.

It was the reddest of red alerts. The president of the United States was contacted, and even he was not quite sure what to do.

Waiting for a Chartered Flight

Dr. Payne was sitting in his office, in the penthouse of a high rise structure in Dallas which could only be reached by those who had the correct elevator code, as well as a special key. He had been waiting for a CIA chartered flight to arrive from Guadalajara to Pinal, Oregon with heroin and cocaine, which could be transported to the liberal northeast, and dumped on the gang kids of the cities.

He heard that the commercial air space had been closed down, and fretted about what might happen while the precious cargo in which he had invested sat on a side lane of the International Airport at Monterrey.

If this chartered flight were examined by customs inspectors who were not sufficiently impressed by the credentials of the agents, the world might become aware of just what the Benevolent Committee For Canonization of Franco was trying to accomplish in Latin America.

At this point, Dr. Payne was probably more concerned than the president. The Secretary of State was visiting Cairo, and the president was not willing to interrupt her call to hear just to hear about another UFO incident. Mr. President felt that it was far more important to find out which way the Jolly Green Giant of Egypt would be walking. If that Evergreen College Professor were right, and the New Age of the Mind would become dominant after 2013 – the critical factor might very well be the influence of the dissidents who were being released from Islamic prisons on account of the “Arab” Spring.

One of Mr. President’s most strategic objectives involved the cultivation of an emotional alliance between these former prisoners of conscience, and the Senate and the People of the United States of America. If this alliance could be brought into being, the UFO’s would simply have to wait.

The pilot of the grounded CIA cargo plane shared Dr. Payne’s concern. He agreed – the cargo contained sacred relics which needed to be shielded from profane eyes.

It was time for Dr. Payne to call on his old business partner who goes by different aliases in different countries, but who is commonly referred to by Bible Belt people as “Satan.”

“Remember that contract we signed in 1972?” the little grey devil reminded him. “Do you realize that 40 years have gone by? As you recall, that was a 40-year contract, and we have fulfilled our part of the bargain. It now is time for you to come home with us, so that we can keep you as a pet.”

A Bible-Belt Jesus Sighting

Pastor Ebenezer Mc Grady of the Shreveport Louisiana congregation of Howlers For White Jesus was on his way home when he noticed a rather strange object bobbing about in the sky. When he looked through his binoculars, he could see that it was a middle-age man in a business suit. That man was not hanging from a parachute, but was simply – flying through the air.

The word got out and all of the congregation assembled to look at Jesus flying through the air. Other congregations all through Texas, Louisiana, Arkansas, and Mississippi also were able to observe the levitation of Dr. Payne. At this point the Mother Ship of the Aliens, which had Dr. Payne fixed in a tractor beam, had hidden herself away behind a cloud. All that the people on the ground could see were the contrails of the fighter jets that were rocketing into the stratosphere in order to get a fix on the UFO.

According to the rumor which began to spread among the True Believers on the ground, the Second Coming of Jesus was being intercepted by the military forces of the Zion Occupied Government. By way of damage control, several military helicopters were dispatched to record the event on video and – if it were possible – rescue Dr. Payne from impending abduction. As a result, network television interrupted its regularly scheduled broadcast for coverage of what was given out to be the attempt of a group of Southern Christian extremists to launch their own plastic Jesus. This helium filled, animated Jesus (With brown hair, light skin, and a business suit, of course) was scheduled to fly over the Bible Belt, as a signal for the True Believers to begin their paramilitary operations against ZOG.

Dr. Payne gestured frantically, but the military helicopters were unable to get close enough to throw him a rope. They were able to video, as the operators of the tractor beam turned Dr. Payne unside down and shook him, until his wallet and his cell phone fell out of his pockets. Network television warned all of its watchers that these articles were now the property of NASA, and that anyone who took the wallet home was risking a visit from the FBI.

I Used to be a Conscience

Aramaiti Voices Her Complaint

“I used to be a Conscience,” I hear the Maiden’s complaint. “But
after so many years of being repetitively tortured and raped, I’m
not quite sure just what I am any longer.”

A stage door opens. Bertolt Brecht comes on stage, to congratulate all
of the actors in the Epic Theater

Brecht::

You now have had a chance to cry with the protagonists and hiss the villains – but in reality,all of these actors are part of our Arts Liberation Collective, so we want you to give all of them your applause.

The Devil

(bursting in through the stage door as the lightning crackles)

Not so fast now! I have come to redeem my image, which you shall find if you dig down two feet in the ground. Yes, it is true that all of you are living under a curse, because we are deciding in our Starlords Council whether or not life on earth is to be extinguished.

`For those who don’t appreciate the legal technicalities, let me explain. All of those who are parties to this proceeding have acknowledged that there is a Prophetic Principle which was intended to lead the social development of the earth. The differences among these parties do not concern the Starlords’ Council. There have been repeated observations of this Prophetic Principle, and if earthlings would have been attentive to the information gleaned from any one of these sightings,they would by now be living in peace, pledging their allegiances to each other across the whole planet, and cultivating a culture of peace.
       Unfortunately,  this is not what we see.

          We do not see a significantcommitment to the ‘I-&-I’ – it is always the little ‘I’ who is Number One. Your true faith is expressed in the saying, ‘theDevil take the hindmost.’ I appreciate your consideration inleaving something to me, but I would have you appreciate that it isthe way of a Devil to insist on having the foremost, and allowing everyone else to quarrel over the Hindmost.

Voice from just offstage:

Wait!

(Brecht and the Devil, as well as the actors onstage, turn to the side-curtain, where an Iranian woman in a green headscarf comes onstage. Bright shafts of light shining upward over her shoulders give the impression of wings.)

Aramaiti

We, who are the Seven imprisoned Amesha Spentas, plead for the case of the Earth. We have witnessed that the Wise Lord has indeed cast His glory on earth, and the answer to our witness was imprisonment. But we believe that this was the work of evil sorcerers who used illusion and prejudice to blind the eyes of the people. And yet we can see, that even though the truth of the Wise Lord has been kept from them, the people of the earth are feeling the warmth in their hearts. More and more, they are affirming the truth of the I-&-I. We pray to the Starlords Council, grant our petition that Earth should be judged by the hearts of the people, rather than by the foul designs of those who are presently asserting leadership. We further ask that the people be released from liability for the false schemes of our leaders, and that those who have signed contracts with Devils be restrained from using the peoples’ resources to finance their legal defense.

(All of the actors on the stage turn toward her, and respond in antiphon:)

Chorus:

We turn to The Mother and see:
The fires of our rebellion
Are the birth-pangs of a world striving to be.
The mirror of Black Obsidian is not perfect
Within, we see the reflected image
Of a planet that is seeking to be.

We briefly see the mirror of black obsidian standing in the center of the stage. Then it becomes obscured by the smoke which darkens the stage. All about, we hear the horrible howling of those who are being sacrificed to the Gods.

The Only Gardens Left

Paranoid Alien Radio

Hello out there on the Staked Plain, This is Paranoid Alien Radio, broadcasting on 1519 killing hurts.

There was a day not long ago when we could kneel within the Sacred Grove, acknowledging that all that is of flesh was born to die. This was not so terribly disturbing, because we had visions that told us, that when we left our flesh to be eaten by the creatures of the earth, we’d walk across the Milky Way, and witness wondrous things.

But then  there came a day when Babylon put in a logging road.  We looked down from the trees at the bulldozers, and understood the nature of the Beast.  On that day we confronted the Great Silence, in which no signal can be discerned on account of the white noise.  We had to watch as the lumberjacks bound all the trees in rafts, and raised up their great monument to Nebuchadnezzar.

The only gardens that  now are left are the ones which hang from planters in the apartment windows of Babylon's kept women.

]

Casual Reflection #51.

Wall Street Brokers

Exchange disguises;

Breaking and entering,

Burglars plunder our sanity.   

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Victims of the Corsican Method

Victims of the Corsican Method

June 26, 2008

Of course, as we have always understood, the Last Judgement is little more than a fairy tale. The way that the preachers depict it, it hardly could be interpreted as anything else.

But we were never promised sound effects and panoramic light shows. What we were promised was that Justice would be made manifest, and that as the Abusers were made to atone for the disorders they had created, the Earth would be renewed.

Cosmic Initiation

There is one more detail Michelangelo left out of the picture. As far as we can look back into history, the Rational Soul of the Earth has been immature. We really are only beginning to take any interest in looking beyond ourselves. The morality tales recounted in our old religious texts are childish, because the people to whom they first told were in a childish state.




But no matter how tenaciously we try to hold on to our childhood, the time must come, when we must put aside our childish me-first-ism so that we can become citizens within a functional republic.


Perhaps the same is true for the inhabitants of planets. Reason informs us that many other planets in the universe must have developed intelligent life. In the past this has been obscured by the fact that space and time bend around a gravitational object the size of a solar system, in such a way that all animal life is effectively fenced in.


An age must come when the rational souls inhabiting a primitive planet must go beyond being fenced in by our animal consciousness. As we come to accept that Humanity is an Intelligence, we also must come to accept that there are other Intelligences out there, with whom we shall need to learn how to reason. This does not mean that interstellar commerce shall commence at any time soon. The Collective Intelligence of this Star of Suffering is only beginning to study the laws of civics that can only be taught through participation in republican government. Because we have been tardy in learning these lessons, we are spiritually sick and in quarantine.

The Downgoing of Western Civilization

Society:

A State of Collective Sin.

We are all part of the plot.

The downgoing of a civilization is part of an inevitable cycle. At this juncture Faith, if she is to lead humanity forth from the point at which the latest version of Babylon has dumped her, must rigorously examine all of the core assumptions of the old system.


The fundamental characteristic which has been observed in all of the Babylons which have dominated the ages of Ares and Pisces, is that they have dismembered humanity. The Babylonian Order is based on the Corsican Method of classifying mankind and then discriminating according to these classes. So long as mankind is driven by leaders who follow the Corsican Method, it shall be only the few who dare everything for spiritual vision, who can afford to develop empathy for the whole of Humanity.

Quarantined, on the Star of Suffering

The Native healer will warn you about the spiritual disease which prevails on this Star of Suffering. On the one hand we have ascetics in the caves, who are trying to numb themselves by shocking their physical bodies through various privations. Their rather ineffectual piety is balanced by the ruthlessness of a class of spoiled tyrants. Once in awhile, the ascetics are able to needle the tyrants into rising from their slumber of depravity, to accomplish moments of greatness.



These Spoiled Tyrants usually take credit for the technical accomplishments of their particular Babylon, but this is outright intellectual theft. The progress in arts and sciences which is made possible in the pre-Classical days of a Babylon, is due to both the labors and the reflections of a class of skilled workmen.


All this is well and good, so long as the elite retain their ability to act as though they were Gods. Unfortunately, when they find that they must make themselves accountable to a Republic, they begin to challenge the philosophies of the guilds, by imposing time-factored demands for production that reward one-upmanship and punish the natural tendency of workers toward collaboration. It is in this way that labor and technical expertise are divided from philosophy. In partial compensation for the philosophy from which they have been alienated, these laborers and technical experts are given religions which praise them for bearing the heavy yoke of compensating for the sins of their aristocratic masters.

All of this classification results in a colossus which would be crippled if it were not sustained by two “inferior” classes: those who must labor in the fields, and those who must labor in the bedroom so that the masters may take pleasure, and the master-race may be sustained. These are the two legs on which Babylon walks – what Arnold Toynbee once referred to as the “External” and “Internal” Proletariats.

Eventually, both the women and the undocumented aliens begin to get wise to the swindle. They know that their tears are not felt by the Masters of Babylon, because the Master-Race does not believe that either women or barbarians have souls. So, just to prove that they do have souls, the women and the barbarians begin to conspire to bring back the God or Goddess of Justice from the World of Inferior Things.

“How Long My Lord, How Long?” the women in the catacombs begin singing. The sky responds with lightning which threatens the Emperor of the Celestial Kingdom, as the External Proletariat responds in refrain from the fields:

“Paint your door and take refuge in Zion!”

Imprisoned In Broca's Brain

This division of the body politic was mirrored in the virtual division of the body. The philosophy of Babylon valued the head as gold and the heart as silver. The flesh of the rest of the body was considered to have been cast from baser metals. It was only after a man had extinguished all of his carnal feelings, that he could dare to contemplate The One, where every little consciousness is rooted in the Atman.

Paradoxically, this over-valuation of “The Head” locked consciousness up in one particular part of the brain – Broca’s Brain, the site of our neurolinguistic processing. This led men to ignoring the essential importance of the Central Processing Unit – the Hippocampus, which has the power to make decisions by shifting between different frequencies of input. Thus the significance of Socratic philosophy, which reminds us that we must develop a guardian-mind that is capable of making uncomfortable ethical decisions, if we are to have the kind of thought that can keep a republic alive.


So long as we divide mankind into categories of citizens, slaves, and enemies, the ghosts of those victims whom our social enterprises have killed shall not have access to the ivory tower where Conscience, beautiful but chained, languishes as she waits for the next rape. It is her shame, but some of those rapes have caused her to give birth to the monstrous creatures who threaten the travelers and peasants on the plains down below.


We can ask where Love has gone, but until we listen to the complaints of Conscience, we shall never know. Just what has happened to the children of the single mother who had to go on welfare, because her business was shut down for legal technicalities? These children also ask where love has gone, and no one gives them any satisfactory answer.



Amelia and The White Whale

Amelia & The

White Whale

Photo from Wikipedia Commons

Apr. 7, 2006

Grandmother has been down there, under the Pacific Ocean for too long. She was last seen taking off in her Lockheed Electra from the colonial era airport in Lae, New Guinea. It was 10:00 in the morning in the South Pacific, but midnight at the Greenwich Meridian.

Over the Blue Pacific

“My children, let me tell you a story,” smiles Grandmother, with a mischievous gleam in her eye. "We have all dreamed of being Amelia Earhart, having our own airplanes, flying into France and sending regards by telegraph to our husbands. We have all wanted to feel we had only the sky for a limit. But then look at the woman who carried our dreams, and see where that dream led her.

“We're flying across the Pacific, looking down to the south on the Australian coral reef. Unfortunately, these savage reefs demarcate the end of friendly territory. To the north and east lie the Philippines; well on the way to North America lie the Hawaiian Isles. Ahead lie the Solomon Islands, under the Japanese flag¹¹.

“It was at this point, the world lost track of Mrs. Amelia Earhart Putnam. During the star-dying time, just before dawn July 2, the Coast Guard Cutter Itasca picked up her radio signals. There were apparently, problems in the radio and navigational equipment. It appears that she was transmitting, but that she was unable to receive with sufficient clarity to distinguish words from static. And so, at about 10:00 AM local time on July 2, 1937, if she had crossed the International Date Line, and July 3 if she had not, Amelia Earhart disappeared from history, flew into the World of Uncertainty, and entered the Domain of Mythology.

“Forever, my children, shall strange tales be told. Amelia Earhart was carrying the dreams of all the women of the world – so perhaps it would have been anticlimactic if her round the world tour had ended successfully with a safe landing in California.

“Although her navigator was using directional finding radio, Amelia loved to navigate by the stars. As she and Fred Noonan flew across the broad Pacific through the afternoon and into the night, she may have noticed that the constellations had become marvelous and strange.

Radio signals believed to have come from her airplane were reported for 4 or 5 days. Some of these signals were identified as coming from Gardner Island in the Phoenix Archipeligo. But even after the most expensive search and rescue operation that had been launched to date, involving the United States navy, the private efforts of her wealthy husband, and even two Japanese warships, no trace of either Ms. Earhart or her navigator were ever discovered.

The Quantum World of Frational Probability

“Like the peace the world longed for but could not keep, she simply disappeared from space-time. But it wasn’t as though she stopped existing. Amelia Earhart had entered the realm of mythology, and was subsequently seen in at least 100 different places.

One Amelia Earhart had been an American spy with a personal commission from FDR. She had been captured by the Japanese, and forced to broadcast propaganda over the radio as Tokyo Rose. Another Amelia Earhart had refused to cooperate – certain inhabitants on the Marshall Islands saw a Japanese platoon shoot her. It’s possible that more than one Amelia Earhart died in this way – but the general opinion of the authorities seems to be that these testimonials really amount to cargo cult rituals, and that their private intent is to convince Grandma to bless the particular island with gifts of American money.”

Grandmother smiles at us with a particular gleam in her eye, which makes it apparent that she enjoys the incense and the roast pigs that are offered to her by Melanesian islanders who are participating in cargo cult rituals.

“In any case,” Grandmother continues at length, “after the Japanese signed their treaty of unconditional surrender on the Battleship Missouri, George Putnam and several other investigators conducted an extensive examination of Japanese military documents, but no mention was ever found of either a spy or a prisoner who might have been Ms. Earhart.²

“It’s also possible that she and Fred Noonan may have survived for as long as 2 or 3 years on Gardner Island. There are curious implements that have been discovered on an island that was then uninhabited. The only theory that hasn’t yet been aired is that she and Fred were captured and hauled off into Deep Space by the Grey Aliens – but I suspect a detailed explanation on how that happened shall soon be posted on the Internet.

And so, if we want to find Amelia Earhart today, we’ve got to realize that she is alive and well in the Land of Mythology.”

a=a

Encounter With John From

Which version of the Archetype do we want to pursue? The search for Amelia Earhart still continues; more and more money is poured into the quest for some genuine relic every year. These extensive searches produce just enough in the way of results to tease, but not enough to allow us to draw any solid conclusions.

The gentleman named John From is sitting in front of a tropical hut – brown skinned, nearly naked, and smoking a big cigar. He seems to be mildly amused by the folks who have come to dig for artifacts and bones.

“I cannot tell you what happened to her bones. Do you know where Moses is buried? If you want to get in touch with her spirit we can help you. But then – since you have obviously come here with money, if you want us to share the wisdom which is our wealth, you must share a little bit of your money with the people of the islands.”

As he speaks, a parade of women in grass skirts comes by, followed by men who are pounding on drums and a singer who chants in New Zealand English:

"Let us have done with the White Man's God --

(Harrum. Are we going to harmonize? Let's hear it.)

Hummm: Let us have done, have done with the White Man's God

For He is a mechanical insect

Flying in the sky just ten feet overhead:

Let us have done. Let us have done. And we

Are done with the Japanese and Korean and Taiwanese God-squads too.

̧  ̧

Where Have the Stars Hidden?

“Where then have the stars hidden?” asks John From. “And where shall we find the rose?"

Casual reflection #5.

When unleashed paranoias gird on the sword for mighty conquest -- where have the stars hidden? Gone with the Maid of the Sun and Moon, who cowers from the lust of a dragon. Red dragon or White, Communist or Right Wing -- he may take any name, so long as it serves his intention of burning the witch. We know him well, who've read the scroll that was smuggled from the concentration camp on Patmos.

He may be an angel of light -- or even your friendly neighborhood psychiatrist. No problem, so long as you swear to serve Oedipus Tyrannis, and his God of Scarcity.. But if you are one of those dreadful Presbyterians, tarring and feathering the torries, the friendly neighborhood psychiatrist can go you one better. It seems he's got the Lightning on his side.

Well, nowadays there's a nasty little African kid who’s got a choke-hold on the psychiatric profession. Says that his name is Chango, and that he's the owner of all of the lightning on earth. Says that when the psychiatrist's buddy, Mr. Neurosurgeon, used that lightning to burn peoples' brains, that he was acting in contempt of the Nuremberg Court. Says that he has heard the cry of the sunken Atlantaen women, from Buenos Aires all the way north to Montreal. They're all demanding that Mr. Psychiatrist take some courses on ethics from Madame Erzulae, the Haitian Venus.

So Mr. Psychiatrist finds himself taking a trip down to Haiti, where he shall see the Arawak spirits flying through the trees. He shall tremble to hear all these Arawak spirits cry out:

You need not keep shocking the Zombie! You burned out his briain already!

Then:

Mr. Psychiatrist looks on Madame Er­zulae, dressed only in a skirt of green palm leaves, with cowries round her neck and nut-brown breasts looking like sea animals sacred to the Gods. All of his good white-supremacist conditioning can't keep Mr. Neurosurgeon from lusting for this creature. But she just stands there, contemplates him with a scowl, lights up a fat cigar and blows smoke in his face, saying:

"I heard you calling me a witch-doctor, but you know something, Mr? I am going to call you Mr. Mountebank, cause I can see right through you. You just won't listen to what any other culture has to say, excepting your own."

As we have observed, Madame Erzulae has a black eye. And listen: now she is explaining to the good doctor just how she acquired that black eye:

"So many of my ladies have been lost in action. They have died for the sake of the struggle to bring just a little of the Motherland into existence here on earth. Most men have treated them basely, save for a few who were shot down when they joined my ladies in flying after those distant stars."

1 ¹

Miss Earhart and Fred Noonan had taken off from Miami, Fla. on June 1, 1937. On July 2, an SOS reached the Coast Guard Cutter Itaska, waiting off the coast of Howland Island. "On July 7, 1937, just five days after Amelia Earhart was scheduled to arrive at Howland Island, Japanese and Chinese troops exchanged fire at the Marco Polo Bridge southwest of Peking. A truce was attempted, but the encounter escalated into a Japanese counterattack. --p. 119, Loomis, Vincent V., Amelia Earhart, the Final Story. New York, Random House, 1985

2

  Wehave heard other stories. As rumor goes, a plane with her identification number was found at the end of the Melanesian Nightmare, and burned on orders given by the American high command. A grim enough reminder how the serene Pacific was politically divided. Perhaps indeed, she may have been caught up in the strange paranoias of men who dreamed only of conquest, and was taken for a spy simply because she refused to be the agent of anyone’s political program.

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