Category: mythology

It’s not a surprise anymore to find people on this timeline, most identified as the year 2025, that have a conspiratorial sense that something is afoul in the structure of social organization, culture, and governance. The inconsistencies and incoherence of reports from around the world, as well as, progressively more suspicion regarding history initiates and drives this sense. When that sense crystalizes into understanding, a reconciliation of terms becomes an issue and a challenge. Why are so many elements of our lives so mixed up?

If it were just mixed up, that would be one thing. Existence in the terrestrial realm is under threat. So whether your medical treatment has intensified, your education confusing, your environment contaminated, swamped or incinerated, or some missile has just hit your neighborhood threat is manifesting. It’s spread like wild fire. It’s near impossible to miss, and the initiation of the threat is sourced. Earth is, and has been, threatened by predatory beings. Shameless parasitic beings that have leveraged a key amount of informational and linguistic twists to mind boggle the human race so severely that we’re actively participating in suicide on an installment plan. The last bastion of survival instinct is manifesting as a sense of conspiracy. There can’t be any compassion in the drivers of this destructive programming. In my view, the state of affairs would never have reached this point, could not have reached the point, if the agencies pushing it were capable of stopping. The predatory class will not stop pursuing its mission until everything is wasted. Period.

The spiritual force pushing this movement of unwell ness, domination, and harm feeds on conflict. This is a spirit entity that has no regard for fact or truth. It doesn’t care about wrong or right, as long as there’s a fight. The predators feed off conflict and fighting. I realized a way to infect the systems of hurt with a love virus… I have been in perpetrator space.

Innocently enough, I found myself in the home of an international banking conglomerate family member. I hadn’t previously had any idea who these people were. There was no opulence in this place. It was a cluttered, dimly lit, musty place. It was also modest and surrendered to the kind of housekeeping you might think of as a type of forsaken lazy. There’s not a lot going on here. The homeowners are off to one of their other homes. The man of the house stops by occasionally to use the local airport at which his plane is parked. The home itself seems to be a repository of once used domestic artifacts, and an abundance of tchotchkes. All these knick knacks everywhere create cheesy cheap feel. I’ve been hired by this burly contractor to work on this place. The home is in state of can’t be bothered overall neglect, and needs improvement, repair, and maintenance. Now I find myself in this cluttered room with a task to do. The boss is off somewhere, and I’m trusted to be in here by myself. No problem. Just got to make room to get to the inside of this window that needs replacing. This little table with these little foreign land figurines needs to be moved. I do the next out of order thing. Rather than clear the table and then move it, I just grab it and try balancing the stuff on it while I move it. Of course… tip, spill, fall! Two of these little eastern looking figures hit the floor. They both break.

Now what!? After beating myself up for having been negligently lazy, a plan began developing. Fix them… The fix it plan was juxtaposed with the more responsible thought of telling the boss. These two thoughts volleyed back and forth as the broken pieces were gathered on to a paper towel. All in all, the two figurines that broke added up to the size of two matchbox cars. They were two of thousands of little statues that were placed all about, in every room, stairwell, and hallway. They were everywhere. The final shot of the thought volley landed in the wrap it up and run court. The wrapped up paper towel holding the pieces was placed safely in the back seat of my truck.

On the kitchen table back at my house the figurines underwent a type of emergency layman’s kintsugi. With a little extra Crazy Glue gilding over the fracture and some blended water color paint these items were ready for return. The next day they went right back into the original location from which the handy man had so carelessly moved them. Life goes on. There they were left in hidden posterity with only the wonder about whether or not they would fall under the kind of scrutiny that would reveal the repair. Who knows?

Years later it stuck me that these pieces were ‘out there’ somewhere. What if either one, or both, are still in the space shared by members of this banking behemoth family which is so often credited with the kleptocratic monopoly activity that glaringly seems to be running the world down? I’m imaging an access port; a quantum access port. Through these figurine kintsugi fractures is an entry way. A means of making a quantum incursion. Ah ha!?! Without having to trespass I will intentionally stream a love signal into the space about the figurine. Let love work its magic. I mean them no harm. Any influence that relaxes the determination of this “stop at nothing” monopoly quest seems welcome to me.

We’ve all got our own inside work to do in terms of reconciling the intense violence suffered in the modern world, and I would prefer to do that without this protracted down pressing by these corporate kleptocrats. There is more than likely an abundance of prayer and intention driven love and healing energy flooding the ether in effort to stop the proverbial bleeding. The kentsugi crack love drip is one person’s life by the drop contribution to a more just and relaxed world.

When the power of love overcomes the love of power the world will know peace.

-Jimi Hendrix

One of the preeminent underestimations is how much alive everything is. Resonating with such constancy in so many ways, understandings about life are left compartmentalized into this or that form thought to be alive. Meanwhile, every perceptible thing is alive in an everlasting living flow field. So, from the sublime to the subliminal, life is the everywhere, all the time, everything. The human kind possess blends of mastery that make expressions of life artistic. Art abounds with the myriad of forms flowing through happenings. From the popular to the underground many of us are drawn to art forms of those that have created in ways that can be tasted, seen, felt, and heard. Notes flow through the ether, meet listeners, is felt, and returned with emotion that is in turn felt player. This closes a circuit of collective creativity. We’re in it together. This is the real dynamic living essence of performance art. It’s alive.

After untold of hours of pursuing performance art, both live and recorded, it’s fair to say that there is a demographic of music people out there. To a certain degree, I’m one of them. Innumerable hours have been spent in all types of listening zones; with radios, phonographs, stereos, and stages. Senses, feelings, responses, and understandings both common and unique have evolved with the listener. Many of these are shared with other listeners. Community comes about. There’s no reason to qualify one artistic form from another. It all has merit, and relates to the verities of existence. Without speaking for others, this is a commentary that is similar with others. The Grateful Dead’s work really hits home. It has made, and continues to, make contributions to my being that can be sensed. There may be other catalogues being covered as much as theirs, but the Dead’s is a lot. It is coming on strong. There are so many people covering Grateful Dead music that some desensitization has happened. So I get a tip. My buddy turned me on to Shakedown Citi.

As far as I can tell, Shakedown Citi is involved with the music, and it with them. This does not seem like a call to reproduce something we loved, liked, and repeatedly listened to. It feels like a living response to a call to expression. The song is the entry point to a vibrant space of spontaneity, improvisation, and jamming. Musical notes make the eternal audible. The dynamics of life played out a note at a time. While popularity may be reserved for the cursed in the modern world, one can only hope that this free feeling space of joy and expression can be held for another minute. It feels like a challenge to make a way through this plastic facsimile world of enforced obviousness. Whenever the genuine artistic article becomes noticed by a critical type of mass it is immediately commandeered for material greed, and exploited. Right now that is not the case with these people. I was standing right next to a person that identified himself as a well informed music culture person. “I thought I knew all The Dead cover bands. How come I have not heard of these guys!?”, he said. A few moments later his spontaneous smile morphed into a mouth agape wonder astonish as the next climax poured over us. “Holy shit…” was his last exclaim.

This online blog is not popular. Neither is Shakedown Citi, as far as I can tell, if the numbers of people in these clubs is any indication. That said, they are playing a special brand of rock and roll right now. Rock and roll in its most metaphysical combinations; inviting, original, vibrant, affirmative, and delivered by a group that works together as Jerry Garcia said, “Like fingers on a hand.” Shakedown Citi is a high achieving ensemble. On top of that, we’re not in security laden antiseptic arena environment. These guys play the rootsy bar/club dens we grew up in. It feels like a type of shelter from the claws of commercialism. These are events for sure. Sweating out the groove together. Privileged I am to have made it into this space. This has been as refreshing an introduction to an art formation, and living essence, as could be hoped for. Fare you well. Till we meet again…

Of course there is more than one direction the life”s path can lead. Just because much of earth’s modern civilization has evolved under the influence of seriously selfish kleptocratic parasites doesn’t mean that the world view, and circumstances, imposed on the members of ‘civil’ societies and the planet at large can’t be transformed and transcended. All that is required is to take an element of what is officially told to be a truth that can’t be challenged, and challenge it. You pick the truth.

This feels like a statement to the obvious. Isn’t it ironic that as the massive build up of contradictory evidence to our enforced historical dogma happens, the behavior of the dogma defenders becomes more and more hysterical and maniacal? Leading the charge of re-evaluation evidence are all the false flags. From 9-11 to October 7, Alfred P Murrah in OKC to 7/7 London Subway Bombing, the Reichstag Fire to Pearl Harbor, and on., and on. Almost as persistent are all the assassinations and ‘suicides’. From the Warren Commission to John Jr, Saddam Hussein to Muammar Gaddafi and the Arab Spring, Deborah Jeane Palfrey to Jeffery Epstein. The tip of the tip of the iceberg of hits and rub outs. A super computer would be required to calculate the body count. Don’t want to forget all the medical weaponry deployed over the generations, and now seen through, from pig flu to bat corona virus, HIV to RSV and beyond, with mercury thimerosal to aluminum adjuvants in the toxicological build up to the mRNA fulfillment of premier bio-hacking. As if all this, right before your eyes, assault were not enough the environment itself is weaponized and contaminated in most ingenious ways. Massive climate control, weather manipulation, EMF and directed energy weapons, MK-Ultra and sensory overload propaganda are everywhere deployed, displayed, revealed, and discovered. All these, and more conspiracy realities, are the rudiments of the total awakening the blood thirsty history writers can’t any more cover. What else are the cowardly war mongering blowhards to do but try to pull society itself down with its floundering, faltering egomaniacal self. The overall puny and feeble failure the stuck on stupid global monopolists are is now fully on display. The only thing standing between disaster and enlightening is the croaking echoes of prideful willful blindness, Stockholm Syndrome, and fear. Subtle but sure denial fatigue has reached a peak. The scales of obedience have tipped and ‘history’s narrators are on the run. The full measure of ‘the enemy within’ has been triggered. Anyone calling for war bombs and violence are on notice. You have way over played your hand, and it shows. Obviously.

It’s a morass. A myriad of perpetual trouble subjects rotate on the media wheel of attention distraction. A morass, sticky and deep, without coherency or reason associated with anything. As soon as legitimate focus begins to override the fraud of subjects like 911, or human trafficking, or bio-weaponry, or any details about the multi-phase malevolence down pressing almost everything on Earth, the subject shifts to the next shock distraction. Who knows, for instance, how long reports of carbon fuel over consumption have been trumpeting? Putting aside the which side is which discussion for now, let’s just say that you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to know that you don’t light fires in a terrarium. How could all this discussion have been anything more than a counter productive waste of time if consumption is peaking right now? Which it most apparently is. The pro generating factions of this discourse can always have their doggon say, but is it really required to listen? The context alone is nothing more than hyperbole madness.

Hyperbole reporting madness in the context of climate control sounds like this bizarre pair of suggestions that the ecology is spared by both collecting solar energy AND dimming the sun. Interference with the exact solar source that is being popularly sold as the solution makes about as much sense as getting some trans-abled elective foot amputation right before a running race. Then getting a foot prosthetic to kick the ass of people that suggest the operation may have been premature. It’s this kind of madness that escapes scrutiny as continuing assaults of bizarre obviousness are jammed down are throats. “Everyone has the right join the running race!!” and “He felt alien in his own body.” are the kind of in your face statements of the obvious without a coherent link of purpose.

None of this would really matter much in a fairy tale, but the stakes are higher. Remarkably insipid regurgitation of virtue signaling, me first attitudes and finger pointing is interference. Who can’t find some self identifying feature of themselves that sets them apart from others? Combine that with the habit of making comparisons, picking out the features of others that make them different too, and the harmony of existence becomes static. In the static field there is a groping for purpose, meaning, and reason. Any resonance of climaxing thoughts, dreams, and expressions is damped down to an amalgam of inconsistencies that makes cosmetic surgery seem attractive, peace by superior force make sense, borrow your way out of debt viable, and AI smart. The pace, place, and path of cultural devolution is a function of scheming power groups that thrive on discordant waste. If one, or any, want for anything but waste, the suspicion of critical thought will be well to make its way through the cracks in the 21st century fraud firewall, and begin flooding the landscape with the songs of heart feeling, heritage, passion, and real.

Stories reach back into ‘history’ with affirming elements that underpin our here and now. Some of these stories are ingrained. Some are abstract reminders of stories once learned or remembered. An overwhelming majority of stories are completely unknown. From myths to tales, rumors and narratives, to news, and beyond a nearly infinite number of storylines go on with their own features without ever cracking the surface of greater awareness. Even stories that are well rehearsed and known have back-stories, satellites, and tangents that are emphasized, obscured, deleted, or distorted according to the will of the teller. Each one has a quantum reality associated with it. So, when some regurgitation is taking place of storylines we are not allowed to forget, a monocular reinforcement is happening. The metaphysic of the moment is chiseled into a grain of understanding that has a purpose for the ones doing the chiseling. This effect on perception reaches all the way into the main frame of genesis. The evolution of understanding very much appears to have atrophy. Critical thought, in vast areas, has been supplanted by untested quasi-cultural icons of, “I told you so.” How does an intelligent race make it from the discourse of Plato to not even knowing who Plato is? That’s just one example of how distantly detached from the rudiments understanding that can happen. This is an abstract cultural dusk. It is fascinating to witness. It’s also inviting a big time awakening. There’s likely to come a point at which Tesla is more about Nikola than an EV.

Think of everything as fiction, and see what resonates. Stories galore pour over us like we’re standing in the mouth of the Cave of the Winds. You try making sense out of this perpetual, massive, dump download reporting, news, and information.

To be continued…

The quantum nature of reality is becoming more and more intriguing. There are subjects that come up that seem, on their face, to be important. Research into them reveals details that also seem important. These are like stories, the elements of which seem like facts. Yet, the same story is thought of an entirely different way in other places. So, like who’s to really say?

I just took a drive. I took a drive through the Adirondacks last week. I was driving for a while, and spending time there when I got there. Spring had sprung. Life was moving, and with the exception of some residual snow in the shadows, all the ice was gone. Sunny, warm, and pleasant in this place where life is generally lived outdoors. No bugs. None. This is a most anomalous feature, this is one of the bug capitals of the world. The Insect Apocalypse headline from a few years back came to mind. I take a look at the front of the vehicle… Remarkably few dead ones on the front of the truck. Where are all the bugs?

I’m a staunch critic of the modern world, and the technologies associated with it, that I believe are doing harm. My buddy and I go back and forth all the time. I have the tendency to say that the sky is falling. I usually hear back that it’s not that bad. I don’t want to jump ugly with this guy, or anybody else for that matter, so I bite my tongue.”There are plenty of bugs down here.” , he says. Questions swim around the pool of my mind. What really does make up the world that’s being perceived? Does news of the world affect actuality? What about placebo, and the power of suggestion? Is the formulation of what is perceived personal? How distinct are reality bubbles? What are the boundaries and elements of our shared reality? How agreeable do we have to be? How much does a personal state of being effect the nature of the reality in which one resides? At the end of the question line I ask myself, Are we perceiving the same phenomena differently, or is what we are seeing actually different? All of a sudden the sense of need to have someone else recognize my view falls way off. The is a brave new version of live and let live.

A persuasive argument tactic of mine is to line up a series of headlines that support some element of the news world, collate the articles in a way that seems coherent, and then download them into someone’s inbox. So whether it’s the insect apocalypse, covert establishment of the Federal Reserve, lunacy of the official 9-11 story, corruption of the health care system, bastardization of our collective history, secrecy of bio-engineering, geo-engineering, and on, and on, I’m making what I always feel is a well supported argument. However, this whole mass of understanding is now up for grabs.

First of all, it is no fun to lower an informational boom on anyone. Gotta figure that we are all entitled to maintaining the trappings of our own space. Who really wants to honor personal liberty and trample it at the same time? Perhaps my delights and troubles are my own; shared or not. The version of every everything is an amalgam of expression catapulted through eternity with cosmic capacities of which only a scintilla can the processor of five senses refine. Hence, some kind of meditation which allows access to effective direct observation of the next scintilla of a greater reality previously not known at all. If nothing else the economy of attention, and the energies of it, can be used in some other way than to try to persuade anyone to see it this way rather than that.

I just met my cousin. We always greet each other with a quick hug. He says, “I’m not feeling well. I don’t want you to catch this.” A quantum notion crossed my mind. Why is it that sickness is contagious, and not wellness? With that came a fearless embrace.

As far as I can tell, human civilization has been faced with this persistent force endeavoring to dominate the earthen realm, and all its resources. So the modern story tracks back. Way back. There are monopolists among us. It has been the progress to monopoly that finds us in the modern world facing a continuous bombardment of leveraged messaging that works, big time, at pushing whole demographics into logjams of lost and/or mistaken identity, hyper fear, disjointed attitudes, and ferociously foolish conclusions. Messaging in the modern world has an aggressive inference of warning, warning, warning. Beware the sun, the economy, the enemy, the virus, the climate, the terrorists, cancer, shortage, politics, the A bomb, germs, beware, beware, beware. On top of all this info domination is the porno pushers full understanding of the psychosomatic and placebo effects of all this stimulus. This is a fear pornography era magnifique. It makes people sick, keeps them lost, and atrophies spirit potentials by interfering with, and handicapping, capacities for growth and development. There is a saving grace. Once this maelstrom is seen for what it is, the will to transcend this compartment of world domination becomes very strong, and the pushers of the hype turn to be pointing in a very effective direction; the exact way to not go. A big key component of this about face is take a deep breath of wellness, and don’t be afraid. Every problem has a solution.

You don’t have to be a meteorologist to see that storms don’t organize the same way long appeared to. We’ve been looking at weather maps our entire lives. Thanks to the news, and eventually the popular Weather Channel, weather maps have been in front of us just like the screen in the front of a class room all this time. Regular weather patterns are ingrained in a lot of us. The where’s, when’s, and how’s of the the blue H’s, red L’s, and front lines have become a sort of informal expertise about what to expect with impending forecasts, plans associated with them, and what weather events look like as they happen. It just became familiar. As weather reporting formulated into sensationalized hype, things changed. I know for myself, the combination of hype and inaccuracy prompted a stop. So, not unlike when you don’t see a kid for a while, the next time you see them they’ve changed a lot. So it is with these weather and radar maps that you see now. Through the end of winter/ beginning of spring here in the northeast of the US the images are an unrecognizable smudge of random, disorganized images. It’s a weather smear.

Weather reporting is officially entertainment in the modern world, so when meteorological terms fail, make more up. Like script writers in an echo chamber, forecast schedulers are forced into running up creative terminology. Programed puppets, aka meteorologists, reflexively spit out the what have you lately terms to describe unprecedented weather events. Terms like weather whiplash, ridiculously resilient ridge, snownadoe, fire weather, and who knows how many more imbecilic terms that are no more scientific than wet rain. All this flimflam comes pouring out the serfs of the corporate conglomerates targeting us with advisory hype. Sure enough, it’s snowing. Never mind that it’s 35 degrees F out there. The cotton ball like “flakes” are adding up. The frozen stuff is sloppy, wet, and heavy. It’s gross. Out of curiosity, I check the local radar. Ok?! There’s the map. There’s no organization at all. This is like a schizophrenic weather hack.

A non traditional river of meteorological flotsam lined up diagonally from the Gulf to Nova Scotia, is smearing randoms spots, and dots, of what must be some form or another of this same slop falling here. Meanwhile the hype sirens are screaming, “Snow in the spring time!!” Thoughts of artificial weather generation drape my mind. Inductions of moisture steered through the ether with injections of endothermic chemical seeds and blasts of microwave pulses tapping the water to ice-hail-crap drop offs. It is intriguing to see how far from natural these events have become, although it’s crushing to know how polluted it is. Ode to a chemical free minute or two. Seems like a lot to ask as we get rubbed with another weather smudge and smear.