Category Archives: Social Commentary

Performative Oppression – George Monbiot

[The so exceptional, white, Christian west shows its true colours. European Nazism wasn’t defeated. It hid, morphed, recouped and here it is, rising up as surely as it did in the 1930’s and what will confront it and challenge it this time? There is nothing and hardly anyone left with a working conscience to be found. The western world has succumbed to the lowest common denominator of schadenfreud. – my comment.  Sha’Tara] 

Performative Oppression

Posted: 15 Nov 2019 10:37 AM PST

The government proposes the cultural cleansing of the Romani and Traveller life from Britain.

By George Monbiot, published in the Guardian 13th November 2019

This is how it begins: with a theatrical attack on a vulnerable minority. It’s a Conservative tradition, during election campaigns, to vilify Romani Gypsies and Travellers: it tends to play well on the doorsteps of Middle England. But what the Home Secretary, Priti Patel, proposed last week is something else. It amounts to legislative cleansing.

The consultation document she released on the last day of Parliament aims to “test the appetite to go further” than any previous laws. It suggests that the police should be able immediately to confiscate the vehicles of “anyone whom they suspect to be trespassing on land with the purpose of residing on it”. Until successive Conservative governments began working on it, trespass was a civil and trivial matter. Now it is treated as a crime so serious that on mere suspicion you can lose your home.

When I say “you”, obviously I don’t mean you, unless you are a Romani Gypsy, a traditional Traveller or a New Traveller. If you’re on holiday in your caravan, it does not affect you. It applies only if you have “intent to reside” in your vehicle “for any period”. In other words, it is specifically aimed at travelling peoples. It is clearly and deliberately discriminatory.

It’s true that some people have sometimes behaved appallingly, damaging places, leaving litter and abusing residents. But there are already plenty of laws to prosecute these crimes. The government’s proposal, criminalising the use of any place without planning permission for Romani and Travellers to stop, would exterminate the travelling life.

The consultation acknowledges that there is nowhere else for these communities to go, other than the council house waiting list, which means abandoning the key elements of their culture. During the Conservative purge in the late 1980s and early 1990s, two thirds of traditional, informal stopping sites for travellers, some of which had been in use for thousands of years, were sealed off. Then, in 1994, the Criminal Justice Act repealed the duty of local authorities to provide official sites.

Over the past few weeks in Grimsby, Lincolnshire, local people have been debating the merits of the council’s proposal for an official transit site for travelling people. According to one of the councillors, there have been threats to stone, bottle and petrol bomb anyone who uses it, if planning permission is granted. For centuries Romani and Travellers have been hounded from parish to parish, suffering prejudice and bigotry as extreme as any group faces. Now the government is stoking it.

Patel’s proposed laws belong to the most dangerous of all political categories: performative oppression. She is beating up a marginalised group in full public view, to show that she sides with the majority. I don’t know whether she really intends to introduce these laws, or whether this is empty electioneering. In either case, she is playing with fire. Already this month, three caravans in Somerset have been torched by suspected arsonists. Travelling peoples have been attacked like this for centuries, and sometimes murdered. In 2003, a 15-year-old Traveller child, Johnny Delaney, was kicked to death by a gang of teenagers. One of them is reported to have explained to a passer-by, “he was only a fucking Gypsy.”

I asked a traditional Traveller how Patel’s legislation would affect her. Briony (not her real name) told me she has ploughed her life savings into her motorhome, which she parks out of people’s way, beside roads within easy reach of her children’s school. She has good relations with local people, many of whom know her and see her as part of the community. But none of this will help.

If this proposal becomes law, “the police will have the power to kick my door in, take my home, arrest me and take the children into care. We won’t get them back because we won’t have a home. Because of my work, I can’t afford a criminal record. When I walk out of the police station, I will have no home, no assets, no children and no career.” It would also leave her without state protection. “Sometimes we’ve had to call the police when we’re on the receiving end of hate crimes. This legislation would mean we had to go under the radar.” Understandably, she is terrified.

She has nowhere else to go. “There’s one transit site half an hour away, but you can stay there only for 28 days a year. So my only option is roadside. Roadside is our cultural heritage.” Stopping by the road has already been made extremely stressful and precarious by existing laws. Patel’s proposal would stamp it out altogether. It would end a migratory tradition that’s as old as humanity.

As Briony points out, this is collective punishment. “The majority of us are minding our own business. We’re providing our own housing, not relying on the government. But everything I do that’s positive is lost in people’s minds. Most people I meet have no idea I’m a Traveller. We’re invisible until we do something wrong. Then people notice we’re Travellers.”

A week before Priti Patel launched her consultation, the Weiner Holocaust Library in London opened its exhibition on the Porajmos: the genocide of Roma and Sinti people carried out by the Nazis. It shows how ancient prejudices were mobilised to destroy entire peoples. I’m not saying that this is how the situation will unfold in this country, but the exhibition shows us the worst that can happen when the state sanctions the demonisation of an outgroup. First they came for the Travellers …

http://www.monbiot.com

Unapologetically Yours

(dotting some i’s and crossing some tees – Sha’Tara)

At the risk of sounding pedant, I’ll start with, “who am I?”  OK, we’ve all heard the question, and probably all asked it of ourselves at some point or other in life. It’s a valid question, though, because if we cannot definitely answer it, we’ve got a lot of mind processing to do.

I’m going to answer that question because it’s time. I am all those awarenesses, those beliefs, those thoughts, those observations, those acceptances and rejections, those likes and dislikes, successes and failures, those highs and lows, that surround me, fill me or haunt me. That is what defines me, what I am: no apologies.

Once I was an ardent Christian. I believed IN God and all I wanted to do was serve God. Thus I focused my young life and that came to naught, through no fault of mine. I concluded God didn’t need me, or want me, therefore I didn’t need him and certainly didn’t want him. At that time of my life – pre-and early puberty – I desperately needed someone I could trust. I still believe (know) that God exists but as I learned more history of his church and his other religions, I no longer want any of that in my life: no apologies.

From interactions with non-Earth beings, three in particular whom I call “The Teachers” (YLea, El Issa and Phaelon) I gained understanding and daring, I might say, beyond the norm. Rescued by those same people (the Altarians) from death, I concluded they were worth listening to. They never said how, or why they came to my rescue in particular. Perhaps they knew more about me than I did. They did ask me to change my life and lifestyle and they knew that I already knew what costs would ensue. I had, after all, a good grounding in Catholic catechism, the gospel teachings, and an above average knowledge of biblical scriptures. The costs of “discipleship” clearly enumerated by Jesus and the ancient prophets would be my legacy as I followed Altarian philosophy. The losses I entailed were real. No apologies for stating facts.

For a time, when personal hubris was riding much higher than it is today, I thought I had become some sort of mystic. Then I realized that if mystic was synonymous with misfit, I was probably right and it certainly was nothing to feel proud of. The realization gradually toned me down. Yes I experienced powerful visions and yes I was open to channeling and other esoteric things but when I refused to use such to titillate or entertain (or write best sellers), that was the end of that. No apologies to disappointed would-be followers. I walk alone.

Once again, it’s poppy time in the West. We have to “remember” the “fallen” as heroes. It would not do to call them what they were, and continue to be: mass murderers. What’s the difference between a soldier (mercenary) and a murderer? One is a sort of institutional hero for killing “enemies” in step with orders from above. The other is considered a danger to society because s/he kills without orders, hence too much of a wild card. The killing is OK but it has to be sanctioned by the powers that be or it becomes a crime. I’ve always been innately anti-war and anti-killing. I’ve found a better way to express my own humanity; a way guaranteed to end all warring conflicts on this benighted world. That is why that way will never be followed: it would end gratuitous violence. Stupid is as stupid does, my mama always said. (Forest Gump). There are no soldiers in my world, only killers, some to obey, others to make money. I’m not claiming I don’t have enemies but they too are manufactured by consent. No apologies for that statement.

Why do people act in such anti-life ways? Why the lust for violence? Why can’t man end his racism, misogyny, pedophilia, exploitation, oppression, suppression, rape, enslavement and murder? Why does greed rule and ruin the world? No, not just today. Ancient proverbs state that money is the root of all evil, so there were other times when money (gold!) ruled the known world and did to it what our greed is doing to ours.

What’s wrong with people? I’ll tell you, but don’t think you can believe it – you won’t be allowed. You are a programmed entity. Your “soul” is an implant by which you are programmed and directed. If you could freely reason the insanity of all the evil you do so “naturally” on a daily basis, you wouldn’t do it – you couldn’t. But you do it and you find it so easy to justify it afterwards. That’s programming, and it didn’t come out of the swamps your Darwinist-evolutionists insist you arose from. It came from those who invented mankind. No apologies for stating this either. This blatant fact will come out when the programming is broken, not before.  

When I got thoroughly fed up with earth I attempted to escape through suicide. I was rescued by non-Earth entities, and given that one chance to change my life. There would not be another chance, I knew. When I came out of that “amazing” experience and realized this second chance would manifest on Earth, in the same place I was in already, I rebelled at first. Then I decided to take my first step on the path of personal change and self empowerment. Was it 40 years ago already, or was it yesterday? It feels like I’ve only just begun. Fortunately for me, there is all of eternity to live through and infinity to search out as I develop this ever-new me, new self, in dauntless self-awareness and eagerness to learn more, to change with each new lesson.  This is my reality and… no apologies.

Oh yes, that solution to all of your social problems of injustice, of corruption, of gratuitous violence and greed. Although I know no one will have the fortitude to accept the truth of it and put it in personal practice – imagine the price to be paid – it needs stating: compassion. That’s right, that’s it, and that’s all.

You can invent all the solutions you want to all of your problems and you will notice that they will morph endlessly into other, and bigger, problems. You can bury them with legalese and political correctness, self-help studies and philanthropic efforts and they will rise up again and again. You will despair at your helplessness, blame elites, rulers, CEO’s, bankers, other classes, races, genders, even divinities but nothing doing. The evil your ancestors did, you are doing. Your future generations will generate more of the same. Choose instead to become a compassionate person. Don’t question it, make no excuses. Compassion is the final act. It will put “paid” to your society’s grossest  sins. Guaranteed. No apologies for that claim.

Now I can go to another peaceful sleep, perhaps to dream, perhaps to not wake up in this reality. It’s all the same to me.  

Man’s Last War

 – a poem by Sha’Tara

The world hasn’t changed much
Since so long ago I was born, when I happened
For no reason it would seem, without hubris.
I learned to talk, walk, listen and observe
With the sense it all had to mean something
In the end.

The world was cruel to me when I was young
Though I didn’t know that then, it’s what is
To a child life is the norm, the form.
There was much hardship, harshness
Little tenderness, and it seemed dangerous.
One could get used to tenderness
And the world I knew hated it with passion
unchecked.

Life is cruel they said without apology,
Why not, they’d just survived a world war
Knowing naught but blood and losses.
I thought, yes, I have to be bold, and tough,
I too must survive, there’ll be another war
And I must know how to fight it; must know
My enemy before he knows that I know
I will beat him.

No, the world hasn’t changed, not at all.
The same people lie, cheat, rob and rule,
The same people suffer and die, their blood
Lubricates the scythe blindly sweeping
To leave fodder and dying stubble in its wake
To be ploughed.

Yet something did change, has changed:
A new World War is being fought
No longer man against man but once again
Man against nature-she fighting her protracted way
She can never lose. Man in his hubris
Still believes he can win this war and it will be
As he never, ever, won any of his other wars.
Earth withdraws her bounty.

Man’s motto remains against, never with
Rashly, brashly he spreads his nets,
His barb wire, his jet trails, his towers,
His stacks, his chimneys, his warehouses
His poisons, his noise, his armaments and bombs,
All to be measured in corporate profits for
The rich to get richer.

Civilization teeters on the brink of extinction,
The skies are deeply troubled, changing colours,
Glaciers melt, calve, fires burn, smoke rises:
Death, death, death! Booms and cackles
The Lord of Greed, the God of man, terminator
Soulless and heartless

The last man stands on his funeral pyre
Proudly made of planet Earth’s skin
Sure he’d won his very last war against life.
*********
He raises his fist to the soured heavens,
Claiming his last divine imperative thinking
I have destroyed the environment, I have killed
All that sustained life. I leave my boot print
On a weak, worthless and dying world, hah!
“I Am become Death, the Destroyer of Earth,
I will be remembered, halleluiah!”

Sally Urquart

[a short story –  by Sha’Tara]

The law required that the local council call a public meeting, so they did, on a Wednesday evening, for 7:00 PM. It being the middle of the week, “they” knew that many commuters would be unable to attend and that was the point, wasn’t it. Me and my political group of “Greenies” as we were labelled attended, of course, and tried to get as many of our supporters as we could to oppose the proposed development of a new strip mall that included an anchor super market from a major multinational food distribution and retail corporate group. We didn’t need another food store, we already had two perfectly adequate ones. But it’s the old story, isn’t it. Money talks, bullshit walks.

The meeting got underway and despite some heated interruptions and cries of “lies, lies!” the presentation by two corporate shills was concluded and the meeting opened to questions. The questions and borderline speeches came hard and fast. A couple of angry residents were forcefully expelled but the mood did not relax.

After most of the participants had had their say and were summarily cut off from further discussion, that’s when she came forth. A pleasant looking young woman I had never seen, wearing a simple blue sweat shirt and faded jeans, in sandals yet imposing enough in height: she must have been close to six feet if an inch. Her long dark hair was tied back with a scarf. She wore no makeup and her fingers, when she took the mike, showed her to be a worker of the soil. She had a good tan too, and it was of the honest kind: from the sun, obviously. From where I sat I couldn’t tell the colour of her eyes but they were piercing.

She held a brown envelope in her left hand which she placed on the podium and she addressed the meeting in a very soft and gentle voice that forced everyone to listen intently in order to hear. As a hopeful politician, there’s a trick I would have to learn. She greeted “Mr. Mayor” by name, as well as the six council members, one having recused himself due to known conflict of interest in the matter. To the rest of us she said, “Hi neighbours, my name is Sally Urquart and I realize most of you don’t know me but I live here too and I have an interest in this community, and the well-being of its children. I am not here to oppose the development being discussed because I don’t have to. It isn’t going to happen.”

You could have heard a pin drop. “Mr. Mayor” had his mouth open but no sound came. I was on the edge of my seat.

She continued, “I have here some documents that indict your mayor and three of “his” councillors sitting before you. These documents, of which these are but copies, are now filed with the Crown attorney but I was given the opportunity to bring my discoveries to this meeting so you would all know; so the local paper, represented here by Jim Leeson, reporter, could have the goods firsthand.

“Your mayor is facing charges of high level corruption for accepting bribes from the main anchor of the proposed strip mall, Food Source, and for openly lying about his involvement in this matter to the electorate, that is you people here, and the rest of this community. As for the other three councillors whom I need not name, they shared in the mayor’s bribe money and future interest in the venture’s profit.

“Food Source, on a plea bargain, has already admitted to the bribes and additionally to being in violation of provincial law by knowingly attempting to develop prime agricultural land currently in protected agricultural land reserves. I have little more to add except to say that your mayor and three councillors here present are now under arrest.”

At that moment four RCMP officers came in the hall and took charge of the individuals, reading them their rights and taking them out a side door though not in handcuffs which many of us would have liked to see. ‘Good riddance,’ I thought. Then I looked for Sally but she had disappeared, along with her brown envelope.

It took a bit of digging but we found out that she had been an attorney for the Crown, had resigned for personal reasons, then had accepted a temporary assignment on behalf of the Crown to investigate the Food Source strip mall affair and the town of Green Oaks’ council. During her investigative work she had quietly bought a one acre parcel of land with a few dilapidated out buildings, had moved a mobile home on it and begun her work of clearing the land and doing some serious gardening.

At our next meeting we decided we had to have “Sally” on our executive. We needed her savvy, her poise and her so seductive voice. We had to send a delegation to her and find out how we could persuade her to join with us. It was agreed that myself and my side kick, photographer, recorder, documentary maker, Phil Tompkins would be the delegation.

We found Sally at the back of her property, clearing blackberries and replacing fence posts. She looked much as she had at the town meeting, except for the added wide-brimmed Aussie hat and boots. She greeted us with an open smile, offered to go to the trailer and make coffee, which we declined because it would have interrupted everything. Without beating around the bush I told her what we had to offer her if she would join our organization. She would be our nominee for the next provincial election which was in less than two years’ time. She accepted the introductory parphernalia we offered her, accepted that Phil video’d our conversation. She was never one lost for words and I admired her even more on that day.

“Would you like some time to think this over, Sally? Maybe I could come back in a couple of days or so?” She made it easy to talk to her and us being of approximately the same age made our interaction ever smoother.

“Oh, that’s very kind of you, but I’ve always been one to make quick judgment calls and decisions. Your proposal is persona non grata here, I’m afraid. The moment you join an organization your personal life ends and you become an adjunct of other people’s thoughts, decisions and choices. When I became an attorney I was under the delusion that I could be an independent; that I could pick my cases and handle them the way I felt was right. That didn’t happen, was never going to happen, so I resigned as Crown counsel. Now I am an independent. I take pro bono or quasi pro bono cases entirely on my own, and my investigations which I prefer to court room presentations, pay the bills.”

Then she pointed around at her property. “This though is who I am. This acre of land, such as it is, is my real world. I live here. I share it with the beasties, the trees, the plants, the sun, wind, rain and snow and whomever comes to visit and doesn’t mean to stay. This is my universe.

“I can understand your group wanting to use me – yes that is the proper term – because of certain skills I possess and because of my self-possession but if I acquiesced, I would lose the very things that make me what I am. I’m not for sale. If you need some information dug up, if you even run into legal problems then come to me and I’ll do what I do best: I’ll unravel the ball of twine for you until you learn to do it for yourselves. Do you have an investigator in your group? An attorney of sorts? If not, get them. If you’re going to play this game you have to play with a full deck and a not few cards up your sleeves. That’s how the other side does it. That’s all I have to say. I rest my case.” She smiled again, leaning gently on her long-handled brush cutter.

Now here I am, Jenny Derksen, on my own little parcel of land outside a different town. Yes, some years ago I aspired to become a politician. When Sally Urquart turned down my appeal, I listened to what she had to say and after I narrowly lost my very first attempt at becoming an MLA (Member of the Legislative Assembly for those not familiar with Canadian political terminology) I began to listen once again to Sally’s words. Joiners can never be their own person and I had seen more and more of that as I struggled with our own growing bureaucracy. I was becoming less of a human being and more of something that endlessly needed to be shaped, goaded, driven, counselled, trimmed, managed. One night it came to me and I literally threw up realizing what was happening. There and then I quit, walked away. I was an elementary school teacher and I could do quite well on my salary. I didn’t want the limelight, I wanted to be me and certainly the bureaucracy of the education system was already more than I could take. I didn’t need the added burden of politics that benefited higher and higher up opportunists. I could teach “my children” and one of them might even be the next Greta Thunberg. Ah! Dare to dream!

Oh yes, I wear a worn sweatshirt and faded jeans most times at home, as well as a wide brimmed Aussie hat, boots optional, and I remain unmarried though not without many good offers and opportunities. When some of “my children” come to visit, we work or play in the back gardens or if it rains, we go inside and bake, or I teach them how to sew or we play games – rule #1: no cell phones, no tablets, no TV.

I did learn some important lessons from Sally. Did we become friends? No, that wasn’t necessary. In the few moments we interacted we got all we would ever need from each other. She taught me to become a self empowered person, the greatest “gift” anyone can give another.

We the People: a Grim Fairytale

[a short story by  ~ burning woman~ ]

Once upon a time (well, that is the usual opening for a fairy tale, is it not?) there was an empire that covered an entire world. It was not a peaceful empire, in fact it was terribly dysfunctional. However, the kings and other rulers of the various kingdoms, duchies and quaint inventions called “nations” liked it that way.

There were endless wars which greatly benefited the elites and allowed the peasants and serfs or citizens to pretend at being “somebodies” by fighting and killing each other on a regular basis. For that world such behaviour was considered entirely normal. People who thought otherwise and who refused to fight and kill their neighbours were classed as traitors and in some periods, were executed, in others simply jailed. One thing for sure, at all times they were mocked and called cowards.

Such conditions are conducive to bringing forth cowardly and corrupt leadership and at times some group of people would overthrow such leaders and change the status of their land from, say, a kingdom or a colony to, say, a democracy. None of them actually understood what a democracy was since there had never been any to learn from, but they made it up as they went along and lo and behold, before they knew what had happened, their “democracy” had become a totalitarian regime quite identical to what their history books told them of the times before their revolution.

But, they cried, how can this be when it is “We the People” who decide how things should be run? So they talked, loud and vociferously about the role that “We the People” played in this drama and why things had turned on them. They blamed one-another for failing to vote, or for supporting the wrong party and those who were blamed, blamed right back. They blamed the politicians, well, of course! They blamed their elites, just as their forebears did. The problem was that now the elites operated with impunity within the democracy that “We the People” had presumably set up precisely to prevent such a thing from happening.

As things heated up, there even began talk of another revolution. It was a lot of angry talk and no one really knew how to bring about a revolution. It seemed that would require much organization and really, no one was up to jump starting such an irrevocable step. They needed the support of “We the People.”

In keeping with the propaganda relating to the previous revolution, it seemed logical that once again it would be “We the People” who would have to rise up, overthrow the entire corrupt system of religion, government and finance/business, and establish a new system. That made sense, so those with the loudest voices decided to bring “We the People” together.

And children, that is when those who wanted a revolution discovered that “We the People” was a complete chimera. There was no such thing as “We the People.” The idea that a majority core group held the real power of the democracy had always been pure propaganda by the two-party system of government so that the people would continue to believe that at the heart of it a legitimate, patriotic, educated, aware watchdog group of citizens kept tab on its government and had a tight leash on its politicians.

It was a terrible blow to the ego of those who would stop the corruption to discover that there had never been a “We the People” force in the land but exactly the opposite: a ragtag collection of people who distrusted one-another and often hated one-another for being of the wrong skin colour, or from the wrong ethnic background, economic level or religion. Instead of unity, they saw mass shootings and mass incarcerations of innocent individuals. They saw greed, hubris, abuse, violations of every known human rights and widespread destruction of the environment. They also saw that the masses, those who should have been “We the People,” identified with these destructive ways and participated in them, often with gusto while supporting and defending their blatantly corrupt leadership.

“Sadly children, they did not live happily ever after.”

“What happened to that world teacher?” asked a small boy.

“As to be expected, it destroyed itself and all the people on it died.”

“Oh!” echoed the children in horror.

“But it’s only a fairy tale, isn’t it?” Ventured an older girl in the back row.

“Well… no, it’s not really a fairy tale at all.”

A Man, a Survivor

[a poem by   ~burning woman~  ]

A strange old man, a very ancient figure,
that’s who he was,
who he is,
who he will always be
.

A man of many titles in as many times:
poor Bill, mendicant, beggar and tramp.

At times,
panhandler, good-for-nothing loafer,
deadbeat, vagrant, hobo, gypsy
and in more recent times,
a welfare bum.

Sometimes this strange man
whom everybody sees, nobody knows
comes back from the sea,
sometimes from the wars or prison:
no one comes to the quay
or the bus stop to meet him

and to hug him.

Alone,
carrying a damp and dirty canvas bag
he limps down some dark alley
to find a familiar den,
a smoke-filled tavern, an inn.
a halfway house.

For a few coins, a room under a stairway
a garret with drafty shutters,
a condemned house

become his home ’til the angels come
or the demons, and who can ever tell?

Sometimes he just gets tired of jostling
for position and wealth – leaves one night
never to come back. Why for?

His wife re-married, does he care?
Who’s to know? Not even he
wandering the drafty city streets
with his new title and essential wealth.

He’s a successful miner now,
mining garbage for treasures
haphazardly arranged in a rusty shopping cart
(of front squeaky bent wheel
from an accidental encounter with a taxi)
until deposited for safekeeping.

They call him homeless now, the
politically correct term
for this strange old man who never did fit,
who in his youth had a strong back
to break up the coal, carry gear and pack a rifle
walk through flooded paddies
and burn babies in their mothers’ arms
inside grass huts in a land so far away.

He knew well enough then why he did this:
for God and country and freedom
they’d told him so and he believed.

He came back from the killing fields
to log the dark green hills
until the trees were gone.
He cleaned out curbs and culverts
for a pittance in part time jobs
to bolster free enterprise and capitalism.

“It’s all good” they said with a leer
and what could he do but believe?

He doesn’t remember much of that
and really, what does it matter now?
the rich got richer and died,
the dead remain dead
and he’s got his place
behind four loosened cement bricks
under a forgotten embankment
where he hides his “Precious”
and keeps a mouldy sleeping bag,
drinks, sleeps and feeds his nightmares
of bullets and blood,
of flames that roast flesh,
of screams of pain and terror:
the voices of the dead
his last remaining friends.

It’s time to work the streets again,
push the rusty cart with the squeaky bent wheel
until the angels return again
or the demons, and who’s to know?

He’ll be there again tomorrow
and the day after that
and even after the Great Day
there he will be in his dirty tattered rags
his long stringy hair blowing wildly
in the cold, cold winds that haunt
the endless dirty, drafty, empty city streets

What will his title be
next time I pass him by trying not to notice?

I think I already know this, in my heart
as I look around and ponder this place:
he’ll be the survivor.

The Programming

[thoughts from ~burning woman~]

Are people “programmed” to act the way they do collectively? If so, what does it mean to be “programmed”?

Programming is similar to brainwashing but much more intrusive as one is born with an operating system her/his society equally uses. A brainwashed individual might stand out from the herd, but when the entire herd is programmed, nothing stands out. If something does stand out, usually because the programming failed at some point, it will be hounded to death or hailed as some kind of saviour. Either way the herd will not think of changing its own ways to match that of a deprogrammed way shower because the herd is what it is. The programming is society and society is the programming.

There, now I’ve explained, without explaining anything, why exemplary individuals are either praised or martyred but never achieve any lasting success within society. Each new birth among the sheeple herd is a reaffirmation of the programming and is not affected by the words or acts of exemplary odd-ball individuals.


Each new generation has to realize the status quo is a result of the programming, never what free-thinking individuals would choose to rule over themselves. Each new generation must challenge the status quo if it is to hope for meaningful change as opposed to religious, government or economic whitewash. To do so every programmed new born must, upon reaching some “age of reason” realize it is acting from programming and not from natural input.


Earthians, i.e., Homo Sapiens, are not now, nor have they ever been, natural creatures. They have been, and remain, “invented” and severely programmed, controlled, entities. Even if the inventors appear to no longer reside in the neighbourhood their installed operating system runs through DNA and genes and whatever other methods of control little or nothing is known about at this time.


It bears repeating the obvious, that however many times “the people” have sought to make significant changes to the status quo, it invariably all returns to square one. The board is cleared and the pieces are re-assembled in their original start of game position. The pawns (peons or pee on’s) are on the front lines, the nobility safely behind this protection. Only when most or all Pee-On’s are dead does the nobility take the field and notice that they reserve special moves for themselves not available to the pawns… unless a pawn by some miracle becomes a member of the nobility. So a new game begins in the proper order according to the rules of the program. No deviation allowed.

Any change made to the rules will be endlessly reversed because it does not affect the programming of those who are born after the changes took effect. The “next generations” do not understand the need for the changes nor comprehend or care for the sacrifices that were made to achieve it. (Try out some history on that, see if I’m in error here.)

It had been hoped that “education” would eventually ensconce the change within society’s group think; within the societal mindset, but that turned out to be a false hope. If someone has a toothache you can make them read books about people with healthy teeth but it changes nothing to that person’s reality. They have to figure out a way to overcome their own problem and that does not come from mere information. Education is information. It has no power to change society. All that can be hoped is that certain individuals will realize, as they educate themselves (in my case despite all that “academia” tried in order to change my mind) that they are mind slaves of “something” much greater than themselves or their society. Then they must challenge themselves to uncover the cause of this “malaise” within their own mind and through no small effort, eradicate the original programming by literally re-inventing their thinking patterns through changes of belief and unbelief until something new is achieved and the old program completely eliminated.

Then what? Well, then they find themselves at odds with much that their society teaches, insists upon, takes for granted or accepts as necessary, even when such beliefs, concepts or acts make absolutely no sense.The programmed and the deprogrammed no longer understand one-another; they speak a different language.


As long as Homo Sapiens programmed entities are born to take over the status quo nothing permanent can change here. Going from a bone knife to a nuclear submarine is not change: the mindset remains the same because the mindset is the programming and it’s the mindset that determines the future.


The programming or operating system I speak of was once used to benefit the “inventors” of Homo Sapiens by controlling their minds to keep them enslaved and unable to reason things for themselves. Now its elites have discovered how to use this controlling programming to their own advantage. They use it to force the programmed mind-slaves to work for peanuts; to destroy their world to extract baubles that are of little or no value and in the process find it necessary and justifiable to destroy each other.


This final destruction it would seem, was always part of the original plan. The current mess we are in and cannot get out of is a consequence of a program that was meant to run the entire survival time of what has been aptly called, ‘the slave species of god.’

Since the programming cannot be stopped, there being no intelligence capable of exposing its existence; since it controls everything an Earthian thinks and does; since no mind powerful enough to counter it exists on Earth in this time, then the species must end.

It will not be destroyed outright: where’s the fun in that? It will be forced to self-destruct, watching itself helplessly doing so: the final gift of the gods. Amen.