A Clueless, Factory-Assembled Zeitgeist of a Bankrupt Culture... A Perverse Merger of Bologna and White Bread Under-Glass.

 God Poet Transmitting…….

It’s time to take a closer look at this contrived relationship between Taylor Swift and Mr. Pfizer. It’s time to look closer at the sudden, and recent upsurge of her celebrity, which is also contrived. She’s a bubblegum-level… agony aunt songwriter; a bit less shrill… and also less talented… than Alanis Morisette, and… who gets around more than Winona Ryder… who never even stayed around for the post-coital cigarette, AND… how would I know that? I wasn’t there.

She’s a Cliff Notes… cartoon parody… of Joni Mitchell. She may have once read some poetry by Rod McKuen or that caged bird lady, but she doesn’t actually possess any, and… neither did they.

If it’s not inspired… it’s tired, like the flour they make Wonder Bread out of. Not even the cockroaches and rats will eat it. Then they pump the vitamins back in. Swift is the musical version of processed foods

Her songwriting is more competent, and engineered hook-wise since The Serious Pros got involved, but it’s still watered-down treacle… for a public that can’t chew gum and pat its stomach at the same time. It’s simply repackaged Brittany Spears. I finally listened to a few selections… as much as I could bear, and… it’s shit. There’s no two or three ways around it. It’s shit.

Bonnie Rait she is not. Heart, she is not. Joni, she absolutely is not. Chrissie Hynde had the real pizzazz. She was liquid smoke. Swift is a tire fire, and not quality tires either. Retreads burn differently. Don’t ask me why this is. They just do. Anyone who has spent any time smelling tire fires can tell you this. She is not any of these, or even remotely similar to other classy ladies that have been on the set over the years.

She is the clueless, factory-assembled Zeitgeist of a bankrupt culture. Something made from old pizza and Big Gulp containers… that leaked through the floorboards of an abandoned house filled with squatters… to a basement no one with any sense of self-preservation would venture into, and I’m being kind. Even Beavis and Butthead would not think she was cool, but they would score with her, given the opportunity and the line was not so long.

She’s a shill for The Globalists and a distraction from Gazacide. She’s a tool, as in the phrase; what a tool! She’s a Stepford Wife with no morals and a Swinger’s mentality. She’ll one day be the chairperson of The National Association of Cougars.

I’m not with The Morality Police. It doesn’t matter to me what her body count is. What matters to me is the intentions of the people who are using her as a shoehorn into The Land of 15-minute cities.

Her Neanderthal boyfriend, who is the poster boy for meat-rack single’s bars… is a mass murderer who is either too stupid to know better or… doesn’t really give a shit. He’s probably a combination of the two. I don’t know how ubiquitous those Pfizer commercials are, but there are multiples at every broadcasted football game. The people behind Pfizer have heavy juice. It is past… glaringly… obvious… that millions are irreparably harmed or dead because of these Killer Vaccines.

We now know that far more of The Killshots were sent to red states also, and we know they are going out of their way not to inoculate the migrant hordes, given that there is and was no need to inoculate anyone to begin with. The same people are behind the Open Borders venture as are behind The Killer Vaccines. These same Satanic operators are behind just about everything that is harmful to the rest of us.

All of this is visibly transparent. It’s not new what they are doing with Twit-Girl. They’ve done the same thing plenty of times in the past. This time the intention was to build her celebrity and then turn her into a fag-hag ventriloquist’s dummy for the present administration. They know they can’t pull the same crap they did last time or… maybe it’s still early days. So… they are going to come at it from several directions. Twit-Girl is one of them.

The Truth is that an overwhelming majority of the American Public wants Trump back in office. I don’t know where that’s going to do a whole lot of good. More and more I am tending to believe that the whole shebang was orchestrated BEFORE the last election was stolen. It’s like all of them knew what was going to happen. Honestly… I don’t know what’s what here. I do know that he didn’t do all kinds of things he said he would do, AND… he’s deep under the covers with this country’s worst enemy.

The entire nation of America can now be seen as a metaphor for The U.S.S Liberty; presently in the gunsights of the same people who attacked that ship, by way of The Titanic, which was ALSO sunk by the same people… in order to get The Federal Reserve authorized as a national… on demand… blood bank for rampaging vampires.

It’s not like this Aspartame pop singer is any worse than the usual Pop-Tarts that have come and gone. It’s a genre. It’s what you get with that genre. She’s a looping… quasi-human… commercial jingle… from The Wax Museum. It’s the difference between soap opera actors and real actors.

Travis Kelce on the other hand is the kind of guy you see smashing Bud Light cans on his head or playing beer pong with M-80s. He’s got talent as a football player, and we all know what sort of world changers that area of enterprise has spawned.

Football player meets empty-headed cheerleader who can’t keep her knees together. ♫Don’t you know we’re riding on The Trivia Express, they’re taking me in Flashback gown… to Nostalgia Town… all aboard the train♫

Probably… by this time… I’m just being mean, BUT… I’m tired of all the bullshit that The Bread and Circus Junkies keep buying into. Just when you think the public can’t get any stupider with The World about to burn down around their ears… they prove there is no bottom there. I can’t see any way around all kinds of bad things happening here and in all the places where Materialism has got the whole bandwidth locked down.

The first intimation I had… of this unholy union… was Travis Kelce saying something about wanting a friendship bracelet, and… somehow he couldn’t get one? This is one of the items sold at Swift merchandise booths for a few dollars. Then… step by step… this grand passion… this perverse merger of bologna and white bread… was mayonnaised together, for our vicarious voyeurism, and pedestrian pleasure… through the cotton candy media.

It was a few weeks later that I saw one dragging the other behind them backstage. (can’t remember which one went first, the chick or the carnal savage… bleeding testosterone like a broken crankcase leaks oil.) It was at a concert stop in Argentina during a ferocious storm. They did not exude one particle of simpatico toward each other.

They looked as out-of-place together as sodomy in the missionary position, and as frightened as Schwarzenegger that time I saw him surrounded by a phalanx of bodyguards… at the now vaporized Planet Hollywood in Lahaina. He looked scared shitless;

God knows why. I don’t. Certain images remain in our minds. The Divine has gone out of his way to show me snapshots from the dream… in my passage through it. That was one of them. There have been many others. Now… sometimes it seems… as if all of it is a snapshot… chasing another snapshot… through a diorama that is curling at the edges from heat, and… I am not talking about Global Warming.

♫God’s not dead. He’s merely hiding. You can see him in the morning when The Sun is rising.♫

Now… it seems like everyone is getting on the bandwagon; keep watch for the saccharine smarmy commercial break in the middle of the rant. It goes on for so long you might forget what you are watching… kinda like listening to a song by Swift… none too swift, and… going by none-too-swiftly. When will it end!!!

We are truly in the rutting phase of the terminally absurd. Trashy is the new chic. Ridiculous is the new hip credential; how far will you go to get attention? Tik-Tok tells the tale. Celebrity is now determined by who is willing to blow The Devil at an awards show.

No doubt this is crass, and I’ve been obscene. I’ve written nothing like this in 15 years, BUT… every now and then a blister breaks the surface of the skin. And I HAVE TO announce that, Yes… Taylor Swift is killing children in Palestine, and all the rest of them are waiting in line, and ready for their close-up.

It REALLY… REALLY can’t be much longer. For those of you losing hope… please hold on. For those of you who feel God has abandoned you OR… you have lost God… please hold on. You are here for a reason, though you know not what that is. Struggle as you must to reach that inner place where you can see… clearly… that everything you see… is simply weather going by the window. Life… by mysterious agency.. ALWAYS maintains balance… sooner or later it comes back into plumb… it comes back into true.

The further out it all gets… the harder and quicker it snaps back into place

“If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

Or, being hated, don’t give way to hating,

And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;

If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with triumph and disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,

And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on”;

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with kings—nor lose the common touch;

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run—

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,

And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!”

Rudyard Kipling

Hang in there!

End Transmission…….

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