Saturday 27 October 2012

Why Would You?

Where and for how much fooling?

I do not mean any fuckwitz exercise in a so call ed busy ness school arseholersize. Business scholl  has nothing to do with the sinck stink of education or Phukk D’Witzinsation. The MBAinsertion of nothing into your part of the parkland wherever the glorious wankstators rotate the muted, deafed, deferring Herd Attention Space that is unlifed smoothed eye shine. Taking it up the sahittersphere.

Would U release ysourself when a suit in a suit cannot relate? Or wood you die?

The trance dance is to enjoy.

I ask you again. Would you?

Would you?

For what would you?

Are you wold?

Then do not understand world for wold.

Wood you?

Wood you?

Stand in the affront to those you love and take the blow?

If so; I love you.

I love you before you are me and after I am you. Before we died so long ago. The resulting insult is dread and no bread.

Would U?

What is it that you are unaware of as you gently sleep before your day of turmoil?  My sword arm is tried, my shield arm almost rebeaten. We need to stand.

I died and lie with final breath for you.

You do not understand the heather.

I am, with my imperfections.


Give me the winter.

Friday 26 October 2012

I hurtled, my love.

I will let you down.

I am a liar, and can sniff and kill them.

The dead waters of my currency.

Pushing the limits and the alchemy of my life has resulted in an occurrence unknown to me since I almost killed myself through carelessness, enthusiasm, glee and carriageway. I cannot stop my blind mind.

A shard and a silver sliver of broken glass 45 years ago.

The scars can be demonstrated even as protest.

Hurt, opened by me.

Now here, in the cul de sac of ordure, wherever the sky has been occluded since late Saturday, almost aerosoled H2O, no sol, no soon, no orbital unless checked, in the evening evening of where my soul rests.

A small moon, not the amplified moon of two weeks ago, arrears and then disappears in the cracks of twighfight.

We are getting settled for a massive constructed faux fight, you read that correctly foo fighters, retard retard smog alert.

We have a big pea souper coming down and I can feel it in my breast. I walk the Queen’s Highway. Getting the cardio vascular ready for flight.

I am pounding the ‘crete and MacAdam in the arsehole borough, wearing out the horse shoes, burning the sole as my soul heals.

I  tripped, stumbled and fell. Face fall down in the autumn leaved pavement. Bruised, cut and stunned. Clown!!

Like an idiot.

Did the thoughts 2 U, illustrating my words, drive my fail?

I hurt.

I remember everything.

If I could sing.

What have I become to betray?

No thing.

You cannot account my vowels and consonants

And yet their number are not sufficient for my heart.

Last night I wrote to you. Words of your beauty. The names of my feelings, the days of my being and the strength of dwelling here now and never. The words are not gone now, though sacred and erased from my face. To describe my arc is too much to start short.

Why to resume again; when all was gone?

Where should I write again? And against.

Angst, bereft and none.

There was an unendable day within which I lie undone. With you.

Over our many joys the fissure of our fusion was cloaked in action, in activity, outwith our reality.

The cipher is gone, the incisions eroded, the markings removed, the letters erased, the words blanks, the sound no longer to be heard. Decoded.

When I halt, no matter what I witness, it will be beside you.

Thursday 25 October 2012

I wrote upon a pitched peach blue sky

Imagined from knowshpere.

I had to break off, Monday, from this malarkey to get on with stuff and I braked the bolloxian output.

Family busy ness.

Real shit.

Neither commercial nor transactional intercourse of false wealth, no business in reducing ersatz entropy. Reality within my eyes, my heart and my spirit. When eye opened last morning my cast fell upon the huge pile that I had had to be examined on in Lalaland. To be conferred with my little red book, my COMINTERN passport to sloth, my death pass.

What a pile!

Expensive alrighty and as always one dollar translated across the pond to one pound, no matter the exchange rate. LIBOR revealed in dead trees decades ago.

Method and moment, heat and momentum, always leading us with its weight. Like a heavy metal hyper plastic balloon dragging us away from terra firma. In the vicious vacuity of our glassed lives we miss the ball in our ceaseless flapping around our numbers.


If the idea of business, quadruple abacusic ledger, religion as nothing more than killing nonheathen in numbers is not cauterised then we are lost. The sophist sophistication is ancient.

And zeroed.

Monday 22 October 2012

It was so blue my mind.

A very long time ago my cousin was born and for some reason I had to wait in my parents’ car, for what seemed, an eternity outside the hospital. That afternoon the sun was a torrent of light. The sky seamless, seemless and seemingless. Illuminating a torched, broad, faux thoroughfare where the vehicle was parked in individuated stasis. An indicator of a rich society about to be impoverished by democracy. In my solitude I wondered at the sky, which on that summer’s day, my seat dappled, trees gleaming, the air starked, my eyes scorched, in burning silence, was intensely whitened and my mind left me.

Many decades later as I drove my daughter and her bestest chummie back from stage school, this past Saturday, we met the most glorious sunset sky here in the centre of global criminal activity. The girls remarked upon the vista and we agreed that it was sintering and sincering.

I was stopped. A quantum moment of unimaginable, infinite, bounded beauty. A Planck resolution of the grains in my life and death. There is no darkness. Between piss and shit is simply a tiny sliver of shortened stark occult. All freed between two great borders of illumination. We are free. There is no death, only life.

Why do I feel so distraught? Why my desolation in the caressing, bathing, warmth of that sunset?

I drove, we moved, traffic light red, indicate, wait, be aware of all other users of the Queen’s highway, note the muppets who endanger, we returned to my mate, the secretive squirrel’s hovel, but in the wonder of that moment I was halted as only once before.

Only twice have I experienced reality. All other as fiction is fiction, the constricting construct of affliction. The constituency of the fools and their djinn master.

I cried recently, the tears dropping, like infamous rainfall, a traitor to my self. I am strong. I do not weep. Yet when I was a boy anger made me lachrymose. That rage. The indignation at a collective fools’ unreality. The outrage at those who are heathen. My indignation at indoctrination.

The closing of my eyelids increased the precipitation. Why all ways?

I saw.

I have not really eaten in a week, nor slept in a month.

What do I see?

What do I scry as I cried?

Is it entropy dying? Is the love of the world being replaced? Is it the last spiritual experience before sloth overtakes us all?

What is this reality?

Not realty!

Wednesday 3 October 2012

Terminus. An end run on the Bomb Line. Terminus.

Cont from….

The Bomb Line. 1 of ?

The Bomb Line. 2 of ? 

The Bomb Line. 3 of ? 

The Bomb Line. 4 of ? 

The Bomb Line. 6 of ? 

The Bomb Line. 7 of ? 

He got his brains smashed out with a crow bar by a real labour camp slave. The Bomb Line Pt 9

The Bomb Line Part 12 of 13. 

Corps Crop Rotation or a prelude to Part 13 of the Bomb Line; Part 1

Corps Crop Rotation or a prelude to Part 13 of the Bomb Line; Part 2. Reposted Dates to remember before and after 9/11. 

Corps Crop Rotation or a prelude to Part 13 of the Bomb Line; Part 3

Corps Crop Rotation or a prelude to Part 13 of the Bomb Line; Part 4

Corps Crop Rotation or a prelude to Part 13 of the Bomb Line; Part 5

I’ve been on and off hodilay since late August. I took a load of listening and reading material with me. Didn’t get to read a lot since it pissed all over us nonstop in Cornwall and the sun was so strong in Barca I almost went blind. However I did get to listen to a great deal of malarkey on the catholic subjects your correspondent sticks his sticky beak into.

As an aside here I’d just like to remark that petrol is cheaper in Barca and the SanMig is cheap and proper. One day the whole world will be as England is, sterile and taxed to death. Airstrip One is the proto-NWO.

Anyway once we got back to Blighty I just sort of ruminated and belched a lot. Oh and set the secret squirrel’s compound alight with a never ending set of Qs. As he remarked last week, whilst giving a big hint that it might be sukiyaki time for a change, he’d never seen so much charcoal used to so little effect. Then he hid the accelerant, so sukiyaki time it was this past weekend.

Then my dreamland stopped.

Several things caused this, small things, the cumulative effect being what follows.

The last little bit of the quantum straw that broke the virtual camel’s back was Kev. I realised that the important thing that needs to be said I had left unsaid.

What follows is not a criticism of KB in anyway; he simply shook me out of my reverie.

At this shop you will find several bloggers with RISC in front of their names on the side bar. This is because your correspondent finds it interesting that they do nothing other than operate on a reduced instruction set.

Let me explain.

Since we all know that the legend, scripted in Wallyweird Strasse, of what happened in the years 1931-1945 is all bollox, indeed that the Cold War was also a staged play, then when the singular focus of so called counter argumentalists over what really happened in the slave camps is not “WHAT HAPPENED IN THERE?” but on the number of gas chambers, rail heads, forced marches or the wonders of NaziJizzim; this leads one to conclude that they, wittingly or unwittingly, are batting for team Satan just like the monoheathenoids that insist they all shat diamonds as part of a well balanced diet, got shot at by Ralph Fiennes or cannot show us a tattoo on their arse. Remember these heathen loyal troopers are directly tapped into the funny money machine and can never run out of lucre to promote their fiction. They were the commie kapos in the camps, never short of cash or violence. The banksters bestest assets.

No one ever asks why did the Nazi’s best forger assets come from the Khazars in the camps? What did these ersatz pillars of society do in “peace time” then before they got to eat porridge? Criminals of course. All the attention goes on the number of shower heads in a gas chamber, idiot factory processes of the mass murder of millions and the deluded imaginings of fiction practitioners. No one ever spends time noting that these fevered outpourings on paper really reflect the actual practices used by the PsychoKhaziKillers of the OGPU when dispatching the intelligencia of Poland and the land owners of the Ukraine. The terminal KhaziKillers are lethal to all non-Khazidroids at all times and all places. Where ever the USSR trod there were dead persons everywhere all executed by Khazari monoheathenoids. Simple guilt transference. An old trick.

So bearing in mind the secrecy surrounding the documentation that would actually let one make a real appraisal of what happened in the Reich, the weird imposition of tell tale crime scene ephemera, the forced silence of the current residents and the mass killing of actual witnesses, can we really make a judgement of what transpired in there? We are supposed to be kept in the dark or frightened off snooping around the crime scene, can one make an inference that makes more sense of the iCSI, the Iron Curtain, the 3rd Reich and the bomb line? All the dead people we are not allowed to know about because a bunch of KhaziKillers are hogging the lime light on cue?

Well you know me. I believe I can. Not just that but I can tell what is going to happen here in Europe because it is a repeat of 2000 years ago.

Zoh first things first, what can we actually see that no amount of fannying around the fiction factory and rewriting history faculties can erase?

After the gunfire and sniper finished the western ally controlled part of Europe, Hessian lands esp., were knee deep in well fed Khazars awaiting their ticket out of Europe for the soon to be Rothschild Corporate Enmity/Tel Aviv pirate base. Where did they all come from? I thought they’d all gone up in smoke! Their young women heavy with child. Germans booted out of their remaining homes so that these clowns could rest peacefully. All stirred into action by orders from on high in banksterdom. Their path cleared by the infinite ability to print as much money as you need. Remember UKplc would remain rationed for years to come.

So here is the question that can be answered by current human resource management theory. What were their skill sets that Roth wanted? Those of you who’ve been processed by the apes that infest HR these days (SS, GEFEPO, GESTAPO, NKVD, OGPU in previous eras) recently will know that your previous behaviour is a clear indicator of your future behaviour patterns.

Well there are clear indicators in two irrefutable areas as to what was required of them in their new fire base at Tortuga sur Mer.

Einsatzgrüppen/terrorist skills and that X-Factor which I will tease you with until later.

Bearing in mind that some of these mysteriously alive KhaziKillerklowns were so called partisans that were COMINTERN stay behind units previously used to exterminate the local populations who wouldn’t bow to KommieKhazi terror prior to Barbarossa we can see in the atrocities carried out on the Palestinians a clear continuation in behaviour patterns. So we have hanging around in the western allies controlled areas Einsatzgrüppen specialists, wanting for nothing, waiting for their boarding pass and passage to the Promised Land. At the same time we were handing over vast numbers of nonKhazi men, women and children refugees fleeing Soviet terror to the Soviets for transportation and extermination. Funny old world.

What do you think the USS Liberty heard in 1967 as she sniffed the ether? Yes. Einsatzgrüppen at work on defenceless Palestinians. A continuation of their behaviour aberration transferred from TransDniestre to TransJordan.

Now then we come to the real secret which I will speculate about here. To do that we need to look a little further down the line from 1947 to 1957 in the pirate base.

When one looks at the map here, one thing that I hadn’t really contemplated upon is the immediate clearance of the Negev into Tortuga sur Mer’s killer hands by Roth/Rock’s UN. I look at the numbers involved, and remember when dealing with these clowns and numbers it is always magical, however lets take them as a given. This quote provides a further idea about the skill sets imported into the area. Once Einsatzgrüppen, always Einsatzgrüppen.

“At the beginning of the strife in late 1947, it is likely that the Jewish political leadership in Palestine would have rejected any formal plan to expel the Palestinians. (Although that would change by the following June, as discussed below, when the new Israeli government prohibited the return of all Palestinian refugees.) There was, however, a shared belief by many of the Jewish (later Israeli) military leaders during the war that the entire Palestinian population was the enemy. Acting on that belief, the Jewish militias (the official Haganah and the unofficial Stern Gang and Irgun) engaged in a consistent course of conduct that was intended to--and did--cause the Arab population to flee. (The Israeli myth that the Palestinians left on instructions from Arab leaders has long since been shown to be a fabrication.)[3]”

Now we come to the second set of skills, the type of human assets that would once again behave in the future as they had done in the past, that were brought into the Rothschild pirate base from the ruins of the Reich.

This place is, like the Holohoax, surrounded by layers of secrecy and disinfo. One of the chief dysinfofunctioaries is this asset. You will get my reasoning for this when I get to the last part of this article where we look into the future and meet the deep past.

Once Negev was secured by the Einsatzkommando, RCE/TA started a programme to enrich fissile material to create nuclear weapons barely 10 years after the pirate base was established. Quite a feat. Especially as we are gently nudged to believe it started from scratch.

To contrast what we are supposed to believe here take a relatively untouched, high tech, centralised state such as France. A nation of tens of millions with a history of centuries of scientific endeavour took until 1956 to get a nuclear reactor critical and until 1960 to light off a big one. RCE/TA? “Before the partition, Jews comprised only one-third of the population of Palestine, which held some 608,000 Jews and 1,237,000 Arabs. Even within the area designated for Israel under the U.N. partition plan, the population consisted of some 500,000 Jews and 330,000 Arabs. How could a country with such a large Arab minority become a Jewish homeland?[1]” RCE/TA is not the quiet cloisters of Oxford or MIT where enquiry can progress with academic rigour and research. It is a fire base full of gunfire and sniper.

So where did the human assets do their research and get trained in a stable environment such that they could then replicate the method in the Negev?

To answer that we need to look at some of the signatures of a nuclear programme, particularly power. Recognise this? Recognise this? Interesting time frame, no? All up and running in time to separate isomers.

Recognise this? “For example, less than thirty per cent of the workers at the Farben plant were in the "prisoner" category; more that half were free foreign workers who had enlisted voluntarily for labor and the remaining approximate twenty per cent were ordinary German employees.” Didn’t think you would. Same time frame. Same vast power requirements. Also note that free foreign workers would likely be doing R&D related work in a humungous R&D facility. Slaves/prisoners would be expendable, free workers doing R&D would be assets and hence the swimming pool, dance floor, orchestras etc. Of course we are not supposed to look at this scene, it is a holy place. Well I’ll bet we are not supposed to rumble to the fact that was a two tier cast of Khazi characters in there. One tier getting the attention of the Lead Pill Pharmacy, the other working on the lab benches and management quite aware of what was going down. That is what we are not supposed to think about. Then they get whisked out to RCE/TA and the cover story fiction starts and a hermetic Iron Curtain descends to quarantine the crime scene in the Reichprotektorate for two generations.

At the other shop I will elaborate a bit more on some of the details implied above including Patton’s famous army, more on Operational Manoeuvre Groups and finally Bikini Atoll.

First though we have to deal with MV and the looking forward to Europe’s demise. This is the reason for my current thoughts appearing in the shop here rather than the other shop where big bangs and bombers really hang out.

2000 years ago the demographics of the Roman state had changed and with it the nature of that state from Republic to heathen degeneracy. The Roman citizen found himself out fighting wars and being out bred by freed slaves from the Middle East at home. Eventually all the positions of power within the state were held by Babylon money worshippers. The Roman natives were displaced. With the disappearance of Germany we have the same dynamic in play today. Europe flooded by middle eastern Babylonian money worshippers who will make sure that all positions of power in such places as local parliaments and EU institutions (OPEC is a great example of levying tribute in disguise) are occupied by their progeny whilst the aboriginals are indebted or maimed on the battle fields.

A sure sign of this is that the Ba’al Hammon Bishop of Rome is an ex Nazi. And here is my problem with MV. If he’d gone Russian Orthodox or Assyrian Catholic I would not entertain the same doubts that I have. He went from one branch of the Babylon money worshippers’ monoheathenism to another branch. For make no mistake anything that springs from Rome or is protestant to Rome is at its root Babylon. That is why they always harp on about debt. Anything that springs from Mecca, Rome, atheism or Babylon is a debt based, slaver operation run by people who hate humanity. Remember when the Bishop of Rome took power after the fall of Rome the local power families were all of Phoenician descent and then they started to kill anyone in sight as soon as they were secure.

Just look at their body count.