Despite my cautions, people have thrown their trust with the Imperial Aquarians. The purpose of this essay is to address the question of whether the phobia that arises from Greta Panic, Australian bushfire, Wuhan flu, and Kobe Bryant’s demise, the milestones of Impeachment and Iranian Ukraine Derby in January 2020, were purchased as a fixture of planning in a top central Mind Game, a phrase I capitalize for the simple reason that Warhol Foundation used Lennon’s song by that name. Foundation, by the way, is not a status I’m inclined to grant them, though presently dis-entitled to deny.
As anyone chatting online discovers, when men are protected by ignorance common errors of reasoning inflate towards being entitled to masquerade for revealed truths. The perpetrators huff that you aren’t paying attention, but they huff in vain, the scrutiny is attentive, although to be truthful medical weariness and infirmity for a former playboy does blearily do this discourtesy it would seem of sharing learning.
The Trump triumph may be so upsetting to the emotional libtard as to quelch discussion but such absence in broken heart of refutation lends itself not at all to reinforcement. The catalog of virtues in police science is too clear and so demolish Trump’s claim to manhood, while forging ahead, presto, at ease, with no need for wariness from suspicion of ventriloquism. Moral rules, with which Trump has no bother, much less mastery, are exact enough to be lenient and yet admit him nowhere in their spectrum.
Turn now, briefly, to the topics of thought, culture and language for the well spent time and tools by which to demonstrate this lawful reassertion of values to be asking ahead of our society’s cream zealots who wreak mayhem and mania on terms they call logos, devoid of sincerity, an affront that Walter Lippman made short work of, despite their lethality, in analysis in the 20’s. There’s no need to bother bestowing diplomatic recognition on the undeserving at Warhol.
This does not deny that the perceptual apparatus is fully armed. They know what they think is true but more importantly they know what you think is true and from there derive their power. This is why we don’t see what they have gotten away with.
Trump, we shall learn, is decisively Crary, he lacks courage, temperance, liberality, munificence, magnanimity, proper ambition, good temper, truthfulness, wittiness, friendliness, modesty, righteous indignation, or the balance needed to navigate complex issues in good behavior. Yet with no nerve agent incurred damage by which to excuse him. Like East Liberty neighborhood telephone directory in the days when I was a kept object of the Wattenmaker division, his realm has a Frankenstein listed on their Bunker Hill where character is void he spurns a summon from Congress.
Police deal with very serious matters but always turn inward and examine their own stake and character in the matter. It is a respectable profession and gives rise to many favorite books. The effect of hatred for police on thought divides our society in ways that allow minions of the past defeated Axis to cater to typecasting in their stage play on our arena of misunderstanding. We need not shun this challenge, for many worthy discourses arise from the conflict of ideas that need straightening out to confront the Warhol behemoth. In this at least I agree with James W. Child for whom I had the privilege of working under a suspicious roof that of Juliet Sellers found in the script who offered herself with onion skin paper on which she’d typed Selling England’s lyrics as a Bronson thought for chicken lickin.
Casual masterpiece that testimony about him has been forced to make do, but not sloppy enough to invoke the trigger word: soliloquy, in regarding Pener Gabriel, what does this morbid joker do day and night that leads to such travesty? As he falls in love with himself for avenging the bitter ronin of WW2, by doing this to someone as an example for his proteges, promising to restore regality to Africa’s fallen Kings, man of duh people? Suffice it, he sneers, that the American retard on glue when Kospa called with Authority, has been extruded. Hell hath no mercy like a rock star appeased.
Beyond the confusion drone of their manufacture for auctioneer, they giggled that in order for British Royalty to reign laconic under awareness that Plague Mass, Ltd. was a prior incorporated Walrus Dominion, they needed a surrogate Royal American for voodoo doll, for none would call it miscarriage if chosen young enough to whimper against the grain of Pittsburgh gummos before the mutilation seed, insufferable with its pale white deaf suck naive idealism, censored by Reuters, what Crimso would call Operation: Barometel.
Defsukke! Now that you KNOWLEDGE the hygienic mastery of Winged UW Admin, you will subordinate yourself to those sacred reflex as did nuh really torture n’you NOW, kowtow to not Hoffa Injun program meister Kazeno with regubering to give them inspiration as they projection the warfare of your psychological satisfaction’s inner joke.
Sacrificialism is known to be hired and sponsored by craven digest of suicide soldiers for John Lennon at the blood-drenched desk of Herr Ono signing dementedly, Gail Burstyn to the cheers of Iowa. But the difference between this Tojo Ronin and Jacqueline Onassis is that the latter was a Mata Hari who slew JFK under cover of expert Hollywood sniper fire, while the former portrayed herself bereaved after her husband’s double dare as a Houdini trick of Warren Commission media from the Outer Limits behind 911, dearests.
Thufir Hawat is an elite science fiction muse by the author of many typecasts which fit nicely to the mold. The shamans believe like he did whole heart and proceed to wrong anyone in their path, a Holy War branch of Beatlemaniac punishing us in the name of KospaSpirit for the mutilation seed of their own sowing. It works a sooth by triggering confusion among those who are not with it. Here then, they slew for Holy Lennon, high Injun dearest, hurrah, how cosmic, and elegant, to limn the tabloids with a faint heart refraction of the celebrity death announced superbug.
Even reading the sisters of Rotterdam who complained of how love is used as bait in human trafficking and shouted down for noting in academics that between bursts of love spray the Beatles battalion constantly glorified songs of murder, they cream in slavery’s joy, Hip Hip for the Lucas saber of Dr. King’s Jedi light. After the panic and die off you will see, renewed by the doctrines of Spike ole Lee such splendid war children we will be.