DOG POET: WHEN THE GUANO EXPLODES AT THE ZOMBIE PROM.

September 01, 2011

Reflections in a Petri Dish

Dog Poet Transmitting…….

'May you miss the dread staccato of the murder guns of ZATO'.

I’m one of those people who tend to believe there is a reason for everything, even if I don’t know what that reason is. Usually I attribute most things to Karma. Sometimes I feel like the Alex Guinness character from Passage to India, wanting to say, “Karma neh?” …whenever anyone is wondering what the Hell existence is doing now.

The simplistic explanation for Karma is that all of our words and actions have consequences and if our thoughts lead to words and actions, I suppose thoughts would be included as well, although, many of the thoughts that pass through our head are not our own, regardless of whether we identify with them or not and that is one of the things that The Powers that Imagine they are in Power try to manipulate, through all sorts of mediums and mechanisms.

The reason I bring this up is because I’ve spent a lot of time recently, pondering why it is that so many people can be so out of touch with what is actually taking place. I try to imagine how stupid I would have to be to buy into the ridiculous lies that are accepted by the rank and file.

I have to go back to when I was a child but even then I knew something was wrong with the whole setup. I did try to fit in but that did no good because people like me are not allowed to fit in, no matter how hard we try; that’s probably Karma too. That’s probably good Karma.

Now, the 9/11, exploding lights and colors, surround sound, 24 hour lie machine is going into turbo mode. It’s like an enormous disco light for The Zombie Prom. 

The walking dead do the Thorazine shuffle, The Prozac Pony, The Wellbutrin Waltz~ or whatever the chemical stew they are on is called ~ to a toned down, palpable, musical looping of Lawrence Welk on Haldol; 3 enormous skyscrapers come down at the speed of free fall into their own footprint, where not even one building has ever done this before, no problem, Norad is told to stand down by Dick Cheney, while engaged in an exercise to prohibit the very thing they are not responding to, no problem, Jesus hates Muslims and torments house cats with a dinner fork, no problem, Israel is god’s chosen land, surrounded by suicide bombers, absolutely.

It doesn’t matter how many people they kill in their genocidal rampages at home and around the world with their false flags, like 9/11, we’re cool with that.

ZATO-NATO kills tens of thousands in Libya, breaking every law in the book, under the orders of psychopathic bankers and oil corporations and the house band at The Zombie Prom plays on. Blood runs in rivers, as the infrastructure of Libya is bombed into rubble, so that the bankers and corporations can add on the rebuilding charges for it, as they get it all up to speed again, while shackling the people of Libya with crushing debt and making it impossible for them to continue as they were, with all that pretentious educational shit that they can’t possibly need, if they are going to serve the bankers and the corporations the way they need to be served, according to the corporations and the bankers.

Here’s what one of the most evil men in the world had to say back in 1992, "If the people were to ever find out what we have done, we would be chased down the streets and lynched”.

(ED: George Bush the Daddy)

It has to be Karma. It has to be a tightly controlled stage set, which is either controlled by the powers that imagine they are in power, or it’s something composed by the cosmos, which is designed to outwork into an enduring lesson, for unshakeable Nimrods, who can be awakened by no other means than terrifying trauma.

If it’s the former, we are all in a whole lot of trouble. If it’s the latter, then it’s selective and generally applied to areas of disease and dysfunction for cauterization and re-engineering.

I’m going with door number two, simply because my experience tells me this has to be what’s happening, even if I don’t fully understand it and never will. I also would not be here writing these words now, if door number two were not the proper entrance or exit, depending on whether you think you are coming or going.

If you don’t know whether you are coming or going, then it is most likely door number one, right up until the back draft builds up enough to do its thing. Surprisingly this happens when oxygen is introduced into the fuel air mixture when the other right conditions are present. Would oxygen be some kind of a metaphor here or… does the conflagration come about when the optimum level of guano and the concentration of methane, in relation to the size and confinement of the occupied space, reach a fever pitch? Does that fit the bill better?

Shit can be explosive under the right conditions

and boy, do we have a surplus at the moment.

Well, time for me to trot out my 9/11 poem. It’s a very early work and much of what was later discovered missed inclusion but I do believe it fits the playbill, for all the red-faced, martini soaked, Michelin men who will be parading across the stage with somber mien and funereal gaze, as they remind us of the terrible cost of that day; that day when they and their fellows and the killer clowns from Mossad, trumped up a load of guano for the extermination of the Muslim masses.

The hypocritical dog and pony show should be something to see, if you are dumber than a rock and you’re wearing your Twin Towers Watch. Every Zio-stooge on the planet will be grandstanding for the cameras, pushing and shoving for their moment in the lights, reading from their scripts and Teleprompters, as they lie like the craven cowards that they are. 

They know who did 9/11.

They know what happened and what followed and they approve.

They continue to approve because their lives and their jobs depend on it.

Day follows day as the dead corpse of the American Dream is dragged out for display and draped in torn bunting, for the marveling eyes of those who cannot see what is in front of them, or remember what came before.

They’re traveling down the road in their Wide Load Jeans. Jaysus is screaming through the bullhorn, as he counts the exposed ass-cracks, on their way to paradise in the skies. We destroyed it here so it has to be waiting there, over the rainbow.

Thank god I don’t watch TV and don’t have to see the smirking chimps, telling the usual lies to the usual dupes. Texas and Oklahoma are in flames and more hurricanes are on the way and who knows what’s coming up behind them? Like it says in one of those books; 

“Where there is no vision, the people perish”.

All I can say is let’s get the show on the road.

It sure does look like America is being blessed by all that faith invested in the old white guy in the sky, with the Big Gulp in his hand. Last time I looked, God was blue and there are a number of reasons to account for that but… what do I know?

Ya’ll just keep on keeping on, feel the burn and enjoy the rush with your aspartame aerobics, while your brains turn to mush.

Celebrate and mourn that 9/11 thing, brought to you by Israel and the CIA, with Dick Cheney’s hand puppet in a supporting role.

Keep killing dictators and stamping out Islam, like the good little, sexless robots that you are.

Bow your head in a moment of silence for the real victims of 9/11; yourselves.

Stand under the golden shower of your betters and pretend its lemonade, legally provided by Dead Sea vendors.

Keep on believing what cannot possibly be true, right up till the moment that they come for you.

Keep believing the nonsense of a fabricated past, supporting a false present that will not last.

Keep on nodding your head and telling yourself you’re awake, while you’re fast asleep in your bed; dreaming of poisoned sugar plums and bat guano shakes.

There’s no hangover quite like the truth when it hits you between the eyes, like a captive bolt killer in no country for old men, or any age group of any gender.

You’re just one of Darwin’s mistakes, with your dick in a blender and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

9/11, the greatest cash cow since they did that Hollywood job on World War Two; watch the zombies dancing to the music that only they can hear. There is no pomposity more unbearable than that of the sanctimonious puppets, whispering those sweet nothings into your ears. Wake up! Wake up! Never mind.

End Transmission.......