Above All Else

Waiting, waiting, waiting. Everyone was waiting for something. They didn’t know what it was but it felt ominous, foreboding.

In the meantime, they could rely on the television to tell them what to be afraid of at that particular moment.

“Be afraid of others.”

“Be afraid of a hidden monster stuck in the ripples of cardboard or on a piece of fruit — certainly on paper money and coins. It might be in the pizza or the box the pizza came in.”

“Don’t tip the pizza man with dirty coins. Be sure he’s wearing gloves and hasn’t ever sneezed. Be sure he didn’t dropped the box.”

“Don’t eat anything because everything could be contaminated.”

“You might as well shrivel up and die because the big bad monster was about to get you around some unknown corner anyway and why wait to die for it? Don’t let it get you — take your own — you are still in control.”

Ha ha, hee hee, ho ho!

“Stay in your room with your freshly scrubbed hands folded on your lap and don’t ever, ever, ever touch your face. Don’t even talk to people through the door. Those particles are small enough to get through wood or metal — nano, quantum particles that a porous mask can stop and they can change at the CDC’s discretion. They’re in the air, they’re everywhere.”

“Be sure to sit in your room with your hands folded on your lap and be sure to have a mask on so you can appear respectful of others if nothing else when they come to put you in the camp or in the ground.”

The mask will surely save you — its magical. It’s a magical mask.

“Don’t love your loved ones. Certainly don’t love them by hugging. Put them in a room and keep everyone else away. Be sure to put a magical mask on them too and make sure their hands are newly scrubbed and folded on their lap. Heck, maybe you should put them out of harm’s way for good. That would be a loving thing to do. Save them from the monster and then save yourself.”

The fear of death is universal and profound and equally distributed — though some are able to go about their business with their head in a cloud. Some use drugs to help them. Some use food. Some use risk. Some use TicTok. Some just live to be afraid — somehow it makes them happy.

Ticktock the clock is moving ever faster to the end — why put it off? It’s nearly beat you down. It won’t go away until the last day so why not make the last day today? Get it over. What’s the point of waiting for the monster?

“Be sure to sit in your room alone with your hands folded on your lap. The end is surely near.”

“Above all else, be sure to do what you are told.”

 

 
Image by Hans Braxmeier from Pixabay
 

What I Have

Karmella couldn’t see it but for some reason she was having feelings about it. People on the other side of her bubble were in trouble. There wasn’t anything she could do except to try to think good thoughts. It was sort of like she was continually praying — addressing some kind of deity — except that, she believed GOD was everywhere and everything and always at or in ones fingertips and in ones heart and in their soul. In fact, she believed GOD was the soul — the one and only everything and everywhere — changing forms at the pleasure of the system near and spreading out from there.

Karmella realized that she wasn’t big enough to make a dither big enough to matter much but she was sure that she could make a little wave that might spread out in the ether going as it pleased hither and thither. Maybe, just maybe it would reach another place where someone much like she would care and send it off a little farther. She wondered if Puggles would like to help.

“Puggles,” she called, “Puggles, I think if you squiggle and squirm and rattle your tail as fast as your little tail will rattle — with all the good vibrations that you hold in your tiny, sandy-colored, fury, soft-and-squeezy and warm little body, you can make a wave bigger than I might be able to. Certainly, together we might count a little more?” She said that last part like it was a question with that dreaded high rising terminal she was happy to get away from in the outside world she came from where everybody talks like that like it’s a fashion.

Puggles looked up at Karmella with his beautiful, heart-melting eyes and rattled his tail as quickly as he was able to. Karmella sent her vibes along with Puggles’ highly resounding tail waves and then she picked him up and they danced around the garden some.

“That was fun,” Karmella said and danced a little more with Puggles in her arms. Dancing in the garden with each other was the thing they loved to do almost as much as snuggle. Karmella and Puggles loved to snuggle. They also liked to dance and eat a lot of cookies.

“What I have, is everything I need,” she said while looking into Puggles soft and sentient eyes. Then she wondered if the bubble she was in could burst but she decided not to worry about that because worrying doesn’t help to keep vibrations at their highest and vibrations at their highest were her best and only hope of keeping the bubble together. That’s how she got inside the bubble in the first place. Puggles must have been on the exact same good vibration because all of a sudden one day, he appeared inside her bubble too. That was the best it was necessary to get — anything else would just be frosting on the cake, or cookie if you’d rather.

Puggles lapped Karmella’s face and she knew by that that it was Cookie-Dookie time. It was almost always Cookie-Dookie time as far as Puggles was concerned. They danced together up onto the porch as usual, and danced the rest of the way into the house to get the cookie jars. Puggles had doggy cookies and Karmella had purple-people cookies and they sat on the soft couch with their jars nearby and snuggled and ate some cookies.

“We’re a little spoiled, don’t you think — my snuggly little puppy?” She had to think that Puggles did agree but Puggles was just a little too busy eating cookies to exclaim.

Image by Jill Wellington from Pixabay

A Social Contract

“Yes, I know. That is why I’m here today, to get a few more things stocked up because this is the last time I will come into this store unless they change their idea of how to deal with this dilemma, (this world-wide, orchestrated panic, she thought but didn’t include). I refuse to wear a mask.”

“Oh, but you know, you could have it right now and not know it and infect someone.”

“Have what?”

“You know, the virus.”

“What virus?”

“Oh!” he exclaimed as if to say, You’re one of those kinds of fools. “We’re done here, if that’s what you think.”

She went on to try a little harder, “Regardless of whether you believe in germ theory or not, they have not done anything that could determine if this, whatever it is, is a novel thing. They can’t be claiming it exists if they haven’t proven that it does.”

Some people just can’t get out of their own fog. Some people simply won’t. 

Safety blankies. Pacifiers. Religions. Cults. Especially now, Scientism.

Personal fears they want to impose on everyone else. 

Some brains go through washers.

But who was she to say. She might just be wrong herself. She would leave him with a smile — the one wearing what looked like thermal undies to cover his mouth and nose and hang down long enough to cover his neck. He could see her smile. She wouldn’t be able to tell if he smiled back because he was also wearing sunglasses. “Nothing could possibly get through that open weave if it was even there and wanted to try,” she thought sarcastically.

Dear humans: face masks don’t work; the study-review was published by your very own CDC

She was about one of five or six that she crossed while traversing the aisles, (sometimes going the right way, sometimes going the wrong way — whatever she wanted to get away with), among the calculated numbers — that weren’t wearing a mask. Who are they to tell her what to do? Aren’t they allowed to stay open because they are essential. Do they not need her business? Isn’t it essential that she be allowed to shop?

It was Sunday — the fake edict would start on Monday but all the cows were following the one with the bell already — good little behavers. 

“What do you think they are trying to do?” he asked her,  “Kill everyone?”

“Not sure about that, (even though she had her suspicions but it wan’t the only or main thing), but I am sure they are trying to establish a techno-tyranny. They want us all as robots.”

He nodded his head in agreement. “That’s true,” he said.

“Well, you can always shop online,” the underwear-wearing gent said.

“Yeah, no, I’m doing my best not to play any of their games.” She wondered if she was going to have to die over this dilemma. She would think about that tomorrow — maybe. For now, she would go back home and try to do a better job of figuring out how to grow food in a desert — or of a better way to distribute food among the non-believers — the food the non-believers are growing themselves.

If you can’t beat ’em’, certainly don’t join ’em’ — start something new. Defeat the status quo. Voting doesn’t help. City counsels are fully rigged with believers.

It was odd being just about the only one without a mask on. She could feel knives in her back coming soon. It’s a social contract, putting on a mask. It says you surrender. It says you agree. It says you comply. It says you’re a fool or a cow or a robot. It says you haven’t done your homework, you’re lazy, you want things easy. It says you have a need to fit in —

You don’t trust yourself to do what’s right.

Dogs roll over and expose their vulnerable parts when the big dog barks.

“Poor little doggies.”

Image by Omni Matryx from Pixabay

 

Not My Monster

So the big question now is whether or not the government, (military), has the right to jab you with a needle with anything in it that they deem necessary for the we’re all in this together game that, (just as likely as not), they could have orchestrated.

According to any of the rules of engagement that are clear enough to understand, it seems that it is legal and necessary and enforceable and required if a giant threat against we’re all in this together might exist.

Might ain’t necessarily right.

“What’s more of a giant threat than the shutting down of the world wide economic systems,” we should be obliged to ask — first and foremost? Lives can be lost by more than one kind of hidden giant monster.

It’s completely clear to see, if you dig enough, that this is an economic tsunami, (WW3), (a coup d’état), for the purpose of shifting all that might be of any value into the hands of the greedy ones — land, equity in any business, gold, silver, digital data, crypto-currency, oil, food, water and air — to establish a world-wide techno-tyranny.

It’s important not to leave the digging to the ones doing all the shifting — you know, the ones who own the media and the microphones. We’re all in this together means we’re all diggers now. Dig that.

If you’re not a digger you’re a dodger since the game requires taking sides — black or white, republican or democrat, pro or con (anti-), if or is???

Who’s asleep at the wheel?

Who’s not asleep at the wheel?

Fat shaming is okay now because if someone who is fat says, “Get that jab you tin-foil-hat-wearing maniac,” then sticks and stones are in order since this is now a child’s game until we all grow up. “You’re fat because you eat junk. If you eat junk, do you think a jab is going to save you from your giant monster. He’s not my monster?”

It’s time to take our diapers off and at least start wearing pull-ups.

It’s as okay to judge people by what’s in their cart at the checkout counter, (except that you might have trouble getting close enough to see,) as it is to judge someone for not having a bacteria harboring, useless serving mask on.

Wouldn’t it be better if we just didn’t judge?

Wouldn’t it be better if the facts were presented as what they really are, (and definitely not by only the ones who will benefit by any of the truths they tell)?

Wouldn’t it be nice if other voices could be heard?

Wouldn’t it be nice if someone was listening to something other than what Dr. Fauci, (the big, fat, little, liar liar pants on fire, Trump’et), has to say? He’s a criminal in case you didn’t know. Do your digging now that you’re a digger.

Dig, dig, dig. Don’t give up until you hit the pay-dirt. We’re all in this together. Pull your load.

It doesn’t hurt to ask for a little help though, if pulling your own weight is on a diet.

 

Header Image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay

 

Write Rite Right

If someone were to write about a right kind of rite or if there is such a thing, what would they say and who would really know? How would said person know? How would they know they know — and be completely sure?

Who knows anything for that matter? What one knows, they know and they only know they know because they say so — except, possibly, for some kind of study by so-called experts — you know, those kind of people who wear white coats and stethoscopes or glasses or know full well how to use an iPhone.

Should anyone be trusted that doesn’t know how to use an iPhone — completely and fully well? What if someone doesn’t own one? What if they decided never to go through that rite of passage and feel more right about just writing and maybe a little bit of real, in-your-hands, hardbound-books reading? Are there enough real books still in print that haven’t been censored or edited to death to become, instead of a means of really knowing, simply propaganda?

How long has man been living?

Did he come from a monkey?

Or a fish?

Is there such a thing as divine intelligence that can be bestowed on an unsuspecting receiver so that they might know a thing or two without the aid of cellular induction?

What does double entendre mean? Could Rite Aid be one or cellular induction? It’s not all a joke. Can anyone get the meaning if they only ever use an iPhone?

There really is, such a thing as having been dumbed down.

Induction period, the time interval between cause and measurable effect

Inductive reasoning, in logic, inferences from particular cases to general case

Inductive effect, the redistribution of electron density through molecular sigma bonds

Cellular differentiation, the process where a cell changes from one cell type to another

Electromagnetic or magnetic induction is the production of an electromotive force across an electrical conductor in a changing magnetic field.

IoT — We’ve done it to ourselves but not by any kind of well-informed consent.

How the Internet of Things Works

These devices use Internet protocol (IP), the same protocol that identifies computers over the world wide web and allows them to communicate with one another. The goal behind the Internet of things is to have devices that self report in real-time, improving efficiency and bringing important information to the surface more quickly than a system depending on human intervention.

Books are looking better by the minute as there are still so many questions that can’t be trusted to an iPhone.

Quick! Before it’s too late — burn all the cell phones — but not any of the old books. Nature has all the answers if we must have to start all over again like The Postman did. If we don’t do something now, we might all be turned into self-destructive robots — if we haven’t been already.

Header image by Danielle Tunstall from Pixabay

 

Is It True

The big boy cat wanted to jump up on her lap to squirm around and leave some of his feathers — but she was just then ready to fetch another cup of coffee so put him off hoping he’d wait. He didn’t. Cats’ attention spans aren’t long.

She had been raking him with her back-scratcher and then laid it on the floor beside him so that he could fixate on it while waiting for her to pick it up again — he drifted off to catnap land — waiting, waiting, waiting.

She made the mistake of looking at him and the slits in his slanted little cat eyes snuck a peek and opened nearly all the way — “Meow,” he mewed and stuck his long pink tongue out and then sneezed. He sneezes a lot. Things make him sneeze easily, like cat emotions and good feelings can do to a big black and white cat like he who’s so filled with cat emotions and good feelings waiting to come out.

So someone in the World Economic Forum asked if humans will be humans for much longer and went on to say that THEY want to make space for us mere humans to think freely as if thoughts are something being censored now or have no space.

It seems the truth is that they really want to steal our thoughts. All they care about is money. They want to use our thoughts for generating profits — 060606.

So many people trying to be GOD.

The cat came back and jumped up on her lap. He mewed and mewed and rolled around and left a lot of feathers before he did get bored again and went for the screen door to look outside.

She had to rake his feathers off her lap.

Is it true that cats have feathers to keep them warm and help them fly?

It does seem true that sometimes cats can fly — they don’t stay up for long though.

She wonders what the WEF would think about those thoughts and if they’d try to steal them and learn how to make cats fly or at the least — give her the space to have the thoughts, “May I please have my thoughts?”

She’ll have to think that the WEF flies away to a realm where only they exist and no one knows about them or ever hears of them again. Money is overrated. Imagination isn’t.

“No! You can’t have my imagination — and no means no.”

Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay

Like A Bird

“Are you going to show anyone’s pimples?” the coworker watching asked.

“I am showing pimples. Aren’t you really looking? Do you think you can do a better job?” the artist taking the photographs asked and then stormed away and left the building leaving the picture taking to the one who thought better of herself.

Icky feelings are best left where they are started for the ones who started them to roll around in.

Some watched her as she stormed away and some flailed a little — some tried a tiny margin to beg her to stay without any real concerted effort. They watched the next girl take her stab at being the better artist and then applauded and raved about how good she was — as if they knew.

She walked and walked, wondering if anyone was coming after her. Wondering if anyone was willing to try to soothe what felt like a gaping wound. She felt invisible and kept walking until she finally heard the bird song and saw some grass through the chain-link fence along the sidewalk growing, trying to reach the sky. She noticed that the sky was very blue. She finally felt invincible.

The moral of the story is it doesn’t matter what others think about you, it only matters what you do — don’t seek to be clapped about or to wear a crown — reach for the sky like the grass does and sing just like a bird.

Header image credit: Ruth Archer from Pixabay

 

We The People

…The most deluded among us believe we are always on the cusp of a final breakthrough.
But there is no “we” to make the breakthrough.
It comes to every person on his own. And it does not arrive as the thrust of an external force, but from one’s own struggle, accompanied by insights for which there is no outside agency to lend confirmation.
If indeed it will take a thousand years to bring this collective illusion to a close, that is no cause for despondent reaction.
On the contrary, it is simply an understanding that all experiments come to an end, as does the method of thought on which they are based…

~ Jon Rappoport; July 4, 2020

Trying to gain independence from this device isn’t easy. What is easy is to find oneself trapped in a cycle of content that seems interesting until it feels more like a drug. Body parts start complaining — like eyes, and ears, and back, and butt — “Get up and walk you fool. Get off this stool. You’re no better than on the pot. It’s all mostly trash. Your time is going down the drain. At the very least, you’re trying to live someone elses life.”

So, finding myself trapped watching Ten Hundred lately — incessantly, obsessively, compulsively — suddenly I realized that I was being aggravated with “Hey, Yo,” and other such hip hop slang and rap beats drumming at me incessantly. I was aggravated to realize that groups form and then there are insiders and outsiders and all the while and for the duration of the forming, there is only seeking higher status within that group if the correct words are used or a right body move, or a certain style of clothes are worn or whole bodies are filled with tattoos — hand symbols are without a doubt completely necessary.

Higher status — why need that anyway?

“Bitchin'”, “Groovy”, “Peace” tells of the group I was supposed to fit in and my age, give or take, here or there. I didn’t use those words then, so didn’t quite fit in. I use them now, just to account for where I’ve been. Bell bottoms were in fashion, and mini skirts and a metal peace symbol hung on just about everybody’s neck from a chain — but not mine — I wore a key instead, just for fitting in a little, and my skirts almost touched my knees. I wasn’t hip. I didn’t gain any higher status.

Here we are, wondering where our freedom is. We The People. Who are we now? Where can we go? Who should we be?

“We’re in this together.”

Yes we are — a world-wide cattle pen.

The only way out is to gain some independence. You’re on your own for that though. And that’s a really, really good thing. I’d hate to have to count on someone I don’t trust.

Header image by Radek Špáta from Pixabay