The Left Column
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.
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?
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
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
🖐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
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♥♥? 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.
♥♥ Praise ♥♥ the ♥♥ Lord ♥♥ !! end of column
The Message Column
The statues represent the children lead to fight for a failing cause Violence in the name of politics is political failure
Know-it-all-will-tell ya goes on about how in a healthy forest the low parts are always boggy and swampish in the wet season . . .
What is the purpose of finding? everyone ought to have an answer to this when they are looking. looking? looking for an answer? looking for an answer? what is the purpose of your answer? looking? just to find? if you don't know what you are looking for . . . then how do you know it when you find it? Obvously people know. Such confusion is merely a polemic. It's a bit. Some people fall into it. They get confused. They follow a 'cause'. Later on, those who promote such a cause dump them for rich foreigners who they bring in with great dreams of happy future and call you a racist for noticing. When there is enough for everyone why do some people still try to take it all for themselves?
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Oh tiny font nonsense, just because your letters are smaller doesn't mean you have some alternative importance.
Praise Praise Praise the the the Lord Lord Lord! for because Easter He's so awesome! welcome to The Message Column!
Is it obvious parody or News or both?
Vote Once One Vote here is a fresh link, a new path to some older content:
Kafka was a dillhole, Orwell was a submissive? depends on who you ask. . .
Tear down the ugly statues of your own delusions, stop the obcession with the dead past.
Sept. 1, 2017
delight in the delete.
Remember the Sultana!
April 27, 1865© 2016 © 2017 ©
Praise Praise Praise the the the Lord Lord Lord for his for his for his unfailing unfailing unfailing love! love! love! well, little else now.
The Right Column
12:06 PM Sept 25, 2017 Purpose and relevance. Shedding bad habits. Picking off burdock. choose your velcro. Mitigate the tildal collecting, shed the dead skin. Begin again. Somethings never change nothing need stay the same
Catch the Cure!
🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛
🌛 Wind Rain Mist Snow
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Live your life in constant resurrection! ⏲⏱⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰ ~ ; )
Praise the Lord!
I got nothing more
Poem Shards Eulogy I met him in the fog of war after he was already dead his visage in videos speaking dread and how the public is mislead. If only I could have known you before you gave up the ghost to haunt the crossing ferry off to places unknown, an undiscovered . . . virtue. A new country! A new type of people who respect the things that work that ferry churning through the fogs and mists and dank smelling out-gassings of these many foul rethorics spewed plausible no one knows who is sure? Which shore does your ferry pull up to to let out the ghost, so the story goes, the one that gets told . . . better be one that people can hear when their kids are there outside the house at the top of the stair. She can't hear that story if he is but a ghost now she knew him he was her friend and told her how he had been destroyed, remorsed, fallowed, wasted, lost abandoned on the battlefield of soul blow up your fallacies, this war needs to be taken way down inside those dark-thought places where hate channels freely destroy the hate by sending it off to unthought rhyme unspoken words unkind unthought hate. We try not to think of it, what the plausible story can be he's off on that Platsburgh ferry a shroud of fog the mists and fowl outgassings must some how be endured one last time to say good bye, come back to me come back to me you friend now gone and lost never known all hopes of how to write this story . . . his story . . . if he had asked me . . . I'd start the book: "He faked his death to escape . . ." from Unipoems She asked " If you get across can you take this to the King of Nowhere and tell him, plead to him to think of her and the way that she needs him? but he won't come home so she goes out looking for him went down to The Flatiron Building asking anyone wrote a card mailed it home. I imagine her collapsed on a bench people shuffle through she feels the lonely loss why won't he come home? I imagine her. She wrote it like that on her card. But it was all for sympathy, just an expression of her drama and she felt lost because of it and didn't know how to proceed the tricks didn't work with him he'd gotten willful, run off with a different girl who doesn't go to church. Hear the steam whistle of an approaching ferry turning to make a smooth connect. Moving back from the railing and the ropes she notes the impatience of the people at the dock and how the other women really like to talk. the crowd rushes forward have your nickel ready she gets swept along now she is way out there in the ferry out past the jetty. Ferry to Red Bank 1906 🚦 🚧 🚨 🚩 🚪 🚫 🚬 🚭 🚮 🚯 🚰 🚱 🚲 🌛 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌙 🌚 🌛 🌜 🌝. 🚤 🚥 sometimes there is beauty within the fragments . . . 🌜🌜🌜🌝🌛🌛🌛 Sprongg . . . onng . . . ongg ga Her tired morning seems more like poetry than anything you can find on a blog. Bark Bark. Bark Bark. Tree Bark Bark. Bark Bark. Dog 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌙 🌚 🌛 🌜 🌝. 🚤 🚥 Woof and woe🌝 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌙 🌚 🌛 🌜 🌝. 🚤 🚥
who da thought?thought is sequential the end of it is never flood on, river of wise neglect let the bough break let the wind blow removed the baby from that cradle long ago and took him somewhere safe. Thought is over rated when it's thought for being mean to be mean being mean what you mean when you are mean when you 'mean what you say'. Memory is overrated there is joy in the person even when they don't know who you are anymore they still love you they usually don't forget that they love you usually. It was cold that day he'd driven all the way there and plodded through the snow to face the sorrow of his loved-one who didn't remember him but thought him to be someone else as thwarted. Memory is overrated when it's hard hurt of past tragedy as if it happened yesterday from the long ago. Bill Perilli, writer of all of the things on this blog. 🌜🌜🌜🌝🌛🌛🌛
What does one do with old software books? I'm packing them into bankers boxes. I'm going to stack them against a wall. Some of them were very useful. It serves no purpose to throw these away. Some of them are still useful, though it's easier to do it on line now.
May 10, 2017
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