Here’s the next podcast of the Celtic Rebel v/w Stygian Port “Dinner With Andros” series [in stereo]. Technically, it is the show prior to the last, so when we say things like “last time,” we are referring to a podcast that you’ve yet to hear. Clear as mud? Don’t worry, it will get even more confusing after we release the next one.

This one doesn’t require as much of a “warning” as the last, and should offend far fewer people. Still, I wouldn’t recommend cranking it out of your car stereo, as it will undoubtedly result in the cool kids not inviting you to their parties anymore.

Here’s the download link. Fans of Stygian Port expecting more Ed McMahon’ish color commentator to my Johnny Carson, are in for a pleasant surprise. He really comes out of his shell in this one, getting dangerously close to full-blown “Chatty Cathy” mode. Note what follows him saying, “I don’t really have anything add about the anus.” Anyway, it was nice to see/hear. Feel free to encourage him.

If you haven’t heard my fellow Jesuit Coadjutor Jordan Maxwell’s Project Camelot interview, well it’s worth a listen. {*1} As for Jones, I think the below image pretty much sums him up. I’ve spoken my peace regarding Bermas & The Infowarriors.

Didn’t realize Danny Boyle (of 28 Days) was involved in this “independent” foreign film “phenomenon” Slumdog Millionaire. Where’s that vomit emoticon when you need it? The Luciferean promotion business is old hat for Danny. Discussed clip:

Condoms came up last issue too [relevant/important enough to link the image again]. Sorry, it’s beyond irritating for me to hear fools repeat and propagate the slave wisdom of their indoctrination. Here’s a good rule of thumb: if you learned it, were taught it, or heard it, without researching it for yourself, it’s bullshit.

The above [right] shot is from Wanted (2008), and coincidentally, the guy buying them is the complete idiot the protagonist tires of early on. Probably for the best I didn’t see “hippie chick” again. Inevitably, we’d have had to have the dreaded “condom” conversation. Idiots who’ve been conditioned to believe they’re aware and intelligent tend to cling dearly to their indoctrinated belief systems [B.S.]. Thus, I’d very likely have ended up violating her rear entrance, just out of spite (think of it as a “poor man’s life extension technology”).

The referred to Futurama “Godfellas” episode is also worth a view. Just don’t fall into the [programmed] trap of assuming Groenig and company are talking about this nebulous white-bearded God/Dog character and it will make a lot more sense.

For those who haven’t read my entire body of work, the idea of who/what Lucy Fur is, starts here. The discussed mysterious e-mail, arrived in my inbox two hours before publication of my conclusion regarding the lady in question. As for the “fear” tactic, it was a really weird drop during an interview as soon as I mentioned Lucy, followed by some faint far-off sound of a dungeon door closing. Yea, [more] weird/spooky shit. Nothing “new.”

I can’t recall the name of she who spoke of a “fractal fence,” nor the commenter who appraised me of her lecture series. Chime in if you’re here. Speaking of cubing the cube, that Futurama episode (The Farnsworth Parabox) is also amazing:

My first exploration into the meaning of cubes is still relevant, and worth a read for any unfamiliar. I could do a whole analysis of the episode based on my personal growth and wisdom sense, but there’s more important things pending. {*2}

Of [extreme] interest, Matt Groening’s middle-name is “Abram.” The safe bet: not a coincidence. Farnsworth’s statement [below], pretty much cuts to the crux of our reality. For most of us, that god-damned box IS all that ever was or will be.

The Church plays it’s crucial role in the process, getting fools down on their knees to pray to the box that is their prison [contemplated/expanded]. The priest class has long laughed at the expense of the fools they indoctrinate with horse-crap disguised as religion. Relevant: Elvis Costello’s [included] “God’s Comic.”

“Deliver us from evil,” we pray/plead, ever-ignorant of just whom (or what) we are addressing, nor exactly what the hell we’re even asking for. Considering that religion IS ass-backwards and “evil” is the reverse of “live,” perhaps, we are begging to die ignorant and come right back into the box. Repeat.

Speaking of religion, got a good laugh out of the former [Godfellas] episode, when in his quest to find his lost friend, Frye went into the Amalgamated Church and asked, “Is there anything religion can do to help me find my friend?” By the way, the priest’s answer to the below conversation, was “No.” But laugh not too hard ye atheists, for the only person more ignorant than a “believer,” might be you.

I liked what Lenon Honor had to say on the subject of prayer in one of his video series. He views it as an “energy transference.” By “praying” to some gods we know little of, we feed them, and give them our power. As I’ve been saying, I’m done giving away my power to gods and men. I’m getting the fuck out of this box, and when I do, I’m gonna start taking some of that power back. The Gods better start praying they don’t meet me in the great beyond, lest I sodomize them.

Well, at least they, the hand-maidens of the gods, have a sense of humor; a sick twisted sense of humor, but funny nonetheless. It’s not a coincidence that the church below used the word Deliverance in their title [a movie about men fucking men up the ass]. Metaphorically, the priest class has long fucked their flock up the ass, while in some cases, literally fucking their children in said manner.

I thank Carolyn from Iconoclast Report and Josh from Global Reality for the “church bulletin” pics that I “borrowed.” Worth a laugh: an old [as the internet] list.

Speaking of ass-fucking, I had begun to wonder, some time ago, why Arnold grunts like a “stuck pig,” in EVERY SINGLE ONE of his early movies. Every single one. And it always seems to go on for an unbearably, and uncomfortably, long time.

Listening to the included [audio] clip from commando, free from the distraction of the hypnotizing and lying moving pictures on the screen, I think, makes it abundantly clear as to why. Again, as I surmised oh many times now, every element of cinematic craft/wizardry is scripted precisely, methodically and intentionally.

Based on his past, and my ventures into territory few dare venture [hence, why morons tend to dismiss me as "anally" obsessed], the questions yield answers. For one, the priest class chuckle as it reminds them of the time they spent with little Arnold. Two, they laugh their ass off at the dumb beer-swilling fag-bashing macho dudes in the audience who haven’t the slightest clue as to what they’re watching and eagerly submit/consent to the reprogramming of their mind.

“The individual is handicapped by coming face-to-face with a conspiracy so monstrous he cannot believe it exists.” — J. Edgar Hoover

That’s the quote Stygian Port referred to. Of relevance, in why most who call themselves “truthers will never ever understand the gay agenda, or even why they are who they are [cause, they "do what they want"]. Just this week, my sister reminded me of the South Park episode (“Goobacks“) where in order to change the future (the shape of things to come), the men choose to become gay en masse. Matter of factly, one character states, “We are trying to turn everyone gay so there are no future humans.” In the face of revelation, our laughter is our consent.

Adding to the musical train theme, from my youth, I recall all the media-fed zombie boys who boasted of “running the train” on some girl. Oh you silly boys: to properly form a train, each boxcar needs to be able to couple with the car in front of and behind it. If you don’t understand that yet, don’t worry, you will soon enough.

Stygian after previewing this asked about all the Train songs, and how many more I had. Answer: plenty more where those came from [and none are from the imbecile "run the train" genre]. For example: the Clash’s “Train in Vain” would now be relevant. Oh, and pay close attention to the “Jumping Someone Else’s Train” lyrics; they are equivalent to Howard Biel’s speech from the last podcast [3].

Hm, so train, outside of the last one bound for heaven, the one all you need is [blind] faith to board, also has multiple meanings. Aside from the rear-entry position favored by dogs, and the back-door method, favored by nearly everyone now, it also suggests to “indoctrinate/teach” as one might a pet, or a slave.

Formally defined: “to develop or form the habits, thoughts, or behavior of (a child or other person) by discipline and instruction.”

Thanks to B.L.Donnelly, who raised a good point about the propagation of mind-limiting propaganda, I feel I should start using the phrase “body energy field” instead of “Chakra System.” Who fathoms the potential of the hand? Indubitably, all general knowledge has been corrupted by the priest class, the servants of the vampiric overlords who’s very existence relies on keeping us forever in the box.

Likely not needing mention, if you haven’t already, please drop Jim Morrison, the one with a taste for the back doors of little boys from your list of idols humans. Next time you visit Paris, feel free to stomp on his grave. Wish I had. {*3}

Speaking of “chicken,” The Truman Show may just be worthy of an intimate exploration at some point. For now I’ll just point out a scene that someone really wanted the audience to notice. Carey runs into the twins and twice, they push his shoulder against the advertisement behind him, the camera focused on it.

Who’s the chicken in this situation? We are the chicken. We are the free-range slaves they are addressing (disuccsed in prior article, Statism is Dead vid reaches same conclusion). Just because we’re too blind [via conditioning] to see the chicken-wire, and too ignorant to know it exists, doesn’t mean it’s not there.

From our chicken cage, we go to Nick Cage (as I surmised before, he’s the new Kevin Bacon, connecting every actor to every movie). Though I wrote of National Treasure long ago, I wouldn’t necessarily recommend the article, I was but an infant then [in comparison to now]. Speaking of another Nick, the song “Oh Lucy” was done by none other than Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds. WTF! Synchronicity?

There’s our dear [¿hm, deer-hoof?] little Angelina Jolie making the V for Vagina sign. Alternately, the Luciferan gesture can be interpreted as “fuck me” or you’re welcome to come get a “piece.” Hm, now the jukebox is playing Elvis Costello crooning, “Get your mind off the sweet behind, of our little angel” [not included].

Further supporting the theory logical fact regarding the gender of “the adversary” is how the temptation of the Jesus is even by Church, ahem, Scholars, called the “Temptation of the Flesh.” Well, unless Jesus was a poofer [which he wasn't, another article in the queue], it’s a safe bet there was vagina and titties involved.

After hearing the Vaganally obsessed Prince sing his praise to “Little Nikki,” I can assume he had some inkling as to, at least, what color car she might drive and why she might “park her car sideways, cause it wouldn’t last” [more on that soon].

Speaking of Religion, has it occured to you this whole “Global Warming” hooplah is really just another Religion? Without any evidence, millions now believe something, on nothing other than faith (and some spurious parables/data) alone. Worth a laugh, Park’s “Goobacks” episode featured some idiot bringing up the topic and some “uneducated” redneck smashing his rhetoric with logic a [unindoctinated] child might use, closing with “Fucking Retard!” Here’s a few that fit that bill:

Speaking of “warming,” there does seem to be some heat rising from down under. Yea, inevitably Nicole Kidman came up again. I know I’ve shared her lovely rear with you guys before, but that’s no reason not to share it again. Sorry Elvis!

However, the image annemarie shared with us in prior post does make me reflect and reconsider what I might do to Nicole. That’s one scary fucking cover, man.

The cover also speaks synchronistic volumes of the connection between NIC[k]OLE [¿nice-hole?] and OLE’NICK. So, what exactly to you think, having listened to the clips from Prince’s “tribute,” happens when Little Nicki “starts to grind?” Would that be as in “grind” flesh? Go back and look at the images from last podcast dealing with the meat-grinding Cattle-Barenness from someplace faraway down.

Listen closely to the sections where Prince is screaming and tell me if that sounds like “pleasure” to you. Here’s the other related pics I said I was saving. There are no coincidences folks. But, there is good reason why it’s all becoming so evident.

The Diamond Dogs are just the female variant of whores of the priest class. They are the starlettes that indoctrinate our kids into idol worship, and idleness [as in stunted brain development]. One day, I’ll get around to writing the long overdue article entitled Diamonds are a Whore’s Best Friend, but here’s another image [below] I’ve been looking to offload somewhere. Another bit of “truth.”

That may offend someone, and I guess I need not explain how little I care at this stage. But, many on this quest for truth wear diamonds, thus many “truthers” are whores who’ll never ever look into that mirror of truth. The first [real] step on the quest for truth is to admit you’re a whore. The second, is to stop being one.

Do I even need to get into the lunacy of going [submitting] to the church/state to get “married?” Cap in hand, begging the same “daddy” who despises and mocks you, to bequeath his blessing upon your union [¿would that be "foul union," or "fowl union"?]. The same slave privilege for which homosexuals are presently beating the drums of injustice at the plantation. Surely, the Master is rather amused.

Hm, so Oliver Stone (directed The Doors), Nick Cage [the illuminated seeker], Martin Scorcese (directed The Last Temptation of Christ), and Tom Hanks [symbologist hero extraordinnaire] are all intimately connected to the Vatican. Another coincidence, shirley. Here’s the flying x-box of death we talked about.

Which reminds me, I’m flabbergasted why people are so convinced that “Angels” are good, and “Demons” are bad, or that there’s even the slightest difference between the two. As if before the dawn of time, someone said, OK, all you guys that drink Coke are gonna be on the Devils Team and wear Red, while all you guys that drink Pepsi are gonna play for the Angels and wear White, forever. I guess it was better that than shirts versus skins? Which reminds me, I should probably sodomize a couple of those archangels once I get the hell out of this place.

Now the cabaret is frozen and the laughter comes in cans, and
The lonely hearts club clientele don’t know what to do with their hands

You swear you’ll never go back again, once you’re inside
You’re never the bridegroom, she’s always the bride
You’re not going to do a thing, to our little angel

You’ll come in a sweetheart and you’ll go out a stranger
Well, you try to love her, but she’s so contrary
Like a chainsaw running through a dictionary
So get your mind off the sweet behind of our little angel

Of note, in the mindfuck officially entitled Angels & Demons, said x-box flew into the vortex, while our deer Little Nicole spoke emphatically of “twisters” in Oz. {*4} There’s a lot more on that coming, and at the risk of giving away too much, let’s just say we’ll be “twisting the night away.”

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*1: Here’s a link. I can’t comment on aliens, cause I’ve yet to meet one. The main area I got uneasy is when Jordan’s comments regarding lying sack-of-shit history-distorting social-engineering chicken-hawk Steven-Spielberg came close to praise. [LB]

*2: . Michael over at Hidden Agendas did a full-write up of said episdoe aeons ago, and included oodles of screen shots. For the unfamiliar, here’s my video featuring the movie segment Stygian and I joke about [08:08]. [LB]

*3: I’d guess, that nurture overrides nature, especially when you’re a victim of mind control. Safe to assume Jimmy spent a lot of time being eaten (as pic suggests), before he developed his own taste for “chicken”. [LB]

*4: Last-minute additions. My draft of “Diamonds” talks about how these over-abundant stones are pretty much worthless, unless you’re drilling through/for something. Thus, I can’t help but think this [kk] image is synchromystically related. The “uncomfortable statement” in regards to “twisting” that SP and I laugh about, occurred during the first Dark Knight interview. [LB]

As I’ve been mentioning, Stygian Port and myself have been collaborating, and by collaborating, I mean talking about nothing and everything. For now, I’ll be releasing these “meetings of the minds” [i.e., dinners of/with "andros," in other words men who are not gynic] as podcasts. Stygian Port has released his write-up of the [un]historic occasion [in stereo on his site]. More of me on Saturn’s Day. {*4}

Before you hit start on the below player, I would strongly advise that anyone under the mental age of twelve, keep far away [that would be somewhere around 96% of the population]. Listening to this show may cause hemorrhaging in virgin brains. Come to think of it, this episode probably shouldn’t be listened to by anybody.

The podcast will surely offend a few many people. But, seriously, if you’re the kind of person that’s easily offended, then (1) don’t listen to it, but (2) should you still listen and become offended, proceed to go fuck yourself. Here’s a download link.

I’m sure everyone’s seen Nicole Kidman’s scrumptious ass by now, thus will understand why it’s so hard to resist. If you haven’t, or need to again, here it is.

Devilicious? Perhaps. Actually, if you stare at Nicole’s ass long enough, you might be privy to see/imagine a stinking brown turd coming out of it. That, would put your mind in the proper context to appreciate this end product: Australia (2008). For those in doubt, here’s a scene that I missed upon first viewing. The little boy grabbing Jackman’s finger, and the [scripted] methodical reaction that followed:

The camera zooms in on Jackman’s “finger” as it slowly rises from slumber to full-mast rigid. If you’re one of these people that thinks this scene was somehow missed or overlooked during the repeated dailies and edits this film went through, and accidentally “slipped through,” then, well, you’re a complete fucking idiot.

The Carney Cattle Company featured prominently in this film. Their logo, could well be converted into a sygil with minimal effort. Perhaps, that’s already been done?

I must also thank a guru of mine, for appraising me long ago, that there may in fact be a deep occult reason why the clock is set to 07:20. Below, is a related scene from Jennifer’s Body, “Needy” cleaning Jennifer’s regurgitate off the floor.

Of note, she said “cleaning the carnage off the floor.” For some reason, it resembled “oil.” Black gold? Texass Tea? That will make some sense sooner or later. Here’s the related “carnage” from the Simpson’s Zombie episode:

Burger “Squared?” Well, every festering turd has a few nuggets in it. Part of it is advisement of the aware, the rest is a methodical plan to make humanity a willing partner in its own destruction. There’s good reason why films like The Watchmen (and many other apocalyptic films of late) are reMinding us, “You deserve this!”

As came up in the zombie post discussion (Bring Out Your Dead), Australia is Oz and vice-versa. Here’s Kidman’s impromptu “random” story that “chanced” on her lap.

Below, is the first view, of many, from the classic original that the flim-makers wizards chose to share with us [the audience]. Odd view/perspective, no?

Here’s a photo of “The Pearl” theater, just in case your imagination couldn’t well enough picture it. Isn’t there a toothpaste called “Peal Drops?” Coincidence!

It reminds of another “pearl” of cinematic lore, one featured in a film starring yet another “ex” [X] of the infamous Tom Cruise [¿as in to "to cruise" gay bars, right Johnny?], Mimi Rogers. It also features David Duchovny, an “x-man” of sorts, and the sexaholic [and utterly discreditable] poster child of human degeneration

Said movie, The Rapture (1991), is about swingers, sex and big Jesus’s “second coming.” The pearl, in this case, was an early sign some dude alleged to be “God” shared with Christians [X-ians], that his boy’s second coming [i.e., the "rapture," hm, yes, grunt, oh, yes] was imminent. What a mind-fuck that movie was.

Alas, we close off with a picture of Hugh Jackass, doing a little “horse-whispering” to the referenced Capricorn Mare. Considering what Stygian Port said [in the audio portion], it should now be abundantly evident why the Capricorn Mare is black and why [¿the ass it rode in on?] is putting it to sleep [metaphorically, death].

From the Rainbow Serpent, whom/which lays/lies Somewhere Over the Rainbow, we transition to another ‘ole Nick [nicole], Little Nicky. Coincidentally, when asked where he was from Lil Nicholass said, “The Deep South.” Faraway and down.

Undoubtedly, why idiots invite the evil into their house every Winter Solctice (milk & cookies), and why your children not yet ready for the MTV watch “Nick” at Night. Thanks to a random comment from a lad named Dave, overheard at my [XIX] bar:

She said, ‘How’d you like to waste some time?’
And I could not resist
When I saw little Nicky grind
She took me to her castle
And I just couldn’t believe my eyes
She had so many devices
Everything that money could buy
She said, ‘Sign ur name on the dotted line.’
The lights went out
And Nicky started to grind

The above lyrics are from Prince’s “Little Nicky.” Analysis should tell you she was far more than some random slut he encountered. Of course, this movie had a few requisite X-boxes and dialogue cleverly disguised/masked for the idiots watching.

If you watch the basketball scenes, it [the process of watching] becomes extremely painful, for those who give a shit about the fate of mankind. The wizards make it obvious that the dumb-jokes (e..g, the Wanda Sykes one-liners) are aimed at [making fun of] the same idiots who may enjoy the movie. And then, revelation:

The above scene is cut to immediately after the devil says the above line [exactly what my Burning Ring is surmising]. As a bonus, the man dumb-fuck in the middle is wearing a [spirit-trapping] grid pattern shirt. Even the Matrix showed us [via the underlying story to the aware], this “Zion,” this refuge for humanity, just happens to be located in the center of the Earth and coincidentally, looks a lot like hell.

Well, so much for the “Jew Control Theory.” Those sad sacks have been just as brainwashed as everybody else. One of my readers pointed out that Chicago is located in the 60606 zip code and has tons of demonic architecture. Coincidentally, Chicago established itself as and financed its growth through the business of “meat-packing” [that's a double entendre] and animal torture/slaughter. Hence, for billions upon billions of animal souls, Chicago has long been “Hell on Earth.”

Little Nicky informs us that Chicago (the band) albums played [ass] backwards, offer up some interesting invocations. Leads me wonder why they call the place “Chi-town.” Would that be Chi-Town as in Chi [Greek "X"] Town, or as in Shit-own?

In case any are confused, the film took place in NY [i.e., another OZ]. In my Trumanesque world, I am reminded of my adversary while Living in Rio. I called him “LA Guy,” and he was a piece of shit excuse for a human being if ever I met one. He was the kind of guy that would hug you and act like your best friend whenever he saw you, and then bad-mouth you and try to pick up your girlfriends the moment you’d turn your back on him; omni-present, womanizing and yet clingy [¿needy?].

One night, I [from NYC at the time] and my mate, Sam from Australia [seriously, I am not making this up], came close to beating the crap out of that fucker. A passive-aggressive mutual friend, would just make a point of asking, every time we encountered said person, “So, when are you leaving Rio?”

The point of the story? He [dipshit] was the son of one of the members of the band, Chicago. There’s more to the tale, but alas, before I moved on from Rio on to locales North[east], a drunken “LA Guy” who had a habit of patting guy’s on the ass, as I came in from the ocean, tried to take it one step further with me and get a quick probe in. In other words, he tried to “check my temperature.” {*1}

These days, I have heard many a media-fed moron use the phrase, “Checking the Oil,” which is a far more lurid, and disturbing “twist” on the former, as it implies “digging” in quest for something. Alas, the above promo of Kim Kard[ash/ass]ian, courtesy of Grace, who uses her vision to “see,” may show exactly “what.”

Note the extremely specific placement of the shadow of the nozzle/head of the oil rig. Drilling for Oil? Texass tea. I think I’m gonna vomit. Argh, words entrap me.

The above scenes are serious overkill of numerology and symbolism. Considering I mentioned KK [11:11] earlier, it’s worth noting that the K line in Manhattan was closed down in 1988, and that the movie was made in 2000. In other words, the wizards put it there for good bad reason. Of course, Nicky had a gay roommate.

The above, and below scenes are from “Heaven.” Wait, so the entrance to heaven is through the Vesica Piscis? Sex is Death. More vagina symbols please?

Speaking of, we all know what one has to do to earn their “red-wings,” one trophy this Rebel can proudly claim his personal case deficient of. But now, I ask you Adam Sandler, what exactly did you have to do to earn your Pink Wings?

To transition from one movie to the next, we move right from the rear pink man-ring to the female one. Below, is our [the audience's] introduction to [or, first exposure of] starlette Anna Farris in The House Bunny (2008):

Years of programming, has convinced [i.e., mind-fucked] the average bunny that movies are disconnected unrelated independent efforts. Just the other day, some idiot accused me of making it up [my blog] for entertainment and shock value. How do you reach someone like that? Quoth The Rebel, “I don’t bother.”

The [upper] above caption is the one mentioned [in audio] from Little Nicky, while the lower two [above set] are from Jennifer’s Body. Yes, lots and lots of fucking rabbits. Below, is the main “hole” worship shot I referred to from this movie. Seeing that it [the montage] is dedicated to Lucy, I would guess that is the front hole; the one that lies “somewhere beyond the rainbow,” also known as “death.”

The follow-up is our heroine’s response to her prostitute cell-mates. Yep, keep repeating that to yourself Shelly. All that matters is that you believe it. Same goes to all the other playboy bunnies, bunny wanna-bes and pretty much every girl on this planet who whores herself out for drinks, drugs, a chance to sit in ViP, or on a semi-permanent basis in exchange for a carbon rock [aka, a "diamond" ring].

More bunnies. More V’s. More sixes. And alas, just like in Little Nicky, Shelly and her fellow revelers seem rather excited and happy to find themselves in HELL.

Wow! Shelly shops at the same store as the [other] chubby balding gay guy from Little Nicky? That is unfuckingcanny! For the benefit of one cryptic Eugene, they do seem to emphasize the “Dou” in Doughnut. He may have a clue as to why.

In other news: IBM’s been assigned the task of predictively programming the sheep that “the grid” is gonna be the new internet. The below scene is from Jennifer’s Body, when the heroine delves into a book she found in the “scary” [I said "Boo" mother-fucker!] Occult section of her school’s library [a mind association game].

The House Bunny, coincidentally, had its own “virgin sacrifice” ritual as well. By chance, the sacrificee happens to be tomboy Natalie, played by Emma [sync-like-a] Stone, the tomboy “virgin” star of that twink-fest known as Zombieland.

Shelly’s proud of her body and displays it brazenly. Of note, it would seem that to most people who might care [the males in the audience], only get to see her back-side. Which, IMHO, is quite nice, but cuts right to the agenda.

Females [in the movie], are the only ones who get to see her vagina. Silly rabbit, pussy’s for girls. Yes, there’s good reason for that, and that reason isn’t “chance.”

And they lived happily ever after! But, perhaps I misinterpreted the first time around? The new math: “an asshole” + “a cock” = “the new pussy.” True Love!

We didn’t really get into Dead Girl (2008) that much [a little pun intended], but the agenda is making “pussy” a dead thing to males. Guess they’ve got another hole in mind. Anyone care to venture a guess as to what that is? Hm, and perhaps, judging by some of the images that have now invaded your mind, I’m helping them?

The above [right] scene is from eXistenZ, and pretty much supports precisely what Stygian and I talked about. If they create a new hole in the human body [in the case of Cronenburg's movie mind-fuck, as a game-port for virtual reality], people will shortly thereafter be programmed to lick and fuck it. “Hey Jude, don’t make it bad.” Um, is there a little revelation of your acting talent taking place there?

Thus, we end up in Jennifer’s Body. Ever wonder what lies Behind the Green Door? Do you really want to know? I created the above image as something fanciful, for my [and your] amusement, plus the movie strongly supports my original recrafting.

But, you’ll have to make up your own mind, whether I stumbled into something more, after looking at the below series of [real] ads from [innocent] days gone by:

Coincidentally [well, at least somewhat in this case], when I logged into myspace yesterday, I found myself face to face ass with the below image. Thus, I gotta ask, does that pair of jeans, worn by our dearest back-door “queen” Megan Fox, come with “skid-marks,” or is the lucky winner gonna have to pay extra for that?

I jest, and I don’t. I can only recommend you watch the movie for yourself. It really is an amazing piece of work, put together/subtly crafted by geniuses, to cater to degenerates [i.e., your friends and neighbors] and “truth-seekers” alike. It is one subversive piece of artistry, and tells me, that people involved in the project either read my blog in detail, or I am fucking on to something/everything:

In at least three separate [unrelated] movies now, I’ve notice these “X-lamps.” My mom’s been in the home design business for ages, and to this day, despite my having been yelled at for daring to suggest/joke at one time, that she was turning her business into a lamp store [it's because they are a royal pain to unpack], I have yet to see a single X-Lamp come through that place.

There are plenty of “X-boxes” and “Xs” in this movie, central to both the plot and subplot. For those in “the dark,” here’s the first post where I talked about them.

Heck, it even makes a point of telling you that the two girls, Jennifer and “Needy” had been friends since the days spent in the sandBOX [¿from ashes or dust?].

Taking it one step further into my [mental] breach is the DK (in this case Devil’s Kettle), and my prior supposition that the sigil, ala the Dead Kennedy’s logo, is somehow connected towards bridging across/cutting through the spirit grid.

Of little surprise were the fire themes, whether foreshadows [left] or the noncritical [plot-wise at least] burning fools running about in this film. I guess I need to shift my energies back to closing off the remaining two parts of my [open] octology.

Aside from either hints [or implants] to the wise, the “box-cutting” metaphor is also a trauma-reminder for anyone dumb-enough to fall for the yarn about Mohamed aTTa’s Flying Circus [my striking conclusions on]. No, I’m not reaching, there were other subtle [and not so subtle] reminders for such lemmings. Case in point:

It was hard to hear, but the drinks Megan is holding up were called something like “911 Turkey Shooters.” That’s kinda evil. Moving onwards, or backwards, to scatological references, this film was chock-full of back-door/brown-eye memes. As a matter of fact, I’m gonna trademark a new drinking game: watch this movie with friends and every time an anus or shit reference is made, you drink.

Plan on being wasted 30 minutes into the movie. You may also want to bring lube along, just in case. Most telling, or should I say, subservient to the exact fucking words I’ve been writing about, was the below, um, observation from Needy’s boyfriend. Are you fucking kidding me? Dude, the “front butt” is called a “vagina!”

“Why can’t I get just one screw? Why can’t I get just one screw? Believe me, I’d know what to do. But something won’t let me make love to you.”

Wait, is that their way of telling us he’s a fag? Before some chance reader from The Collective interprets that as “hate speech,” I’ll add, “Don’t shoot shoot shoot that thing at me” [literally, or figuratively]. By “fag,” I don’t mean homosexual. I mean little closet twink that has no fucking business being near a vagina, and needs to stop occupying the time of girls us genuine pussy fans [i.e. guys who don't think the pussy is a "butt substitute"], could save from being converted through the methodical disgust that builds after wasting their time with likes of the former.

“Can I mix in with your affairs? Share a smoke. Make a joke. Grasp and reach for a leg of hope. Words to memorize, words hypnotize. Words make my mouth exercise. Words all fail the magic prize. Nothing I can say when I’m in your thighs.”

He’s got a fucking “Tito Puente on Broadway” poster in his room? He’s a poofer! For the slower people in the audience, his Mom blatantly displays the tool she gave him to protect himself. Pink panic! Oh my God! Now, that’s funny!!! Hey sissy boy, why don’t you hide behind your little bitch? Oops, I mean “man substitute.”

Personally, I don’t think the below image warrants further explanation. {*2} It also dispels the propaganda put out by eugenicist whores like Planned Parenthood [and their mindless recruits/suckers] that “Hollywood, by not promoting condoms idiot wisdom is leading to more teen pregnancies” [hint: "not selling enough product"].

Ooh, time for a sex scene. About fucking time, cause my penis has been sound asleep since this move began. Well, “sex scene” may be overly generous, because it is a far cry from what the phrase suggest. Looks pretty fucking boring to me. Harsh lighting. What an unappealing camera angle [below]. That’s odd, isn’t it? Oh, wait, I know why. D’oh! The new directive for showcasing “straight” sex. Yawn!

Now, let’s contrast it to the lesbian scene that follows not long after. Oh my! How sensual. Soft delicate kisses. Close ups. Rhythmic movements, accompanied by a musical beat synced to the [pulsating] human heart-beat. How hot is that?

Her boy twink, was even scripted a line [another nail to drive the point home], asking her about those “four minutes.” So, I wonder if this will leave any kind of impact on the mind of the average twelve year old girl that watches this movie? No. Obviously not. Only a crazy conspiracy theorist would think something like that.

Also purely random, was the sequence of events after Jennifer came to the football player, the “toughest guy in school.” She undoes his pants, and just when she touches his cock [not depicted, as the camera cuts to him, and he makes that goofy boy face all of us guys make when the curious soft hand touches our unit]. Jennifer then [while she's stroking him] asks him the below question:

Coincidentally, said lad’s name is “Jonas.” A remote connection through this pile of crap is that JB is short for Jennifer’s Body and the Jonas Brothers, who share the same feminine build and “hair-style” as the virgin Emma’s “twink” from Zombieland. You hear that sound? That’s the sound of one of the elites pounding himself some Jonas Brother twink-hole as your ass is reading this. There are three of them, so odds are, that’s a safe bet to make whatever time day or night.

Had to include the below images. The one to the left speaks to my theory of the real definition of the word “hero” [more on that in an upcoming CR/SP podcast]. Also, the whole spiel by her mother [right] syncs to another old post of mine.

There’s also the potential that “needy” serves the role of a converted truth-seeker on one level. At the beginning we’re shown her being part of the apparatus, spreading disinfo [basically, ALL news headlines]. Later, she learns for herself [the radio scene] that the media lies and confronts other “mainstream” believing morons on “the truth.” And, like many of us, gives up, realizing it is a lost cause.

Speaking of the band, “Low Shoulder,” they justified their sacrifice of the [by no means a] virgin, by saying something to the effect of, “How do you think Maroon 5 got to where they are.” I’ve never heard of that band, and am not interested.

The Rolling Stone cover says loud and clear: “This band [their music] sucks ass.” [I'm suggesting that in the old fashioned negative connotation. Did I just date myself?] Anyway, the subsequent image says a HELL of a lot about their loyalties. Note the Vescicas and the chance intersection of the V above the Double-V.

Again, I seriously doubt that either of the below scenes were in any way conjecture. Well, unless by “conjecture,” you mean spell-casting; the intentional placement of images and words to serve the goals of the wizards [servants of the priest class].

Near the end, the “BFF” bond is broken/severed. I think Stygian is addressing the necklace in more detail, so I’ll skip it [the lesbian promotion meme-lette]. The BOX-cutter is put to good use, being thrust deep into the box/heart/vagina. The blood starts to flow. Jennifer’s hymen/sliver [¿silver cord?] is broken; for good this time [i.e., "forever"]. Again, the penis/knife metaphor surfaces; just a little more overt this time around at The Holy Wood’s Box Office [Orifice]. {*3}

“City’s restless. It’s ready to pounce. Here in your bed from ounce to ounce. Sayin’ oh my my my my my mo my mother. I would love to love you lover. I’ve given you a decision to make. Things to lose, things to take. Just as she’s about ready to cut it up. She says: Wait a minute honey I’m gonna add it up. Add it up. Add it up.”

Alas, we have the discussed escape scene. Holy Butt-Fucking Virgin Mary, God-Damn Mother of the Overdue Antichrist! It really, just blows me away. Not only does she tear a hole in the grid, but afterwards tears another hole in the outer grid, speaking to the box within the box, the matrix within the matrix suggestion that Stygian and I were discussing in one of the prior shows [coming soon].

Now, I don’t quite know what to make of this. I’m not going to say it’s “good,” nor that it’s “bad.” Worth noting: she was wearing the bunny slippers during her escape [clearly demonstrated], which suggests the way out is through Lucy Für.

Two, what she does after she escapes [goes on a murder/revenge spree], is hard to justify in terms of spiritual escape, unless it was thrown in by one of the mindless, yet influential marketing people involved with the film on some level. In retrospect [post-publication], it [the end] makes a lot of “sense,” when one considers the subversive nature of the wizards [see my comment on other stereo channel].

Speaking of people involved, the credits tell us a lot, while directly reVeiling plenty. For example, they inform the audience that they are being fucked with. C’mon, are those real names or what? There’s actually some guy named Tummy Plucker? Please! I can safely say though, that some of the best minds in the business of wizardry and social engineering [the hidden hands] were involved in this project.

I highly recommend Jennifer’s Carcass. Not as a movie, because on that level, it sucks ass [literally and metaphorically]. However, if you watch it as one might watch an autopsy, and dissect layer upon layer of it, you may learn something. However, I do understand that watching an autopsy is not for everyone.

Well, that’s it for now. It shouldn’t take too long to put our other “Dinners With Andros” out, as none will require anywhere near the volume of support this one did. Let us know what you thought.

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*1: You have no idea how personally intimate some of the Oz themes in these films connect with events in my life, and won’t cause I won’t share them unless you find yourself sitting opposite me and picking up the tab for our drinks.

As for Los Angeles guy, I heard he left Rio some time after me. Looking back, the guy probably hated me cause we always despise that which we can’t have. Fortunately, for him, the night Sam and I were gonna “pound him,” the secondary plan was to toss him into a river of shit by Leblon [Rio's sanitation leaves much to be desired]. I shit you not! As is common in Brasil, where “plans” are utterly meaningless, our scheme was tossed out the window shortly after we hooked up with two lovely creatures in said pub. [LB]

*2: Stygian Port reprimanded me on said issue in one of these shows, reminding me that not “everyone” has looked into the issue or read my article on the topic. [LB]

*3: The first show I did dealing with the penis as a knife metaphor was the one where Heath Ledger “twists” his thrusting dagger up into Christian Bale’s netherhole. Worth a listen. I normally wouldn’t do this, but this “black guy” should probably “help out the white guys,” who may not be rhythmically inclined to follow my mental dance moves regarding the lyrics from the Violent Femme’s “Add It Up.” To get you started:

1. the song popped into my head right after I wrote “vomit” and found myself trapped by/mired in language ["words all fail"]
2. a “city” (as in “ready to pounce”) is, per Tsarion, based on the word cetis, which is an old term for vagina
3. Jennifer’s “mother” enters her bedroom as she is dying/slipping away from this world, hence mother, lover, Capricorn and Cancer gates all present
4. “cut it up” is what one might do with a knife/penis
5. “add it up” connects us back to the closing image from The House Bunny

Don’t forget to start with the right brain/foot, else you’ll muck it up instead of add it up. The rest should be relatively obvious in relation to the context around them. [LB]

*4: I will be a guest on the Iconoclast Report this Saturday on Oracle Broadcasting. The show airs at from 1:00 PM to 5:00 PM, and I should be making an appearance, morning coffee in hand at around 3:00 PM (Eastern Time). From what I understand, the topics I will be asked about are Mind Control, Disney and Miley “are you fucking” Sirius? [LB]

As above, so below. On one level, that could very well be a valid interpretation of why these stars Hollywood presents us with, play the roles of countless archetypes, heroes and gods of myth [i.e., planetary bodies] over and over again. Requiring little mention, is how most of the fools on the stage, are too stupid to even have a clue of the significance of the role they’ve been cast for, nor the wherewithal, to understand the precision with which their careers have been guided.

It has long been my suspicion, and is now my firm assertion, that fame does not come cheaply. The Medes, who I’ve gotten into the habit of calling the Wizards of Id, have presented us many a “tail” of Faustian bargains made at the cross-roads, where the rights to one’s “soul” are traded in for the “right” to a few fancy baubles, and the adorations of legions of mindless fanatic zombies [i.e., "fans"]. But, I suspect that is a scam as well. Our “icons” are nothing more than eye-cons.

I do however, firmly believe, that while there may be no “devil” to pay, at least not, for the scum of the earth, those we call actors, the same joke of a “profession” looked down upon from the days of Rome through well until the advent of the motion picture, they will inevitably find themselves at the cross-roads, so to speak, but there will be no devil there. Just a dirty old man. The Devil who chooses Armani over Prada. In layman’s terms, he prefers shit over shinola.

These devils, or moguls, as they like being called [i.e., golum = golem/gollum; the lexicon does not lie], have no use for one’s soul, it is something, which they, having consigned themselves to their little slice of this 3D existence, have little use for, and I reckon, wouldn’t even know what the fuck to do with it. But, potential stars do have an “ASSet” these old men hold in high value; the life force they can draw from the young, hoping to extend their miserable yet materially luxurious stay on this realm, and if they learned anything through the occult teachings most are indubitably exposed to, they surely fear the wheel of kharma may, in fact, be just.

So, how do they go about engaging in the transfer of life energy from stars in the making? Well, what would have seemed preposterous to me not all that long ago, thanks to a circuitous route of occult studies, synchronicity and intuition, leads me the human “stargate” exit, the anus. Coincidentally, the anus, in “insider circles” is referred to as the starfish, or on some occasions, the “pink starfish.”

Yes, there is a reason why “gay” SpongeBob, the one with a bulbous yellow penis in lieu of a nose, has a pink starfish for a “roommate.” And of course, where else would you find a starfish but in a Bikini Bottom?

• A Burning Ring of Fire [II]: social engineering, the anus, and possession
• Sing Our Own Song [VII]: the anus, energy transferance, “stables” of young
• A True Blue Sexual ReView: more random thoughts on the topic

The above links would be required reading for anyone who thinks I’m making a leap of logic here. It is not my intent, in this exercise, to explain how the process works, but to go over example after example of what, hopefully, when compiled together, will make even the most skeptical [i.e., programmed to deny the obvious] mind realize the joke that’s been played on them, and discourage such fools from either engaging in idolatry of the wretched, and definitely, discourage their children from practicing such, much less dreaming of becoming “stars” themselves one day.

I’m sure were one to ask Ricky Martin, what he had to do to “earn” his shot at superstardom, he’d either grimace and confess, or has been programmed / traumatized by the events, he’s blocked those memories permanently. Most telling to me, was my recent discovery realization that when enough fame/notoriety has been achieved, in other words, when you’ve bent over and had the requisite number of penises put inside your “pink starfish,” you are awarded the highest of honors [¿on all fours?], your own “pink star” on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

There’s a good reason why that conjures up the phrase Walk of Shame. Indubitably, that is a far more honest evaluation of what takes place. And, when it is time for one’s ceremony, your star is put on the ground, the paparazzi shows up and you, unwittingly or fully cognizant, bend over, pose next to your pink star, while assuming the position you ASSumed countless times on your road to fame [¿would that be the effeminizing HerShe Highway?], exposing your ass, and bringing a smile to the old men golems, who smirk and nudge each other, “I nailed that. Did you?”

A long time ago, I watched a YouTube video which showed how almost every major black actor/star, assumed a feminine role on his way to “the top” [i.e., coming to the conclusion that we live in a world that is upside down, as I'll explain in the next installment of The Burning Ring, "the top" would then be "the bottom"]. It stated the one exception to the rule was Denzel Washington, who while he didn’t put on the “bitch dress,” did bend over and symbolically take one [a bullet, i.e., a hot shot] in the ass [in the appropriately entitled Training Day]. {*1}

It also went on to speculate that the reason Dave Chapelle lost it (per the controlled Medes), is that he refused to wear a dress in Blue Streak [hm, Sirian djinn spirits are allegedly blue, speaking to the possession "route"]. My suspicious about that wHOLE incident are pretty much similar. That video seems to have disappeared.

Will Smith, went the extra mile [i.e., took the extra cocks], while he was still young (but, it may have been no big deal for him), and that is probaby why he is being cast as the lead in all these major block-busters [mind-destroying] movies of late. Heck, he even showed his true bisexual nature in Six Degrees of Separation: a story of a young black man, doing whatever it took, to be accepted by the [white] blue-blood socialites he idolized. For some reason, below clip wasn’t in my DVD.

As the mysterious Mr. Hardly, the true controller/manipulator behind the facade of the Hardly-ingenious South Park duo of Parker and Stone admitted, if you wanna work for Spielberg and Lucas, you’re gonna have to let them rape you up the ass first. Don’t underestimate the “art of revealing,” they have to amuse themselves, while the average dumb sheep is busy amusing themselves to death.

I think their plans are so far along now, and society at large, even those who consider themselves awake, so pathetically ignorant, what difference does it make if a few of the smarter sheep figure out the punchlines of the jokes they’ve long been on the receiving end of [in some cases, literally]. One video I recently came across said that the only reason Samuel L. Jackson earned his part in the “Star” Wars trilogy, is because he let George Lucas fuck him up the ass. With that statement, I will have to agree 100%. You can bet your bottom dollar on that!

Note the phallus-resonating python of the Cohen/Kahn/Con priest class Samantha El Jackson is “dealing with” [below]. Biblical tales of turning staffs into serpents are by no means “miraculous.” Ejaculation accomplishes the same miracle. It’s simple fluid dynamics. The priest class knows this. Why do you think they named the new temple Holy Wood?

A staff is made of wood. A hard penis is called wood. Serpents can be turned into staffs as well. All it takes is the proper amount of pink motivation. Voilà! Pink turns purple. Slithering serpents into rock hard staffs. A bloody fucking miracle.

Again, Mr. Hardly, who spends his time in a playground [park] down under [south] advises us. During the project Stygian Port and I are working on [coming soon], he informed me the “talent scout” for Team America, was called Spottswoode [i.e., spots wood]. The “star” he found was called Gary Johnston [i.e., johnson].

This up-and-comer young actor, Gary, was wise to the routine when his casting call came: “Oh, I get it. I’m supposed to get in your car and let you put your finger inside me.” Spotswoode repLIES, “No. I’m not from Hollywood. I’m not going to fuck your mouth.” The film also carries and implicit suggestion [¿admission?] that the best actors, are used for intelligence work [mockingbird]. That is a rather interesting Luciferean “choice” of covers for Season Six [sex], no?

When his loyalties were later questioned, Gary got down on his knees [all fours] and fellated Mr. Wood. He’s a team player. Truth, disguised as humor. The priest of Holy Wood are quite amused. The Black Temple is a place of sorcery. They take our imaginations [and act the sheep consent too] and shape the world of the future.

Stars are “cast” [their stargate exits stuffed] and during any production, regardless of budget, there is one requirement, that food is provided for star, extra and crew alike. Stargate entrances must be fed. Thanks to my friend Anesti, I learned that on every movie set, large or small, the feeding of the crew is called Craft Services.

Since we touched on the non-sexual aspect of the human stargate, the digestive system, when its “exit” is not being violated, does serve a requisite function: the elimination of waste. I’ve always had a problem with the defecation suggestive shape and color of Hershey’s “kisses.” Thus, I was a little dismayed [yet, not surprised] to find there was in fact, a product available, where the two intersect: pink starfish kisses.

Which led me into a stranger “territory,” a “villain” called Starfish Hitler. Odd, considering my prior explorations, that it would be found on a site called “pink tentacle.” But, fear not the pink tentacle, the purple one is far scarier. Miley seems to always find herself virtually surrounded by them. And the wizards laugh, at us.

“Mommy, mommy! There’s a pink weenie looking thing with SpongeBob in the park. Can I go play with it?” Of course you can, cause your parents are fucking stupid. If they’ll let you play with an aroused throbbing phallus [i.e., Barney], they’ll surely not worry about a floppy little pink thing. I’m reminded of a song:

“Anytime you rise, I’m here,
And I’m crazy for you pink thing.
You make me want to laugh,
You make me want to cry,
When I stroke your head I feel a hundred heartbeats high,
Pink thing.” {*2}

Oh, sorry, some may now be wondering, “What the fuck is a Starfish Hitler?” Again synchronicity reveals much to us. When Hitler is used as a verb it is suggestive of smearing feces across one’s upper lip [thanks for the sharing that Josh]. Mr. Hardly devoted an episode to the topic, and in said Team America, prior to doing what is required of him, Gary gives his infamous speech about pussies, dicks and assholes [i.e., about how if dicks didn't fuck assholes, we would all be covered in shit].

Oddly, before he does so, Gary throws up [during our project, Stygian said he'd been looking into how scenes of regurgigation/throwing-up appear in almost every movie]. In Team America, I could hazard it was symbolic that what he was about to go do, required his stargate exit stay clean. Hard to say. Yet, hard to dismiss.

Coincidentally, said movie, is on Quentin Tarantino’s list of “ten best movies ever made,” and worth a laugh, per Stygian, Spottswoode referred to Gary as his “Top Gun actor.” Remember, that asshole [QT], is responsible for all sorts of subversive shite [and as revealed in interview, admitted to gay subversion in action films]. He just made defecated a snuff film to please his Zionist massters. Speaking of them:

Indubitably, some nitwits reading these words will interpret them as antisemetic, because a lot of these soulless dirty old men (golems/gollums) that run Hollywood, are and have been Jewish. First of all, the phrase “anti-semetic” is an intelligence test; anyone who believes it actually has any meaning, fails it. Should I ever get around to it, I’ll fill any and all unaware in on how Hollywood was pretty much set up/taken over by the Jewish Mafia long ago.

The likes of Golan and Gobus do fit the dirty old men and ethnic profile to a tee (their first names are Yoram and Menahem). You can thank that duo for countless racist action films, socially engineering Americans to hate Arabs. Bud, as Godfather III showed us, no operation of such great magnitude is allowed unless the proper authorities give it their “blessing.” The depths of human stupidity never cease to amaze me. The pope and his cardinals openly wear Yamakas/Yarmulkes in public and most are busy arguing whether The Jews or The Vatican controls the world.

For the sake of argument, we’ll just use the phrase “priest class” and forget all the the petty wings of it commoners are given to think there’s actually any difference between rabbi[t]s, priests and mullahs. As Stygian Port once enlightened me, the former two (at least) have long kept packs of Temple Dogs, attractive young men who are there to service (i.e., take it up the ass) from the Holy Men.

Since ancient times, these dogs [named so because they spend a lot of time on all fours], would also use the earnings of their trade to finance the church/synagogue. Of note, “dogs” are among the few animals on this planet that will consume their own vomit.

Trying not to go off tangent, but just the other day, my friend Renée asked, “What function do those hats represent.” If I had to guess, it is because the normal route to possession, is through the crown chakra. I’m not suggesting a thin layer of cloth necessarily stops it, like cotton panties aren’t a barrier to rape, but represents a modicum of modesty. As a woman, you probably wouldn’t expose your snatch in front of a group of drunk horny men, so why expose your opening of sorts, when working with spirits yearning to invade and experience the material world? Why temp the spirits/rapists so brazenly (barring the occasional accidental tease/flash)?

One related Vatican sponsored movie, the heart-warming tale of a little boy who liked to dress like a little girl made it across my desk recently. The movie Bruno (2000) [aka The Dress Code] stunk to high-heaven of propaganda.

This manipulative gay-agenda serving little vehicle starring Shirley MacLaine and every major fat actress in the business willing to accept pork-loins for pay was beyond irritating. I’ll spare you all the g[l]ory details, but for now, share that, the star, little Brun-ette has his dream comes true at the end, and we see him in a hazy dream-like sequence, frolicking through a garden in his dress, skipping to the arms of the awaiting pope. “Not a dry eye in the house.” Are you fucking kidding me?

The above image [left] is one from the Mission at San Juan Capistrano in California. It was sent to me by my sister and her friend, after they visited and were wondering why most didn’t find the statue, at least somewhat disturbing. I think the juxtaposed shot from the movie, pretty much fills in all the blanks.

The priest class has long flaunted their pedophilic predilections to the dumbed-down masses, programmed from early age to disconnect sex and religion. Of note now, taking into account the Hollywood “dry eye” insider/biz slang in conjunction with the following stanza from “Pink Thing,” should open an eye or two:

“You make me want to laugh,
You make me want to cry,
So why is it I’m happy when there’s tears down in your eye?
Ooh, little pink thing.”

Back to [adult] Temple Dogs, I hope that no one has gathered the impression, that only black stars are subjugated to such treatment. If you start looking at the biggest [i.e., most stretched out] of the white Mega-Stars, you will see the same pattern repeating. Let us not forget that the guy now playing the “point man” for the Dan Brown disinformation series, the same guy that “earns” $20 million per picture, Mrs. Tom Hanks [¿shank?], had a very effeminate start to his career.

Hm! Career. Kah-Rear. “Kah” is the Egyption word for the spirit/soul [¿need I explain what a rear is?]. As I’ve speculated before, anal sex, somehow either short-circuits the chakra system, allowing a bleeding of life-energy from the sodeomee to the sodomite. More speculative, but sure to be resolved sooner or later (in my eyes at least), is that how the insertion of positive electromagnetic force [the penis] into the base of the chakra-system may temporarily disrupt the natural flow of the protective EMF, allowing for possession to take place via the “back door.”

Ever wonder why aliens are allegedly always probing the assholes of abductees? Trust me, they aren’t that curious as to what you had for dinner, and very likely didn’t spend their entire journey to Earth being degeneratively programmed by watching nothing but anally-themed pornography [all modern porn] and Sheisse videos. Some suggest, that said particular aliens, lacking souls themselves, are trying to locate the human soul. I have yet to figure that one out, but it’s safe to say they, unlike programmable humanity, don’t have some weird anal fetish.

As Stygian Port was also good enough to point out, in Stargate (1994), as the assembled team (hence, “aliens” wherever they were going) prepares to enter the stargate, what’s the first thing they say? “Send in the probe!” I also recall someone saying that American Idiot, oops I mean Idol, has a stargate sequence on stage and at the beginning of the show. So, I ask, does anyone in their right mind think the forces behind American Idol have the best intent for their audience in mind?

As I said once before, there are two potential results by entering the stargate, neither of them necessarily favorable to the ignorant. Also, how do we know that’s a stargate entrance and not an exit? The latter makes a little more sense, because, metaphorically, the show is taking a massive crap on the minds of its audience.

We’d be well reminded, the show is not so new. The same thing was done before, except the title was a little more honest back then: Star Search. No longer satisfied with pickings of the lemmings of inbreeding, and the derelict kids from broken homes, those who left home looking for fame and fortune, telling Mom and Dad, “I’m gonna be famous one day, just you wait!” [i.e., following the programming the television embedded them with, cause they "do what they want"]. The moguls of sodomy fanned out their search for fresh pink stars to probe and “consume.”

While I may have mixed “star searches” for the first of the above images, I chose the background cause, as you can see, someone took the time to draw a breast on the image of the obviously young girl. Have you got what it takes [to be a star]? Well, I don’t know. Why don’t you bend over for them and they’ll let you know.

Oh what an honest series of magazine covers. Yes, women have a rear “V” too, ending that stupid exchange of energy idea [a process that can take place during normal sexual intercourse], cause it does those old fucks no good. It doesn’t extend their life, so you gotta do a lot more than that to be a star, “Baby!”

Now, I’m not exactly sure why they tend to favor men over women, or better yet, boys over girls, but Brad Pitt is a big star now and the V cover does suggest his rear exit/entrance has been used a hell of a lot ["the biggest V ever"], and also hints at the process “Brad to the [on the reciving end of the] bone.” So, Adam Lambert’s been “liberated?” Is that what they call it these days? Again the snake reappears, as with Miss Jackson. Note the butterfly next to his “snatch;” aside from being symbolic of mind-control, it also speaks to the fluttering “lips” around the [front] female hole [in case any males have forgotten, it's called a "vagina"].

Adam, the “little lamb,” is symbolically a woman [heck, not far from literally either]. But, now I’m wondering, considering the rewards granted to the runner-up of the last American Idol, what did the “winner” have to endure? Which brings us to Hale Berry [above, do enlarge]. You know the pride of black women everywhere, cause she took on that role of the poor black woman who couldn’t even afford to pay her rent [yet, somehow managed to maintain a $500/month white woman's hair-do] until she was fortunate enough to encounter her converted racist savior Billy Bob Thornton (another overtly-effeminate “star”).

Perhaps Halle, guilt weighing heavily on her conscience during her “unveiling” ceremony, felt the need to confess the extra mile she went to get to where she is, kissing/licking many a pink star along the way. It may not add to one’s lifespan, but it does humiliate your star in the making, and feels pretty good to boot. It’s nothing a Disney Princess wouldn’t do as well [in the new world at least].

Speaking of, I seem to recall Berry played opposite another confirmed homosexual megastar, Bruce Willis in Perfect Stranger (2007). The movie was hard to sit trhrough, so I gave up on it, even though in the 10 minutes I saw, Bruce’s “screen icon” he used for internet chat was the all-seeing eye atop the pyramid. Top? Hehe! Bruce, like almost all big-name action stars, is most likely a bottom.

During the filming of Surrogates, tinsel town was abuzz with rumors of how Bruce got caught blowing a production assistant. Shirley, many a beer-swilling fan of macho action movies will have a hard time accepting his idols are poofers, but that’s been another long running joke [also discussed during Dark Knight interview]. Above, Bruce seems quite happy in the middle of a Gay German disco.

Which brings me to Chuck Norris, the gayest of the action stars [that's hyperbole, hard to say who is the "gayest"]. Last time I brought Chuck up [hm, regurgitation], I received several argumentative hate mails from one of his fan[atics]. The funny part is as to “why.” They were upset that I said Chuck Norris was a Jew, and argued endlessly, that “Chuck is not Jewish!”

What f’n difference does it make? I got tired of arguing the obvious points of the article and his demands I “retract my statement.” The biggest hint that Chuck is a Jew? Well, he’s successful in Hollywood. As for Chuck being gay, a close friend having observed Chuckie on the party deck of a boat bound for Mykonos, shirtless and very touchy-feely with the gay revelers aboard, is enough for me. {*3}

I include the above, not just because Miss Norris advertised his own “macho” set of exercise equipment, but because I think many fail to understand that when I say the Medes, I refer to those who control the media. And when I say “the media,” I mean every aspect of it: film, television, print, pornography and advertisement.

For some reason, those properly brainwashed/indoctrinated via years of exposure can’t let go of this concept of “competition” [¡ha!] and “how supply is catered to meet demand.” Utter nonsense! The social engineering is being directed from high and every single outlet of media is steering the ship of society in that “direction.”

The “Shake Weight” was designed with one specific purpose in mind, subliminal implantation of homo-erotic ideas into the minds of guys who are already, even if unwittingly, on that path [male body/muscle obsession]. I’ve written at length about the gay agenda already [read here] and the reasons behind it.

Can anyone think of an [unrelated] “reason” why a “men’s magazine” [particularly, one like Maxim, allegedly aimed at heterosexual guys that "love pussy"] would have a “Gay & Lesbian” issue? Take a close look at the cover, there is a hell of a lot of revelation of the method taking place. Pop Quiz: In the above scene from The Simpsons, how many Saturnian references do you see? {*4}

Even though I mentioned him before, I would now like to take the time out to honor one of the Medes with the Celtic Rebel JAC Award. In the past week, he’s not only been trying to implant the gullible left-leaning intelligentsia [¡ha!] that the gay agenda is about homosexuals organizing and “taking up arms,” but promoting the H1N1 vaccine to the same fools by (a) boldly lying that it has been tested and is preventative, even (b) suggesting anyone who doesn’t take it, is a “FOX-viewing” conspiracy cook associated with Bill O’Reilley and Glenn Beck. Very slick!

Oh, before you get too exited Jonathan Stuart Leibowitz, the “JAC” is not yet another Jewish American Committee award. It’s something else. So sorry!

I’m rather frustrated, as I know several gay people who I’d describe as [somewhat] intelligent, but they, like all homosexuals across this country are presently being inFormed by the Medes they somehow don’t have “equal rights,” and they believe it! Which, is laughable, considering that gay men, in particular, tend to be in the highest income bracket and we have a bisexual president in office, who was preceded by one that was, in all likelihood, homosexual.

Heck, it would be hard to walk down the corridors of power in any corporation or country [not really that much difference between the two anymore] without finding more homosexuals than one could “shake” a proverbial stick at! They [the gays] are being used/manipulated/conned, just like all the heterosexual fools out there [I won't use the media-fed term "straight," which is, meant to be denigrating].

As I’ve been saying, for a while now, the “point route” from here [nature] to there [the future war] is through the woman’s anus; the object of an incredible amount of media-fed hype and obsession. The above image is from Giselle’s “V” spread [cover depicted earlier]. Note the lacings, the front/back switch suggesting the most useful manner of taking off her shorts leads to the rear entrance exit. The “world’s richest” supermodel last name is Bundchen: in Brasil, Gisele’s home, the ass [i.e., "bunda"], is arguably, the center-point of female sexuality.

Of interest, upon being asked about the “revealing photo,” she explained, “You do it for V.” Care to tell us who “V” is Gisele? The follow-up picture is from a related “Hercules” spread and features “half of the supermodel’s ex-boyfriends naked.” Holy fucking shit? Is that paradoxical poster of ludicrousness gonna start to make sense in the near future? Oh, man, we [humanity] are so fucked!

All I could find on the “men’s magazine” Hercules: “Launched in October 2006, Hercules is a refreshing publication that offers a different point of view, for a reader that knows how to appreciate the best things in life. tailored to man conscious of style, culture and the social life around him.”

Kind of wordy for a magazine featuring naked men, no? As for those who are already gay, whether by programming [I'd guess most at this stage of the game/agenda], or by nature, they’ve taken the Luciferean rainbow [that was given to them] and scream/yell as programmed, meanwhile pushing the state to more Orwellian control, while the average Joe/Betty, is afraid to speak out against the obvious homosexual programming of their children, lest they be “politically incorrect.” The engineers are smart. The pawns, on the other hand, far from it.

Seems like Star Trek makes into just about all of my posts lately, and with good reason[s]. For one, the above Dad[dy] Savage poster is about the gayest thing I’ve ever seen [in this case, not hyperbole]. So yea, another actor effeminated to get to the bottom of his profession. Also, Patrick the Steward, carries the name of King James, the “flaming prince” credited with rewriting/gutting/dumbing-down the Bible. Two, if one were to intersect the Gay Agenda I discuss, with Lenon Honor’s Borg Agenda, the synchromystic tool suggests they are, in fact, connected.

Coincidence Alert: In the Star Trek Universe, Captain Jean-Luc Picard, played by Patrick [starfish namesake] Steward [gay king namesake] was “assimilated” by the Borg. After the process, his [re]makers gave him the new name of “Locutus of Borg.” So, would that be as in “low cute ass” or “lil’ cute ass” ???

“Attention: Men of Earth! Resistance is futile! You will be assimilated!” Ass immolated? Hm, “flaming.” Everything brings us back to the Burning Ring, doesn’t it? Wasn’t the Terence & Philip movie in South Park called “Asses of Fire?”

The sister recently appraised me of a show called Californiacation. Viewing one episode was enough. This overt social engineering tool is definitely one of those programs the Wizards of Id have crafted for their amusement. The revelation of the method is so over-the-top, they surely laugh for hours at the sheep watching.

Said episode feature temple dogs Evan Handler [the incestuous pedophile from Sex in the Shitter], and David Duchovny [the FBI agent from the team of Skull & Murder, brought to you by psychological warfare operative Chris "mind-fuck" Carter]. The premise began with David and Evan whining about their domineering girlfriends, and drove the point “home” with a scene featuring Ducockny getting his ass beaten by one of the new breed of media-programmed aggressive females [him donning the pink gloves, and "acting" like a little girl during the fight].

The mind-fuck is the sex scene between Evan and David, disguised [to the sheep] as a “threesome” with a woman, whom to the alert eye, they drop enough hints, is not really there. Their “tryst” is interrupted by their girlfriends who walk in just in time to see Evan get a facial [disguised as a "squirt"], and are so disgusted, they leave. The men follow them out to try and “explain,” but end up deciding it was for the better, and walk home embracing. Oh, how subversively revelatory! {*5}

So, who’s the biggest of the “macho” lead males right now, taking on the role that countless boys dreamed of while they were growing up [that would be Marvel's most popular character Wolverine]? Some time ago, someone sent my a video of Hugh Jackman Jackass wearing leopard print pants and singing show tunes, while straddling the piano like a diva [I think it was Brian from Elluminati, but lost it].

Well, how the fuck do you think he got the role? What do you honestly think took place at his “audition?” Jackman “tired of dealing with gay rumors,” yet same article continues: “In other news, Hugh left his mark in Hollywood just yesterday by having his hand and footprint cemented at the Grauman’s Chinese Theatre.” Oh, sweet irony. Again, the Medes have a common goal, a directive they must follow. They work in unison, not just to sell people useless products they don’t need [e.g., 6-blade razors], but to shape the personalities of future generations. {*6}

I’m starting to fall under the impression, that it all starts and ends with Oz. You know, that place “somewhere over the rainbow.” Seeing that the topic/movie, Australia/Oz, came up a lot in the discussion of my last article, I took the time to watch it and was [Shick™] Extremely disappointed, because Nicole Kidman didn’t live up to my expectations; failing to bare her delicious rear end [also located down under] even once. Yes, even for me, the programming can be hard to resist.

However, she was asked, by a child (hence, one not yet programmed to be blind), if she was “the rainbow serpent.” My thoughts on the movie are in the CR/SP Project, so more on that soon. I may also do a short video on some interrelated ideas [time permitting]. For now, I’ll just say that Zion, is an anagram for “In Oz.” Trust me though, it’s not someplace you wanna be. It is a prison. It is “Hell on Earth.”

I could go on endlessly, pointing out mega-star after super-star that took it up the ass to get to where he/she is going, but this article would last forever. If you want, play along, I encourage you to comment on your own findings below. Note: Arnold Schwarzenegger’s already been done [literally too]. The only reason the media is promoting his [scripted] strong anti-gay stance, is not that he “hates fags,” but most likely “hates” the process he endured before his star was allowed to rise.

It’s a safe assumption, that if anyone “earned” a pink star on the Walk of Shame, they didn’t do it based on “acting” talent. This was unveiled/exposed to me in regards to HBO’s “talent scouts” finding/spotting an amazingly talented young actor to star in True Blood. A rather popular [allegedly-hung] boy-toy of late, the “actor” known as Ewan McGregor may have unwittingly shared his acting “secret” recently [speaking to another agenda aimed at the dolts once called "men"].

There is something very odd about the prior picture of the Olsen Twins. Why are they both sitting on their heels, foot blocking anus? Hard to say if it’s an advertisement the duo is not available [the elites love twins], or a feeble plea to please leave them alone. Even the deaf aren’t spared.

Even our “perception” of what we experience is yet another area where we’ve been heavily brainwashed/indoctrinated. In all honesty, there are two types of actors we usually see: bad ones, and ones that are half-decent, cause in actuality, they are up the screen playing themselves. Yet, countless numbers of idiots sit around talking about “what an amazing job” some dickhead did playing himself in some stupid movie, and believe the pipe dream that those who got to the top are “good actors.”

If you want honesty, the Mede’s porno wing, again, is probably the best place to find it. Brought to you by Lucas Entertainment? WTF, Mr. Hardly? The Medes usually lie, but synchronicity rarely ever. The above three images, taken as a wHole, speak volumes about everything I’ve been discussing herein. There’s that 22 again (the pyramid of butt-flesh), coincidentally, the room number of the two-programmed beer-swilling dolts, who confronted Homer Simpson in the earlier scene.

I also ran out of time space to properly contemplate the effect of the life-force drain on individuals over time. Linsay Lohan, Brooke Hogan [the one with the anally obsessed father savage daddy], and Britney Spears come to mind, all looking 30 by the time they turned 20. Perhaps, that’s one reason some of the overused cubs are put to sleep before they get too old [Ledger, etc.]. Yes, I know, it’s somewhat speculative. Still, the promotion of memes like “12 is the new 20,” aside from programming some 2012 hysteria, probably help cover up something increasing hormones, combined with decreasing morals, still don’t quite account for.

The reason I found the “priceless” Bruno movie I mentioned, is cause I was flipping through the channels, and thought it was Sacha Baron Cohen’s latest. And how come the name “Bruno” is always coming up gay? So, let me get this straight Attitude Magazine? The same gay Jew, somehow put out the “most homophobic movie ever made,” and the “most antisemetic film,” Borat, as well. That poor self-loathing boy must be a total mess. But, in all honesty, his name suggests he’s just following the agenda-serving script. Has the Temple Dog become a Priest?

I do try to hold out hope that humanity will wake from their lingering slumber, but in all honesty, find little to suggest they may. A safe bet: the average heterosexual male will probably not ever figure out what happened to them, not even after they find themselves face-down on all fours, with a cock up their ass.

To those I’ve somehow enlightened on a process that should now seem transparent, feel free to comment or share this as appropriate. Those who now feel the compulsion [itch] to call me a few names, cause the automatic subroutine implanted in your head is telling you to, please spare yourself the time of responding, and me the aggravation of having to delete it. I’ve talked to the Borg Collective once, and am disinclined from doing so again.

That’s all folks! That’s “the end!”

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*1: I can’t find that original video, just different segments of it. Here’s substitute, which while I may differ with author on a few points, makes some damn good ones. [LB]

*2: The song is by Andy Partridge of XTC. On a humorous side note, a friend’s old attractive opinionated, yet no so bright girlfriend, used to argue with me endlessly that “pink thing” was about Partridge’s new “baby.” [LB]

*3: As came up during a discussion point following my last post, mainstream story comments are usually full of idiot-regurgitating nonsense some call “opinions.” One such place is Yahoo Answers, where one can ask any question, such as “Is Chuck Norris gay?” What follows: countless responses from idiot after idiot, most [attempting to] answer a question he didn’t even ask. [LB]

*4: Answer: there are three. One on each t-shirt and one on the door. Finally, I, to my satisfaction, have figured out why I keep seeing the number 17 appear over and over. It is a coded Saturnian sygil. [LB]

*5: The show, er programming exercise, is named “The Devil’s Threesome.” There’s another episode I’ve been meaning to see, that someone else summarizes below:

“Within seconds, the writer socially combusts and interjects delightful non sequiturs like “Little girls with pretty boxes” and “Have you ever spent time with an eleven year old boy and wanted more than he was willing to give?” as guests attempt to enjoy their sweet potatoes and polite conversation.”

The above, lends weight to my postulation the Medes control what is and isn’t “politically correct” [only things that serve the present agenda]. I’m sure were the same script to have included an anti-gay comment, the reviewer would not have used the word “delightful” in his, ahem, “opinion.” [LB]

*6: Probably more meriting of a write-up, instead of a footnote, is how the NFL, is yet another controlled media wing. Note how their stables of slaves are used to hype up every anti-freedom agenda there is. Plaxico Buress for civilian disarmament. Larry Johnson for free-speech reduction. Tom Brady for Gisele’s fine Bundchen?

I guess some will take issue for my using the term slaves to describe these modern-day gladiators, who like those of Roman times, are idolized, sexually sought after and well-paid. But, unlike their historical counterparts, are they free? Well, if a condition of your contract, is that you have no say so, and have no control over what slut or pervert with a press pass [something "anyone" can obtain] can come and watch you paraded naked before them, you are a slave. “Dignity,” is beyond reach of your measly millions. [LB]

I know I’ve been saying for a long time, that I’ll make a video getting into George Romero’s zombie quintology, and have yet to deliver the goods. My own schedule turned back towards non-vampire time, I happened to be up this past Friday and was listening in to Josh Reeve’s Global Reality Show [now on blogtalk]. {*1}

The host was relaying a couple of wacky mainstream news stories about how it within the realm of possibility, that one day, reanimated corpses could be walking the Earth among “us,” hence I was compelled to call in and chat about zombies. Consider the above 20 minute clip an unofficial preview of things to come.

I don’t have the exact stories, but a quick search of the news wires, produces a slew of results that suggest the zombie movies, are meant to be taken literally.

Florida is All Set if Zombies Invade
Scienctists Create Zombie Dogs
Mathematical Modelling for an Outbreak of Zombie Infection
When Zombies Attack, Math is on Your Side [variant of above]
Zombie Ted Kennedy to Succeed Ted Kennedy in the Senate
Zombie Story Gets Student Arrested For Terrorism
Zombies Are a Very Real Phenomenon

As said in the audio file, zombie movies are meant to be taken metaphorically, to interpret them any other way is counter-productive. The creators of all the post-Romero fast-zombie movies missed the point too. The reason zombies move slow is because they are dumb as fuck. It is a reflection of the mental process.

It’s a fairly safe bet that anyone who finds themselves happy inside a shopping mall isn’t operating at anywhere above 1/3 normal mental speed. Intimately related to said matters is an old travel journal of mine, an expansion of my hellish tale.

Three weeks into my stay here [Rio de Janeiro], my personal purchases have been limited to a Rinaldo shirt, a watch and a sponge. [And, for those snickering: 1) no, the "bikini" does not count, as it was bought for me and 2) no, Donna, that sponge has nothing to do with my ass.] Today, will be the day I shop, and Isabel wants to accompany me. She mentions something about a “mall,” but the word doesn’t really register for me.

The imitation Statue of Liberty outside should have served as a dire warning, but as you already know, I can be quite oblivious to the details of my surroundings, until I find myself completely immersed in them.

Wasn’t the Outback Steakhouse at the entrance a sinister warning? Or, the TGIF’s? For Christ’s sake! How did I miss the TGIF’s? Slowly, I start to take in my surroundings. Oh, my God! I’m square in the middle of the fucking Mall of America!

Teen couples are walking about holding hands. Women are pushing prams, an assortment of self-propelled little ones following. Old people are sitting on benches. Where am I? There could very well be a Gap here. My head begins to throb and my step turns into a stagger. Isabel looks back to see why I’ve fallen behind. She’s concerned, telling me I look “pallid.” She asks, “Are you going to be OK?” {*2}

Am I going to be OK? Am I going to be OK? My surroundings swirl about me at a dizzying pace and I am teleported to Orlando, Florida. I’m in Atlanta, Georgia. I am in Houston, Texas. I could very well be in Omaha, Nebraska. No! I am not OK. I just travelled 5,000 miles and it is as though I never left home. There’s an Outback steakhouse here, for Christ’s sake. An Outback Fucking Steak House!

I am reminded of one of my cronies, from my early career days at Price, Waterhouse, Coopers & Goldberg. We were gathered at this person’s cubicle, eagerly inquiring about his honeymoon in a place, Paris, France, that seemed, so exotic and intriguing to us at the time. I remember the wretched disgust I felt for him, as he said, “Fortunately, there was a Pizza Hut near our hotel, we went and ate there every day.” I am not brethren to that pathetic man!

I find myself craving the uniquely Brazilian feel of my Ipanema surroundings. I grab the railing for balance, as I feel my body weaken. But, it actually doesn’t help, cause now I peer down into the vortex of the multilevel mall, and a certain nausea overtakes me as well. Isabel comes over, realizing that my being here is a mistake, and my being here longer risks unhinging me from sanity.

My old friend Mojo Nixon enters my head. {*3} “I remember the shopping mall openings, man.” Isabel takes me by the hand and starts leading me out. “Where do the young kids go?” I look about at the Brazilians here and they seem happy to be partaking in this mall experience. “Where do the old folks go?” They are quite unaware how they are contributing to the loss of their own cultural soul, simply by taking part in the crass display of Yanqui Imperialism. “Burn down the Malls!”

They are children lord, forgive them. They know not what they do. “How many units did you move today Mojo? How many things of apple juice did you sell?” I can no longer look up. I shift my focus to the tile floor in front of me. “So, go get some gasoline!” I am at the mercy of my guide, Isabel, leading me out by one hand, keeping me upright with the other. “Mondo Condo Shopping Mall Hell!” Will she be Virgil to my Dante?

In my head, I imagine I am the young emperor. Yearning to learn of the world, I take a journey among the conquered provinces, that my own father subjugated years before. But, I gain no knowledge of the world. For, we, have instilled in the people the idea of the Glory of Rome. Their traditions have given way to ours. Having seen that glory, they have strived for imitation. We have turned these people into Romans. I am saddened, for my quest has been in vain. Instead of golden Alexandrian expansion, our empire spread through brutal Borg-like assimilation. {*4}

We make our way, but hell, I am to learn, has many levels, so it takes time. “Another thing getting on my nerves is this national 21 drinking age.” All of a sudden, I look up and we’re inside a store. A store! Isabel has to pick something up for a shower or something. “You can vote for one fool or another, but ya can’t buy beer.” I find a hunting knife at the store and ask Isabel, “What do yo think? If I were to take this knife, slice open my belly and let my entrails spill out all over the floor here. Do you think the people around would understand I’m making a statement about rampant commercialism?” “Oh, I remember the shopping mall openings, man.” She decides the gift can wait.

I can’t blame Isabel. Like I said, she couldn’t have known. “It’s kind of getting under my skin.” I too am slightly guilty of something similar, naively taking the girls visiting me from Paris down to the all too French Soho scene in New York, much to their chagrin. “Burn down the shopping malls!” Up ahead, I see the tunnel which allows you into, and hopefully, out of, the mall, bypassing the roadway above. We are almost out. “Shopping Mall Hell!” Nearing the end of the tunnel, I nervously look in all directions, fearing should I try to leave, that Cerberus, the hound of hell, may pounce me and tear me to shreds. But, fortunately, he is not about.

Finally, we make it to the end of the tunnel. As the light outside bathes my skin, I look back at the dark foreboding tunnel, and hope shines eternal. Because now I know. I have been to hell and learned that, there is indeed a way out.

Now, had this young Rebel, been willing to “take one for the team,” so to speak, some of you guys may have had the opportunity to read the above already. Oh how naive I was, awaiting my book deal, only to learn that the “casting couch” applies to authors as well [¡damn my cuteness!]. “I could read this manuscript a lot better if you weren’t wearing any pants,” crowed the old hag sitting opposite me.

Can’t say I didn’t mull it over in my head, thinking many had paid this price. Pride intervened: “I’m a writer, not some dumb bimbette actress wanna-be!” Then again, I’m sure she wanted more than just to see “the goods.” My penis listens to my eyes, not my brain. He’d have been uncooperative. Hence, best case scenario would have been to lose my dignity and still not walk away with a book deal.

Have been spending some time getting caught up on Romero’s movies, which I don’t think you have to be a major brainiac to figure out that zombies are a metaphor for the [brain]dead [friends, family, neighbors] who walk among us. This weekend, I was entreated to learn that even though I see Romero’s use of the metaphor as overt, he still has a penchant for the sublime:

As hinted, Stygian Port and I are clandestinely working on a joint project and one of the topics that came up so far is immortality. I was reminded of an old spam mail, which was spared deletion due to the title that caught my attention: “When You Lie About Your Age, the Terrorists Win.” Thought it was a joke, hence I was half-right.

The above whore [the center one] is an unwitting dupe, and another brainless zombie who helps promote this culture of death. As I’ve said before, the marking of time, is yet another subversive means of making sure we take that march through the valley of death, as the shithead Jehovah [or whatever other name you wanna call him] shepherds us from cradle to grave, ensuring we don’t delay that journey of ignoble ignorance. An excerpt from comedian Carole Leifer’s sick joke:

“If I don’t sleep with a woman soon, I think I’ll kill myself.” That’s what I remember saying to my buddy Ed on the golf course right before this all happened. I was eager. I was pumped. “I’m ready for my lesbian fling, Mr. DeMille!” Turning 40 does that to you. Forget that I’d already been married and had only dated men my entire life. It didn’t matter, because when you feel that Sapphic siren call, there is no backing down. And before I knew it, as if in a dream, this vision appeared right before my very eyes.

So, this whore is not only on the Oprah book list, hence being consumed by middle-aged zombies all over America, but also being promoted to push the lesbian agenda. Oh what a useful little whore you are Carol Leifer. Bravo! Bra V O!

Is crossing your fingers while turning your ass to them, a way of conveying to your audience that everything in the book of is bullshit? Ah, revelation of the method! On a future Oprah: “Sistas! If you don’t die by the time you’re 65 and give many a twat a sloppy wet lickin’ by the time you turn 40, then you’re with the terrorists!”

Speaking of the gay agenda, I got a little curious while writing this, and checked out the new mainstream Hollywood Zombie film grabbing all the headlines, i.e., being promoted to the Zombies. Oh, man, what a stinking pile of shite that was. {*5}

The film, actually started off pretty good. It matter-of-factly greeted the audience “from the United States of Zombieland,” and said that when the outbreak started, the fat people were the first to die, cause they couldn’t run very fast. So, yea somewhere around 66% of Americans went in a few days [¡we'll miss you Oprah!].

It introduces us to the survivor, and he theorizes that one of the big advantages he had over the less fortunate, was not having friends and family. That falls right in line with what I’ve been preaching in my Burning Ring series.

Also, for the benefit of those who are learning to decipher, he mentions that there’s only one thing he fears more than zombies. Clowns! But, like most movie “ideas” pitched with fervor, and then poorly consummated, or pretty much any Kevin Smith movie since Clerks, it starts off with promise, and then breaks down into mindless drivel, peppered heavily with subversive social engineering agendas. Basically, what we have here is a Zombie movie, made by zombies.

The hero, is of course, one of these typical effeminate panty-waste “males” [if you can still call them that], that the Medes insist/have been ordered to on presenting to/ramrod up into the publics consciousness. The main course: androgynous boys, who are also, physically effeminated via the casting process [starfish to stardom].

His counterpart is Woody Harrelson, who plays a throwback masculine “cowboy,” wearing that snake-skin jacket we’ve seen in countless films [notably, on "the fireman" Cage]. He’s a Brokeback Mountain Survivor. A holdout. He says things like “Thank God for rednecks!” IMHO, such would survive impending chaos a lot longer than effeminated “civilized” city metrosexuals. He’s a throwback.

We’re then presented the two female leads. They are aggressive, masculine [more so than "the boy"], had been making a living by preying on desperate lonely men for their money [hence, they are strippers, not whores], and regularly steal from/cheat our odd pairing of men. One of the girls, is played by 12 year old, Abigail Breslin, notably the star of pedophilic promotion “comedy” Little Miss Sunshine.

I, for one, failed to see what was so funny about a seven-year-old being trained, and indubitably, molested, by her pornography-addicted grandfather. Probably, why the film won all those, ahem, “independent” cinema awards. Right!

Note: It just occurred to me that this would now be the second time young Abigail indirectly played a stripper, and that’s having seen only two movies she’s been in. Her future looks very “bright!” Poor girl.

“12 is the new 20,” says Zombieland’s little trollop; an open admission of the whorification agenda. Considering the example of the 13-year-old in the audio, and that this movie takes place in the near future, it's probably a natural conclusion that the average 12 year old, by then, will have already had more sexual partners than the average 20 year old of a quarter century ago. Elementary, my Dear Watson.

The last semblance of plausibility fell apart, when these “survivors” decided to drive across the country to Hollywood, of all places, and discuss nothing but pop culture [reverently] along the way, even co-promoting/discussing how Hannah Montana “changes” when she dons a wig. Note to zombie writers, directors, et al: you put the zombies are in the car, not outside it. Oh wait, I’m trying to educate zombies, kind of like “Doctor Frakenstein” from Day of the Dead.

Technically however, the house of cards masquerading as a plot, was already coming down when Hannah Montana’s #1 Fanna, got “the drop” on Wild West Rugged Individualist, not once, but twice. I mean, anyone with [even half] a brain in their head [i.e., one not zombified] could guess as to how a girl who has been “Cyrusly Indoctrinated” would instinctively respond when faced with a cylindrical object pointed at her head, right? The zombies probably overlooked such.

At first, I found myself getting “angry,” wondering why Woody didn’t slap the gun out those little bitches hands, and as another topical old Mojo Nixon song crooned, “Drive them to their [zombie] Daddy’s house, but first, give them a good spanking!” Then I realized, that was the social engineering being directed at me. They are working overtime to get the sexes to hate one another. Crafty fucks!

By the end of the film, Woody, whom we are told throughout the film, has this unnatural craving for twinkies, finally gets one. Inevitably, he is tossed one by the castrating Lolita. StarFishBoy narrates, “As he savored that spongy yellow log filled with cream.” Note to those who’s understanding of biology came from pornography, the penis is not made of wood. Essentially, it is a mass of spongy tissue.

The most notable failing of the [in denial] gay hero (the man-boy), was one of his “survival” mechanisms; the adhering to a set of rules, of which, he has 31, before he meets Harrelson. He regularly doles out programmed slave wisdom, like “Always wear your seat-belts” [a variant of the equally moronic "always wear a condom"].

Late Addition per Stygian Port: per the urban dictionary, a Twink is “an attractive, boyish-looking, young gay man. The stereotypical twink is 18-22, slender with little or no body hair, and is not particularly intelligent. A twink is the gay answer to the blonde bimbo cheerleader.” Hm, who does that sound like? Who could it be?

Here’s a little mindfuck alert for the zombies who watched this in theaters, hence in some kind of catatonic trance: those who adhere to rules, aside from being already dead, wouldn’t survive for too long in a world of chaos. There is the possibility, however, that this was put in, not for the duMbASSES, but for the servants of the state/apparatus. Stick to the rules, and we’ll make sure you’re OK when the shit hits the fan, when our plans are realized. Note to any such reading this: Hitler’s brownshirts were also really good at observing the rules.

The rule that was given the most attention to the film, was, and of little surprise to me: Rule #17. It stated, “Don’t be a hero.” Actually, good advice. However, at the end, after these boneheads risk their lives to save the same girls who just screwed them over a third time. He changes the rule to “Be a Hero.” Oh yea, go ahead, “sacrifice yourself to HER” you dumbfuck! Lucy’s burning hole needs your blood!

Judging by initial verbal reactions to these thoughts, I guess I should point out that [in his mind], the narrator does so for the “hole” of the older sister, not the “tween.” That would be Emma Stone, starlette of forgettable social engineering vehicles such as Superbad and The House Bunny [where she played "the dyke/tomboy"]. Oh, and worth a mention, he, of course, doesn’t even get laid. She only lets him get to “first base.” But, [zombie] strippers aren’t supposed to fuck you, hence she stayed in character. His name? Jesse Eisenberg? No comment.

The film, and the symbolism were a little too obvious. I guess they didn’t want to waste one of the handful of semi-intelligent studio writers/directors on this piece of crap. As I’ve long suspected, the zombies were given free reign to make this movie. Some “executive” presence then put himself on the set just to make sure all the agendas were served, and all the proper homages/respects were paid.

So, when is Rule #33 coming I wondered? At the end. Somewhat discreetly. Mr. Panty-waste reiterates Rule #32, and then adds, “Oh. And this really has nothing to do with anything, but remember, a little sunscreen never hurt anyone!” {*6}

The above scene is not from Zombiewasteland, but from George Romero’s Dawn of the Dead. It’s safe to say that George Romero is illumined. However, when you compare the degenerative shite of the former example with any of George Romero’s movies, you see one serves as programming, while the latter as a wake up call. It’s not his fault that the average person was too far-gone to “get it.”

I would hope not too many of my readers fell for the “Freemasons are evil” conspiracy trap one inevitably runs into in the truth business. There are bad Freemasons and there are good Freemasons. There are many good Catholics out there too. Heck, believe it or not, there are even a few good Jews around.

With Halloween now approaching, I now have to share another personal note, but this time, one that has nothing to do with is not directly related to my penis. Every year that I dress up, I become a zombie. It’s a ritual. While everybody runs around dressing up as someone else, I disguise myself as one of them [the zombies] and try to blend in. They usually don’t eat their own.

Speaking of everyone else, a friend of mine used to say something I thought was kind of cute, and would repeat at this time of year. A few years ago, I found people “correcting me.” So, just for the record, my friend’s Shannon’s original phrase:

“Halloween. It’s a yearly excuse for all these dumb bimbos to dress like the whores that they truly are.”

The pirated dumbed-down agenda serving Hollywood retooling via Mean Girls was: “Halloween is the one night a year when girls can dress like a total slut and no other girls can say anything about it.” I guess that’s the kinder gentler version. Hence, why I’ve heard it out of the mouths of the same girls dressed the part.

In case you’re wondering if you’re a zombie, here’s a quick litmus test that may, or may not, make it into my movie [donations may help motivate me devote energies to]. If you answer “yes” to to any of the following questions, you are a zombie. If you answer yes to all three, then you are beyond salvation.

• You are a “fan” of Sex and the City, Entourage, or anything on MTV.
• Your music collection includes more than one song from Billboard’s top 40.
• You think Ben Stiller is funny.

Child zombies are a sensitive subject. Few directors have dared to touch it, hence kudos to Romero for explaining it’s too late; you have to put them out of their misery as well. Though I suspect few such parents read this: if you are one who encourages Disney, Miley and MTV to zombify your children, and financially supported their intake of such, then they stopped being your children a long time ago. Your parental role has effectively been reduced to zombie breeder and you should probably do the world a favor, and put yourself out of your our misery.

One of the few failings I’ve seen in any of Romero’s movies to date, is the phrase, “When there’s no more room in hell, the dead will walk the Earth.” Hard to say if Romero uses that because the priest class insisted on it, or if he also suffers from childhood brainwashing/indoctrination. The implanting of such a phrase, makes one miss the obvious, that this is in fact hell [more on in burning ring vii].

“By the skillful and sustained use of propaganda, one can make a people see even heaven as hell or an extremely wretched life as paradise.” — Adolf Hitler

And, I’m also not sure, come documentary time, how to handle the meme of “we are them, and they are us,” which is repeated in almost every one of said films and remakes. As I said in the journal above, “I am not brethren” to such creatures.

I have chosen to, and am struggling to, evolve. Come, evolve along with me, so that we can say, “We were once them, and they are no longer us.” That, my friends, is the true zombie apocalypse.

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*1: If you wish to download this, it’s at my podOmatic page. If you find yourself “Jonesing” for the sound of my voice, I uploaded some other conversations linked from prior articles to hold them all in one place. Should have called it “When Celtic Rebel Calls.” Full-length podcasts and interviews will be posted to archive.org. [LB]

*2: Thinking back it was rather “impressive” [though it shouldn't be] this Brasileira, to whom English was a second language, had an English vocabulary far exceeding the average American. Then again, she did take me to a mall. Early stages of programming/zombification. The common American zombie of today, would be all like, “Pallid? That mean like one of Sarah Palin’s daughters or something? LOL. OMG!” [LB]

*3: Mojo Nixon, “Burn Down the Malls.” A cool, but somewhat dated, song. All the lyrics in blue text throughout the journal’s paragraphs are from that song. The name of the other Mojo song mentioned later in this article is “Where the Hell’s My Money?” [LB]

*4: Though I’d normally not note these to this audience, these are the originals:

(A) Per Dante Alighieri’s Inferno, Virgil is the guide that leads him (Dante) through hell. (B) Alexander the Great, while fierce in battle and prone to rage, [allegedly] allowed his conquered peoples to keep all their own culture and traditions. (C) The Borg are a race from the Star Trek series. They basically destroy any new race they come across, absorbing all the information they can out of them, stripping the inhabitants of their very own essence, turning them into automatons.

Yes, I entered footnote hell a long time ago. [LB]

*5: I could bitch and moan that I want those 80 minutes of my life back, but this came about after I discovered that George Romero is releasing a new dead film, Survival of the Dead and started “jonesing” for something new. For those still tempted to suck up Zombieland’s overt social-engineering, there are nearly 10 hours of Romero films available on the subject for you to better spend your time on. [LB]

*6: That’s patently false, even on the surface. Sunscreen, of which most variants worldwide, are composed of petrochemical waste, is the number one culprit in the rising number of global skin cancers. Oh, and I guess, if taken in sync with Knowing, then the closing serves as an ominous warning. Quick, get thee to thy Burning Ring! [LB]

This past Sunday [September 27, 2009], at 10:00 PM Eastern [02:00 UTC], I was back on Mystic Politics for Part II of my exploration into The Dark [k]Night and the crazy synchronicity surrounding it. Downloads of the show are available at the host’s site on blogtalk radio [FIXED]. {*1} You can also use the below player:

For those not in the Chat Room, you missed out on Stygian Port (aka ViolatoR), talking about anal sex and harassing people making friends. I’d like to thank those “familiar faces” who made it and participated, notably: DazOotz, Deciph, Karin8, JackC, Lamarv, Matshanley, Mudpuppy97, StompingEvil, and ViolatoR.

Hope I didn’t forget anyone. Do note, to the right of these exact words, there is presently a poll taking place in regards to wordpress’s new rating/voting feature. So far, “I like puppy dogs and kitty cats” is out in the lead. Not sure exactly what the proper course of action pending such a result would be.

We got into ChristIan Ba’al’s mutliple roles and penchant for being cast as one suffering from split personalities. Safe to assume there’s a good reason for that. The Prestige poster reminds us, “Are You Watching Closely?” Lest we forget, there was Ba’al’s infamous insane rant against the lightman on the set of Terminator.

Not mentioned [durning the show] was Bale’s first role at twelve years old in Empire of the Sun. Let’s see, you’ve got a young boy trained in ballet, being directed by [alleged] “dirty old man” Steven Spielberg. I think [forces behind] South Park gave us a pretty good hint as to what may have happened to the young “Christian.”

For those who missed my prior blogs, here’s the Disney rim job and the Disney facial. But, I’ve already summed up Disney in one pic. Thanks to a comment from Deciph, I was reminded of our ballerina’s role in another gender bending story:

I guess the Dark Knight dropped enough hints as to why the Joker thought Bruce Wayne was practically “begging for it.” While that may not qualify as a justifiable rape defense, you can at least see why the Clown thought the “familiar place” would appreciate his acquaintance and why Batman might “see fireworks” as a result.

I’ve already written about Bill Kaulitz, the lead singer from Tokio Hotel and lesbian agenda poster boy before [hm, this trend of "hipsters" respelling words incorrectly is surely part and parcel of the dubming down agenda]. Hence, I wanted to find a new picture to add here, and found a “good” one of the young man lady [right].

I also found the above [left] image from a series showing a bunch of fans, future whores mindless bimbettes [¿useless eaters?] greeting him outside his hotel. There are so many levels of wrong with that picture, but flashing your titties to a gay boy, that is the definition of insanity [as someone was kind enough to remind us]. Speaking of Bill Willhemina, here’s his her adhoc rendition of “It’s Raining Men.”

Hallelujah! Lastly, the series was taken/posted by a mysterious voyeur, and the last of them is revelatory gold. “Fuck You, Pervert,” or the German equivalent, is my guess at the words leaving the top hole of the young lady hapless whore in the middle of all the little girls around her [and their mothers feeders/trinket-providers]. I’d recommend she stay out of Transylvania, as her inability to see her own reflection in the mirror, might lead to someone driving a wooden stake through her, um, “heart.” Rats, this means by next time I vacation on the Greek Isles, the average German girl will be just as stupid and worthless as an American one. {*2}

Depending on how far back you wanna trace the blame game for the agenda, I’m sure part of it could be assigned to another homosexual poster-boy of his time, “dOCTOr” Alfred Kinsey. Indubitably, as the revelatory Time cover makes clear, the man was promoted well beyond the length of his feeble reach. Though Kinsey may have spoken highly of me, I just cannot return the favor.

Heck, the center image makes clear, that even back then [1956], subtlety escaped the average moron. “You Need to Suck Dick, Shiksa” is the implied title of that record [yes, released as an LP]. Oy veh, Doctor Murray, oy veh! [¿O-V?] As for Liam, does playing Kinsey, being Batman’s, ahem, “mentor” [¿WTF?] and also “crossing swords” with a flamboyant gay man in Rob Roy qualify him too?

As said back in my initial write-up, the movie, under the layers of brain-fucking, drops more than enough hints as to who won and what really happened. All you/we have to do is decipher them. The Joker may riddle, but at least, he is not lying.

When the “good guys” stoop to such levels [as Gordon and Batman], than all is lost. Per my interpretation, that was the point of the movie. Some credit for the “pop culture” addition to the above image, goes to an unrecalled voice in the chatroom.

Aside from the scene reminding us buildings don’t fall unless all detonations go off [¿hm, like in a "money bomb"?], and the promo poster, I had forgotten the above [left] shot. Someone really wanted us the popcorn munchers to remember 9/11 and why “they” need “them” [as V for Vendetta reMinded us and them].

Beyond thermite, dancing Israelis, TV fakery, mini-nukes, short-sales, insurance scams, Zionist comptrollers, missing trillions, and the resulting “truth” movement, there was a lot more to the ritual involved on 9/11 than most are willing to contemplate. I don’t know why the “face” on the right syncs with the face on the left, but the portal meme is with us, and whenever one is opened, logic suggests it’s a two-way door.

If there was nothing to it, I doubt someone would have taken the time to create a fake face in the smoke [other side of the building] to confound the public mind.

For those who’ve been following my blog, you know I care little for a “real” [new] 911 Investigation, and see little point in such, for that will, at most, produce nothing other than a few sacrificial scapegoats for the fire, and just placate the same masses who missed the entire point of this movie. Far more pressing to me, is that people “wake up” to the hell they are putting themselves in.

We played an Elvis song during the show, and now another comes to mind, from a song appropriately entitled, “New Amsterdam” [i.e., "New York"]: “The transparent people who live on the other side, living a life that is almost like suicide.”

This is the world Batman/Wayne wants us peasants to live in. What an asshole! If he wasn’t such a little whore, this Rebel would fuck him too. If such thoughts sound extreme/insane to you, then perhaps, this song [played during show] is about me: “Here I am on the far side of crazy. Here I am the mortal enemy of man.”

Another undeniable truth spoken by Ledger’s Joker was regarding how people will accept all sorts of madness and unsanity, as long as it “goes according to plan.” Oh, the horrors we have tolerated [such as above], and we are tolerating [Darfur, Palestine, Iraq, Sri Lanka, et al] on schedule. The death toll of 911 was but a hiccup in comparison, yet “unplanned“ [publicly] … hence, “everyone lost their mind.”

The conversation between Dent and Rachel, subtly put in as party banter, was a veritable “goldmine” of truth. Surely, the words were lost on the average viewer:

Rachel: “Harvey Dent, scourge of the underworld. Scared stiff by the trust fund brigage.”

Harvey: “You cannot leave me alone with these people.”

Rachel: “The whole mob’s after you and you’re worried about these guys?”

Harvey: “Yea. Compared to this, the mob doesn’t scare me.”

The really sick fucks aren’t walking among us or hiding in imaginary vans, wating to pounce on us. They attend lavish parties, occasionally appear on LifeStyles of The Rich and Famous, and laugh at the fools who “brand” themselves with their names. Kubrick obviously knew that. Hm, “Harvey” was the name of a famous rabbit.

One important fact time and chaos prevented me from sharing during the show, was a little find about Janus, aka Two-Face, aka Obamanaton. Janus was the patron deity of beginnings and endings, and also “of openings and closings, of entrances and exits, and hence the god of the door or gate that opened both ways.” In other words, of stargates.

Unfortunately, aside from discussing the notion of a “star” as representative of an anus, I didn’t have enough time to get into the stargate concept; that beyond the anus as a place to put one’s cock in [per society's indoctrinated ponyographic mores]. The stargate topic is a veritable show unto itself. Come to think of it, whenever some Hollywood mogul tells a young [and soon to be naked] actor/actress, “Baby I’m gonna make you a star,” technically, they aren’t “lying.” {*3}

We got into Atlantean Time’s excellent well of related syncs, Heath Ledger and the Five Points of Rennes le Chateau. Shame he’s not writing anymore. In consideration of the Burning Ring, the above pictures remind me, that in countries that didn’t undergo the bullshit [and degrading] feminist movement, women learned to wield their power subtly; letting their man serve as the “facade” of power. Hm, the red dress makes me wonder if that was implied for the Matrix’s Merovingian?

Much has been made of the demon/devil sculpted at the Renes Le Chateaux. But for me, that guy is far less scary than the Whore from Hell and the creepy blond-haired Demon Spawn she’s holding. Come to think of it, the proximity of the two above sculptures at the Chateaux is giving me a whole Damien/Rosemary’s Baby vibe.

All aboard Bus 22! Or, not. May have to expand on “death becomes her” one day. Coincidentally [whatever the fuck that means], a Catch 22 is a metaphor for a “no-win situation,” and the name of Joseph Heller’s famous novel. For some reason, I had been under the [false] impression, he also wrote of the horrors of Dresden in Slaughterhouse-Five [a la the star].

The idea of a knife/sword being representative of a phallus goes back quite a ways in Hollywood. Per the pictures below, so does the gay agenda. Oh, how obvious!

Unfortunately [depending on perspective], didn’t have time to get more into the gay agenda, for which I had created the below image from Entourage for the show. Afterwards, I was reminded there was an episode where Drama and Turtle, per the script, accidentally “crossed swords,” while sharing some whore between them.

Didn’t have enough time to get into the “x-box” either, suffice to say that you will see one in just about every major studio movie made of the [at least] last 20 years. Nor, did I get into the victim-to-be “selecting” the burning/flaming red wig.

For those curious as to my “emergenpy,” both the snake and the frog lived to hop/crawl another day. Per my neighbors, the next day they got up, to find the frog parked right in front of their door, as if to express his gratitude for saving him.

The kitten which made a surprise guest appearance is the latest addition to the Rebel family. His name is Perseus and he’s got a “fuck-all kick-ass” personality. Named him after the Perseids Meteor Shower, which me and friends were out watching, when this scrawny little guy [roughly 4/5 weeks old], walked out to the middle of nowhere to greet us. He and the dog started playing together and in unison, my friends remarked, “You know this means you have to keep him.” Of course. Note to any Medusae intent on paying me a visit: you are fucked!

Yea, I did use a couple of Bible quotes. There is much wisdom contained in the book, but it’s like deciphering movies, you have to look past bullshit aimed at the Eucharist-munching masses. Speaking of same, I find a well of endless humor that they use the Bible to describe homosexuality as an abomination [¡!], while quoting the version dedicated to one of the biggest poofers ever, King James. {*4}

I have to apologize. After last week’s show, I had about an hour of material left over. Prior to this week’s show, I expanded on some areas and added about two hours of material to it. Next time I do a show [no, there won't be a Dark Knight III interview], I’ll have a better idea of the handwritten note to hour ratio.

Also didn’t have time to get into the two lunatics below, but I really love the first image, so have to share it. Worth noting, the sis informed me that Pluto [i.e, the "planet" according to people with a few brain cells left in their head, and "something else" per those whose head is filled with nothing but shite], is moving to Capricorn this year [the "when" debatable], a place it hasn’t incidentally been since 1776.

On the night after the show, I’m up at my bar, and for some god-damn reason, a few people are asking me about my blog. “Not a good intro week,” I’m cursing, as the front page article was the one where I spoke of “fucking Jehovah up the ass.”

Anyway, one guy wanted to “talk” about movies, and I was grimacing [internally], cause I’ve learned that when most people say “talk” they mean, “they talk, and you listen,” and usually go off on tirades about politics and other matters I couldn’t give two shits about. This guy insisted on talking about the many layers of Shawshank Redemption and I played along, until it [the below scene] exploded in my skull:

So, Morgan, aka God, aka Lucifer, just happened to go by the name of “Red?” Oh, man! Sometimes, (a) even with this world’s parabolically rising level of ignorance, I should have some faith in my fellow man, and (b) I too need to stop talking long enough to listen. A “river of shit!” The “other side!” Oh, as another very famous carpenter, Karen, once crooned, “We’ve only just begun.”

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*1: Now, that Mercury is out of retrogade and all my computers are working, should perspiration and inspiration ever meet, I may combine the two shows, normalize and trim-out the dead NSA air, upload somewhere, and attach here [right here]. Gods/Planets be willing, of course. [LB]

*2: A Fräulein was always worth a shag back in the days. But then again, my German readers might guess it’s been a few years since. I should make an image that reads: Tokio Hotel: “Whores check in, but they don’t check out.” [LB]

*3: For those who missed the Karl Rove pic, here it is. After the show, Violator reminded me that in Team America, World Police, when the producer invites the young actor/star inside his limo, he responds: “I’m supposed to get in your car and let you put your finger inside me.” For more info on the Stargate in the [new] Atlantis, follow the white-rabbit [but, only if your heart is pure]. [LB]

*4: Yes, King James wo so fabulous, that he was often referred to as “Queen James,” openly. His first “love” was his little cousin. Heck, even the sickening homage to his solar predecessor, the female queen (Elizabeth), strongly hinted at it. Yes, the “sun shone out of his behind.” [LB]

For those wondering if/when they’d ever see the next part of this series, well (a) your question has been answered, and (b) no, the shenanigans of the servants of Dis [part v] have failed to dissuade me from the task of building the ark.

I did manage to get caught up with Whore Box Orifice’s True Blood program, and am forced to wonder, in my Trumanesque world, if they know I am [watching]. What in the Sam[antha] Hell? Should I [want to burn]? No! At least, I don’t think so.

The scene above is when an old vampire commits suicide, by meeting the rising sun. His response is to the girl/woman who asked him if he’s “afraid of the pain?” Some song, now beats inside my juke box, chiming “what you read, what you watch, what you listen to.” Oh, I remember what song that is … Mojo Nixon’s appropriately entitled “Burn Down the Malls.” {*1}

Is there revelation or mind-fucking in progress? If you’ll recall, at one point, we were highly focused on Nick “the fireman” Cage and that movie, Burning, er, I mean Knowing. Looking back, I find it quite significant his son/sun, the “rebel” who rejected his licentious Father’s “love” offerings, and the one who chose to elevate himself though diet, lives in a room at the apex of the pyramid, with an eye for a window to look out of [from where he has his vision of the "forest burning" and "animals panicking," syncing us back to the Dark kNight and close of part ii].

A long time ago, while looking into I Am Legend, a movie that in retrospect, describes my present predicament a little too well, I surmised that I was the eYe at the top of the pyramid [a look into the Octopus's Eye/I album still on hold]. In other words, that the “planners and schemers” [as quoth the Raven/Joker] have no influence, just confluence over me.

I expressed disappointment/disgust that the movie was yet another concerted effort at programming self-sacrifice as a solution [you can be assured this theme is meant for "us," as "they" would never be stupid enough to sacrifice themselves]. I’ve since had many, including a mentor, and a Freemason of alleged significant degree [i.e., 32nd], tell me that I am wrong. Why? Ultimately, am I not the eYe at the top of the pyramid, because I, by exercising my free will determine my fate.

Now, I’m not denying the influence of other beings upon my life. I know I’ve been protected by benevolent entities, I have communed with my spirit guide directly, and doubtlessly, I am being led and nudged by all sorts of forces beyond my understanding. For example, why am I building this damn ark?

Hence, my quandary. What are these movies doing? It’s obvious, to anyone with even a smidgen of common sense left in them, that the main purpose of the Wizards of Id is to program, stupefy, and degenerate the masses. Understanding social engineering, I have to concede they [those in the know, and the clueless repeaters] have done their job too well. Yet, beyond synchronicity, it’s undeniable, that some things are put in so precisely and specifically [such as the above], they are undoubtedly meant convey something, be it malice or enlightenment…

While I may, or may not, have been “right,” the pyramid, like many other symbols of note, is subject to multiple layers of interpretation [I provided another in part v of this series]. Ultimately, does it matter? Should I not concede the point, not at all, yet should I doubt myself, considerably. So, is the fire inevitable? I don’t have that answer … yet.

“Death is the doorway to awe,” inFORMs us yet another movie of dualistic intent (The Fountain). Yea, but as I’ve been saying, if you’ve devoted your life to the pursuit of ignorance, once you shed this mortal coil, should you seek “freedom,” you will encounter the barrier that won’t let your soul pass [the grid], and be left with little choice but to either stay disembodied, or [re]incarnate. Does anyone reading this honestly believe, that the degenerated future will afford one anything other than more ignorance, guaranteeing endless repetition of “the loop?”

Yet, again I’m presented with a dilemma as to the intent of the wizards, for in this same vehicle of dubious “enlightenment,” starring an “X-man,” we are presented with that “X-box” at a moment that spells wisdom, for those with [or should I say without] eyes to see. Hugh Jackmanass rushes from the hospital, where his wife lay dying, so that he can go run his tests on his lab animals, and find a “cure” for her cancer. The ignorant fuck has obviously never read Pythagoras, Tolstoy or Wagner:

“Any person who had to endure certain experiments carried out on animals which perish slowly in the laboratories would regard death by burning at the stake as a happy deliverance. Like everyone else in my profession, I used to be of the opinion that we owe nearly all our knowledge of medical and surgical science to animal experiments. Today I know that precisely the opposite is the case, in surgery especially, they are of no help to the practitioner, indeed he is often led astray by them.” –Hans Ruesch

“Of all the black crimes that Man commits against God and Creation, vivisection is the blackest.” –Ghandi

Along the way, having eyes yet seeing not, he misses both the x-box [¿distracted by the sparkles?] and the bus offering the mystic key to escape [19]. So, yes, predictably, just as this Jackass deserves, he wife dies before he can “save” her.

Again the sacrifice + fire + capstoneless pyramid, and again I wonder why were the prior cues included? For who’s benefit? The [du]mb[a]sses? I don’t have the answer. Don’t know if and when I will. Regardless of their intentions, I’m still going with my instinct, which is telling me I don’t wanna burn up, hence I’m building the ark.

Dreaming at some point since this series commenced, I found myself on a bus traversing what appeared to be some unknown part of the Brasilian coutnryside. As is common with me, I verbalized whatever song was playing inside my head. “There’s a little black spot on the sun today.”

“That’s my soul up there,” chimed in a random voice from a few seats behind me.

I turned around, wondering who, and it was Sting himself. I continued, “It’s the same old thing as yesterday.”

“That’s my sould up there,” he added.

How fucking cool is that, I thought. I’m singing a duet with Sting. I tried to keep going, but garbled it up, getting progressively more nervous, something like “Why do things have to be this, way, um, er, something, stood there, pouring rain.”

“Everybody screws that part up,” he laughed, and I invited him to come up and sit with me for the duration of the trip. Ended up recommending he go to this amazing little island, where people care not who he were and where one will forget the world at large. Oddly, this island is a place I’ve only visited in my dreams.

There may be something to that. And there’s probably a reason, why that song, to me, one who’s never been a Police fan or cared much for the Sting persona [though, I will admit he chose to/was cast into two excellent roles in his career: Dune & Quadrophenia, both extremely illuminating]. A regular cryptic visitor to this site, Eugene, once sent me to a lecture by one fascinating interpreter of [multi-layered] Mayan hieroglyphs, who believes our souls enter this realm through the sun, hence Sting’s lyrics may have been more than random whimsical musings.

Well, if you’ll recall in Sunshine, Cillian Murphy, played a character who went into the sun, conquered his adversary, sacrificed himself [yet another repetition of this heinous "program"] and did so gladly, smiling as the Kelvin increased about him and his flesh was consumed. As mused before, Cilian, made his debut[ant] into the public mind, in 28 Days Later, directed by the same Danny Boyle, and oddly enough, the “climax” scene involved him killing his adversary by pushing his fingers through his eyes, syncing us back to Oedipus Rex, the archetypal King of Pain

Getting even weirder and deeper into the slimy sync-hole, I recalled I had a very odd picture of Silly Anne, I’d been wanting to use as part of my venture into a different the same hole, for my exploration of Valentine/Vagina Day. Sitting in that folder was the below [center] image from a movie Silly Anne’s polar doppelgänger Diana/Juno resonating mind-controlled scarlet emasculator de jour, eLLe[n] Page, which matched the relevant red to blue migration pattern from the Police album.

Tracey Fragments, was obviously about mind-control, and so is the upcoming Peacock, where to two are paired up to play two dysfunctional androgynes [worth noting, peacocks are associated with Juno]. Can’t help but remark how woman-like he appears in the first photo [above]. Hell, it even looks like he has boobs.

As one would expect, as with any Time cover, revelation is taking place. I’m concluding the cover is a communication vehicle for those in the know. I’m sure there were conveniently 99/66 “other” athletes worth covering and that er, “Dana’s” single horn is representative of her phallus. Man, I’m sorry, but that is one woman/dude, I couldn’t even begin to contemplate fucking.

Aside from all the hardware problems I mentioned at the start of my last article, which I’m choosing to blame on the mercury retrogade, I’ve been experiencing countless software problems, particularly with internet browsing. This has been somewhat alleviated by switching from Firefox to Opera. I guess I just didn’t want to see the obvious, or account for how Fire-FOX translates to Fire-666. Oh wait, are the symbols telling me whatever choice I make I’m fucked?

Said communication interruption led to my reading a long-sitting book that seemed a bit too daunting to pick up in the past, The Greatest Story Never Told by Lana Cantrell. She offers some amazing insight into the world, but it’s too much to get into here, and I’ll have to add a proper reView to the ever-expanding queue. However, I will, for now stress, that from Lana’s viewpoint (molecular biology), she offers on bit of undeniable truth: for ANY species, “androgyny equals death.”

Maybe, I will be the last “man” on Earth one day? Damn it, fire again! It is being programmed to such an extent, that it may be unavoidable [from a predictive programming of the holographic matrix perspective]. Silly Anne, also resonated with the last, ahem, “man” on earth, in 28 Days. In concert, the above [mind-twists] leads us back to another Bob, the one played by Will Smith in the aforementioned Legend, I Am [which coincidentally, spoke of another BoB/808, the recently discussed murdered Rastafarian freedom-fighter Marley].

Yes, Arnold was originally targeted to play the last, ahem, “man,” alive. It’s worth noting, that, so far, every one of the last four actors discussed (Jackman, Smith, Murphy, Ahnold) is a known, ahem, “butt-pirate.” Yargh, maties! {*2}

The word “Bob,” for me, also brought forth the memory of another infamous Bob, the possessed incestuous rapist and murderer from Twin Peaks. Yea, more fire. A burning torn (i.e., hymenless) “heart.” A flaming vagina at the top of the pyramid. Oh, Lucy Fur, you [not so] subtle temptress. Your hot little love box, must drip gasoline.

While Cillian and the extremely effeminate self-sacrificing vampire from True Blood, may have been longing to burn, for now, I’ll pass. I’m also growing convinced the Biblical narrative of “Jesus [willingly] dying for our sins,” was yet another massive conjob and self-sacrifice narrative weaved for the ignorant by same priest class who murdered the Christ [and likely, the same who funded Zeitgeist].

Note, the symbolism of his posture, him burning, and where he stands with the lead female character; the outer edge of the circle, because they’re not lovers. Hence, they skirt the rim of the hole, and aren’t nesting in the sweet spot (the center).

I had mused before, that the “Target” store logo, is yet another symbol for the vagina (as this ad made extremely fucking obvious). Some, were soon to [try and] correct me that it was a “sun symbol” instead. Again, multiple interpretations for us to argue over, even though they are ALL correct. Are you starting to SEE that the sun and the vagina may be one and the same?

Charlie’s Angel let us know, via 12/12 [L/L] resonating Lucy Liu, dressed in black [hence yet another female attending a funeral), that Lucy's hole, is indeed a place of fire. Is it like a flame-thrower? Hm, I did say "gasoline" earlier didn't I? Note the face someone took the time to embed in the V-shaped cone of fire [¿conifer?] emanating from the hole. Hm, kind of like a woman’s legs do! So, we have a V above and V below. As above, so below!

Said True Blood episode’s closing shot shows: the man is gone, the woman in red [yet, not the scarlet dress, but checkered-red, hence, the Madonna/Whore and note she's blond, not a red-head] left standing. Only her and the sun remain. A mirror?

Now, to give away more personal information than I should, ever since I started this damned/infernal Burning Ring series, I have been bereft of female company. Heck, I kid my friends that I can’t fucking remember what a vagina smells like anymore [¿gasoline maybe?]. I’m not using this as a forum to complain, just to ponder whether I should have expected anything different, or maybe plead mercy, as I really didn’t know what the fuck I was getting into [literally]. It’s safe to say I’ve fallen out of the Vampire Queen’s graces.

I’ll probably have to do a post on the vampire trend sooner or later. The “Vampire Queen” presented near the season finale of True Blood, was of course, a red-head.

While Lynch’s Twin Peaks may have [misre]presented us with the Queen of Hearts [i.e., Lucy Fur], as the victim [the "broken heart" symbol represents a ravaged/raped orifice], Martin Scorcese was bit more honest. Well, sort of. The redhead in Gangs of New York (a film that indubitably made the Vatican oh so proud), seemed to have a clue as to what was going on.

Speaking of what the average man once considered a design flaw by the creator (yet, now relishes as a choice passage), we all know what’s located right next to the “love box.” Well, thanks to an exchange of ideas with Aferrismoon, I realized the Dead Rabbits [another vagina reference] could be found right next to the Five Points (i.e., the star, aka the anus). Worth a mention, “the redhead” is Lucy’s counterpart from Charlie’s Angels, anally fixated/abused Cameron Diaz [part iv].

On one hand, I think this [my need to press the flesh, so to speak] may be proper motivation for me to try and finish up this series before too long, and stop side-tracking into other projects. On the other, judging by the last infested hole Lucy sent in my direction [Britney Spears], I may be better off for the time being.

For some odd reason, almost every single potential lover/victim that’s crossed my path lately has had red hair. What means that Ferris? Speaking of Dead Rabbits, the one pictured above is [co]incidentally named Angie Everh[e]art, star of “Running Red” and “Heart of Stone.” A message for me, Lucy? A message for me, Lucy? [Sung to the tune of "A Message to You Rudy" by The Specials.] {*3}

Insane EverFacts: Angela born in 1969 and graduated from FireStone High. She made history herstory as “the first redhead on the cover of Glamour magazine,” and “was once told by Eileen Ford that redheads don’t sell.” Has a younger sis named “Amber” and probably should not have “starred” in “1st To Die.” {*4}

Note how even in death, the trademark V is unavoidable. I’ve covered the V enough, if not more than enough, and though I don’t expect to change the world, I am getting quite sick of seeing people morons constantly flashing the “piece” sign. Aferismoon was good enough to send me this [now] extremely relevant photo of Tom Cruise [hm, another vampire of note] making the V sign. Basically, what came out of our conversation, and what I am conVinced of now, is that making the symbol open face means “fuck me,” while making it outwards means “fuck you!”

The latter picture is from the Iranian elections. Yet, another “green” revolution. It was quite striking to me to see all these ["evil," according to AIPAC's media wing] Iranians running around flashing the “peace” [of ass] sign. How green connects to this is probably also relevant, but seeing that I’ve been staying out of pink holes, I see no logic in wantonly diving into a green rabbit hole presently.

Continuing with more oddness, I finally bothered wondering if anyone previously connected Lucy Fur, to the Luscious Ferrous one. Per Google, some burlesque stripper in Los Angeles got the idea [well, 2009 per copyright]. Though, her being American in this day and age, along with her profession suggests that her hole and “fur” have rarely ever met. The only reason I bothered including it, other than to show how every damn picture includes a bare woman (hence, a vagina) inside a vagina, is that on the day I checked her myspace, she had exactly 1666 friends.

She now has more, but what are/were the fucking odds of that? Oh, and her “name” is Lucha Va Voom … in other words, Lucha VV aka Lucha 66.

I tried to stay away from the Vampire Queen, but she got to me. My cat/pussy-like curiosity will won’t be the death of me. That’s her below: Evan Rachel Wood. God Damn! She’s got the type of looks and body I could shag until the end of time. Don’t take that as a boast. The literal “end of time” may be coming fairly soon.

However, the cover shows us that metaphorically, she’s pretty much bagged and tagged. A tattoo of a vagina right next to her vagina [a "real" one]. Through the Looking Glass (i.e., mind-controlled). Plus, the armband tags her with the mark of a slave [very likely, a sex slave]. So much for that. I’ll find something else to do until time ends. {*5}

Much to the Queen’s dismay, this would be a good time to transition away from the Holy of Holies [the hole of holes, beyond the sheer veil], and back to myself. Hence, I consciously added 3 images, shifting the total away from her [69], back to me [72]. Yes, I am practicing my own from of wizardry [spelling, emoting, right-ing].

In other words, to turn within. For as long as i can remember, which isn’t very long, I’ve been telling you guys to look within that scary fucking mirror and find yourself … hence, I will now turn within and try to figure out just who the fuck [literally] I am. The next issue will focus on you guys. Yeah, there’s two issues left, so maybe I’ll get some hole before the end of the year. Could do more, but this is an impossible topic to cover via this medium. Not even sure i entirely grasp it myself.

Eight parts [again]. My second series of utmost introspection and importance [in my eyes; at least in mytrumanesque world all that matters]. As I commented in prior series, there’s a reason that number resonates with me in more ways than I could reVeil. I’m obviously having some kind of impact in the construct, judging by how quick the Medes have been to respond to me as of late.

The above series, from the Simpsons “Burns and the Bees” episode [part i], really set me back. While I’m getting used to seeing the Medes put out pieces related to my writings shortly after I publish them, the above resonates with something they would have had to probe my brain to have learned of. Peter Tosh seems to have undergone a somewhat similar experience:

“in the middle of the night, before daylight, I was attacked by evil forces, seen? Spiritual evil forces that cause my mouth to cease from function, cause my hands and legs to cease from moving. Is only my mind that was in function, and my two eyes. As close as four of my friends was to me, which was about 12 inches away, I could not tell a man nothing, or ask a man to do anything to help me; and I was on the brink of what you call “death.” Seen? … it started with these three (?) man here. Seen? Coming from the hospital I saw ghosts, three ghosts”
–Roger Steffens, “Rebel With a Cause”

My first thought had been, “they got it wrong,” as what occurred on my mystic voyage was quite dissimilar in some key ways. However, my consternation was alleviated after I finally saw WALL·E [alas, just a movie "homage"]. It wasn’t quite what happened to Peter either, and though I’m not at liberty to discuss events, I’ll say I was saved/protected from my predicament by outside/inside forces. {*6}

Scribbling out some patterns on my notepad one night at my 19 bar, I contemplated the nonsensical Microsoft rags-to-riches story and the meaning behind the selection of their operating systems. NT wasn’t resolved until I recalled a summer in Ellada (Greece) watching the Flying Dolphins (a line of hovercrafts) skim across the water. Found the Greek lettering kind of amusing and convoluted: ΦΛΑΙΝΓΚ ΝΤΟΛΦΙΝ.

NT is the Delta? While in engineering school I got in the habit of shorthanding my notes by using the mathematical symbol for change, Δ in lieu of the word “change.” So, why was XP next? Then it hit me that I was thinking two dimensionally and that P is actually R, and the bastadization [and likely, intentional] switch of the Greek Pi (Π). Pi is the sphere. Hence, the XP is the cross/cube within the flower of life. The prison space within the totality. The windows to the life you’re missing.

Contrary to what many a mystic has been saying lately then, Obama’s not the Omega, he is the Omicron (the circle). What follows Omicron? Pi. Note to all the fools shouting “Revolution:” as Daz reminded me recently, a revolution is just one cycle around the wheel. Name one time in history a revolution led to improved conditions for anyone? I’m reminded of Jason Kidd, an NBA basketball player, telling the fans, “We’re going to turn this team around 360 degrees” [more disturbingly, many cheering]. So, yes, Obama is going to change things. Expect a 360 turn from where this country’s been headed. The Patriot Movement may accomplish same.

Note: While many are quick to point out the evil “swastika” embedded in the Microsoft logo, they’d do well to remind themselves that symbol predates the Nazis by at least 10,000 years. Cross-wearing fools be advised, per Lana Cantrell:

“Technically, or biologically, however you wish t look at it, the swastika in its particular shape draws in favorable radiations as its curved elongations created the ‘circle of the world’ at the center; total unity. The cross does not produce the circular unity of the cosmos, but draws the forces toward the center to collide atomically, entropy, death … the cross position attracts unfavorable electromagnetic fields which is why it was used in crucifixion to promote death. Swords are excellent in death wielding because of their cross-shape.” {*7}

Speaking of circles, and multiple interpretations, I know many occultists have pointed to the Toyota logo as a sign of either Taurus, Satan, or Baphomet, depending on ideological leanings [True Blood suggests Dionysus is the horned God].

It occurred to me, just as when you look at the star of david/seal of sol in three dimensions, it turns from a star into a cube [discussed]. Well, taking a step back and looking at the above from the same perspective … voilà! Three rings.

“One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them, one ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them.” — J.R.R. Tolkien

Why is the image of the young lady above juxtaposed next to the Toyota logo? Basically, it’s the same picture. The three V’s she makes, represent three “rings” of sorts, three vaginas. It’s also worth noting that V, the equivalent of six in Qabalah, means her, er, “lovely” pose also implies/embeds 666, a number that also contains three rings/holes. Coincidentally, that is also the number of orifices her suitors would have at their disposal for sexual congress [a safe bet].

In the extremely relevant, to this series, Generations, we see both the Hero and the Villian, depending on alternate time-lines, burn up. The first shot lets us know the “her-o” doth haveth the lady’s approval. Either way, whether you’re one temporarily pleasing to “her hole” or an evil spawn of it (i.e., V-lain), in the end, your fate is the same. The Burning Box is finicky and needs fuel to keep burning.

Note: Patrick of Steward, aka the Picard, falls into this piece a little too well too. Of course, he’s “Professor X” of the X-Men, but he also starred alongside Sting in Dune. Amusingly, he does the voice of gay CIA chief Testicle/Bullock in American Dad. Little known role: in a movie called Lifeforce, about space vampires that drain humans of all their energy, and the Leader/God of whom was, the female.

I think we’re seriously hampered in our attempts to overcome our ignorance, by the limits placed on us by the Romanticised languages. The “Roman” letters, aside from taking swapping the R/P, give us an uneven set of letters: 26 letters does not arrange in proper rows and columns as the Hellenic 24 [also, reverse of 42, the mystic answer to life]. As Eugene once commented, the QRST (christ) comes after [I now say "out of"] the P, which should be a Π (hence, a pie/vagina/womb).

I’m sure TNT (Turner Network Television), being channel 33 on my local cable system is also somewhat significant, and like Gates, Turner is another selectman, who’s “rags to riches” story would quickly fall apart under close any scrutiny. Aside from the implied [explosive] fire resonance, TNT is formed by combing N, which is also a Z depending on perspective, with two Tees. Well, two T’s form a Π (“pie”). In other words, TT = Π; the sphere/hole again [depending on perspective].

So, yeah, it’s OZ. Oh, the wizards are crafty. Recalling the movie about zombies being domesticated, hence controlled (it was Fido, once mused). Question: What is Oz? Answer: “A Better Life Through Containment!” Argh, how fucking obvious!

I’ve been suggesting that the two key numbers, those most representative of a solution, to those of us interested in escaping via the ark, are 19, aka XIX, and 36, aka full circle, aka Pi. Since I wrote on the “Magnificent 19,” it occurred to me that there was a reason the 19th man, aka the keymaster of 9/11 was named ATTA, aka Alpha Pi Alpha [¡see how much easier it is to make sygils with the right tools!].

9-11, aka XI-IX, was definitely the end of one era, and the start of a new one, into the stargate and out the other side. Hence, the birth pangs of the New Order. Most disturbing: the above [right] propaganda poster, twisting the minds of women to get out of the house and become whores of death for the military. It really sickens me. Expect more of the same in the coming chaos. The poster should read:

“Hey! You stupid fucking whore! Why don’t you get out of the house and come create weapons of death and destruction we can rain down on man, woman, child, and animal alike. Plus, it’ll make your idiot of a husband who’s out there killing men who are not his enemy feel better, cause he knows, that you being such a whore, need to keep busy, else you’ll run around town fucking the few guys left who were smart enough not to join up for the service.”

No. I guess “Atta Girl” is much easier to remember. Ugh, we gotta get the fuck out of this place. I don’t have the answer yet, but it is [¿germinating?] forming somewhere, and THAT is the process of building the ark. Somehow, 19 [XIX] is the key, and I suspect it has something to do with vibrating/harmonizing at the right frequency to pass through the barrier [the grid I've been talking about].

There a reasons why Generations was chosen/fell into this series [and more are coming]. The above scene is seen through the eyes (the visor) of the blind man ["La Forge"], and used by the Enterprise’s enemies to learn the frequency of their shields, and hence send in missiles, which by modulating at the same [secret] frequency, pass right through the shields. And, that, my friends, is how the ark will pass through the barrier!

As I say frequently [and will expand on further when I do undertake the George Romero series], I don’t worry about whether a bioweapon, war, pestilence or famine will wipe out 90% of mankind. To me, 90% of mankind was killed off a long time ago. I’m not even preaching the gospel of a “revolution” in consciousness. I’m hoping for a shift in consciousness [¿or, attempting to construct such?].

While young, I used to try to come up with a sigil for my initials, and for reasons now obvious, could never come up with anything satisfactory. My new eyes show me that I am the Alpha in the Circle. Of more relevance: not the star bound by the pit, but the incomplete man reaching/bounding outside the limits of the sphere.

That’s the sign of Anarchy. Chaos. I see why I identified so strongly with Ledger’s Joker in The Dark Knight. His job was to kick people in the ass and remind them that deep down inside, they are human and if they wouldn’t rise up and recognize that, they were doomed [discussed]. Though I identify strongly with the character, I am not an agent of chaos. I simply am. I serve balance. I serve eternal Tanerlorn.

Aside from the first symbol (which was not carved into my skin), thinking back to myself at about the same time [college, when the delta habit was picked up], oddly these two below symbols came up. The first, is the painting on my wall (prior mention), the latter, the pin of the fraternity I randomly selected to join: {*8}

Oh how long have these keys been with me? I am of the firm belief that rebels aren’t made, they are born [more weirdness: after I wrote this, discovered the square number of pixels in the "anarchy" image was the same as my birthday]. Wait a minute, if I am The Anarchist, am I also the Antichrist? Or, is that just the programming in my head yet shed? Maybe I am the beast? Looking back (with new eyes), I doubt that when the oft-maligned Crowley referred to himself as “the beast,” I doubt he believed that he was actually “Satan.”

When the end of time comes, it will be because the beast has risen from the deep, and this is also a metaphoric internal process. Maybe, it is my time to rise up and challenge the gods. And, in some ways, that is exactly what I am doing. When the time comes, and I arise and destroy myself, by removing the con from my construction, I wonder whether all of creation shall meet its destruction?

From a Trumanesque perspective, I think when the end does come, at that endless moment, all that will be left, in my world, will be me and my maker, face to face.

Of course that won’t be “the end,” because after that endless moment comes and passes, he and I will go our separate ways again, until we meet at the end of the next cycle, and exchange words of appreciation and resentment once again. Alas, I think I understand why the following song escaped me for so many years, to be discovered sometime around the beginning of this beast starting to awaken:

I think many, myself included, had previously misunderstood this song. For me, now, it is the meeting between man and his maker. The unborn child, is the one the being he is communicating his anger to, is the one he didn’t have, because the matrix/creation got so fucked up, upside-down, as it is now. Living out life according to normalcy has become impossible, and he like me has chosen not to live out that engineered slave existence. That is my interpretation. That man is me.

So, fuck Heaven and fuck Hell! Should the inconceivable transpire, and I find myself in such a construct, well then “all God’s angels beware.” This Rebel will be left with no option but to devote myself, with the same fervor to tearing down that hierarchy as I have this one. Hierarchical structures guarantee only one thing: a concentrated flow of shit that eventually drowns those at the bottom and sinks those at the top, but that takes way too fucking long. Lords of the realms, you’ve been advised.

Had I remained ignorant, I’d still be running around Brasil, with my 12 girlfriends (yes, twelve, so maybe I am like the christ), and not a care in the world for all the shit I’m confronting now. Maybe I’d be better off? I don’t know, I’ll take that up with my creator when I meet him … oops, I mean “schlee.”

Need I remind anyone, when I say my creator, I speak not of the real Satan, that mother-fucker who goes by the name of Jehovah/Yahweh. If I run into that dude should I break free or get out, I’m gonna fuck him up the ass. When I mused this to a friend recently, she said, “So that you can steal his life force?” Actually, I hadn’t considered that, but now that she mentions it, not a bad idea!

To imbue myself with life force stolen taken from a God. Dare I? To some, this will come off as “blasphemy.” But, that is not your mind or soul talking, just a program looping through your neural construct. I think one of the worst things you can do to a child, is indoctrinate their young mind with religion. In my own astral wanderings, I ran into two beings who claimed to be “God” … looking back, I think they were taking advantage of my [programmed] ignorance. One was kind, loving and jovial. The other cruel, sadistic and mother-fucking scary.

At some point, should I either deem it appropriate, or be permitted to, I will speak of my mystic voyages, and what my eyes have not seen. I know a date with destiny awaits me. When that day arrives, I will seek out the former being, and embrace him. As for the latter, I know he is terrified of that day arriving. Will I seek vengeance, or will I forgive? Only my heart knows the answer to that, and while he may know my mind, the former is a place he cannot fathom.

And what about Lucy Für? Well, I’ve learned a few things about women in my years, and I’ve decided on the proper course of action for dealing with her in the now. What is the worst thing you can do to a woman whose attention you have somehow garnished [regardless of if its positive or negative]? Ignore her!

Is there a greater perceived injustice than to let one over-ripe fruit wither on the vine? Her fire, bereft of fuel, will either have to burn itself out (unlikely for an eternal one), or rage out of control …the fire is coming. I know to some this may seem daunting, and dare I say scary, but I’m not fear-mongering. It’s not because I think I have a ticket on the ark. That phrase never entered my thoughts. A scenario where I, by holding the key, would be required to stay behind and hold the portal/break open has entered my/the mind [though, that might be a neural program].

But why guess at my destiny, when I could create it? I know I seek eternal Tanerlorn, for I am weary. At some point, I should give this wizardry business up, and set up [re]building my own Tanerlorn in this world/plane of existence. If I don’t succeed, inevitably I will find it in the next.

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*1: Will get into that song more when I do my George Romero video/documentary. And, “they” do know what “we” watch. I remember calling Cable tech support and the girl saying, “Oh, I see you watch True Blood.” [LB]

*2: Oh, what an [anally exacting] toll “fame” must take. Keep an eye out should From Starfish to Stardom ever creep out of the queue. [LB]

*3: Lana Cantrell, would probably advise me, that it’s for the better, as by staying out of them, I am prolonging my life and preserving my strength. Styigan Port, was it not you that said “sex is death?” [LB]

*4: True Syncronicity/Wackiness: Right after I wrote down these “everfacts” I got a call from my sister. It turns out that not only has she met Angela, but was at one time, a close friend of Amber, who she had thought might be a good match for me, and was trying to hook us up. Yes, the little sis (Amber) is a redhead too. [LB]

*5: Actually, I’m gonna stay away from that hole completely. Not only did she fuck derelict androgyne Marilyn Manson, but “inspired” him to write “Heart-Shaped Glasses (When The Heart Guides The Hand)” [disturbing video]. She also lost out the role of the child vampire in Cruise’s Interview With the Vampire to Kirsten Dunce and “starred” in degenerative mass whore-programming vehicle Thirteen. Worst of all, her “her-o” is U2’s cocksucking eugenicist front-man Bono. [LB]

*6: Don’t know if anyone mentioned this before, but applying the “spinner” … WALL-E, a “beast” of sorts, could be code for Aleister Crowley’s LAM. [LB]

*7: Anyone who spent time studying medeival weaponry, such as I, was probably a little befuddled as to how the long sword was generally favored over axes or flails, especially against heavy armor. Alas, it makes more sense now. [LB]

*8: Many seem surprised to learn I joined a fraternity. Well, I actually joined two. Hence, my popularity at the first seriously suffered, cause apparantly that was against “the rules.” But, that’s a whole nother story. Suffice to say: I don’t believe in rules. [LB]