Tag Archives: ignorance

COVID-19 – What is that finally all about?

[thoughts from   ~burning woman~   by Sha’Tara]

COVID-19, the Day the World Ended… or was it civilization as we’d come to know it… or was it a natural, totally unexpected plague that threatened to annihilate mankind? One of the four horses of the Apocalypse, Death, Famine, War or Conquest, take your pick? Maybe none of the above descriptions or criteria? Maybe simply another convenient false flag?

I would like this to be a synopsis (hopefully short) of what I’ve learned so far about COVID-19. Wow, and good luck with that, I’m thinking. What haven’t I learned and what’s worth remembering now that we’re fully engaged into a “fanfreluche” war against a chimera. Explanation for those not of French extraction: Fanfreluche is a living doll who retells fairy tales and legends to the viewers. When the story goes a way that displeases her, she physically enters the story to “fix” the ending. I hope you can see the connection!

So, what I know, so far. The virus, real, imagined or partially real, no one will ever know now because the waters in the wake of its very loud passage were so muddied nothing can be seen, not even by the very best forensic pathologist, not even the non-existent bodies blamed on its passage can be found. I won’t say no one died a bit sooner than otherwise from the effects of this “manipulated” (medical experts’ consensus) corona virus “extract” but it is also true that the CDC has “advised” medical examiners to label any death due to complications of various pre-existent conditions as COVID deaths.

Reason for that? Think two things: profits for emptied hospitals being paid big bucks for declaring C-19 deaths and governments eager to enter into a new age of totalitarianism, putting an end to those annoying “democracies” with their constitutions demanding that leaders be accountable to the peons. That was an intolerable affront to ruling elites. Well, no more of that, it’s over. The “divine right of kings” has been re-established. “Wear a mask-step, sanitize your hands-step, six-foot rule-step, nitril gloves-step, report your neighbours-step, no large gatherings-step… step-step-step. Halt! Papiere bitte! Vakzine? Nein? You’re under arrest! Turn around, hands behind back or I will shoot you like the dog that you are.”

What else did I learn? Well, during the whole C-19 brouhaha, the problems of climate change miraculously disappeared. Wow! Some even went so far as to claim that suddenly the planet’s physical, if not mental, condition was doing much better. According to hyped up disinformation, the air and even the waters, were so much cleaner. Why? Well because for a few days people drove maybe 20% less and airliners stayed on the ground. I didn’t buy the cleaner air claims but then I’m not exactly an easy sell for propaganda. I like to annoy claimants by stating, “Don’t tell me, show me.” I didn’t see anything. Chilliwack, where this is coming from, is bottled up at the east end of the Fraser Valley and the mountains (see my blog’s header picture!) act as a giant collector of city and port pollution from the coast, from Seattle, north to Vancouver, B.C. Wonder why our pollution levels didn’t seem to “lighten up”? But the good news is, we no longer have to worry about climate change. Fanfreluche is re-writing that part of the tale.

I also learned that during the “pandemic” the problem of a crashing economy due to gross malfeasance and corruption in all highest places of government, military, banking and corporate prevarication was conveniently laid on the shoulders of little Fanfreluche. Up to her now to go in there and change the way the tale is to be re-told! The perpetrators can line up at the trough again, like they did in 2008 and rack up some more billions; buy up more stock options and cut off the small investors out of any hope for some profit on their investments. The “roaring twenties” repeated… in spades! Now comes massive unemployment; loss of homes and security: all COVID’s fault, naturally. Oh, and let’s not forget the “incremental” profits by humongous corporations as tens of thousands of small businesses are neatly excised from the competition field. Does it get better than that?

What else? I came face-to-face with the worst corruption of all: the politicizing of what was presumably a serious medical situation; the blatant corruption of those in charge of developing a real solution to the virus. Instead of handling the virus like any other in previous years the entire planet was suddenly inveigled into acquiescing to outright stupid, inane, pointless and in most cases, deleterious rules ostensibly meant to “contain” the spread of the virus. I learned that those who at first jumped on the Bill Gates agenda to declare a world-wide “vaxable” emergency as millions were sure to drop dead in the streets, in elevators, on beaches, at parties, in swimming pools, in theaters, at board meetings, in planes, trains and automobiles, when caught in fragrante delicto recanted and began to say that the rules were worst than the disease they had been meant to contain.

Think “Dr.” Fauci (whom I lovingly like to call Herr Doktor Faucki Mengele) and his gross lies, not to mention his corrupt behaviour in moving his deadly virus research from Fort Detrick to… yes, Wuhan(!) after Obama shut him down in the States as his “research” was deemed too dangerous. So he took taxpayers’ money and gave it to China. Smooth that, very smooth. About a month and a half ago, his royal lowness, King Donald “promised” to look into Faucki’s corruption: I think we’re in for a very long wait on that one. Corruption investigating corruption? Not unless there’s profit in it for Trump, which based on the level of believers in the COVID divinity, there isn’t. We already know how the “political left” feels about King Donald ordering people back to work.  

We should be so much more trusting of our leaders, wherever we place them, shouldn’t we! When they say no, we know they mean yes and mean well. When they say yes, we know they mean no and mean well. When they tweet endlessly we know to bleat endlessly to complete the “Song of the Zombies.” It will be our very last performance, done alone, in a dark room, under quarantine and one kilometre/mile social distancing. No one will hear. 

Imperialists’ Contradictory Truths

{ahhhh… a poem.  One that tries to keep pace with the times, as once in a while the girl has to express what she feels inside, what she reads, what she observes.} 

***I was remiss in not stating that the quote, “postage stamp mindset” is not something I made up, but that I read from DAVID ICKE. ***

[thoughts from   ~burning woman~  ]

From discomfort we loudly proclaim our comfort;
Our corruption defines our character strength;
By feeding generic hate we express our love.

Denial of reality is our unshakeable reality;
Our leaders’ lies are beacons for sacred truth.
From endless deceptions we draw certainty.

With guns and prisons we proclaim freedom;
Prejudice and bigotry: these are our banner;
Turpitude measures our standard of excellence.  

Our wars attest it: we stand for world peace,
However many we must kill to attain this.
The world trembles and bleeds at our holy name.

For we are America, bastion of democracy,
Land of the free, home of the brave;
Ever safe inside our postage stamp mindset.

 

 

The Letter

“A lie is more comfortable than doubt, more useful than love, more lasting than truth.” —Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez

A short story,   by Sha’Tara 

       She ran across the freshly ploughed field, bare feet digging in soft loam, long dress held up with one hand, the other waving a yellow envelope as she jumped uneven furrows.

     “Samuel, Samuel!”

    The team stopped and the man waited, leaning on the arms of the plough, sweat pouring down his dirt-streaked face and opened homespun shirt.

     “A letter from Timmy…! she cried, breathless from her race across the rough ground.

     “Now, easy, woman. How d’you know it’s from the boy?” he answered cautiously in a soft drawl.

     “I jes’ know! Please, Sam, let’s go have it read!” Her eyes danced with excitement.”

     “Now, Susanna? Ya know the preacher’s on his rounds and teacher’s off for the summer… and the notary charges for readings.”

     “Please, I’ve got to know how he’s doin’! Please?”

     He sighed heavily and looked up for a moment: “Alright, woman, we’ll go. Hitch up the gelding. I’ll bring these in and feed ’em. Reckon the ploughin’ can wait one more day.”

     As they rode their battered surrey into town, she tried to imagine the contents of the letter, all the things her son would be doing and seeing. Even though the war was raging, he’d have seen the mansions with their armies of servants, the women in their pretty getups, maybe even been to some fancy do… “I jes’ hope he ain’t fallen for none of them fancy types. Who knows with young un’s away from home so long? Two years, three months and nineteen days…”

     She was jolted from her dreaming when the rig stopped in front of the notary’s office. They went in, Susanna holding herself shyly, a distance behind Sam. They waited patiently until the rotund man sitting at a desk, a shade on his balding head, stopped shuffling the pages of a paper, took a cigar from his mouth, blowing the smoke to the low ceiling, and nodded for them to approach.

     “Can I help you folks?” He had studied them and smirked inwardly. He already knew what they wanted by the envelope the woman was now holding tightly to her breast. He savored the momentary power their ignorance and threadbare poverty allowed him.

     “We need a letter read, sir.” Sam said, matter of factly.

     “Sure, no problem.” He snapped his fingers, “You got the two-bits?”

     “Two-bits? Ain’t that a heap o’ money for a readin’?” The farmer was incredulous.

     “‘Tis the goin’ rate these days, folks, what with the war on an’ all.”

     “Look, please, Mr. Raines” she came forward, daring to interrupt, holding out the letter to him, “it’s a letter from my son in the army, sir, from the war, an’ I jes’ want to know what it says… please?”

     Pushing out his chair, placing his feet on the desk and looking past her at a rider on the street, he answered arrogantly, “This here’s a business, ma’am. Gotta have money to make it run. If I read your letter for nothin’ everyone’d want the same priv’lege an’ I’d be outta business, see?”

     “Please…” she hesitated briefly, then tried again, “would you take some eggs, or milk, or a chicken, maybe?”

     “Didn’t you read my sign? ‘Course not, you cain’t read! Look at these here big letters” -he struggled his bulk out of the swivel chair, stood up and poked viciously at the sign on his desk, then slammed his fist down -“How many times do I have to tell you people the same thing? NO PAYMENT IN KIND ACCEPTED. That means, cash, understand? Good day!”

     He went back to his chair, relit his cigar and exhaled with extra satisfaction. He flicked open his paper with a noncha­lant gesture, ignoring Sam and Susanna who turned and left the office, the droop of their shoulders accented by another of life’s endless defeats.

     “I tried to tell you, woman” Sam said to her, not unsympathetically, as he helped her into the rig. “Edjicashun cos’s money and Ben’s edjicated and we’re jes’ dumb farmers. Like preacher says, we gotta accept this from the Lord an’ not go put on airs. Jus’ wait ’til Timmy returns and he’ll read us the letter. By the look o’ that envelope, I reckon it’s a mighty fine letter.”

     Moved by her silent, bitter tears, he reached for her with his large, calloused hand and brought her close to himself, flicking the reins with his free hand. She turned her face to him for a moment, then leaned against him, holding the letter between them.

     She rode the rest of the way silently, crushed by her ignor­ance and shamed at having taken Sam from his work.  Approach­ing their homestead in the early fall twilight, she did not experience the usual sense of happiness and security which the sight always gave her. She could not articulate the deep sadness which held her as she disembarked and entered the shack.

     She placed the letter on the small wall shelf above the table, next to the Bible and the faded blue ribbon Timmy had won at school in a spelling bee.

     Sometimes, on sleepless nights, Susanna would take the letter and hold it tenderly, visualizing her son standing by her side. She saw his green eyes sparkle as her hand went through his unruly reddish hair, his freckled face open in that special smile he had always kept for her alone. She would cry a little, then put it back. She never again dared to have it opened and read, although the preacher passed through several times, and the schoolmarm returned for another year.

     Rumors that the war had ended began to circulate through the county, but it was only when some of the boys returned and Timmy did not, nor send any more letters, that Samuel realized he had not written the letter and that Susanna had always known.