My God. What a week, what a month, what a year. My head is spinning. My stomach is right behind it. I do believe I've had about all I can take. I'm overflowing my muffin cups. Feeling out of sorts. Like when you see one of those single lost shoes in the middle of a busy freeway and wonder, "How did that get there? And where's the other shoe? Not to mention the feet that were in them." One lost shoe hopping and flopping in the crosswinds of passing cars, tumbling between the dotted lines, getting run over by every other 18 wheeler and putt-putt kazoo-powered pavement prowling device ever invented.
I'm a bit woozy I guess. Not in a nice way like after a couple of glasses of wine; but in a distracted sort of way where I can't be interested in anything more complex than what goes on inside the four corners of my own little home. Sweet psychopath free home.
You know what it's like? Have you ever dropped a ball of yarn only to watch it quickly unravel all over the place? It leaves behind a tangled mess of knots and snags that take an eternity to attempt to untie, and sometimes it's just not possible to untie it. Sometimes you have to cut it, which of course ruins the perfect smoothness of a multi-hundred yard long single piece of string. It takes ages sitting around patiently de-tangling yard after yard of skinny string which also runs the risk of getting re-tangled again before you're able to stretch and wind it back around and around into a nice smooth ball.
All the time that's wasted redoing what's already been done; time that could have would have should have been being spent creating something new and necessary and wonderful and useful. But no. Instead of that, you have to sit and de-tangle, snip and reconnect ends that wouldn't un-knot, and watch the pretty perfection of nice, new clean yarn degrade into a messed up, cut up 2nd hand skein, at best.
Imagine if you will, every ball and skein of yarn in the whole wide world all spontaneously unraveling at lightening speed. Rolling and tumbling, spinning and spewing thousands upon thousands of yards and miles of string everywhere all about in enormous tangled heaps and piles. Now add every single spool of thread in every home, fashion house, fabric store, storage building, shipping warehouse, manufacturing plant, cargo ship, state, city and country in the world suddenly spinning itself backwards, shooting tens of millions of miles of yarn into aisles and living spaces and offices and shipping crates and sewing niches.
Now add every inch and mile of cable, wire and rope. Chains of gold and silver and steel; gigantic anchor chains, enormous fat anchor ropes; giant spools of telephone wire and industrial wire and fiber optics. Imagine every kind, shape and form of thing wrapped around spools and tubes spontaneously spinning themselves undone. Gigantic rolls of all different papers; wallpaper, art paper, money paper, toilet paper, paper towels, plastic bags and garden hoses, duct tape, shipping tape, invisible tape, great skeins of bandages, huge rolls of fabric, all kinds of film... This could go on all day but you get the point.
What a great ungodly hell of a mess it would be. You couldn't set a foot anywhere without getting entangled in something, or many different somethings. Things would come to a crashing halt. It would be a nightmare of time and labor to clean all that up. Who knows how long it could take? It would never be as good as it was before. Much of it would be ruined or broken or shredded apart, cracked and weakened; dipped in dirt, drenched in mud, and trod upon.
It's kind of like that.
These people, these cockroach boys, they're unraveling our world. Not because it does any good but because it ruins everything. To them ruining everything is good. You can't fix it if it ain't broken, and these guys will kill to fix things. Far be it for them to give up and walk away just because everything's working allright! Heavens to Betsy, NO! They'll happily break the whole dang world in order to be able to fix it all up to their liking.
How can you tell when it's them behind the wrecking balls? Easy. Whenever it's them, they always say something like this:
"Oh dear oh my, what a mess, what a shame, whatever shall we do? Do not fear, the answer is right here! In the form of ME and MY BOYS! Just give us your money and all of your guns, now watch us ride off to the setting sun. We'll catch all the bad guys, we'll save the whole world! (We'll bomb it and blast it until it's nothing but a giant smoking turd!)" Ka-ching! Hello Dubai!! The happy happy cockroach boys are poised to "save" the world. (It wouldn't have needed any saving if not for them, but there's no time to think about that now!) "On Rip-Off! On Liar! On Gas Bag! On Twisted! We've got dangerous babies to blast into red mist! We've got people with funny hats offending our Gods! We just can't have that!! Hooray for the Cockroach boys! We're number one! We're number one!"
'Tis the sheer joy of destroying everything and anything that fuels their pointless tiny inner licking flames. They are the greasy bugar colored pixie trolls that skitter around in all the dark places, forever looking for more and more spools to unravel. Each time they find the loose end of a string they snap it up between their fingers and WHIP it Up! Out! and behind them; then they take off running, making sure to weave around this tree trunk and then around that pole, and down into this hole and up out of that other one. On their little elfin six toed feet they run, laughing and hiccuping, stretching the lengths of every stringed thing behind them for as far as the length will carry. When it's all spent out they toss down their loose ends in disgust and boredom, leaving them where ever they fall. Then off they go, crabby, cackling, cursing and passing gas, hungrily seeking the next hysterically amusing spool to unwind.
That is a "G" rated version to be sure, but it does describe the basic concept quite accurately. Our greasy, unelected, bugar colored skittering trolls do much more harm than unraveling thread and yarn. They're unraveling our world and turning back the clock on all of the hard won progress that's been made over the last hundred years. They should be ashamed of themselves, but they don't even do it in the dark anymore. They just stride right up and take whatever they like, and backhand you on the way out the door with your money and your life tossed in their thief sacks.
I am way past up to here with all this. Can you tell?
I'm toxic. I need to get away from it for a while. I've seen all I care to see. There are only so many ways to lie, cheat, steal and kill. Those comprise the basic agenda, yes? Seen it. Seen it and seen it and seen it some more. Seen it so much I never want to look at it again. If it won't go the hell away, and it won't, then I guess I'll have to go away. Unfortunately it's not much of an escape trying to get away without going anywhere. There's nowhere to go. There's no getting away from it. The only place to go away is inside your own head, you can look for an escape hatch in there.
So far all I've found in mine is an empty store room with scattered bits of wheat on the floor and a note that says, "I.O.U. one rich and fulfilling life. Signed, Your Dear Government. Don't call us we'll call you, just as soon as we're done spending all your money! HA HA HA!"
The trillion(s) dollar free gift to the billionaire bankers pretty much aced it for me. It doesn't get any more in your face than that. That was a brutal, vicious rape of this country and the despicable trolls are still prancing around bragging about it. They're still gang banging everything else they can get their hands on too! It's unbelievable. The candy cane manufacturers want a bail out too. Bush's 90 day countdown will not be going to waste. Prepare to have your breath taken away at least ten times a day until he's bodily removed from the oval office. This is their last chance to do all the damage they can, and they're nothing if not determined. Without the hindrance of shame or conscience, anything goes. It's utterly stupefying. If this was a mere hundred years ago, they'd have all been dragged out and hung well before it got anywhere close to this.
They've done more than enough damage already. We've got troops in the streets, blood thirsty borg drones for cops, the constitution is a quaint memory, there's not a dollar left anywhere in the country, and you'd have to be a complete moron not to know this country is going down hard. It's going to be painful and VERY humiliating. Pride goes before a fall.
Obscene arrogance is well beyond pride. I shudder to think what comes after that. This country has been riding high and mighty on bullshit for decades, unbeknownst I believe to a great majority of its inhabitants. Many still don't even realize how bad it is, how much harm has been done, and just how filthy, deceitful and criminal our mafia crime lords in stolen office have behaved. These guys never even bothered with the standard charades of politeness and decency. They were all out lying, cheating, filthy dirt bags and they were really proud of it. They think that's a good thing. They think of themselves as some form of ultimate great guys; real winners; real ballsy, real clever, real smart.
They're so devoid of human virtues they honestly don't have the capacity to comprehend how vile and despicable they are. I don't think they'd care what anyone thought of them anyway. It wouldn't matter if they were all picked up tomorrow, handcuffed and dragged off to prison facing all the charges they so honestly earned. These guys should get the chair at the very least. Life at hard labor just isn't enough. That will never happen but even if it did, they would never, NEVER, EVER concede that they're filth. They would insist and demand that they are special and gifted and they did nothing wrong. Lying, stealing, cheating, and worse when they do it can never be wrong because they're special. And when you're special you can do no wrong. The fact that five and a half billion people on this planet see them as depraved criminal scum wouldn't change a thing. With their unrivaled arrogance and "do you want champagne with that?" IQ's, they'd staunchly maintain that they are still right and the whole rest of the world is too stupid to breathe.
Saying I despise these people just doesn't come close to describing what I feel. It isn't even about them anymore. It's about feeling like this country is one of the twin towers and the plane hit about 45 minutes ago. It's about looking up and seeing the ceiling begin to collapse in terrible slow motion but just like in a dream you can't scream and you can't move and you know you're going to be smashed by tons of concrete and be pulverized; and so are a whole lot of other people. And just like 9-11 the perpetrators will never be in danger for a single moment. No, not them. They'll be safe and sound in their usual five star accommodations being protected, fussed over and waited on hand and foot, snapping out orders and pretending it's just all so awful while they can't even manage to keep the snarky smirks off their deceitful double faces. They'll be flaunting themselves like pink flamingoes, acting like they're special and irreplaceable. As if. They'll congratulate themselves for a job well done. So much lovely peon death deserves a very nice reward. The only thing they'd feel bad about is that they can't share their success story with the whole world. But they can't do that. It would spoil the whole thing.
I've been considering for a while getting the hell out of here before it's impossible. Maybe that impossible cutoff moment could be closer than I thought. The NWO trolls have ramped up the time scale to a terrifying degree. They don't seem to care anymore how obvious they're being or how many of us can see them for what they are. It really doesn't matter any more and even they are absolutely floored at what all they're able to get away with. They're certain nobody's paying attention to them. They've been doing whatever the hell they like for so long they finally forgot crime is bad. They just do it out in the open without shame. To them it's business as usual with all of the filthy tactics and threats and squeezes and blackmail and death threats over the phone and hired hi-tech intelligence hit men coming right out of the closet and into broad daylight; out snapping necks and duct taping people's mouths and arms and legs and throwing them in the river and calling it suicide. Or roughing up distraught ladies at airports and strangling them to death in the back room and calling that suicide. Nothing hard to believe there, move along please.
They're contractors now! They're legit. Respectable. Scary as hell and out of control. It's all on the payroll, and you know that makes it okay! They're all taken care of too with special rules and personalized laws that let them engage in all the ultimate filth and crime and foul play they want. It's always been the wet dream of criminal filth to be legitimized. And now they are. They can do whatever they like to anyone they like, one and all, anytime, anywhere, for any reason, for no reason, and no one will be able to say a word about it. And they are.
It's all legal but kept covered up. You just don't need to know about it and if you find out it will be YOU who is the criminal. Exposing their crimes is the only crime. No wonder the newspapers don't talk about anything but some starlet's cellulite rippled butt and how much her Hollywood actor third cousin boyfriend drinks, in church.
It's not what the cockroach boys do that's wrong, it's that you don't like what they do, that's the crime. That's the politically incorrect attitude. That's the definition of a traitor. You say bad things about the guys in power where people can hear you and maybe wake up, you'll pay. You'll pay a thousand times over and you'll never do that again, or rather those who survive you will think twice before going for it themselves.
These guys really won't take no for an answer. They'll chop your mouth off instead so you can't say no.
"I can't hear you!" they'll say. "What's that? Cat got your tongue? No complaints then? Well that's just fine. You have a nice day now".
If you got no mouth and you can't speak then you can't say "No". That obviously means that you agree. That's logic to them. There's nothing wrong with that to them. It reminds me of the kind of juvenile cruelty older brothers take out on younger ones, only this is exponentially more worse. All the same it's the same non-logic backed up by lots more strength than whoever's getting victimized, and that means they get to make any rules they like.
I want to get out of this place before it goes up in flames. Not because I'm afraid of death, I'm not.
We're all going to die. There are worse things than dying. What it is, is just being sick and tired of being sick and tired, of feeling nauseous and angry and insulted and on the verge of exploding all the time. I can't stand looking around and seeing every person's face crawling with invisible, slimy, goo-oozing sucking black leeches and every good thing being defiled and demoralized, destroyed, set up, used and manipulated, as they're all lined up to be shoved off a cliff.
I can't do anything here. I'm like a little kid on a beach watching a mile high tidal wave passing high arc, curling forward, dropping down on me with such force and volume that I'm as insignificant as a gnat in the Grand Canyon. Only it's not a tidal wave of water, it's a tidal wave of criminal depravity and putrid, festering animated corpses in expensively tailored suits calling out for another martini. If one of their decomposing glass holding arms drops off they'll just go buy another one. They want to live forever man, life is SO so good. Say alleluia, Amen! God is on their side. Or so they say.
All I know is that you can't jump into a running garbage disposal and not get hurt. My backside is five atoms above those spinning blades and the ugly little gremlins are sawing away madly at the unraveling rope I'm dangling from. Me and everyone else. The only difference between me and them is I'll know what hit us. What hit us was the scum of the earth having a field day.
How I'd love to see their flattened abstract forms seared and smeared into the ground, like the shadows of Hiroshima, fenced off, enshrined for generations to see and remember. "Remember the signs of the cockroach men my children, be vigilant, stay alert, don't ever turn your back! For if you snooze for just one minute, OUT they'll scurry, whiskers akimbo and frenzied, eyes on stalks darting wildly about looking for ANYTHING to steal, to violate, to rape, to plunder, to carry off back to the cockroach hole to enjoy with their cockroach caviar and so-dee crackers!"
I've always believed that one person could do much good in this world. I never fathomed that one person could do so much harm. One man can destroy everything, for everyone. If they could at least be honest about it, I could handle it much better. But when they smile in our faces claiming to be our moral high champions, professing to care about the poor and the sick and the democracy deprived, and the truth is they're cowardly slime sucking pink prancing worms, that's what's making me sick.
If I ever detox from this nightmare I will have to vomit every day for at least a year as my body desperately tries to expel the grime and toxic filth and the soul attacking scum my poor mind has had to wrap itself around. No mind should ever have to go to such places much less struggle for all it's worth to really understand them. You can't do that without taking on damage. You can't do that without getting some on you. You can't do that without losing some of what you treasure most; peace of mind, joy, faith, hope, happiness. It's a hell of a high price to pay if you ask me. Too high! It's not worth it. THEY are NOT worth it! They aren't worth the scrapings off the bottom of my stall sweeping boots. Ptooey! I spit at them and the horses they rode in on! And at all of their mothers and fathers, and their horses mothers and fathers too! I loathe them all. They are not worth it.
They're not worth ANY OF IT.
I want to go home and feel like I'm home. I want to feel like dancing again. I want to laugh at great comedians again, who never degrade or insult anyone in this world because IT'S JUST NOT FUNNY. I want to be able to think about the future and know it's bright and brilliant and filled with amazing possibilities.
But I guess we all have to wait until the cockroach boys are done having their fun, unraveling all the spools of our lives that we worked so long and so hard to wind so tightly and neatly. It will take a mighty long time to clean up this mess. They have spewed the copius gleet of their political gonorrea all over the dang place. Leave no child behind now, ya hear?
I need a shower from the inside out.
Okay. Right now, today, it's a beautiful day. I've got a roof over my head, food in the fridge, good friends, and a zillion things to do and explore and enjoy and love the heck out of. I do believe now is the time to do them. And I will. Right after a few solid rejuvenating hours of semi-comatose paralytic pillow drooling.