Friday, 18 December 2009

No feelings, no pain, no love.

Your correspondent has been offline rebooting his bonce after being a bad Santa. Not that he committed anything larcenous, he just enjoyed a whole load of delicious West Aus Shiraz and Rudolph, Donner und Blitzen had to carry him home.


Santa was on his best behaviour though earlier yesterday evening as the snow fell and the reindeer were obscured by the snow clouds, at least the little blighters fell for that part of the ruse, and he gave out presents to all the boisterous boys and good girls at the party. The disguise wasn’t good though, since one little five year old who was standing at my left shoulder tugged at my whiskers and whispered like a foghorn “That’s not a real beard. Is it?” and Santa had put on a few pounds since last year so he bust his belt!!


Anyway as I looked into their little faces and they gathered round all hushed and expectant I finally realised my answer to something G.O.T. penned over on the Dundee Wifey’s place late last week had crystallised.


What with my usual diatribe and nonsense during the past week it had been swirling in the grey matter unfocussed and it wasn’t until the early hours of this morning as yummy Shiraz made my synapses connect in random ways that the crystal took its final form.


So here goes.


Yes G.O.T. it is not the same and cannot be because the new child is not a child it is an asset of the Oligarchy.


I remember as a four year old taking my mate Zachary’s bicycle up the pavement and thundering back to his place at full pelt. As I got near something failed on the bike and I flew through the air and hit the 'crete sharpish. I remember seeing my mum, Z and Z’s mum, all their faces watch me fly, mouths open. I picked myself up, got a clip round the lug for being careless and then went to the corner parade of shops to watch the BP tanker unload petrol on the forecourt. God my skint knees hurt though.


Today social services, assorted busy bodies and the Secret Family Courts and blue flashing light agencies would be involved and I’d be taken away to be MKUltra’d for TPTB. Think I’m joking? Just wander through aangrifan’s place. Those girls know what’s what alright.


“I promise to pay the bearer on demand the sum of …”,



The new child is a promissory note to ritual and ceremony. “I bear on demand a promissory note to my betters” The Banksters of Hell. Basle.


In the past all the attention was being lavished on getting the adults to bear witness to the promissory notes written in their names, social security numbers, so the weans could go and fall off cliffs and mangle themselves in farm machinery ‘til the cows came home.


However once the adults were corralled the bairns are to be numbers next.


Remember I asked how long it would be before the unborn are made to pay their way.


Well it is here and now .


I wasn’t joking when I said that an age of slavery, child slavery, is their next objective. Each child is to be distanced ever more from the family. It is one of the unspoken agendas that all the unfamily dynamics have in our society, the most beautifully warped and wrapped example being Madonna.


The child belongs to a dynamic, out with and exterior to the family, a State actor surrogate which will decide what it is fed, intellectual malnourishment, who you associate with, crecheing (get women out to work and pay for childminders), what school you attend and who with: (one of the give aways of TPTB’s stinking handle is the no home schooling laws of Nazi Germany were never torpedoed by the liberators, us), personal mutation, what role you will have in later life to pay off your bond, never, who you may be allowed to mate with, removal of competition.


Any time you hear the words family planning, immediately think eugenics and evil. Notice that the Green promoters of this anti human spewm never stop shagging and feasting themselves. Oh no they are meritocrats, they are better than anyone else. Muppets, you are puppets droning to the useless eaters’ marionette dirge. You are a collective commie canker on the digestive tract of Lucifer. You lot couldn’t bring light if Beelzebub’s lower bowl went supernova.


All the interventions, and any statue involving families and children, are an intervention by a foreign power. Foreign to the family, enemy of love. All dressed in shiny beautifully illuminated sophistry and oratory. All the while the blade is waiting behind the smile to relieve you of your last breath.


A child is born.


Into the world of Al Gore, The Mandelbrot Set, Rock/Roth and the Bilderberg filibusters. Only one child, its characteristics set by gene therapy, its life planned from the moment of birth, each page in the great universal spreadsheet has its pigeon hole. What it will think, what it will know, the microwave grid will modulate its emotions and behaviours. It is an asset with a debt attached to it before it is conceived. An unfeeling it.


Well sorry Al et al, you are a ship of fools. I can see your masters and their dirty finger prints all over human history. It will not work.


Partly because a lot of us now know you’re singing the psycho pSirens’ song, but mainly because you will eat yourselves. All we have to do is step back, distance ourselves and ignore you. It is not the first time people have noticed either.


Some believe that another child was born a long time ago, I’m not interested in the ins and outs of that, the child was not an it, children are not its. What really interests me is that when you read the stories associated and look trough the froth and foam there are universal truths that all humans know.


Back then a lot of people could see, just like today, that there was enough food for all (loaves and fishes) and enough water for all (water into wine), it may be in code and have been dandified with theosophy but that is ordinary people talking.


Oh they also knew a few other things that we know like Caesar was a total Gore.


Heads up.