Legions of Pillsbury Dough Girls and Michelin Men... in a Freakish Arabesque... Spinning like Figurines on a Music Box.

 God Poet Transmitting…….

He’s there to keep me on my toes. So I was told, but… I try not to spend too much time on my toes. It’s uncomfortable. I am not a ballerina. What’s the male equivalent of that? Balarama? Bala-Rona? No… that would be a stealth disease that dances around you, trying to become an imaginary friend until you commit suicide by vaccine.

Who is he? He’s the shadow side of The Divine. The one with a scratch for every itch.. The one who puts the idea of an itch in your head in the first place, before it travels to another location… as a desire in search of manifestation on the plane of its operations; ♫HAARP! The sleazy demons sing… fools search for The Shadow King♫

Once The World has reached a specific stage of materialization… it surrounds the ignorant mind… inflamed by desire, by ♫the fire(s) down below♫ Outward the senses are drawn… into the cauldron of fiery shapes. Fire is hunger personified, and… expressing at the level of its performance; the dance of The Horned God. Pan and his pipes of madness.

Well… you came here to experience it. You can’t really complain when half the time it results in unpleasant events. You can complain… of course… but then you wind up on The Whiner Bus singing ♫99 buckets of shit on the wall. You take one down. You pour it over your head. You pass it around. 98 buckets of shit on the wall♫

No one ever asks how the bottles or the buckets got on the wall in the first place. Shouldn’t they be in the cooler or… well… wherever it is that one would store buckets of shit, and… the bus doesn’t actually have walls… does it? It’s mostly windows ♫99 buckets of shit on the window…♫ Doesn’t really work, does it?

Remember when they used to lock those people up who did bad things to other people in the public thoroughfares? Now they only lock up the people that complain about it. They turn the crazies loose right away. It’s a reversal of the old system of indulgences, where the rich could buy forgiveness from a fat oily priest… whenever they imagined there was a need. Now they got a system for the angry and insane to get away with every offense imaginable, and…

The real reason this exists is to keep The Middle Class trembling in their homes and not paying as much attention to the monsters who have seized (temporarily) the reins of power. Perhaps they were always wielding The Power and now… since it’s about to be taken away from them… they are being outed to the massing villagers with the pitchforks and AK-47s.

Meanwhile… on that vast plateau of The Land of The Stupids, which falls off on all sides into a landfill, like Guatemala City… where the same-old-same-old… is an endless series of Participation trophies… being awarded to anyone who stands in line for them, here come the theme songs for not-so-swift.

There’s been a long line of witless bobbleheads following one another to the bright lights, and thence into a well-earned obscurity; Spice Girls… Backdoor Boys… Brittany Speared… there were many more but I failed to keep track of them. The traditional crooners of redundancy are not overlooked. There’s Michael Bubbele-wrap and Adrenochrome Dion. The Deep State uses them for crowd control.

Now The Deep State is worldwide, ♫I’m baa(d). I’m planet-wide♫ It stands to reason that the whole idea of Flat Earth was destined to ‘go condo’ in honor of those whose intelligence flat-lined in homage.

Yeah… they came out with the socket wrenches and tightened up the whole dynamic of coming and going. If you haven’t gotten The Death Shot, you can’t go across the borders. Still! Still!!! You still can’t!!!

I’m thinking of a whole new coyote industry, where you slather up your clients with Man-Tan and bring them in as illegal immigrants on tour buses. It’s a slam dunk from what I can see, and you even get travel vouchers to the city of your choice… cellphones, and free hotel accommodations. There are ALWAYS workarounds.

Since Dark Brandon and The Usual Suspects came out of the closet, it’s been a Grimm’s Fairy Tale and a whole lotta more fairies… who need forklifts to get into the air; hmm… I seem to have taken a hard right into The Petri Dish. Well… it can’t be helped. It’s bound to happen now and again.

An excess of Material Culture… breeds legions of Pillsbury Dough Girls, and Michelin Men in a freakish arabesque… spinning like figurines on a music box that plays ♫Da Ya Think I’m Sexy♫ and ♫Super Freak♫ in constant rotation. It’s solar-powered… if you want to leave it under the artificial lights on the windowsill. It’s also motion-sensitive. If you feel like getting your freak on… just start moving around, and it will oblige you.

I close my eyes and imagine God… turning restlessly from side to side in his sleep. Every now and then, he almost wakes up. Does he know Lady Nature is shackled with chains in the basement of the Margate, New Jersey Chabad House? Sooner or later, he’s going to rise up with the glare of a distant fire burning in his eyes, and he’s going to come downstairs. (don’t make me come down there!) The ground is going to shake with the sonic booms of a heavy tread… on… every… step.

He’s going to step right out of The Invisible into full manifestation and slowly turn (slowly I turned) in a full circle. His eyes will be like a blazing spectrum of the 7 colors… each of them heat-seeking out their specific rainbow demographic, and… lighting them up in the military sense.

He’s going to go from the showrooms to the boardrooms… across the shining seas… stepping over the rivers of sleaze… that course through the cities, and fill the air with the smoke from subterranean crematoriums… where Nature converts everything into compost, once the life force has moved on to the next iteration of ambulatory Silly Putty.

He’s going to cry out in a voice of thunder, and The Whole World will freeze in place. He’ll fragment into separate parts… like the deconstructing ping-pong ball sequences in “Lawnmower Man”, and each of them will become an individual bright angel… instantly dispatched to its specific destination… for the resolution of all the wailing deformities that woke God up from sleep. They will be either neutralized… into a brief cloud of flaming confetti ash… or restored to their former shapes.

He’ll step around The World 7 times, and survey every particle of existence. He will study the integrity of form. He will look into it, and look out from it… whatever it may be… at the same time. He will restore order! He will scourge the nations of their predators… masquerading in human form. He will drive the swine into the sea… once again… in similar fashions because… if it ain’t broke… don’t fix it.

He’s going to make every tooth in every head sing four-part harmonies to The Elements… coming into resonance… with The Quintessence… as The Fohat shines in the aethers, and lights up the universe in righteous accord. He’s going to dance a Tandava all over the rakshasa conclaves… upon the corruption of a putrefied culture gone South. He’s going to bury Bill Gates in a coffin made from 70,000,000 million trees that will all be crying out in his head, for his head, and… for.. a… very… long… time… or until the cows come home to shit on his grave.

He’s going to put George Soros and his Rothschild bosses into an automobile crusher until they are rendered into a perfect cube and put on permanent display at MOMA. He’s going dress up Hillary Clinton, and her submissive consort… like Furries on a merry-go-round of concertina wire… in case anyone is of a mind to cut them loose.

He’s going to snatch and grab every fellow traveler that I don’t have the time or ability to list here… and turn them into origami rowboats… on The Lake of The Fire of Unrequited Desire… that burns forever in the hearts of those… for whom existence is a buffet of carnal excess, and the selfish wounding of everyone in their way.

He’s going to make it ring… until the swamp critters sing… like Pavarotti on DMT. He’s going to tote all the barges… and lift all the bales… and set the prisoners loose from their personal jails… built from their attachments to unnecessary things.

He’s going to get it done… and go back to his bed… so he can fall asleep and dream into being a golden age… that can’t arrive… until he’s… been… there… and… done… that. Until The Avatar came… and The Avatar went… and The Divine Mother dressed The World in her colors and heavenly scent; you’ll know it when you see cause we ain’t done here yet… and it begins in earnest this year!!!!!!!

Happy New Year, and… watch your step… between the parameters of Naughty to Nice!!!!!!!

End Transmission…….

Those machines across the way, that played during my meditation routines, have not been back since two Origami postings ago, and we have witnesses to the fact. Don’t tell me this is the way it usually goes. I don’t know what was going on but… something was going on.

The Divine Mother is getting ready to bring it all into being as the vision precipitates into form.

Links await you at GAB

https://gab.com/visible

And the health and sundry links appear below=

Cancer treatment=

https://twitter.com/i/status/1740072269026595085

Bananas=

https://twitter.com/thehealthb0t/status/1738499739413319812/photo/1

Wow!!!=

https://twitter.com/i/status/1738900832140058746

This is not health=

https://twitter.com/FiveTimesAugust/status/1738940092062839112/photo/1

The best to you each morning. Whoops! That’s the other guys, and… no difference=

https://twitter.com/i/status/1738720403831624176

They went to war against us and never declared it=

https://twitter.com/WallStreetApes/status/1739115664433103107

How about that?=

https://twitter.com/i/status/1739983717425123601

This is really impressive=

https://twitter.com/i/status/1738224915193770168

Ways of preparing food=

https://twitter.com/thehealthb0t/status/1738016558323015753/photo/1

Never ate this. I knew in the 60s that it tasted like shit. At the time I did not know that is was also… shit=

https://twitter.com/i/status/1738516298307707139

You will probably want to know about this if you have Arthur Ritus staying with you=

https://twitter.com/i/status/1739148972365607217

This is something I have often dreamed of=

https://twitter.com/i/status/1739911249113104747

When will it end?=

https://twitter.com/Thekeksociety/status/1740652121815388654/photo/1

You’ll never look at a fig the same way again. Talk about Sisyphean!!!=

https://twitter.com/i/status/1741359029702779034

See more Visible Origami at Les Visible