The Left Column

Politics for Poets

Poli-Sci-Fi

yet more


Political
Science 
Fiction

. . .  somewhere deep within 
the video game  . . .
level 33 and a third (Boss Level!)
 
 the genre or polyscifi has
 been utilized to craft a video game
 titled
 
 Carnival of Swamp Horrors
 
 a chemical spill at a wetland has mutated the locals
 into reptiles, amphibians, and birds, (oh my.)
 
 But it just so happens to have also leached into
 the buildings at the
 Institute of Fuss and Control
 somewhere in secret-man-landia
 outside of the 495 area,
 but still within metro-control
 megalopolous
 
 And all of their 'mueee hee hees', giggling
 like bit part actors in a B run horror flick
 or is it a political convention?
  

So we don't really have an answer for the power mad. Why do we need to keep trumpeting out the message: we don't buy your lies anymore.

Years go by, they never give up with their operant message. if you were smart enough to notice the assumptions, the overwhelming top-down dictatorial vile authoritarianism of their assumptions: we are the the 'they' who know and you must do what we say now. Look at the shiny ball.

The shiny ball is that which they use to hypnotize their captive audience. The captive audience might be the whole world.

An organizational analysis: systematic procedural accounting, and organizational structure charting would reveal the pyramid and be illuminating to those of us who have eyes to see within those realms. That gigantic theory of power and control exists as part delusion, part people-pile of cheerleaders letting someone stand on their back. And then we see how perverse the coaches could be as to how large a pig-pile they want to have so that their tiny leaders can use the bodies of their subjects as a staircase to heavens above, destiny to be in control, and 'do as we say' always 'do as we say'.

The public grows weary. The falseness of all of it compels one to be in a different sphere of life. We recognize the institution as corrupt just by the stench we can imagine by just seeing the kind of organizational structure that thrives within. What kind of swamp do they allow it to be? Look at the petty functionaries and access their social consciousness. What kind of assumptions do they make about their relationship with those around them. Are they egalitarian or are they elitist? Do they believe in being 'better than' others, by some natural process which they dominate? Is it a top down structure without morality so that the 'leaders' have different codes of law than the ones upon whose backs they stand? Do those who let others stand on their backs know that this is what is happening? Do the 'lords' act like bad-bosses (ahoes) and make it obvious as to their dominance? Do they institute piddling-upons of those 'lower than them' as a way to assert their dominance? Is it a dominance and submission culture of leadership? Are there obvious ethno-social casts? Is the ruler-ship class a bunch of ahoes?

You see the crumbling walls at the fringes of this. Access the era of this kind of tyranny. What kind of cray cray will their processes convey? Maybe walk on the ceiling so that you are out of view. You make your way inside.

The gardens are all of fallow plants. The court yard is set up like a puzzle level from a circa 1999 A.D. vintage video game with dungeon levels, and puzzle garden tombs or grave yards, and swinging things, from a giant cantilever, made some time in late antiquity judging by the motif of the iconography. The plants cultivated here are noxious and toxic. Poison ivy. Hog weed. toxic fungae. all kinds of poison.

What do you see at the door? Who is there lurking? Can you make it past the evil gate keeper? It's not a gate but a desk in this scene. He knows the cheat. The animated receptionist lets him in. Next he's at the staircase. How many rooms are there at this facility. He's looking for a secret door somewhere. It was a luscious facade back in the day when it was new. By now it all seems trite and scripted. Bots as the troupe that performs this play, the animation is too clinical by now. The VR goggles? not interested in seeing blood spatter virtually in three dimensional slow motion.

Meanwhile, outside the horror film, seemingly in the audience

how did they engineer so many snowflakes?

a feat of social engineering? The plan of ? ? ? As if it hasn't gotten obvious.

What has gotten obvious?

More Conjecture

Those on a rampage of mean politics . . . stop it!

how come there are so many snowflakes? 'They' didn't engineer anything.

It's just the illusion of a blizzard. People in the real world aren't as craven and mean as some of these political operatives.

The illusion of the blizzard. In fact it's not a blizzard at all. The false consensus, the unreasonable narrative.

In fact? False consensus? people get away with what others let them get away with. The stage show of the left never ends, they are their own most important legends in their own minds.

Everyone craves purpose in living. Politics is an easy form of psychological 'crack', which gives people a sense of euphoria from the delusions of group think. It's a ready world in which, as if a kind of virtual society like from a video game, the false consensus of false cause better-than-them-ism, is a kind of emotional crack: a super drug in the sense of it's purposeful way of just infecting the thoughts and behaviors of people. There is a feeeling of selfrightousness, a 'better-than-ism' that justifies very very selfish and willful people to continue on with their regime of utter and nasty meanness against anyone whom they delude to oppose. In fact this kind (this type? 'type'? I type when I write.) probably doesn't bother to listen or to hear, and probably couldn't really convey what the ones to whom they oppose believe.

Sure of being right. Sure others are wrong. Sure that the others, who are seen as wrong, are also evil and subhuman, and possibly even. . . dare I say it . . . Republicans . . .

As if the mantra, which they chant with their giant meanness: "Peace and love and kill Republicans." And they seem to be sure that you are one of them.

Leave the moshing for the rock club. Keep your meanness at home. Put it in a drawer. Leave it there. Never use it. Don't kill anyone. Do you even know any Republicans? How can you tell?

 
dunt 

dun


dunttt

Constitutional Crisis?

What crisis do they think it is? That the Constitution might start to be enforced for a change?

blah blah blah blah

June 6, 2017

You never know what delusions are on tap at the Amillia Pub.

Sean!

hover over the logo images for a page modification effect.

  

Love
People!

    
    
🖐morning
clover🖐


Lominous
room tomb in ous
room-tomb-tomb-ulous (who said that?)
rumtuumtuumulous
cumulous
cumulonimbous


clouds of memory
a face from college
but no name
praying for an old friend
you read about
in the sad-news pages
of the lonly Internet
lost in time
outside the factory
in the fog
on the day of the lay off
leaning on a brand new convertible hot rod
with painted flames
and driving off
chirping the tires
playing
"Long Time" by Boston
and never looking back.

clouds of memory
graduation is over
I've made fool of myself
by fawning over someone
and inviting myself to parties
that I shouldn't have
and trying to tell a friend
that I . . . 
which is too embarrassing to even say now
so I won't even put it in here
but I've thought a lot about it
putting it into a spontaneous poem,
like a confession
in the morning
when it's hot out
and the prospects are
too much time in dull moments
the politics of living through the hard times.
Understanding the constant deletion of delusions.
locking all the insight into rhyme
delete delete, delight in the delete.
Keep it inside when meeting the creatures of the street
and the constant operant on cause messaging of on narrative parrots of power
swacking
in their idle hours
as the time releases all explode in their heads yelling
'resist. resist. resist.'

We are that,
resisting all your fowl urge cause
and constant on message jonsing.


There are doves on the walkway,
she calls them pidgeons.
He blesses the scene
she curses the cabby.
They think that they are in love.
He's aware of her meanness
he thinks he's being forgiving
by putting up with her ways
as long as it makes things right.

She's often upset and lonly
even when he is around her.
She plays her part so well when she's in character
as long as he accompanies her to the protests.
He knows her instinct is to be a black widow.
She's craven and greedy and waiting for her great grandparents to die
scraching him acrross his back and cursing his seed as he . . .
hoping her baby will be a demon world slayer.

He knows that the baby will be a jesus.
She be dead of pills before she knows it.
She'll never bare his child without him lashing him down.
who is more evil than who?
the person who writes degenerate poems?

He knows his poem won't be anything.
He's ready to throw away all of the old records
he doesn't care if he ever hears those songs again.
Some time in your life you make the delete in time.
the rhythum of story doesn't need to be published now, even if spontaneous.
the porn of the story must be dleted, it's too horroific to publish . . .

these can get you banned from school?!:
🔫 🚀 🚙🚤🚣c🍀⚜⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣🚣
🚣🚣🚣  🚀  🚀🔨🔨🔨⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣
🔨 🚙 🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣
⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣

spinfont unicode-isms
🍀 Praise God! 🍀
🍀⏲⏱⏰⏲⏱🔫⏰⏰⏲⏱🔫⏰⏰🍀
🎠 
🎠 
🎠 
🔫
🔨🔨 
🍀 Praise God! 🍀

 

🚀 🚙🚤🚣c🍀⚜⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣🚣
🚣🚣🚣  🚀  🚀🔨🔨🔨⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣
🔨 🚙 🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣
⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣
🖐

Here is today's pretty poem:

  

purpose in media

    

🖐 🌙 🖑
🖑🌛 🌜🖐
   
 🖐🖑

 ♥♥?
Blathertational


 🖐🖑
🖑🖐


glossary of what's next
 ♥♥? : 

Be nice to yourself and others. What other choice?

What we have done
What we have failed to do.

Wake up!

 
 
 

♥♥ Praise ♥♥ the ♥♥ Lord ♥♥ !!

end of column