The Great Unwashed and the Secret Meaning of Morons and Whores.

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Dog Poet Transmitting…….

Sometimes you can’t help but to keep doing something, or… conversely, sometimes you can’t stop something from doing you (or don’t want to-grin).

“I see dead people everywhere.” I also hear people saying the same thing over and over, grinning like loons, flooding the event horizon windshield with Instagram smiles; butt-whacking the back door, Twitter feed of mindless redundancies; talking heads, Jack in the boxing, like Pop-Tarts out of the toaster; idiots doing subliminal product endorsements, pimped out like Dancing with the Scars, plastic surgery victims, row after row, rank after rank of the same old, same old, marching over the horizon; Gleem smiling androids and goosestepping zombies. If you mute the sound, you miss nothing. They are an army with weaponized mouths and ingrown hairpieces. Yes… I have had the TV on in recent days, because of the longest playoff stretch in professional sports history. It seems like the basketball playoffs are nearly as long as the seasons, so I get to hear (anal)ysts go on and on and on. I don’t know where they get the stamina. I imagine bad things happening to the Energizer Bunny in the Rand underground laboratories beneath the Denver airport, or Disney World. They tend to move around, always a step ahead of PETAand Planned Parenthood, which is surprising since they are all after the same thing.

Somewhere in a galaxy far away, there is a purgatory. It might even be a kind of Hell, where all these people play ‘Never Have I Ever.’ and ‘Truth or Dare’ while subsisting on the food and drink that is advertised on their shows and snorting lethal amounts of meth …but due to the nature of the location in which they are present there is no possibility of an overdose. They do lose a handful of brain cells with every insufflation, until there are none remaining. This results in a strange dichotomy, because there is no noticeable difference in their awareness from when however many brain cells were present in the beginning until there were none at all.

At least once a day and certainly more, I slide back from my desk and reflect on the collective, public mind that seems to be woven together on a gird like the one that holds the Pacific Waste Island together. I then consider the programming coming out of the family altar. I look at the products that sponsor the shows and I am convinced that you have to consume these in order to get a clear transmission that makes sense to you because for someone like me they make no sense at all. Then I see clips of Tristan Thompson where the crowd of Toronto Raptor fans are screaming “Khloe! Khloe!” Over and over. I see the strip malls and all the franchise outlets for for multi-colored garbage that winds up in that other garbage dump called your garage and attic (basement?). There these inanimate objects have casual sex in the dark of the night and appear in the dreams of the people living in all those split levels and condos; metaphorically he is living the Formica life, in Harmon Cove, Seacaucus with a wife, three insane children and one lonely dog, where death’s not a threat, it’s the law.

I reflect on what kind of state of mind a person has to be in to be able to validate this kind of a looping and never present existence; going in and out of focus and finally… never having been here at all.

I mentioned once how I used to attend these occasional, annual celebrations in the European town in which I lived; a town of 10,000 where a hundred thousand people would show up over the course of four days and eat and drink themselves into a stupor and I would look out upon the crowds, or wander through them, noting the generational differences in where the attention was being placed and wonder if there was anyone else out there, doing what I was doing and thinking about the ineffable. I never saw another soul exercising objective awareness except for the emergency workers who were standing by the ambulances. They are very proactive in Europe. You seldom ever see any police cause they don’t need them. We have the police presence we do because of the Hegelian dynamic where we cause the problem and then create the solution.

I would take acid in the wilderness, at be-ins and rock events (the few I attended) and I would watch people following their hungers. I could literally see what motivated them and what was important to them. I could see them attached to an invisible line (like a fishing line), like the line that ran between Richard Pryor and the crack pipe back in the day. “Hey, Richard! Got a light?”

I should have known I was different but… I was still trying to fit in. I never did manage to accomplish that but… I did find a demographic (like those reading this posting) where it applied. It’s the ‘huddled masses’ that are the problem, as far as the rest of us finding a greater meaning in this world goes. They’re the ones the TV shows and movies are made for. They are the ones the commercials are filmed for, especially the ones that speak to our unique and celebrated differences (right). They are the ones who are immersed in the sensations and herded like livestock to the Soylent Green processing centers. They are the block voting, enmasse responding crowd, controlled in support of elite policies.

People think they see what is going on in the world around them and think that they know what is taking place in the world far off, because depraved and highly paid liars like those at the New York Times and Washington Post and all those newscasters at television stations across the landscape of The Great Satan (grin) tell them what is and is not happening AND they do it for MONEY!

Slowly and not so slowly, behind the curtain, where the players and stage settings get moved around, forced social change is going on————————– blacks and whites are being color coordinated through social engineering for sexual interaction. Gays are being inserted for commercials, voice overs and the way men behave toward women; much more as well. Whatever is possible to confuse and demoralize and- most especially for indoctrination of prepubescents.

I’m watching the faces of the ballplayers who are being paid tens of millions of dollars for bouncing a ball and putting it through a hole, or being paid the same amount to catch or throw a ball and run across a line at either end of the stadium, or throw a ball or hit a ball and run around some bases in order to make a score. I’m looking at the faces of those sitting down or around the court line who have paid thousands and sometimes tens of thousands of dollars to be there for one night. They could pay hundreds to sit in the nosebleed seats, where they need binoculars to watch what is going on. All of them are hammering on their cellphones. I watch basketball at crunch time in order to see one player; Lebron James. I watch football to see Tom Brady and I watch baseball to see Justin Verlander and Jose Altuve and sometimes a few more. If I never saw another game I wouldn’t care. The games play while I am writing or setting up a creative situation. All through the watching and not watching and the doing and not doing, the divine is there, guiding and encouraging me. Telling me not to give up or lose faith. Telling me that someone in such a position is a very, very lucky fellow indeed.

I think of the billions that are being generated by trivia; Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, Snapchat and others and those hundreds of thousands of ‘apps’ that are being used and being made for lazy people with superficial interests. It astounds me. It blows my mind that people do not crackle electrically across the space of cognitive dissonance. There’s no ‘I am’. There’s ‘I was’ and ‘I will be.’

Game over. The announcers were keeping up a steady patter of banal referencing of pedestrian attractions that in one way or another say the same thing; “we’re all the same.” “We’re all beasts” “We serve the gods of stomachs and genitals, until neither of them work very well, or at all.” We eat heartburn generating garbage and then take chemicals to counteract the heartburn and it’s not cheap and we never think too deeply about the heartbreak that is a given in a world of endless want and endless loss.

New game starting. People in commercials acting like hyperactive idiots; jumping up and down, drooling about whatever they’re selling, embarrassing themselves and the human race and striving to the limits of their limited abilities to prove that we are all morons and whores. Take a good look. How could they be intending anything else? I’m guessing that by getting the American public to believe this, they will also take for granted that whatever is for sale is just what they need.

I love humanity, insofar as I meet and greet and serve them. I must love them if I behave toward them as I do. It often mystifies me as to this being true but… breaking news; I just figured out the morons and whores things. As a moron, you are too stupid to say no and as a whore, anything goes. Of course, you still have to pay for it but… as a moron, you have no idea of the value of anything and as a whore it’s whatever the market will bear. The good news is that you don’t have to have sex to be a whore. That’s the bad news too.

End Transmission…….

I guess this wasn’t a very uplifting or inspiring Origami but… there’s always next time.