"Kinda Like a Dwarf Star, Sucking its Stomach in To Impress The Girls, Until... It... Turns... Into... One."

Dog Poet Transmitting.......

The 24-7 Traveling Kanye Soap Opera, and... Ego-dancing Conga Line has been... shudder... debanked by the Professional Victim Industry of The Most Put Upon and Blameless Among Us. Those who you are NOT ALLOWED TO CRITICIZE... because everyone is mean to them, for... no... reason, have now gone after one of their own puppet creations for not kissing The Divine Clefted Shrine of his betters. You know... the people with The Slaveship Franchise; one of the first prototypes of McDonald's??? Only they don't serve you hamburgers. They turn... you... into... hamburger, and your children into sashimi. Word!

Kanye, whose level of talent couldn't make the top ten of America's Least Wanted, did not... in my opinion, (and... let me reiterate once more with feeling) have much more than marginal talent in an industry based on venomous treacle-vomit... turned into Soylent Green.

This... is... just... my... opinion, cause, you (the reader) might also have never read a book in your life or heard The Beatles... or Pavarotti... or Perry Como... Frank Sinatra... or Elvis Presley; people... who... could... sing... is what I mean. He can't write. He can't sing. He can't dance. He's not funny. Have you read the lyric sheets to his work?!?!?

Maybe I am being a snob. Maybe I bought myself a membership in The Intelligentsia... or some group of people who debate the value of what is supposed to pass for art, BUT... I don't get it. I don't get that whole area of painful, throbbing, incoherent perversions of noise and nonsense. Am I a Luddite? Am I an anachronism? I don't know. Let me apologize for, possibly, having insulted the greatest thing since sliced bread. (No... I am not saying what kind of bread (it rhymes with Wonder Bread)

Anyway... this isn't even about Kanye. I long ago said my few words at the grave site of his mind. I even tossed my cuppa dandelion tea into the hole that was supposed to contain something that went missing and has never again been seen... since. This is about The Financial Censure coming down on him from... those... we... are... not... allowed... to... criticize.

I'm not intimidated. I just wanted to say that.

Despite my lack of appreciation for him as an artist, Kanye is FINALLY doing something useful AND courageous with his celebrity.

As a recording artist, I have had my share of bad encounters with these hoodlums. In fact... those are the ONLY encounters I had with them, and their treatment of me was worse than the usual treatment given out by those we call The Usual Suspects (which I notice all kinds of other people are now using).

They took my recordings and ran them through certain processors and rendered them unintelligible. You could not hear what I was saying, and then... this vampire who owned his own record company and had been ripping off black jazz artists for decades, through his ESP-Disk, then used his connections with CBS-Sony and Rounder Records, to release two albums of mine into the Tower Records system internationally. They sank like a stone.

A fellow who was involved in the engineering, and had previously worked for The Jefferson Airplane and a number of other popular bands contacted me to apologize. He said that was what the producer, Bernard Stollman asked for. His brother was head of Columbia Records in the UK. When I contacted Bernard's wife, Flavia, she said- he said- it made the music sound more authentic; the words are the whole point of what I do. There have been other offenses. AS... GOD... IS... MY... WITNESS, I bear no hard feelings. The Grace and Mercy that God has shown me wipe out, forever, any rancor I could ever feel for anyone.

Now they own and control Social Media, where they have birthed Cancel Culture and widespread programming of The Hive Mind... with ever-more-depraved sexual perversities. They KNOW what's coming, so... they are determined to head themselves off at The Pass. Cry On Babylon! Tick... tick... tick... people. There is NO EXIT without tagging and branding. The marks go on your soul, AND... neffah forget... Evil destroys itself... so do those acting as a medium for it.

They've been hanging out in Google's Mother's basement. Of course, Google doesn't have a mother; No! Wait! Shelob is Google's mother, and her basement is a web. It's an internal viscosity that adheres to every effort made in the direction of freedom... and eventually crystallizes into something like Concentrate of Petroleum, resulting in a substance that resembles black amber. I guess you know I'm talking about Materialism again. It is a dense darkness. It gets hotter toward the core; kinda like a dwarf star sucking its stomach in to impress the girls, until... it... turns... into... one.

Gone beyond the reach of pronouns; he found himself in a foreign land of dangerous adjectives and verbs that never stop moving... where everyone sounds like John Fetterman doing Shakespeare. I speak of The Apocalyptic Metrosexual; those doomed to the hard highway of Materialism, and the emptiness of Material Joy; of... which... there... is... none.

Mr. Apocalypse is the hardest-working man in the revelation business. Everywhere THEY are being exposed to the eyes of The World. I'm talking about the ones who used to get away with lying because no one knew what the truth was. The Awakening is taking care of that in LA... and Chicago... and New Yawk... and larger and smaller concentrations of humanity in concrete wonderlands, devoid of all wonder... far and wide.

Every... single... day... now, we are hearing about this poor unfortunate, and that poor unfortunate... who got their tits caught in the dead ringer of pretending to be what they are not, and pocketing everything they could steal that wasn't nailed down. Then they went out and bought crowbars.

Materialism comes to a point of its highest possibilities. That was probably around Ozzie and Harriet Time as drawn by Norman Rockwell. Then there is a long and progressive slide downwards into Babylon... and all that willing (and unwilling) flesh. The Eat – Drink – and be - Merry crowd has hit town, and they are looking to get way... down.

Stupidity is celebrated. Kardashian and her Reality-Hell tagalongs are The Royal Family of 3-D printed stool sculptures. Human hippos... the poster-children of unbridled excess... dance and cavort as the new sex symbols. Flesh is God! they cry. God is Sex AND Sensation! All you see is all there is! Consume until you explode like Mr. Creosote.

Well, that was a little travelogue through my mind, which happens when I wander into the blasted landscape of zombies who don't know they're dead yet, or... that they ever lived. This is not an area I enjoy talking about. I did plenty of that in The Early Days here, when satire and sarcasm were more my cup of tea. It's still going to happen now and again until my Reactive Mind is stilled by the angel appointed to that task.

I started with Visible Origami because I wanted to talk about God and metaphysics. As my readers became more widespread, the other blogs came along. Traffic got pretty high for a few years until I decided to talk about God more often than I had. The traffic got shot down... minimized, and... it made no appreciable difference from what I can see. Never mind... ancient history.

You ain't seen nothing yet. I think I can guarantee that. What is about to go down in the next few years is... beyond my desire to talk about it. I can't give you details. I can see the broad strokes and also the inevitability of certain Trends and Patterns. As your own Karma melts away, it is much easier to see what is going on... since you are no longer a part of it.

It's like taking steps back... many... many steps back, and as you do, the land is rising behind you... the panorama stretches out and... you get a view. This naturally expands the more you internalize. That seems to make no sense, but... that's as close as I can get to saying it.

We are all in motion. Because of The Gunas, we cannot fail to stay in motion, whether we want to or not. We are whirled on karmic tracks like slot-cars. The Mercy and Compassion of God free us from this. It causes The Divine Mother to... let... you... go. Then... your unspeakable joy at your great good fortune causes you to be compelled to tell others about it.

Sometimes... in early days or... because of a wider reach, people you probably shouldn't be talking to, come upon your efforts, and coals of fire appear virtually upon their heads, and they become very angry with you. I think this is where I say... it comes with the territory. Ageless Wisdom is in extreme disrepute with The World. Religions get very antagonistic. Governments have concerns about how it might play in Boise. The Media gets hemorrhoidal indigestion, which is a heartburn reversing its course. The Truth is ALMOST NEVER going to win a popularity contest, BUT... what do I care? Everything... is... Under... Control.

Believe it or not... it is so. Tick... tick... tick... people.

End Transmission.......

There are no links today. That just seems to happen. Whaddaya gonna do?