The Hades Syndrome and the River Styx.

Dog Poet Transmitting.......

May your noses always be cold and wet.

Before you know it, we'll be at that time of the year where Gourmet magazine will have a Caesar salad on their cover, with a bunch of tiny daggers sticking out of it, like they were rehearsing to be a swizzle stick but something went wrong at the audition. Obama would probably like to play Caesar but he's not even equipped to be Pompey. I do like the fact that the two allegedly fought over ballsacks. Well, of course they couldn't have been fighting over Balzac. He wasn't even around then. This is the point at which you explain to me how Balzac could have written all those books and never said much more about Caesar than, “Render unto”.

History is complicated and a lot of it never even happened. That is because there are many kinds of historians. There are the historians who are paid to write things that are historically inaccurate; that's most of them. Then there are the ones who write inaccurate history for free because it dovetails with why no one will pay them to write history for money. Then there is that rare breed that writes history because it, more or less happened that way. You have to go looking for these people because they are not readily found. They're usually found, ♫High on the back shelves♫, or would be if Bruce had been singing about them instead. They're in life's back catalog. They're on back order. They're in The Way Back Machine and they are definitely back to the future.

To get an idea just how fucked up history is, you only have to read your daily paper and note the enormity of the lies being told about something as close as yesterday. This is why the people who own the printing presses own them. You'll probably tumble to the fact that they own more than one kind of printing press and one of the other presses also makes the money. If you are a satanist and... they are, this is a pretty sweet deal. Generally satanism is a reincarnation kind of a thing. You develop certain behavior patterns and a syndrome. We metaphysicians call it the Hades Syndrome. This is where a certain set of louvers come down over the interior lights. This has the effect of concealing certain things and revealing certain things and it works out just fine in terms of calculated blindness.

Usually, this sort of thing is a 'big up' in the material world and leads to all kinds of access behind the velvet ropes and seats in the VIP section. As I have mentioned before, these people get really big funerals and there's a cosmic yardstick that says, the bigger the asshole, the bigger the limousine and the bigger the funeral. There are exceptions. Hundreds of crocodiles attend these funerals, with big silk handkerchiefs and they wave them in wild abandon, as the cigarette boat makes its way down the River Styx. ♫Yes, we'll all be together, yes, we'll all make a stand. Yes, we'll all be rewarded, when the shit hits the fan♫ or something to that effect.

The funerals of Henry Kissinger and David Rockefeller are coming up fairly soon and you'll get to see what I'm talking about. You'll see legions of Dr. Hyde's in top hats, talking in hushed whispers about the departed. There will be a tight circle of 'family only' and there won't be a public smile among them. They're saving that for the wake and the reading of the will. There might not be a lot of smiles then either. It depends.

Yes, a lot of the leading points of darkness, for the preceding age, are going to be getting their travel vouchers. Whole countries are going to be getting travel vouchers. They're going to have to take The QE2 out of drydock and recommission her, just to get some portion of these people down the River Styx. They might better take that false flag aircraft carrier and put it into ferry service, instead of sinking it with an Israeli submarine in The Straits of Hormuz. Well, you do know that both sides want the strait closed off, right? That's sound economic policy. Profits are highest when products are most dear.

Never before have such a collection of the very worst of us been in such wide abundance at the top of the compost heap. The compost heap looks like one of those mushroom visions; crawling and alive. That's because millions of dung beetles and hungry worms are motoring all through it. A lot of people think this is all either an accident, or the obvious result of a certain Darwinian imperative; nothing of the kind. Mr. Apocalypse has put all of them up on his Facebook page. He's friended them, although I think that's a misnomer. Mr. Apocalypse has put their names up in lights. They're going to be feasted and feted in “♫All the old familiar places, that this heart of mine embraces, all day throoooo♫” Yes, it going to be “♫A hot time in the old town tonight♫”

We are on a vast horizon, facing into the blazing sun and we have come to Armageddon, just to find the battle's won. Spread your wings, close your eyes, let your love flow, come inside and so on and so forth. Inside looks a lot better than outside at the moment; of course, that depends on your precognitive capabilities. Some got em and some don't got em.

Yes, at the moment they're all sitting around inhaling out of their Darth Vapor bottle like it was 'Rush' or some derivative thereof. They're ridiculously high on themselves. They got uniforms and rows of service medals. They got pictures of themselves with all the high toned corpses and certificates of practice and authority mingled in among all those 8X12's. “Harumph, by the power invested in me, I hereby grant you the power to abuse your fellows, in all ways contrary to the greater good, so help me... uh uh... uh, oh God, I'm coming”! Yeah, precognition aside, that's where we are at the moment. A lot of them will be at The Super Bowl, recently of Davos and soon to be in attendance at Bilderberger in June, except given what lies between then and there, June won't be soon.

Damn, they're impressive aren't they? They got trillions of dollars and armies and police forces. They got concentration camps all over the former Land of the Free. They got coffins stacked up outside Atlanta; no telling how many people have set up housekeeping in them; like they were capsule rooms in one of those unique Japanese hotels. Is your coffin wired? Yes, they're impressive and wanna be scary. They got it all covered. They got their underground, surround lounge complexes and freeze dried hookers from Ost Bloc. They got cases of McCallan scotch, that 25 year old, five hundred dollars a bottle stuff. They got military grade Viagra. They got the complete works of Barbara Streisand, Barry Manilow and The Turtles. They might even have The Chairman of the Board on Bluray. They got warehouses full of oxygen bombalas and naughty nitrous. You can be sure they've got plenty of cocaine for medicinal purposes. They got wide screens and an enormous library of DVD's. They got that bidet style, warm rinse, all water toilet paper and probably the 'invisible hands' option as well. Of course, they can't destroy everything, they need some kind of a world still standing when they crawl out of their holes. Something is definitely wrong with this picture. They know something isn't battened down somewhere. But... they don't know what that is and won't until it's standing next to them on the inside of their reinforced steel, panic rooms.

See, there's an interesting and inescapable cosmic dynamic. You take your character and your fate with you, everywhere you go. You can't escape it. It is you. The only thing you can do is change it, to some degree. Like I try to tell people who presume to read fortunes with Tarot cards, “Why fumble around in the dark, trying to predict the future, when you can change it with the same mechanism"? The symbols, like Ginseng flowers, with their phosphorescent glow, close up, when footsteps approach. It's why people hunt them with a bow and arrow. This is the case with all sacred mysteries. They go into concealment at the approach of the profane. It's an old story but one whose impact, like all the fables and allegories of times past, tends to escape the minds of those who seek out powers for nefarious application. You are under observation, from the inside and the outside. Your own vehicles of perception are utilized for this purpose. That should give some of you an extra boost of affirmation in these times. The rest of you are welcome to the paranoia which that reality implies.

Yes, they are talking out of both sides of their mouths. They are grabbing your elbow when they shake your hand. They're scratching your back as they move you through reception and asking you about your handicap. You'll all be together at the 19th hole. That's quite a hole and directly connected to the hole in your heart and the hole in your head, cause you didn't bother to 'seal the door where evil dwells'.

It will all sort itself out, differently than anyone expects, on the way to the oppositional destiny that will never rear its ugly head. It's just wraiths and shadows looking for a welcome port.


End Transmission.......

That Hotpants Romance under the Lights of Broadway.

Dog Poet Transiting.......

May your noses never be unnaturally brown.

Yes, the beat goes on, no matter how many trees you run into. Bad songs tend to echo down the ages, like when they sing about the beat going on and the beat is actually beating you down and it scares the shit out of you that someone who can actually dance to it keeps saying, “I got you babe”. Scary stuff. Well, that's show business, where a cyborg Cher can dance with a zombie Bono, off into the brown haze of an East Rutherford sunset, while the beat goes on.

The beat goes on in all kinds of ways, at all kinds of levels, to all kinds of degrees of pervasiveness. Sometimes the beat changes and, “I got you babe” means something different and implies something even more different in the long run. Then you get military themes and the beat syncopates to canons and the rata tat tat staccato of small arms fire, as those who stole everything try to hold on to it, while those they stole it from struggle to survive with less than possible.

Those are the times in which smooth regurgitaters (cue Sade) close ranks in a projectile vomiting duet, looking for a barbershop quartet effect and the bar gets lowered to the point that not even a cockroach can get under it. Somehow they did though, proving there are life forms lower than a cockroach and there are life forms even lower than this and that would be the ones who finance their movements, whether it be howl or bowel. You know you've reached the nadir when you can't tell which end their speeches are coming out of and we are not here referring to any gifted abilities at ventriloquism.

Meanwhile, dumb and dumber, dress up in their cheerleader outfits and wave their pom poms. It's been on the way since they laminated the first layer of Formica on to the first piece of press-board. It's been coming since the '59 Cadillac. It's the logical, red headed stepchild of Levittown. In truth, it's older than makeup.

One of the little known facts about materialism is that it simultaneously makes you selfish and stupid at the same time. That's the original SS. There are mind Nazis and heart Nazis and the heart Nazis are the worst. You can't fix it. You can't change it and you can't make it humane and compassionate. It has to run its course and it is why civilization fails, in the times when it proliferates and it only proliferates in times of darkness.

In times of material darkness, entire sciences are created that are designed for the sole purpose of legitimizing it and every depravity that it breeds, in the hot suffocating confinements of the fornication sewers which provide its offspring. Materialism has its agents and they are most easily identified as the ones who profit the most from it and are engaged in the extremes of its productions and perversions. It's a religion as much as anything else and every religion has to have a Big Kahuna with a particular jones.

Like I said, Gnosis is a snake. It's the same snake in either case, only the posture and the effect are different. Like the commercial says, “It's the same thing, only different”. That's sort of like, “new and improved”. How can something be new and improved? “It's the real thing in the back of your mind”. Of course it's not the real thing in the back of your mind. Isn't the medulla where the atavistic, reptile brain is located?

The thing is, materialism gives birth to mimicry, where the shadow pretends to be the light. What happens is you get a false light; like the lights on Broadway (cue George Benson), or the lights of Las Vegas. It's the kind of thing where the RamaSita dynamic is turned into a hot-pants romance, which brings me back to the makeup make believe, where the point of the attraction is the intention to deceive and you get what you pay for. This is the origin of the diseases that accompany the process and we are not just talking about physical hitchhikers. It's kind of like Land of Snakes Butter. Your politicians, religious and economic leaders are venomous snakes. They're right when they say, 'It Can't be Butter'. It's axle grease from the wheels of a polluted industry that moves through the bloodstream of the heart's greatest sorrow, 'It Can't be Love'. It's a little like Cocaine, which makes evil attractive and why forced blowjobs are more satisfying than the willing kind; not that there is any lack of either.

When I was in Hawaii, the big thing among the younger set was anal sex because it negated concerns over unwanted pregnancies. Of course there were progeny nonetheless. It's like something out of Clive Barker's “Weaveworld”.

This all comes down to the need to legislate and legitimize everything wrong into anything's right. People have always done what people do, for the purpose of learning and demonstration but when you take it into the realm of a legal tyranny by minorities, you destroy the natural harmonics. Then the system attacks itself and the macrocosm and the microcosm are afflicted with cancers that devour the host. Here we are speaking of a social macrocosm and not the universal macroprosopus; keeping in mind that all of these systems were stolen or borrowed from the predecessors of The Chaldeans and have no originating connections to those who took them only for the purpose of corrupting them to material ends, as the present world gives ample evidence of.

So what's a body to do? That's a personal matter and the major conundrum is maintained by the degree of ones attachment to the creatures and conditions of their personal estate. This is the difference between nightmare and pleasant dreaming; the difference between being trapped and the ability to move on. Moving on it the only option really and moving on is not necessarily a linear process, especially at this time.

There are words like 'loathsome', 'disgusting', 'gross' and 'repellant' but they fall short of the reality of life forms like Neutron Gingrich, Mitt Romney and Rick Santorum. There are hundreds and thousands of them that live in a deodorized, Barbie doll land of antiseptic murder. They kill without conscience. They bring about things like this; The Dog that did Not Bark. They inhabit, own and manipulate the small cells of tormented life, in which millions struggle to survive, like the mythical rose in Spanish Harlem, “growing in the street, right up through the concrete but soft and sweet and dreamin'”. Dreams of the future are the carrot and fear of the future is the stick.

You have no oppositional political parties anymore. You have no vote. There is no news but what is manufactured to fit what is made to happen, to serve the interests of those pounding the citizenry, domestically and abroad. They intend to whittle down your numbers until all that remains is them and a permanent servant class and if you don't think major think tanks, which blueprint government policy, are not 24/7 occupied with this concern then you are a fool and you deserve the rewards of your pathetic self indulgence and indifference.

More power to those brave souls at Occupy Oakland. Kudos to those of you who labor beneath the radar for your fellows. Major props to all the unsung heroes and independent souls who know what's on the line and will not knuckle under to the trolls and terrible abortions of synthetic humanity, born from the litters of diseased rats, in the sewers beneath our contemporary urban concentration camps. Shame on you Mr. Visible, you're talking about class warfare. Am I?

Obama isn't a human being. He's a test tube experiment from Tavistock. That's why the birth certificate thing is a problem. “They Live” is a reality. It's not a matter of 'die on your feet or live on your knees'. It's much worse than 'live on your knees'. That doesn't come close to what's under discussion by your betters.

You're lucky there's more at work than your distracted earbud insulated, cellphone thumbing a ride to nowhere. You're lucky evil does destroy itself because otherwise there would be a whole new meaning to looping and sampling and Charlotte Rampling can't believe it isn't butter either.

End Transiting.......

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