Another Old Soldier Has Faded

Another Old Soldier Has Faded

Nov. 25, 2016 – Fidel Castro is dead

    This evening, over Havana State Television, Raoul Castro announced the death of his brother. No details were given, but for the past several years Fidel  has been a fading soldier.

    But Fidel Castro is the sort of Old Soldier who shall fade into a butterfly. Since the Dialectic has increased the acceptance of Earth-Peoples’ medicine cults, the Cuban people have been looking for new saints. We should wonder whether the sod shall have time to settle properly over the Old Soldiers’ grave before St. Fidel begins to take his place beside St. Che. They shall become the photographs that sit in gilded frames upon the altars where voodoo candles are burned.

    Perhaps we shall need new saints to lead us to the New Civilization. After all, when we were struggling through the Piscean trenches, we discovered that the Old Gods had betrayed us.

    It is no doubt in this way, through the private devotion of the people, that the new civilization shall take form. The old civilization has become a machine without a ghost to move it. As a result, it has become, like the bulldozer which killed Rachel Corrie, an oversized mechanism controlled by a small clique of men who are indifferent to the effect that their actions will have on the world in the long run. Meanwhile the children who grow up will be the ones who have survived because they have become street-wise. They shall grow up mistrusting the old saints and the old gods, because they can see the ways that the Old World Order these Gods have sustained has betrayed them.

    “Our problem,” intrudes Renata, “is that we have been brought up in a system that has got everything reversed. Therefore we think we must create a new civilization, but really, when we look through a window of Higher Reality, we discover that this new civilization has already been created, through the fiat of the spirit. The problem, the thing that shakes us all up, is that we grow up thinking that what we have been taught in school is civilization. We feel the stirring of something new but we cannot trust it, because the jealousy of the old civilization is holding us in thrall.”

How the Franks Secularized the Qoran

    “I must confess for myself,” laments Renata, “that for a long time I was so enamored of Western Civilization that the Indian within me had become mummified. Then I began to remember my days in Arago, the very soil that gave birth to this much vaunted civilization. When I was there I could see, that just as the Spaniards built their churches over our sacred places whenever they could, so in Arago, there is often a Moorish foundation beneath the cathedral.1

    “As I investigated I came to realize, our Western Civilization is really a secularization of the teachings that are found in the Qoran. The frostbite of fanaticism has nipped the growth of these teachings in the Islamic homeland, whereas secularism gives every philosophy an opportunity, and enables the triumph of those philosophies which are the soundest.

    “Nevertheless, at the very moment of its foundation, Western Civilization was alienated from its roots. They even turned their Jesus into a blond haired Visigoth, even though the historical Easeua looked like an Egyptian and spoke a northwestern dialect of Arabic. But now that I am in touch with my Indian heritage I can be free of all that. I can leave the debate between los moros y los cristianos behind, now that I have discovered that we Natives had our own prophetic traditions, that give us advice that is much more in tune with the truths that we need if we are to return from the dead.”

    “It is likely,” observes Thieu, “that the liberation of individualized spirituality, which recognizes the sacred in those things that give life to the earth, and to ourselves, may in the end be seen as the highest accomplishment of the Cuban Revolution. It is even possible that in a future version of the Cuban Santa Maria, St. Fidel shall be the son of Santa Barbara, while St. Che becomes one of the faces of the Crossroads God. But in the meantime, each of us must strive to approach the enlightenment of the Buddha, because it is only when we are striving for enlightenment that the inclination towards virtue has any resiliance.”

    “How does one create a civilization? That might be a very nice mantra,” Ananda smiles. “That is the secret of the Buddha. It seems rather strange to reflect, that when Americans were living in the fool’s paradise of the ‘50's, the poets who were in touch with the spirit could only sing of despair, and of the meaninglesness of the times. Surely this would not have been the case, had the essential spirit of the ‘50's not been betraying the core values that must be adhered to if we are to have sustainable growth.”

    “So now that things are collapsing about us,” shrugs Thieu, “we should have happier visions, and arts that shall teach us to sing a happier tune? That is so absurd that I believe it.”

notes: (1)

The Moorish foundations of Western Civilization are examined in Henri Briffault, The Troubadours, 1948.

(2)  Illustration: By Jacquelinekato (Own work) [CC BY-SA 4.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

Turning Off the Robot

Turning Off the Robot

Mar 27, 2016

“It is possible to turn off the Robot,” advances Anandaⁱ. “He may have been programmed to carry a message from the Star-Lords, but he was made in a Japanese factory, and he can be turned on and off by anyone who is acquainted with the fundamentals of Japanese nano-technology.

I, on the other hand, am the Serpent who guards the Tree of Life. Under the influence of the state of consciousness my venom arouses within you, the fruit of the Tree of Life becomes transformed to the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge.

I gained this power because, even when I was a child, the flesh on the rear of my hips became excessively familiar with a cruel serpent. That serpent was a big black belt which only came to life in order to leave the impression of the buckle on my tender skin. It got even worse as I developed into an attractive and rebellious teenager. I came to remember the few days when I did not get whipped as very good days indeed.

The recurrence of that big whipping that would overwhelm all of my feelings was one of the few things I could count on, and the fear had a hypnotic effect. Indeed, I can say that the need for another whipping came alive within me, almost as if the moral code had inserted a little robot in my tailbone that would cause my poor bare derriere to once more become the target of a sadistic beating.

I believe that in modern psychology this sort of intrusive robot has a descriptive name. It is called a Super-Ego. The Super-Ego is put there to punish us, whenever it feels that we are stepping over the line. The problem is that, for the most part, the Super Ego has been programmed by so-called authorities who lived long ago, and whose voices are difficult to correct. I, for one, have now accepted that it is my destiny to keep getting whipped, because the whippings awaken my understanding of which voices cannot be trusted.

Robot

You still haven’t answered my question. What do you think when you hear me pronounce the phrase, “Moral Communism?”

If you are to diagnose and treat the present collective malady, shall it not be necessary to examine the abortive experiments of the 20^th Century, so that you can learn from them? Does not your perplexity in this regard come about because you persist in perceiving bourgeoisie oligarchy and the committee despotism of the revolutionary proletariats as opposing systems. But in either condition, a conspiracy has succeeded in hijacking the governance of the whole on false pretenses.^.

So should you not have the sense to realize, that both of these conditions are symptoms of a disintegrating society? Have not both states come about because the cultural vanguard either failed or was prevented from providing the people with real moral leadership and a sence of collective purpose?

Priestess in Ionic Chiton

The sun gives off light, but the clouds diffuse that sunlight.

The Goddess has returned from the Underworld, but no one can see her face.

You say that you believe in Liberation –

Why is it then, you’re working us to death?

Can it be that the right to build a culture

Needs to be won through a war?

To win we have got to defend

The beaten, the bedraggled, the ones nobody wants

The ones who shall rise with The Goddess

Because they’ve been cursed by the Gods.

Rasputin

There is a lesson the Russian people now are beginning to learn. Right now they are being batted back and forth between the old-line Communists and that party of former Communists who went capitalist after they found out that they could make money.

Both the Communists and the Capitalists imagine that one can assert cultural leadership through control of, for example, the media outlets and the press. This is a dangerous illusion. This sort of censorship simply results in a situation within which the People have become blind to their own visions. Nevertheless, even though they have been blinded, they shall still struggle towards the direction in which they believe the vision to lie.

The true cultural leadership of Russia today shall come from the great grandchildren of those whom the Stalinist Soviet tried to crush through imprisonment or exile. It has always been the Martyrs who have been most dear to the heart and soul of Mother Russia, and it shall be to the children of yesterday’s martyrs, to whom Mother Russia must turn in her time of trial.

Olyantay the Inca Prince

How shall you ever succeed

In negotiating for the People

Unless you have a cultural perspective

To bring to the bargaining table?

Robot

Moral Communism is the logical next step after you have discovered that the State has stolen its powers.

Moral Communism is a thing set apart from such things as universal health care or universal education. Communist nations tend to score highly here, but the surviving socialist monarchies of Europe seem to be doing even better.

To digress for a moment, the success of these socialist monarchies would tend to suggest a new perspective. Their success has been due to a successful balancing of class interests, to such a degree that innovation and cultue building were encouraged while crude greed was regulated and taxed. But unfortunately, as the means of production and the resources of the world become integrated into trans-national meta-systems, the need arises for new patterns of checks and balances.

Hermes Trismagistuis

Remember that a Revolution

Is only the initial stage

In the process of social transmutation.

Priestess in Ionic Chiton

Before we go slaying the King and Queen

Let us bind up and interrogate

The Old Super-Ego

Because he is always betraying us

To the Colonialist State.

I remember all too well how he got me:

“Spare the rod and spoil the child,”

The missionaries taught all our mothers.

I remember that snake all too well:

Bending over, being hurt too much,

Learning to frame my life between episodes of chastisement:

This is how a Super-Ego is programmed.

Between pain that one cannot endure and the near certainty

The thrashing will come back tomorrow

The Reptile within the spine becomes awakened,

And programmed like a robot to bite us

Whenever we get out of line.

The Amazonian Tribes

When did this great Super-Ego who, in his various aspects, dictates the conscience of Europe, ever raise a significant concern about the fact that we are being threatened with extinction?

i Aside from actual historical characters, individuals mentioned in this blog are not actual persons, but rather characterizations representing sub-types of the intellectual species.

The Reason for Lent: Part 2

The Books of St. Paul's Jihad

Mar. 6, 2016

      “According to St. Paul’s manual of arms,” Thieu impresses upon me, “we fight not flesh and blood, but Powers and Principalities -- the hosts of a Quipothic realm.

      “In fact – forgive me for my impertinence, but I have a feeling that Henry Demonford is speaking through me. He is telling me that these Powers and Principalities, which we call nations, cartels, and corporations, are truly great demons who thrive by driving us to commit those boundary violations through which our sense of humanity becomes humiliated and debased.

      “Does not your Christian Augustine inform us, that most of the Gods who were worshiped by the pagan Romans were once men or women who gained such renown that, just like Henry here, they came to represent the same virtues for which they came to be remembered? And in the same way, were not these corporations which have become the godlike demons of our modern world, once simply the idea of a person or a small group of persons, whose bodies have now become ashes and wormfood, but whose economic engine has attained to a state of virtual immortality?

      “There is one thing more, I feel that Henry wishes to remind me of the reason for the season. Lent is a time to remember those who did not survive the winter. In the olden days, when social services such as we have now were non-existent it was more common – but even now, there are many who find the dark days oppressive and the rigors of the winter too extreme. And so even now, we shall find reason to pause in remembrance of those who did not live through the winter.

      “But now I feel, that Henry is admonishing me. He is telling me that we should not mourn them – it is far more accurate to say that they mourn us, because they see us committing the same mistakes of which they have now repented. They want to be remembered, not because they still need us but rather, because when we remember them, they shall be able to lead us, so that we can be more free and can avoid some of the pitfalls which they fell into when they were alive on this earth.”

The Architecture of Belief

Are we not in the suburbs of St. Augustine’s City? When we look about us, do we not perceive the architecture of both Heaven and Hell? Heaven perceives in outworn Gods, a mirror of those sicknesses which have corrupted the people. But then, instead of chaining these demons in ways that compel them to heal their victims, the architecture of Hell shall force the soul to wear the concrete boots of dogma, and thus imprison the new vision in a prison of unyielding stone.

      Here is the church. Here is the steeple. Here is an ideological superstructure designed to impede progress and confine your spiritual experience to the world of names and attributes only.

      Religions have been born from the dreams of those whose flesh has now become ashes and wormfood. It is said that their souls have ascended into the empyrean Realm, and they are therefore called Malakutis.

      We contemplate the architecture of Hell. Hell is rooted in the flames of our rebellion, those flags of treason raised by our own jealousy against our Creator. We are empowered to represent God, as servants of the Creative Will. But unfortunately, the Brother who’s drunk on Crude Oil cannot be satisfied with the role of a servant.
      Those who are drunken on Wormwood shall try with all their might and main, to construct an ideological or economic machine which can become everyone’s master, and walk like a God on the earth.

      We have seen how, on account of the reluctance of normal men to rob the sanctuaries, the temples of the Old Gods have become the centres of the banking system. The Old Gods of Rome became imprisoned with the golden ingots stored within the sanctified vaults of their temples. Men of discernment had long ago lost faith in these Gods. But the Old Faith could not be allowed to die, because if the temples of the Old Gods became deserted, the banking system also would collapse.

The Reason for Lent

March 6, 2016

      It used to be said that the Sun never sets on the British Empire. Today, that Empire has been humbled and transformed into a Commonwealth. While that Commonwealth has been struggling to acknowledge its debt to non-European sources, the great ideal of a world that would be governed by Fair Play has been replaced by a Chaosium in which strange things fall from the clouds and winged mechanical drones home in from the skies to kill people who are celebrating their weddings.

      The day is sunny and on the lower elevations, wildflowers are beginning to blossom. Nevertheless, at these higher altitudes, patches and even expanses of snow remain on the ground.

      Thieu and I are driving out to place flowers on the memorial to Henry Demonford which has been erected over his grave.

      All about the cemetery, it is snowy. It is only the naked stones that rise up to proclaim that here lie creatures who once used to be called human beings. These stones, indeed, proclaim the destined end of all our mortal striving.

      The chill and melancholy wind reminds us that there was nevertheless a profound rationale driving the aspirations of those of us who came to maturity during those fateful years of the 20^th Century. The chill that hangs in the atmosphere today reminds us that if we committed ourselves to act in foolish ways, there was nevertheless a purity of motive which is today becoming increasingly obscured under the residues of post-traumatic compulsions.

      There was a time, only a few decades ago, when most of us had great hopes. We saw, quite briefly, a vision of the sun – but then the world became tormented by the spectre of a cruel shadow which is eager to impose compulsions, and which is intent on the extermination of any cultural influence which questions the all too superficial dogmas of its self-appointed leaders.

      We, who had wanted to believe that the women among us were sweet angels, whose breasts swelled only with the milk of human kindness, were to learn that this is not true either. Weary of suffering for our causes, these women began to make little deals with the Other Side. As we discovered, the Cruel God whom we had allowed to claim Heaven had left a cruel shadow here on earth.

      That cruel shadow took the form of an economic incentive which pitted men and women against each other on the stage of a Theater of Cruelty. Nevertheless, I did not have the sense to save my life, and found myself falling in love with these women.

The Ground About the Tomb

Henry’s tomb is marked by an angel who is pouring out an amphora. At the angel’s feet, a plaque is inscribed:

It’s not the power of guns and bombs
But the grace which can heal the wounded heart Which shall finally conquer all

    Thieu and I leave flowers on the grave, and say a little prayer for the departed. And I find myself wondering why it is only we, the old soldiers who have managed to keep none of the commandments, who can see through the web of deception the social neurosis has woven.

      Can it be that our whole society is highballing down the main line to Satanhood, and that one can only recognize this after one has made a personal decision to leap from the train that is carrying everyone down to destruction?

      I now begin to understand, just why the sickness of the world is so distressing. The choice between heaven and hell belongs to those of us who have died and returned to the earth. When first we grasped this truth, we strove with might and mein to move the world. We pledged ourselves eternally to some social ideal, even though we remained in denial concerning the hubris and the power-lust which hide beneath the cross of the Crusader.

        In the world of Eternal Recurrence, Lancelot falls once again from his horse. He grasps then what it was he loved and then betrayed. He's looked up into heaven, seen Valkyries descending. In polite society, he'll speak of them as angels. He begs them for mercy, forgiveness and healing; they remain in heaven, teasing him all the way as he hobbles along into town. From the depths of his heart he cries out. If it he could renounce everything, would angels please release him from this world?

      And the Valkyries laugh. "You ask us why your world is chiseled from the essence of pain? You ask us why your love has been unwise? Look then to find a lady writhing on a stake. And the man who has judged she should burn -- he thought he had self-mastery, but why this fatal flaw? Return to the world in our service -- redeem her from this jealousy which turns every prophecy false."

      He rides then into town, beholds the lady burning as a witch. It's then he knows the cause of foolish love. We love, because the pain of love sustains the soul against all baser fires. And the soul rapine has shattered may only survive by throwing itself to the flame.

Reflections of Henry Demonford

Reflections of Henry Demonford

Nov. 9, 2014

Devious Secret Agent Wakes from a Dream of St. Augustine

 

“I am beginning to realize,” reflects Henry Demonford, as he nervously adjusts the IV needle in his vein, “that what has been going on through all of this century – we thought we had killed the Cave Bear. But this Cave Bear has survived, feeding on the same trash that we left when we were committing our genocides. In fact, since God is the totalization of everything that we have killed, the Cave Bear gets bigger and more threatening with every act of colonialist exploitation the nation commits. That is why, in spite of all of our efforts to torture him into submission, the Cave Bear keeps coming out of the Third-World forests, to chew on our civilized conscience.”

Grizzly Bear

I had not intended to go the way of the Cave Bear. It had been my belief that I lived on a better continent, under a happier sky.

Henry Demonford:

      “Why is it that it is only ourselves, the Old Soldiers who have not been able to keep any of the Commandments, who are able to see through the web of lies and deception that is woven by the Social Neurosis? Indeed, it is only now, now that I am finding myself almost at the end of this life, that I am beginning to understand, that God is actually the immense burden of obligation we have taken on, as a result of the things we have killed.ⁱ

      “It is only now, now that I wake up struggling to adjust to the effects of chemotherapy, that I am beginning to appreciate the sickness of the world, and see why it is so distressing. The world is sick, but it is only a few of us who have been shocked deeply enough to realize just how sick it is.

      “We, who have been thrown into confusion, have been sick with the sickness of the world. We have been right there for the money when the demons insisted on signing their contracts in blood. The fact that we have become post-traumatic implies that we do have a choice. The reason we are post-traumatic is that the demons really are tearing us apart, because they sense that we are reneging on those Satanic contracts by which we had been bound.

       Why is if that if is only we, the old soldiers who have managed to keep none of the commandments, who can see through the web of deception the social neurosis weaves? Can if be, one sees the design of the devil only after one has turned back oneself from a road that is leading to Satanhood?

      “This is why the choice between Heaven and Hell belongs to those of us who find that we are being torn apart by the Cave Bear. When we realize that, through our struggles with this Cave Bear, we have actually died and come back, we discover also, that when we had been immersed in the imperialistic machinations into which our societies had thrust us, we had been on the road to Satanhood.

      We then came to recognize, that if we valued the soul that we had been taught to cherish above all things, that we would need to turn back. What I am now also beginning to perceive, is that one can only perceive the design of the Devil, after one has become enmeshed within it. Those who have never made deals with the Devil are usually naive, and do not recognize the snake who is moving beneath the rustling leaves. They can continue to be innocent, because their souls have never been in danger. We, on the other hand, who are threatened by powers of demons if we should ever repent – we are the ones who have the power to change the world, but only if we learn to love our souls more than we love our own flesh.

      “But we can do this, because we have always been fighters. This is not the first time we have been threatened by creatures whose intent has been to tear us apart. The only difference is that now, if we are fighting for the preservation of our souls, we can feel resigned to the fact that our bodies are expendable.

      “This is the realization that caused Sir Lancelot to fall from his high horse, and this is the reason why you see so many old warriors begging by the side of the road.”

Jan 2, 2014
Meanwhile, back in Southeast Asia, Hun Sen is suffering from the Casey Jones syndrome. He can't let go of the throttle.



Cambodia surpresses textile workers

(video courtesy, al-Jazeera and I love Cambodia Hot News)

Post by I Love Cambodia Hot News.

Their Word for Money is “Louie”

There was a graciousness in the manners of the people, in the flow of the skirts of the women, and in the layout of the spread, which made me rather painfully aware that I was witnessing the living remnant of one of those shang-ri-la’s which had been desecrated by the financial machine of the Bonapartists, before being sacrificed on the altar of Holocaust to the political passions of the 20^th Century. I suppose that it is no accident that, in the Khmer language, the word for money is “Louie.”

“It is only through prosecuting our genocide trial, and by making the world aware of the damage which your competing spheres of influence have inflicted on Cambodia,” explains Tran, “that we can finally bring the long history of genocide, witch burning, and religious persecution to a halt. Sam Rainsy stands before all sentient beings as a witness to the Truth of the Buddha. Sooner or later, we shall find that it is our destiny to either help each other live or help each other die. We, who have seen what can happen when a nation loses faith in life, must stand up and testify to the light, because we have seen that the alternative is terrible.”

The Tigers & Wolves Resist Justice

“We know that the leaders shall resist, blackmail each other and raise up false prophets against us, but eventually, it shall be obvious that we shall have peace only when the greatest captains of industry and economics, as well as generals and the party secretaries in China, become accountable for their complicity in anything which leads to genocide. That is your Last Judgement demythologized, and it is the only thing that shall save the little nations and the aboriginal tribes from getting ground up in the machine of “Sphere of Influence” politics.

“If you want to put it that way, the Genocide Tribunal is our Zion, our ‘Never Again!’ We are not doing this to get revenge on China, but when the Chinese are in our country we do expect them to play soccer by the European rules, instead of American football.”

The two men whose wives are still working in the kitchen come out to join us, as we drink beer and enjoy our oriental feast. As I gather from bits of dialogue which are exchanged as we enjoy the repast, another hot issue concerns the manners and morals of Hun Sen, who is the present prime minister. I gather from the drift that, if everything is cricket, Sam Rainsy shall become prime minister, after the election of 2008. The only problem is, that Hun Sen does not know how to play cricket, because he got his training from the Khmer Rouge.

When the Hero Becomes the Tiger

Originally, Hun Sen was a high official for the Khmer Rouge. His Bible was, and is, Mao’s Little Red Book. His awakening of conscience, if conscience had anything to do with it at all, came when Hun Sen realized that certain officials quite close to him had been hauled off to be tortured in Toul Sleng, and that, as soon as their tongues had been loosened, he was going to be next.

Unquestionably, Hun Sen is a hero, who made the hero’s journey instead of submitting to the unthinkable. Hun Sen ended up in Viet Nam, and returned with a dragon to aid him. Unfortunately, Hun Sen is one of those old fashioned heroes with a fatal flaw: he suffers from the Casey Jones syndrome. It is obvious to anyone with engineering experience that the crown plate is dry, but the little red Hun cannot take his hand off the throttle long enough to open the water valve and keep the crown plate wet enough that the boiler will not explode.

Since the Chief Engineer for the Communist Party suffers the Casey Jones syndrome, the most informed observers seem to have serious questions about whether the upcoming election will even adhere to the standards of American football.

Life in a Crude Oil Lagoon

Jan 1, 2013

      Flames were leaping from the parapets, as the the old Crusaders’ Castle burned. The citizens of Aleppo might have been amused, except for one little thing.

      The economic heart of the city operates out of the many shops and bazaars which have grown up in the lower levels of this castle, and in what used to be the castle courtyard. As a result, the bazarris, the leaders of the city’s middle class, have lost their livelihoods.

      It is a disturbing portent. It must be admitted that the approach of the end of a Mayan Cycle which seems to be the equivalent of the Hindu Kali Yuga had filled us with some very fine hopes. But just as so often before, we are beginning to fear that all of these fine hopes shall only pave the way for a profound disillusionment.

The Fall of the Old World Order

     As they watched the old citadel burning, the middle-class citizens became increasingly disillusioned with their government. It might be true, as government spokesmen insisted, that the Crusaders were at it again. In fact a very good argument could be made, that the suicide bombers who had ignited this conflagration had been duped by the CIA. But it was also a fact that until very recently these suicide bombers had been good Syrian citizens. They had been loyal defenders of the marketplace. That is why, when they finally allowed the gnawing feeling that they had been paying their taxes to Satan goad them into action, they were able to strike so effectively.

      We have become accustomed to believing that the world is under some evil spell, and that if only we can kill the right dictator or evil magician, life will become rational again. But this is a way of evading the reality, that our own passions for vengeance are of the of same substance that gives strength to the sinews of that evil spell.

     There is an evil spell – you may call it Taghoot, but that is just another word for Sanctimonious Denial. We have indeed ventured so far into this realm of Great Denial, that we have convinced ourselves that it will take the intervention of some external power – perhaps the Turks, perhaps the Great Satan, perhaps even aliens from outer space, to restore the rule of justice and make things turn out allright.

These Very Pious Hopes

A very pious hope – but are we not ignoring the intervention from which we have been benefitting all along? Of course we are willing to die for our Prophets, to prove ourselves worthy of being in the company of the historical Imams who were their most faithful followers. But can we really blame this war on the Prophets – do we dare ascribe these outbursts of hatred to the Prophets? Can it be the lust of the Prophet which reduces a civilization to minefields and gravel? Or can it be that human leaders have dared to marry their own passions to the Prophet’s name?

Perhaps the nightmare shall go on until we confess that we now have experienced the meaning of the warnings of the Prophet concerning a place where we would have only boiling water for our drink and only pus and gore for our food. Eventually, we shall need to listen to the women who try to tell us through their tears, that Hell is what you get when you try to mix compulsion with religion.

Too Much Crude Oil

There is too much Crude Oil in Arabia, and petrodollars have done nothing to enhance the purity of Islam. What the Crude Oil Brothers have done, is to cover the social diseases of their puppets in the all too familiar white sheets. Just as in Birmingham, Alabama, sadism shall masquerade as orthodoxy. Nevertheless, we must not forget that religious biggots do have souls. The reason they are using religion as a crutch, is because their souls have been withered by the cleft moon of historical trauma.

These fanatics shall end up crying for the women and the children, until at last they shall come to realize that they should have listened. Oh yes, that Crude Oil Currency tasted like honey in the mouth – but what a stomach ache it gives you, when you see the things that currency has bought.

Can it be a coincidence that petrodollars have persuaded the Islamacists to become fanatics who persecute their more reasonable brethren? Maybe these Islamacists should ask Pancho Villa how Bonapartists frack a religion by raising up pious hypocrites who are both infallible and rigid.

The tears of the women shall prevail, when at last, men’s visions of The Compassionate One urge them to peace and reconcilliation. Which is, of course, exactly the thing that the Crude Oil Brothers most fear.

These Crude Oil Brothers are the present incarnations of Aryan Gods who are far more effective than the Iranians in silencing their women. Or at least they were until the Domestic Violence Ladies began to remind the Christian Church that adultery is not a sex act but rather the betrayal of a partnership.

Perhaps it is their shame which prevents the Shiekhs in white sheets from confessing their sins to the congregation, so that a true Islamic Liberation, a Liberation which shall not be founded on religious compulsion, can finally begin. Perhaps the day shall come, when these Islamicists realize that they have been caught in a snare by the Fox, and that they are being manipulated like high school punks by the real out and out gangsters.

Addictive Orthodoxy

Art degraded, imagination denied

War ruled the nations

(Wm. Blake-Laocoon)

Perhaps there shall come a time when these Islamicists shall put away their guns and come to America so that they can witness to the great and powerful just what it is like to live in a place where hatred has unleashed so much brutality that everyone is drinking scalding water. Perhaps they shall someday be able to teach us of an Allah who prefers that we should serve life by helping our brothers and sisters survive. When people choose to fight by committing suicide – there always is a question of just how universal they want that suicide to be.

“Art degraded, imagination denied, War ruled the nations.” Two hundred years ago, William Blake foresaw what we now deny at our peril.

Damascus saw the flowering of the Peacock Screen, and thought the Alchemy was coming to a climax. But when the beautiful vision began to ferment, it turned into a poison which one dare not breathe.

It is a cruel alchemy. Perhaps at one time there were fine hopes which rose like the Peacock’s Tail – but right now the city is burning.

photo By Zyzzzzzy [CC BY 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons