Dog Poet Transmitting.......
May your noses always be cold and wet and truthful in the sensing.
Here on Animal Farm, there are pigs, there are the feral outriders, there are the Mason Verger, accelerated, pig operatives of the Smithfield variety. Variety can be the spice of life, depending on the chef, or even if there is one, because; 'here's those hog nostrils, Visible, sliced real thin, just the way you like 'em', like prosciutto for your Pizza from Hell. Yeah, wafer thin Visible, almost like you, in real life. Of course, you prefer rapier thin, doncha cuz?
Deed I do, deed I do but I ain't deeding it over to you; sides, the Vis doesn't eat pork for various reasons. He knows ein wenig about reincarnation and also doesn't want certain qualities in his composite.
Yes, there are all sorts of pigs, which means there are pig Hermes, like this delightful porcine journalista. Yes, Michael Ledeen's buttbuddy, is still stoking the coals for his own baby back ribs, all you can eat special. How dark is my dungeon? How green was my valley? We'll be using human pins down at the bowling alley, “smoking them here Boss”, 'snorting them here Boss'.
There comes a time in every man's life when he has to decide whether to be man or pig. In Kali Yuga there are a surprising number that will opt for the latter. They want that Jacob Frank thing. They want those franks on the bun, with all the nasty things that making laws and sausages have in common, especially if you happen to be common and not special and elite.
An argument can be made for asking how is it all that different from eating goats (symbol alert!) instead of pigs? Well, I don't eat goats either so, that would be my response. I also don't eat carpaccio, anymore than I eat prosciutto. Yeah, I know what those things are, I'm a cook, as opposed to a chef, because they lost me at nouvelle cuisine, or maybe even before, with all the strange sauces; not to mention basic ingredients from the gitgo. We're all about putting the gitgo in your Gitmo around these parts.
How those sabers do rattle, as the rapiers hum in the apprehensive air, that wishes they had just stopped with Ozzie and Harriet. That's the thing about being absolutely right and absolutely certain, when you are absolutely wrong. You can't stop. You got a taste for it, sort of like Clarice describing Buffalo Bill to Hannibal Lecter and “I, on the other hand cannot”, smell it but then I'm not Miggs am I? Visible digressing and coalescing, as he goes and don't mind the deliquescence. It comes with the territory and you need to keep in mind that tears and salt water have a lot in common and that the Earth is 3 quarters water. That sounds like a lot of tears but fish fuck in it so, what do I know? There's that salt crystallizing in a perfect cube, like the tears of Mary, or the bench on which sits the High Priestess and don't get me started on Lot's wife.
Have I got your attention or am I in a different dimension? It's all a matter of perception. Words aren't the only things that can be made to stand on their heads. The critical issue and concept that everyone, who even gives a shit, should keep in mind, is that we are watching evil shoot itself in the foot. Once evil is sure the foot is dead, evil is going to grill that foot and eat it as an appetizer, on the way to getting around to the rest of itself. Yes, pilgrims, this you must keep in mind. Evil is doing it's death dance. It's impressive. It looks to be unstoppable. It's got all kinds of special effects and the money to pay for them. It's got your attention and everyone wants to be on the winning side but there is confusion about the time remaining on the clock and who the referees work for; the price of those franks on the bun, what is actually in those “take me out to the ballpark” franks (where do you park your balls?) and who and what you will have for dinner. If there is a dinner; “didn't get a dinner”. Do you think I'm trying to make out with a snake? Wow, he mentioned Lot's wife too and that brings me back to what I heard a few years ago in Italy, “Visible, I'm having my morning coffee, then I'm going to dispense my blessings. I'm going to open a window of forgiveness, for those who may come as they may and then I am going to kick some ass”. Hmmm, now, I'm wondering if any of this has to do with the merry, merry month of May?
I remember the highway from LA to Palm Springs, there's a part of the road where you are looking at these parched, brown hills and you can see the faces of the comedians in the rock and strata formation; at least I did. Of course it could have just been the result of the LSD but it was there, a long line of entertainment, Mt. Rushmore contortabiles, frozen in the moment, sort of like that fly in amber kind of a way.
This brings me back to Shakespeare, where I hadn't gone in the first place. It's all tragedy. It's all comedy. It's both. It's two for one night at Little Caesar's, with harmony, tranquility and peace, “stuck in the middle with you”; if you happen to be there. Indeed, it is a pizza from Hell but you don't have to eat it. The world is what it is, because it really couldn't be any other way, here in this boot camp, Greyhound station, to points unknown. Some are traveling luxury and some are traveling coach and some are riding the trains in India. That all depends on your ticket and the quality of the ride depends on what you can afford and that depends on whether you earned enough, however you did it. At the same time, some people can fly first class with next to nothing depending on who they know. Who you know counts for a great deal in all cases; as does what you know and don't know. Finally, in this regard, trips, tours and lives end and how they end and what the result is, or the continuance, does not depend on whether you traveled first class or coach, or on foot, across whatever landscapes. It depends on how you comported yourself and all of us know this is true, regardless of what we believe in, because we feel it and we have to live with it, as we are doing and will do. This is what we contend with and we seem to think that's okay. Enough of us do, so that it continues, or it has. Then there is the apocalypse. It's right there on the Rolex, Oyster Perpetual, on the wrist of the cosmos. It's highlighted. Keep in mind that pearls grow in oysters and maybe you want to reference the irritation, that grain of sand that causes the pearl to form and what the pearl symbolizes; something along the lines of The Philosopher's Stone, for all those stoned philosophers.
We don't do wetwork here at The Petri Dish, unless we do it on ourselves because there are things that need killing. One of the true arts in this life is knowing what needs to die and what needs to live and assessing what certain experiences and desires can cost you in that respect. One thing you don't want in your knapsack is regret. How's that go? “Act in haste and repent at your leisure”. That can be expanded on, so that it's not only about haste, but intention, over the long haul. It's about direction. As has been stated here and there many times. It doesn't matter if you catch a plane, ride a train, hitchhike or walk, you are going to get there all the same, if Kansas City is where you are headed. That would be a metaphorical Kansas City. Some people think that Shambala is metaphorical or allegorical. That's not the case. It's as real as you are, if you are.
I've had deep and high-end burgundy moments and Thunderbird wine sorties. I've had the high end comestibles, if you please. None of any of these things count in the long run. It's what and who you are in the mix. There are all sort of irritations that are commensurate with divine discontent. There are all sorts of follies and frolics to choose from and so you are bent. We are bent according to whatever we are after. All the strategies of acquisition, the smoke and mirrors and the trick lighting, are only stage props and features. What we are after defines us. That's how it is down here. We are representative of what we seek. We are fashioned and formed by what we are after. That's all you need to know about what's going on and then comes laughter, or whatever follows after and then come tears and remorse and regret. If you don't know bout this, then you ain't got there yet. So it goes, the Whiffenpoof disappears up your ass, or up your nose. It's why we don't look so good without our clothes on, except for that space of a youthful sprint, in pursuit of what? That's the part I don't get. Yeah, I get it but I don't get it and I don't want it, either. Help yourself, ...in every sense of the phrase.
Alrighty then. Here we be. Is it Scylla and Charybdis, or the devil and the deep blue sea? Well that depends. Everything is available, including the Colossus of Rhodes less traveled. You can be a ketamized John Lilly, dreaming with dolphins or Albert Hoffman, riding his bicycle around Basel and be over a hundred year old. You could have a dead animal on your head like Donald Trump. Or you could be a Darth Vader Obama who is definitely not Forest Gump, or you could be yourself. Then Lecter says to Clarice, “yourself” and there is the Benjamin Raspail with no bottom. So you can see the stars if you look down. Yes, you can bring home a bucket full of starlight, with no bottom in your pail. It comes down to you and who or what you rely on. You can even cue Bill Withers to lean on me.
Goldbergs or gold mountains, are nothing next to Cold Mountain, where you can “sleep by the creek and purify your ears”. All the gold, guns and ammunition are of no consequence, when the mind behind the object, or apparatus, is no longer under the control of the one possessing it.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Dog Poet Transmitting.......
Beamed from the Saucer Pod By Visible at 17:34
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