And now they’re finally realizing climate change is the red herring of geoengineering. Finally. Finally, too late? Any mention of those of us screaming this for the last decade plus? Any apology forthcoming? Any change of heart or personal accountability? You decide, does she look ashamed as she giggles, talks in an ultra-feminine child voice and repeats ‘um’ over and over? Do you see remorse on her face as she confesses? I sure don’t!
“This is just mediocre banter about the lives of tech wives.” says one commenter who is spot on.
Soon it will be a new TV series I expect!
Real Housewives of Silicon Valley
Oh wait, that’s already a show. She’s probably on an audition!
When I first started watching alternative history Youtube channels I was skeptical, and I still am. I want the truth, not more redirection. Not more fantasy. Not more illusion. Not more heavily curated or mediocre nonsense.
So far, I don’t sense I’ve found it, but I’ve become ok with never finding it. I’ve resigned myself to what’s as close to the truth as I’ll be able to manage to get to in this lifetime, which is: I’ll never know the truth, but I may be able to manage truth-adjacent with enough study and discernment. I can confidently opt-out of the lie, permanently. That’s a big improvement to the path of blind acceptance I was, and most are, still on.
The first step toward truth was achieved pretty easily, it began with calling bluffs. As long as I don’t allow it to frustrate me, which isn’t exactly easy, this alone feels pretty empowering. For me, as usual, I had to experience it directly, no Youtube influencers, no professors, no self-styled experts can convince me, not without applying my own eyes and ears and reason.
I looked to the architecture because that’s what’s visible, and only then to the official history, because that’s what’s accepted as truth. I started in my own neighborhood, that is, the small city closest to us, called Palestine. It’s actually easier I think to consider the small city, rather than the large ones, because there’s been less tampering more likely, more holes in the narratives that can be more easily noticed by the novice.
The well-maintained Redlands Hotel today.
Like, the story of the popular Redlands Hotel, where I sometimes go for lunch on my rare trips to town. It’s a lovely old building that they’ve done a relatively decent job of keeping up, especially considering the condition of the vast majority of the downtown area.
Interestingly, they have a panaramic photo of the early years of the city on display. As you follow the railroad tracks from left to right in the photo, you end up at graffitti painted on the side of a building. That is, the word OWL.
That’s my cue to start calling bluffs.
The owners of this hotel are deep into the official history, which is superficially helpful. As it goes, in 1914 when stockholders rushed to build the brown brick building, it was oxen that delivered the sand for the concrete. That is, sand from the Trinity River, 30 miles away. Are you kidding me?! That’s a pretty big bluff.
And even with that serious transport challenge, on supposed dirt roads, they managed to complete the five story building in a year. Apparently dirt roads weren’t effected back then by rain or snow, neither were the human builders, or the oxen. Amazing.
Even more amazing was that another striking building was going up on the other side of town, that is, the County Court House. The two structures apparently shared Italian artisans who installed hexagon tile to both buildings.
The original burned court house, depending on which source cited. Another source states the original courthouse was a small building made of wood.
“Considered one of the most modern constructions of its era, and built to withstand the challenges of time, its walls are made of concrete, masonry blocks, sheetrock, and metal studs—evident in the structure today.”
My those were some busy boys and oxen!
In fact, with just a bit of digging, we learn there was in fact another town at the Trinity River junction where the cherished sand came from, now missing from both the land and the history books. But, there remains one hand-drawn map available in the archives, Magnolia was the town’s name, and it was apparently so bustling with commerce and activity according to one source that they called it the ‘St. Louis of the South”.
One of the many demolished structures of the non-existent town once called Magnolia, according to the official history.
“Magnolia was established in the early 1840s as a Trinity River cotton port and was named for a large magnolia tree in the center of the townsite. Magnolia had a post office from 1851 to 1871. William A. Haygood was one of the principal property owners in the community and operated cotton gins, a hotel, a livery stable, a general store, a blacksmith shop, and a local ferry. Among other businesses in the community were a drugstore and John McClannahan and son’s warehouse. Magnolia was reported to have a population of 800 at its peak around 1863, when the town had thirty-three blocks of residences and businesses. Most shipments from the port went to Galveston, but on May 5, 1868, a steamboat traveled up the Trinity to Dallas. After it was bypassed by the International and Great Northern Railroad in the 1870s, Magnolia declined rapidly. By the 1930s it was no longer shown on the county highway map, though its name was preserved in that of the two schools that stood on the site of the former town. In 1932 the Magnolia school for whites had an enrollment of forty-three and the Magnolia school for blacks, thirty-four. A 1982 map showed only the Magnolia Cemetery at the townsite.” Magnolia, Texas
This is the sort of vessel which would have been traveling the Trinity River through Magnolia.
Nothing remains of this supposed river hub besides the hand-drawn map of the area where it was supposed to have been, where is now located some simple family houses, an intersection and the cemetery. I couldn’t even locate the river, or the supposed subsequent railroad.
Several other beautiful structures were also said to have been destroyed in this small city of Palestine not long after they were constructed.
The Temple Opera House was built originally as the Palestine Masonic Temple with the cornerstone date of August 29, 1878. In 1907, it was bought and remodeled by W.E. Swift and known as the New Temple Theater. In 1929, it was the home of Garrett Motor Company, Palestine’s first Ford Motor Car Agency. It was demolished in 1962. It originally had another floor on top, but this was removed at some point.
At some point? Not even the official historians can tell us more specifically.
Exquisite building of multi-functions which didn’t have enough value to the small city to remain for a full century. The small box building housing a liquor store in that location now is so much better, I’m sure.
The “Railroad YMCA Building” was another one.
The Railroad YMCA opened in April of 1903 and continued as the YMCA until the building burned in the mid 1950’s. Interestingly, there seems to be no recorded photos available of this horrid fire event of a huge BRICK building. Nothing to see here! (In fact, I believe this to be another building altogether, more on that in a future post.)
As I searched the stacks of the local history at the library I was surprised to find several ‘fake books’ — that is supposed local history written by a source who cannot be located and is listed in the local phone book with phone numbers that don’t work and at addresses which never existed. Three different phone books, three different addresses, I actually went to all of them personally. Nothing. The books appear to be written by AI! I brought this to the attention of the library board, and no one cared. At all. I never heard back, though I went personally to the board meeting with evidence in hand. They didn’t even care to know which books it was with these obvious falsities, possibly written by an unaccountable AI, and sitting in their stacks posing as actual local history written by a fake person.
And now I feel frustration setting in, so enough for now, to be continued . . .
“Papers, please!” was a running joke among Western expats living in Eastern Europe. I wonder how many of them now carry a permanent spying device with great pleasure or perhaps even cheerfully signed on to the digital passport program, first in line, buying into the ploys of safety and convenience.
The Globe was supposed to move in the other direction entirely! We won the Cold War, supposedly, in order to NOT be treated like the perpetual citizen-criminals of Kafka’s stories.
Eastern Europe in 1989 was a surreal place for a young university sophmore voyaging long distances by train alone for the first time. It was at once charming and derelict, welcoming and suspicious, familiar and mysterious.
On the one hand I never felt physically threatened, not even as flaneuse on the city streets at night. On the other hand the decrepid state of the infrastructure whispered danger somehow, because neglect itself is a dark force.
On the one hand the relative poverty was palpable, though my midwest suburban upbringing was middle class, great food variety and consumer goods were far more available. On the other hand their resourcefullness has had a lifelong impact on me and was my first critical look at the innate and corrupting consumerism of my little world.
I didn’t speak the languages and there were very few English speakers. I got by, barely, with French, rudimentary German and smiling, mostly. Americans were considered automatically suspect, so some travelers would claim to be Canadian at any venue not requiring their passports.
Already on the issue of passports I was laughingly naive.
A variety of stamp collecting, or paving the way for the Global digital gulag? It was an especially exciting moment in the expats life when your passport got so full of stamps you had to go pronto to the nearest embassy to get new blank pages stapled into the back of the official document.
Interestingly, while Americans were considered automatically suspect, there was still a sort of cult following that adored America and those who were positively thrilled to meet one, and I made it a point of meeting those unique sorts.
I went on to be a Peace Corps volunteer there a few years later precisely because of my immediate attraction to this region. I felt compelled to know it better and the fact I had the opportunity to spend three more years there, mostly in Czech Republic, but traveling the region extensively, was in fulfillment of my deepest desires and longings at that time.
For all that I loved it, there I also felt my greatest repulsions.
The dystopian Kafkaesque bureaucrocy I experienced was not just fiction. The general acceptance of the populace, while not exactly Stolkholm Sydrome toward their Soviet occupiers, was still a quiet resignation which struck me as particularly pathetic considering their far more astute knowledge of history.
My old passports are the best symbol with which I can try to express my current level of despair seeing my greatest repulsions come to fruition all around me, even as we ‘the Capitalist West’ were the supposed winners of the Cold War.
What did we win? A military industrial complex acting against the best interests of its people. A Corporatocracy run by corrupt public-private partnerships which pretends not to be a fascistic system. Progress that is defined entirely by blind acceptance of anything stamped with the Technocrat seal of approval. Endless paving over of the countryside for roads and minimalls and condos and tourist traps in the ugliest construction ever known to ‘civilized’ man.
Civilization itself has morphed into something totally uncivil, hideous and expanding entirely out of control.
I, like many other intrepid travelers, thought of the passport merely as the modern equivalent of the old travel trunks stamped fashionably with destinations. We thought of them as a collection of strange signs and symbols we’d forever associate with our new memories of far-off places. They were the paper images of our wanderlust we planned to show one day to the grandkids, not knowing they would be holding a digital scrolling device we’d rarely be able to pry from their clutches.
Just a decade ago this was all ranch land
“Once traditional farming systems have been destabilised by the debt-trap of subsidised loans, structural adjustment policies, corporate input regimes, global supply chains, patented seeds and monocultural production, mass migration to cities becomes an inevitability engineered from above. The city thus absorbs the displaced because the countryside has been systematically stripped of opportunities or carved up for infrastructure or real estate schemes.”
What if we’d been given the actual choice, not the strategically invented one, between our current paradigm of progress as a global militarized surveillance state and the ‘stagnation’ where the Eastern Bloc resided for half a century?
This, or this?
Electric prison bars or progress?
Do folks really think WHEN this whole shitshow goes tits-up there will be government funding for the clean-up and restoration of this once beautiful land?
That I don’t want this EVER, for ANYONE makes me some kind of bitter-clinger communist?
“ALA’s annual State of the Air report found that 156.1 million people—46 percent of the population—now live in counties with failing grades for ozone or particle pollution, nearly 25 million higher than last year. Previously less-affected areas, such as Minneapolis, saw significant spikes in unhealthy air days tied to climate-exacerbated wildfires and particle pollution, such as dust.”
Universities funded by public-private partnerships clandestinely tamper with our atmosphere using euphemistically-named scientific jargon like ‘Plume dispersions’ as if this is not mass poisoning?
A hellscape of ‘progress’ in the form of the most ugly, extractive and intrusive landscapes imaginable?
How did ‘WE’ win in this global game that began long before I was born?
What kind of twisted minds call this progress? We have 70 years of documented atmospheric tampering while officialdom continues in denying its impact, which is now going into overdrive while the voices of the livid citizenry, especially those losing their livliehoods in the rural regions, get squashed. Same as it always was.
“Similarly, Gerard Winstanley, writing in the 17th century, envisioned a society in which land and labour were shared as a common good, not commodities to be exploited. His insistence on communal responsibility and ecological justice underscores the radical, enduring potential of agrarian ethics against the logic of extraction and profit.
In this light, the critique of urban-centric development becomes more than an economic critique. It represents a challenge to the very definition of progress. The rejection of the celebratory narrative of neoliberal modernity is a philosophical insistence that a society cannot be judged by its technological prowess while its ecological foundations crumble and its people are alienated from the sources of life.
The modern city, therefore, becomes a battleground where two visions of civilisation confront one another: the dominant model of corporate-led, centrally managed growth and the fragile but persistent ethic of stewardship, locality and shared responsibility. As made clear in my new open access book, The Agrarian Imagination: Development and the Art of the Impossible (available here), genuine human development cannot be measured by urban skylines or GDP figures but by the survival of relationships between people, land and community that give meaning to life.”
Just a couple of vids to share today. I have not (yet) done any sort of deep dive on the Hill Country flooding. I have heard some of the speculation and I’m sure readers could guess my opinion to any question of whether this was a ‘natural’ disaster.
I was confused by this first video showing how quickly the flooding happened in an area that was getting no rain at the time. It looks like something from an amusement park. But, I did hear they opened certain dams in some areas to divert the intense water flow, so maybe that could help explain it. I’m going to look into this part of the operation in future.
What’s far easier to see is the current government propaganda drive, and it’s thick and multi-layered. We’ve got promises of disclosure coming from stooges and patsies being played as blame gets shifted and terminology gets altered.
We will not be led into their narrative spin cycle. That’s why I’ve included the 2nd video. The Spinners want the public blaming small, local cloud-seeding operations, not the global military operations.
NOLAButterfly is the researcher of the 2nd video and has been active for a very long time. Notice how few views she gets, how little exposure. I’ve seen her kicked off multiple channels over the years and get in heated arguments with top researchers like Jim Lee, who definitely looks to me like he’s joined the dark side.
I cannot say if her theories are correct. I can say her silencing speaks volumes to me. From what I’ve experienced and seen myself, I believe she has some very plausible ideas backed by research. She explains clearly in the vid what she sees happening and it’s worth a listen.
Click on the link for the 2nd video, because the embed doesn’t work properly with Rumble videos.
I can relate, I fail them all the time. But that’s not this post.
Here we have two excellent essays that make me think, if this is the new level of social programming, I finally might abide!
Can they teach this in the schools? I might even go back to teaching! (Ok, let’s not exaggerate. We prefer our wee homestead life, even through the weather disasters, great many failures and physical pain.)
I’ve selected my favorite bits, there’s much more to appreciate on each of these Substacks, just follow the links.
The Coward’s Bargain: How We Taught a Generation To Live In Fear by Josh Stylman
“This wasn’t an accident or an overreaction. This was a stress test of how quickly a free society could be transformed into something unrecognizable, and we failed spectacularly. Anyone who actually followed the science understood the only pandemic was one of cowardice. Worse, most people didn’t even notice we were being tested. They thought they were just “following the science”—never mind that the data kept changing to match the politics, or that questioning anything had somehow become heretical. The beautiful thing about this system is that it’s self-sustaining. Once you’ve participated in the mob mentality, once you’ve policed your neighbors and canceled your friends and stayed silent when you should have spoken up, you become invested in maintaining the fiction that you were right all along. Admitting you were wrong isn’t just embarrassing—it’s an admission that you participated in something monstrous. So instead, you double down. You disappear when confronted with inconvenient facts.
Raising Prisoners And this brings us back to the children. They’re watching all of this. But more than that—they’re growing up inside this surveillance infrastructure from birth. The Stasi’s victims at least had some years of normal psychological development before the surveillance state kicked in. These kids never get that. They’re born into a world where every thought might be public, every mistake permanent, every unpopular opinion potentially life-destroying. The psychological impact is devastating. Research shows that children who grow up under constant surveillance—even well-meaning parental surveillance—show higher rates of anxiety, depression, and what psychologists call “learned helplessness.” They never develop internal locus of control because they never get to make real choices with real consequences. But this goes far deeper than helicopter parenting. The ability to hold unpopular opinions, to think through problems independently, to risk being wrong—these aren’t just nice-to-haves. They’re core to psychological maturity. When you eliminate those possibilities, you don’t just get more compliant people; you get people who literally can’t think for themselves anymore. They outsource their judgment to the crowd because they never developed their own.”
The COVID Conformity Test This is how totalitarian thinking takes root—not through jackbooted thugs, but through a million small acts of self-censorship. When a venture capitalist whispers his concerns about immigration policy like he’s confessing to a thought crime. When successful professionals agree with dissenting views privately but would never defend them publicly. When speaking obvious truths becomes an act of courage rather than basic citizenship. Orwell understood this perfectly. In 1984, the Party’s greatest achievement wasn’t forcing people to say things they didn’t believe—it was making them afraid to believe things they weren’t supposed to say. “The Party seeks power entirely for its own sake,” O’Brien explains to Winston. “We are not interested in the good of others; we are interested solely in power.” But the real genius was making citizens complicit in their own oppression, turning everyone into both prisoner and guard.”
Neutralization: How Bureaucracies Silence Dissent Through Legal Fuses and Narrative Control by Luc Lelievre
Institutional power rarely reveals its full mechanics in one stroke. Instead, it unfolds in sequences—calculated, procedural, and often cloaked in the language of neutrality. Neutralization, the fourth installment in Luc Lelièvre’s Unbekoming series, dissects this final movement in the choreography of bureaucratic suppression. Building on prior analyses—Heresy, which outlined how dissent is ideologically framed as deviant; Suppression, which explored institutional mechanisms of exclusion; and Omission, which detailed the structural design behind silencing—this essay turns its attention to the silent sophistication of neutralization: the use of legal fuses, narrative gatekeepers, and administrative dead-ends to reroute dissent and erase its public trace.
7. Administrative Gaslighting and the “Fuse Effect”: When Bureaucracy Becomes Theatre
Modern bureaucracies rarely operate through overt acts of repression. Instead, their preferred mode of silencing is procedural — a form of administrative gaslighting that cloaks itself in language of due process while subtly eroding the dissident’s credibility. This technique is not accidental; it is designed.
One illustrative method is what could be termed the “fuse effect”: low-visibility actors within the institutional machinery are positioned to execute decisions that carry legal or symbolic consequences, thus absorbing the potential fallout. These operatives — often legal clerks, junior lawyers, or regional representatives — function as buffers. When the dissident challenges a structural injustice, it is these intermediaries who respond, allowing higher-level decision-makers to remain untouched by controversy. The system insulates itself from reputational risk while continuing its work of marginalization.
But when these “fuses” begin to fail — either through overreach or exposure — institutions escalate. They deploy higher-profile agents, such as communications directors or legal executives, who are tasked with closing the file definitively. In my own case, the surprising intervention of a top-level official from a legal commission — someone with no adjudicative mandate — reveals just how far the institution was willing to go to protect the official narrative. Rather than engage the constitutional merits of my claim, it chose to obscure them through authority signaling and symbolic closure.
This bureaucratic theatre plays out under the guise of objectivity. But for those of us who have documented each step, the pattern is unmistakable: delegitimize the voice, dilute the argument, displace responsibility. These are not failures of oversight; they are evidence of design.
The question, then, is no longer whether the dissident is “right” or “wrong” by institutional standards. It is whether he can endure — and expose — the machinery that seeks to erase him. In that sense, the public record becomes not only a site of resistance, but a form of protection.
A flock, it is not. There will never be a revolution in America.
More like, when I say jump . . .
Kinda like Bugs Bunny getting his feet shot at while Yosemite Sam demands he ‘Dance!’. . .
It’s a relationship.
Americans will never revolt. They will never rebel. I’m not talking our military here, I’m talking the people, the masses, who will gladly vote for war if they are commanded by their team, but who will never en masse lift a finger in inconvenience to support it. A placard, perhaps. But not a pinky finger otherwise.
Why? This man nails it and it’s so spot on I fear reposting it. Truth bombs this huge are usually dropped by assets. Even listening can get you on a list, I’m sure. Because, America is so damn free.
But this murdering convert to Islam is correct nonetheless. Our guns can’t save us from, or in, this battle. We have already lost. We were conquered from within long before this current administration. We do not have the heart to rebel because rebellion and revolution require artists, the kind of artists, and warriors, who cannot be bought. We don’t have that, we haven’t had that for a long time now. We have conformity, collusion, corruption and therefore we’ve got what we deserve. Politics is downstream from culture.
Start at the 1:15 mark, it’s only about 10 minutes, and it’s brutal. Not for the feight of heart, I’m afraid, but absolutely the truth as I see it. Listen and weep, or not.
What do you think? Have you had a personal experience of transformation through art?
I wrote my Master’s thesis on social engineering in 90s, before I had any idea what social engineering was. I didn’t know at the time that’s what I was writing about. The thesis was about women writers of francophone West Africa using their novels as a means to catalyze social change. Liberation through literature, I called it, where practices like polygamy, female genital mutilation, and lack of educational opportunities were voiced in fictional form by the otherwise voiceless.
Certainly it is not at all uncommon for writers to use their works toward such ends. And yet, something about the timing of my thesis, or perhaps the content, resonated less with others than I expected.
I found that instead ‘Art for art’s sake’ had become the more popular mode of the times and works that were considered to be ‘too pedantic’ (which seemed to mean any fictional work with a purpose other than sheer entertainment) were heavily criticized.
I tried for years to pitch similar ideas for publishing to various entities and could find no interest and quite a lot of criticism. Folks wanted to be entertained, not taught. If they had to learn something, they wanted it tightly obscured in a bubble of excitement, like a Dan Brown novel.
But times seem to have changed again and authors and artists with a serious message, with deep societal concerns, seem to be able to find, or are perhaps themselves creating, a growing audience hungry for their transformational content.
It reminds me of some of the criticisms I heard in the 90s—art is not meant to transform or educate, but rather has the sole purpose to simply express the subjective worldview of the creator. Any feelings of universality in a work of art is essentially meaningless coincidence. Art should not be held in the clutches of meaning-making. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Art cannot be personally or socially transformative, except to the artist himself, that is an establishment myth of conformity.
I even had an artist friend, with an art degree, who assisted at a gallery, try to insist to me that the glass flask full of the artist’s excrement (I’m not joking) was to be considered art just as much as any old famous painting.
So I’m very pleased to see this more recent ‘re-formation’ to art with purpose. But, I wonder, can it actually be transformative? Or were all those critical voices in the 90s correct?
What do y’all think?
Here’s a couple of amazing pieces which might have such power. Do you know of others to share? If so, please do link below!
In Shadow: A Modern Odyssey
Kingdom
These works are both by: Lubomir Arsov and you can find an excellent interview with him here:
The Hate spewed in this tirade is not politically motivated, nor is it the result of biases toward any ethnic group, nor gender-oriented ideology nor philosophy, nor tribe, nor nation, nor social collective, market, herd, country, continent, school of thought or fish, sea or sea-adjacent, corporation, cooperative, nor any other type of group, at any time in past or present or future.
This will be Hate directed squarely at specific individuals, mostly for their overarching idiocy, blind obedience, gaslighting or other dainty bullshit* and general full-fledged and undeniable assholery. These would be individuals for whom my disdain and contempt has been building, decades in some instances, seconds in others.
This is not your average rant or shitposting. Therefore it will be organized in proper form, beginning with Silver level Hatred, then proceeding to Bronze level, and ending with Platinum.
In no way can my Hateful Epic Tirade be confused with a real Hate Crime, of the variety of famous (or infamous, depending on his audience), Mr. CJ Hopkins, currently awaiting his second trial in New Normal Berlin. That’s because real Hate Crimes are against groups, particularly those groups with a shitload of power.
Mr. Hopkins deserves his prosecution for so hatefully opposing many such VIP groups. Too many to count surely, but most certainly he is an enemy of the totalitarian State by any measure. He made a grave mistake of criticizing it repeatedly on various public forums and a great many suffered for his actions, so there must be strict punishment.
Besides, any satirist worth his salt should spend time in prison, it’s like a rite of passage. It will ultimately improve his work, so I hope he understands it will be worth it. That is, if he lives long enough to get out. And even if not, great satirists often get even funnier after they’re dead. It’s mystical or something.
But I do not like the idea of spending heaps of sums (which I don’t have) on attorneys, or the threat of a ruined career (too late) and jail time (been there too) by being hateful to any group, powerful or otherwise.
Therefore I’m focusing my Hate directly on the individuals who engendered that hatred by their own actions, or lack thereof.
Before proceeding I’d also like to clarify that my hatred does not extend to violence, nor to the threat of violence. I want to make it perfectly clear that while, yes, I am indeed armed, I am not dangerous.
Furthermore, I’m a terrible shot and get frightfully nervous and shaky when alarmed, and I probably couldn’t manage to shoot a pair of balls at close range, eyeballs or otherwise.
So, to get on with it!
The Silver Level Hatred is awarded to my neighbor, Herr Blackheart. His crime is being a belligerent idiot. Idiocy is one thing, we all have to tolerate it regularly, this is part of the invisible social contract no one signed.
Belligerent idiocy is common as well, but it’s far more dangerous. Herr Blackheart is bullying and condescending and adolescent and has the social graces of a shanked hog.
And he has the infuriating gall to go on and on about the pristine air quality of our skies!
I can only assume he means in comparison to the slums of New Delhi in winter. Otherwise he might have earned a Bronze or even a Platinum award for the level of Hatred he was able to inspire in me.
A man so willfully blind he laughs out loud as he yells about his army of friends in the aviation industry, who all (shockingly) tow the company lines: Chemtrails are a conspiracy theory! Geoengineering is not real! You are a crazy lady! Stop bothering us!
And furthermore, weather modification is awesome, so there!
Some day we will control the weather and he who controls the weather will control the world!
YEEHAW!
Moving on.
The Bronze Level Hatred is awarded to my former dentist in Arizona, a total Jackass of epic proportion, who is really lucky I can’t remember his name.
Jackass was forced on me by my insurance plan and I had to suffer his arrogant used car salesman tactics for a year before I could switch. He employed all the well-worn tricks to get me to purchase every product and procedure available at his Uber High-Tech office with an unusally large staff of all young and beautiful female assitants. My teeth aren’t white enough, straight enough, clean enough, my gums are receding, I need a root canal, and maybe another.
I’m super surprised he never tried to send me to his 2nd cousin in Albequerque for a boob job.
And, I’d bet the farm he was on drugs, amphetamines of some sort. He would hit nerves I didn’t even know I had, and then claim I was being too sensitive.
Too sensitive, eh? Perhaps I didn’t have the same degree of drugged blood necessary as to render me as insensitive as being in his presence required. (Perhaps because he and his staff were sniffing off the top a little too much?)
Too bad I can’t invite him to sit in my magic chair of torture and drill into his brain, just a little. With an entourage of uniformed pretty boys gazing on.
Don’t let the bland eyes and penciled-in eyebrows fool you, this is one mean career Tyrant standing here!
The Platinum level Hate goes to Frau Ines Karl, the Hate-Crime Commissar of New Normal Berlin.
This is my personal gift, since I can’t afford a financial donation, on behalf of the Hate Crimes trials of Mr. CJ Hopkins. I know, that’s mighty white of me, as the saying goes. I will avoid taking a bow for humility’s sake.
I just think he needs some solidarity at the moment and even though he has been terribly Hateful to many VIP groups, he has been far too kind to the garden variety Tyrants he’s been exposed to on a daily basis for quite some time.
I know he’s a very courageous individual, but he’s hardly in a position to put any Hate down on any one person, especially if said person has the power to put him in prison for three years. Or more. Or less. Her whim, I suppose.
Not that he doesn’t deserve to be in prison, that’s been established in the previous paragraph: All good satirists deserve to go to prison. It enriches their work. Really, she’d be doing him, as well as his international audience, a great service.
But since I know that’s not her motivation, she gets the full reward of my individualized Hate.
I know some of you are probably thinking she doesn’t deserve that, from me certainly, who has never even met her, or heard her name spoken before this day. Hate, well-tended, does tend to come on suddenly, and be transferable. It’s mystical or something.
While you may be right about that, it’s beside the point. I stand with Mr. Hopkins. He is not able to Hate on her, maybe he doesn’t even hate her at all, so clearly, it’s up to me.
Right here you can see he’s being far too kind to this career Tyrant.
“I don’t want to impugn her competence as a Senior Public Hate-Crime Prosecutor or in any way suggest that the “lengthy review process” of her understanding of the law (including the concept of “the rule of law” in non-totalitarian societies) conducted by the Judges’ Election Committee and the Office for the Protection of the Constitution prior to turning her loose on the public following the collapse of the GDR was … well, anything less than adequate, but, if Germany is going to continue to claim that it has any respect for basic democratic principles — not to mention its own constitution — someone might want to take Ines Karl aside and explain that political dissent is not a crime.
Or, on second thought, maybe it is now. In which case, it would helpful if the German authorities would drop the “Germany is a democratic state under the rule of law” crap and just go openly totalitarian. It would certainly be less confusing.”
Tyrants, please have mercy on Mr. Hopkins, just look how sad and confused he is!
You see, he’s confused. I get it! I just want to help.
This Tyrant has made a long and successful career out of prosecuting Haters, so being a Hater myself, I feel justified to a bit of long-distance revenge.
“Senior Public Hate-Crime Prosecutor Ines Karl began her distinguished prosecutorial career back in the GDR, i.e., the German Democratic Republic, the judiciary of which convicted roughly 200,000 people of political crimes during its 40-year existence.”
I’ve reserved a special Hate-On Voodoo Supreme Package I learned deep in the swamps of Plaquemines Parish before the arrival of the Great Hurricane Katrina of the Raytheon Empire. This ritual can only be performed on the Sabbath of the 56th year of the Holy Birth of the Phantom Shelle.
And it just so happens that’s coming up at the end of this month!
Prepare for a Major Hate Flow coming your way Frau Karl of New Normal Berlin!
*Dainty bullshit, is the popular expression attributed to shitposting professional, Decker, of the esteemed blog: Dispatches from the Asylum.
“The realization that these diseases declined without the presence of any vaccines is pretty damning in and of itself. However, there is a trick that is regularly utilized in order to create the illusion that the introduction of a vaccine was the reason for any decrease and eventual disappearance of a specific disease and its associated “virus.” This trick is the reclassification and rebranding of the exact same symptoms of disease into many other separate and new diseases. This shuffling of the same symptoms into different categories is another factor, along with better sanitation and nutrition, for a perceived decrease in these diseases. This can be easily demonstrated by looking at both smallpox and polio as, even though these diseases are said to be either “eradicated” or close to it, the same symptoms still persist under various other names. Let’s take a look at both of these situations and see what we can reveal about the magician’s tricks.”
Well worth the read.
What’s the real problem with folks’ health? Hmmmm . . . .
So many stories not told. They don’t fit the mold.
While the same stories are repeated over and over. The approved stories, with the approved arcs and twists, capturing audiences beyond time and space.
Hero or Villain? Victim or Culprit?
The ordinary stories of ordinary folks are bypassed. Not sexy enough. Not dramatic enough. Too slow-paced. Not Catchy. Or spicy. Or click-baity.
Not nearly sticky enough.
Stories must be sending the right message. Clicking the right boxes in the right moments in the accepted paradigm according to the right models.
Triumph over adversity are ultimately the only stories allowed. Even the stories of failed heroes are spun in such a light, otherwise they are considered ‘dystopian’. And even then we see tragic heroes ‘set free’ by their surrender to the ‘greater force’ or ‘liberated’ by a merciful death.
How the stories are told indicate what the audience will perceive. Here I provide some examples.
These are all still ‘my stories’, just spun to be acceptable, or not. My goal here is to get folks to question WHY certain stories sell. Is it a matter of authentic taste? Of expectation? Of social programming?
Is it the audience who choose, or someone else, perhaps more subtly who chooses for you?
Here are some stories never told, true (ish) stories from my own life. You be the judge/critic/pretend publisher and let me know.
***
While in NOLA, a hurricane. The story that would sell: Young teacher moves to New Orleans for her new position at a prestigious Southern university one week before the most devastating hurricane in its history. She evacuates to a remote part of the Louisiana bayou and learns about Creole and Cajun history and music and cuisine and finally settles in the region of the native Caddo tribe to study Pre-Colombian cultures of the Deep South.
The story that won’t sell: Young teacher moves to New Orleans for her new position at a prestigious Southern university one week before the most devastating hurricane in its history. She evacuates to a remote part of the Louisiana bayou and learns about weather modification and clandestine military operations pertaining to centralized, unelected power structures controlling the U.S. government.
***
While in Galveston, a hurricane. The story that would sell: Couple not long ago evacuated from New Orleans experiences second 100-year hurricane evacuation after just three years. After being forced to split up in order to continue working, they blow through a decade of savings, suffer marital issues and nearly divorce, but are called by God to settle in the remote hills of East Texas to build a homestead.
The story that won’t sell: Couple not long ago evacuated from New Orleans experiences second 100-year hurricane evacuation after just three years. Wife begins seriously researching ‘chemtrails’ and learns about the 70+ years of weather modification that leads her to the ongoing Geoengineering projects—that is the global ‘climate remediation’ experimentation, much of it covert operations of global public-private partnerships with zero accountability or known oversight.
***
While in Elkhart, a tornado. The story that would sell: Couple experiences third weather disaster and nearly loses home and wife talks of ‘meeting death’. She finds God, Jesus, Mohammed, Buddha, Enlightenment and starts a fundamentalist cult which then gets attacked Waco-style by the government and all cultists die in flames.
The story that won’t sell: Couple experiences third weather disaster and nearly loses home and wife talks of ‘meeting death’. She turns to herbalism and organic gardening and a life of quiet reflection about the nature of evil and tyranny and the statist system broken beyond repair and the inadequacies of every group-think solution to this issue, including the anarchy renamed voluntarism and the so-called ‘mystery schools’ and the exhausting rehashing of ‘Prophecy’ and is just generally permanently dissatisfied with all the solutions and proposals she’s ever heard, and she’s heard a fucking ton of them by now.
She discovers a mass effort at brainwashing against the ‘victim’ —some kind of crazy signaling effort of victims to rally other victims, and wonders who does this attitude really serve? So, we ‘victims’ are now considered by the establishment as of a ‘dark triad’ type (witches?) if we don’t spin our circumstances to always be whistling while we work, in whatever chaotic wind they care to bare down on us. Or so it would seem.
“Victim signaling, defined as ‘public and intentional expressions of one’s disadvantages, suffering, oppression, or personal limitations’ is strongly correlated (r = .52) with Dark Triad personality traits”.
