Dog Poet Transmitting.......
May your noses always know when it's time to book.
It's coming. It's definitely on the way. We don't know what it is or what it will look like. We don't know much, that's for sure. We do know more than our leaders however, at least some of us do. Some of us know that the creeps and cretins in (snicker) elected office are full of shit and evil to boot.
When you load the boot image for any one of these clowns, what you see in the text box, instead of text, is a wide ass, superimposed with dancing flames. The ass is speaking, or is it just the sound of the hunger of the flames? You can hear something if you put your ear to the monitor. It's not clear what's being said but it sounds like a cry for help. I would help, if there were a lever somewhere. If there were a lever somewhere, I would pull it to open the trapdoor beneath the dialogue box. I have no lever but I can see, God's head stomper, motorcycle boot; God's big number 16, pulling back, in an exaggerated slow motion warm up, for some kind of coup de gras. I don't know if that's something like foie gras. Come to think of it, John McCain looks a lot like a stuffed duck, who's been force fed a whole lotta something.
The Pasto and the Anti-Pasto are scheduled to meet on the dining fields of The Apocalypse, in the final battle of appetites. Bibs are not just a fashion statement here. Seasoned and savvy participants, knowing the necessities of the venue, as well as the importance of their placement, will mostly be utilizing the Jimmy Choo, Vibrating Butt Plug, endorsed by no less than Lindsey Graham who, “Never leaves home without it”.
It's a rare event at The Apocalypse Cafe; strictly R.S.V.P. Music is provided by Marilyn Manson and the Zionauts who play 'Hava la Gila Monster' over and over again. There's an open bar and all sorts of amenities and, as these sorts of events usually are, it's a costume affair, given that most of the attendees are in camouflage to begin with. Lindsey Graham arrived as J. Edgar Hoover, dressed in a pink tutu and riding on a skateboard, at least that's what he looked like ...but when the reporter from Peephole Magazine asked him about it, he denied the persona and told her that he had come as one of Obama's old white men, from the Man's Country bath house in Chicago. Obama was dressed up in some kind of a full body, lizard suit. When he was asked about his costume, he said he was an African American, velocioraptor. Steven Spielberg gave him the outfit, telling him he was a great front man for the horned one and how he should drop by the underground temple some Saturn-Day night.
McCain, like John Kerry, the two could be called 'John-John' (paranoid schizophrenic, Dead Kennedy's?), is a product of that grand 'Merican tradition of Shake 'n Bake war heroes who, like a slot car, get shuttled into a fast track and then linked up with a fabulously rich heiress, in order to complete the pastiche. It's a kind of 'imitation of life', which I would not call an homage. We find these two turkey buzzards in present time, looking to kill a whole lotta (shakin going on?) Syrians, Iranians and... pretty much whomever the Israelis want dead, which eventually includes them as well. Does it matter if they are mind controlled, due to the implementation of some Tavistock/MK Ultra process, a blackmail scenario or... serious and extended payouts? It doesn't matter to the Syrians, Iranians, video-game drone dead, or numberless others. They don't sit around having philosophical conversations about the motivations of these international criminals; “Habib, what you think? This John's Kerry and McCain. They don't like us or they robots”? They are far more likely to be saying things like, “duck”! Duck again?
Karmically the twin (peaks) Johns are dead ducks, along with the Clintons, the Bush Family, Obama and a huge supporting cast of neo-cons, set in place to manipulate. That's the good news. The bad news is that they're still here, chowing down at The Apocalypse Diner, running their hands up the waitresses skirts, even Hillary's tuned to the moment. There goes Congo-Lisa Rice, whose motto is, “I don't care if they're dead, kill them twice”. She's called Congo-Lisa because it's believed she's an incarnation of the dark side of Nzambi. She's definitely the dark side of something. She needs one of those pianos that The Sultan was playing in 'The Adventures of Baron Munchausen'.
The 'end of the world as we know it', is both terrifically frightening and awesomely exciting at the same time. It's one or the other, depending on your personal level of insecurity and... what you rely on for motivation. If your reliance base is shaky well, you're sure to be shaky too. ♫I'm standing on shaky ground♫ It makes me think of, “shaking with fear” and “trembling with excitement”; temperance and tempering, if seen according to secret tradition (the occult meaning of wrath as it applies to vibration), kinda like, ♫stuck in the middle with you♫ but... not really stuck, as much as sticking to.
Life can sure look different, to different people, in the same circumstances. Well, it keeps the psychologists and other people, with invisible leashes quite busy, leading the blind wherever it is they're headed. I suppose if you can't see the leash then you don't really have one or... you know not what you do? Well that would certainly provide that governmental deniability we've all grown accustomed to.
Ain't nothing like a midnight dinner at The Apocalypse Diner. Some people get real hungry ♫round midnight♫ Some people get 'all kinds' of hungry; hungry for this, hungry for that. It's not just ♫the midnight hour♫ is it? It's a pretty steady hunger that can't be satisfied by anything for long so... you keep moving on, looking and... ♫wishing and hoping♫
The Whistleblower Flu is about to become a pandemic. It only takes the one to show up and say all the right things for so many others to get a clue. It should start to get real interesting shortly, especially once the Assad forces get ♫Homs-ward Bound♫. Will Aleppo fall before the creeps do their thing? Is Rosie O’Donnell about to sing? Man... this is serious Pulp (non) Fiction land.
I look down the boulevard and see Evil limping along. This is what happens when Evil shoots itself in the foot. It makes you wonder about Hamlet, or the cat responsible for it; “There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so”. Then there is “nothing is true, everything is permitted”. It's oft referred to as “The Assassin's Creed” because it was reputed to have first been said by Hassan I Sabbah from whose name the word 'assassin' comes. The crocodile swine, who imagine themselves to be in power and who are presently whooping it up at The Apocalypse Diner and Cafe (by this time they've got waitresses and waiters bent over the table, unless they are bent over the table themselves and being serviced by a tattooed and pierced cyborg), operate off the cheat sheet, Cliff Notes of history, whereby; if it worked back then it will probably work now. They have more sophisticated apparati now. They kill in far greater numbers but... let's face it, there are far greater numbers now, aren't there?
It's a lot easier to kill in greater numbers, when the lost generation of the present, is largely dreaming about getting Google Glass; while thumb-fucking their cellphones as they wait; “Oh Brave New World that has such people in it”. Yet, the same tech that has everyone hypnotized, in a masturbatory excess, is also responsible for cluing them in to happenings up close and at a far distance. The very tools engineered to control them, are responsible for making them aware. This, in tandem with the intensifying pressures of the day, are waking a lot of people up.
No matter how the drama winds and wends its way ...to the final hour, I can hear my water buffalo calling. I can see the gates of The Great Wall, there ...in the mist forming. They have been there all along but obscured, their dimensions blurred by... The Dream Fog. The Dream Fog is lifting. The tendrils can be seen,. as they separate from the whole. The paisley carpet dances and the universe unfolds ...as it should.
The Apocalypse Cafe is rocking in its 'eat, drink and be merry' way. Tomorrow seems a long reach off but... tomorrow is today. Some never learn till it's too late. Some do ...but who can say? What seems to be impossible has now become routine. The sovereign truth gets hidden when the dreaming dead convene ...at the Apocalypse Cafe.
Crank up that player piano and bring another round. Like Tyrion Lannister said, “Staying drunk all the time is not easy. If it was, everyone would do it”. Of course, people limit their capacity for perception, when they presume 'being drunk' refers only to alcohol. People get drunk on all sorts of things and really do manage to stay drunk all the time. Anything that can intoxicate you, can make you drunk ...and that goes for the most rarefied of locales, as well as the most dissolute and seedy. So... be careful what you get drunk on. As you can see by the behavior of those partying down at the Apocalypse Cafe/Diner, not everyone is doing so and they'll know that deep and remorseful state, when some bolt of fortuitous lightning, shocks them sober ...and it will. It will.