Midnight Conundrum at the Oasis

I am not good with explosions, rifle fire, and the sound of human or wild creatures screaming in pain or torture. The protective emotional coating I had at one time peeled away like fake wood veneer left to the elements in a landfill. After seeing life’s oneness, I was compelled to see the human underbelly as if suffering from an antediluvian need to cross the river, only because there was a river to cross.

Swinging in my hammock in Progresso, Mexico, I heard the sounds of human horror. As if a western spaghetti movie commenced in front of me in total darkness, I heard the explosions, smelt the burning over the ozone waiving up from the lapping Gulf of Mexico, and felt nothing. No fear encompassed my person and no need to run or scream enveloped me. I swung in the hammock and listened attempting to define who or what was where in the chaos. Silence was more deadly than flashes of gunfire. We waited. All of us at the edge of the sea wondering who was the target and who would be next.

Then a character began to drive up in my mind. It was a wooden creature on wooden wheels the size of a small child’s toy. It was unpainted, tail less, sporting large rabbit like immobile ears and its three feet morphed into wheels far larger than necessary. I looked directly into its blazing red eyes and saw nothing but a glassy abyss. No life existed within it except it kept messaging me with one of the most memorable cartoon lines in history, “What’s up Doc?” This madness would not give up. It assaulted me no matter where I tried to run inside my brain. Under pyramids I imagined the creature driving up where I lay, under the ancient rubble, and announce, “What’s up Doc?” Sitting in trees like a monkey clinging to its mother, it rolled atop the tree branch toward me, and once with in a tail’s reach, belched out, “What’s up Doc?” In retrospect, it was my only bad acid trip. Subsequently, I never dropped LSD, again, or any other psychoactive compounds. This moment I have no idea if what took place on the beachhead was real or a hallucination. The toy is not up for discussion, as it haunts.

Inside my suspended woven rope womb on the edge of the scene after a while, I was so busy inside my imagination trying to run away from the crazed rabbit, I no longer was cognizant of the tribal war going on along the Yucatan shore of ‘reality’. Realizing as I keyboard this writings, such is how a spirit wooden toy saved me from the splintering psyche incidents of the then here and now. Later, someone, a shrink, carved a likeness of the wooden one-liner talking rabbit. Then, one day it rolled out of my life.

Our perceptions about who we are peppered with such symbols of what we wish to be. The task to unveil these mysteries is the purview of psychologists who mush along inside our psyches attempting to help us lead ourselves to integration and, hopefully, actualizing our authentic identity. Many of our species neither enjoy nor possess the overwhelming desire or crisis to bother to see one’s demons let alone comprehend their meaning.

What is valid for me, is without these inherent ego crushings I would be a wine of vague flavors, fuzzy scent, and formless intent. Such distinguishing events formulate and colorize my whole persona and why I remember them, as you do yours. These pivotal upheavals are not shared in the moment, only in remembrance.

Wise ones blabber such predicaments are the euphonies of the soul seeking higher consciousness. If one is stuck in the survival mode trying to hide the angst of a civil war at your doorstep, you seek the Holy Scripture to provide solace and countermand fear, and become dear friends of everyone in your building. Fear becomes a 24/7 companion to the endurance of our adaptability endemic to our species.

If one lives in terror in Gaza or downtown Detroit, the generational damage is pervasive, yet no one will suffer post traumatic syndrome until the final volley is fired, in the meantime humanity performs it daily duties.

As war rages embittering with its hatred within fluid bloody fiefdoms during the quiet spells humans rolls up their metal covering on their stores, open up their veranda doors, and stroll down the street. Much protective machination is fostered, as superstitions become survival umbrellas of urban myths. One is admonished do not walk on the west side of so and so street, as it has nasty mojo, and why there are so many car bombs, in case you did not notice. It is better to not be stuck in any traffic jams and many become more adept at driving in reverse at 50 mph than forward at 15. Do not let fear take over you or killer-flying debris will find you and impale you to your car seat.

For thousands of years, our species has waged war with each other over religiosity, turf, and resources. In the uncouth fiery neighborhoods of MENA too many sects of Arabs, Christians, Muslim, Jews and greedy basturds carry on their agendas to gain what?

For years, my scrawny brain attempted in its smarting analysis to comprehend why our species insists on succumbing to smolderings that always lead directly to blowing up lives, economies, and hope.

Why are we stunted in our worldviews? Why would anyone prefer to beat the shit out of someone to keep his or her cache of valuable alabaster than just take the path of least resistance? Letting go with faith means we surrender to the guile of our worse stinking thinking and move quickly to the light away from the crawling shadows of violence, in every form.

Getting personal, if someone walked into my small yet suave cave here at Finca Vigia and attempted to assault GSD Marlena, or me I would instinctively respond. There is no doubt about how primordial is the ooze of my ancestry. The Scottish symbol is the purple thistle and the slogan over it reads “Nemo me impune lacessit – Latin for “No one provokes me with impunity.”

In his classic work Leviathan, the 17th century English political philosopher Thomas Hobbes described what he called “the state of nature” that would exist if government and society completely broke down and the law of the jungle reigned. In such a condition, wrote Hobbes, “where every man is enemy to every man . . . there is no place for industry; because the fruit thereof is uncertain: and consequently no culture of the Earth; no navigation, nor use of the commodities that may be imported by sea; no commodious building; no instruments of moving, and removing, such things as require much force; no knowledge of the face of the Earth; no account of time; no arts; no letters; no society; and which is worst of all, continual fear, and danger of violent death; and the life of man, solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.”[1]

It turns out Hobbes’s attempt to argue in defense of absolute monarchy, was the failing of many born and bred from privilege, so he missed what happens when daily horror replaces daily peace. The civilians of our species rise to the occasion and workout a plethora of workarounds, together, to survive. People living inside worn-torn neighborhoods and villages join hands to help each other. They work sometimes minute by minute to protect each other from harm’s way.

The incidence of 9/11 actualized such human compassion to the disconcerting contentions of those responsible for 9/11. Americans did not fall apart into a million pieces and run amuck in mass. Rather, they quietly walked across the bridges of Manhattan into Queens, Brooklyn, and New Jersey in an orderly fashion – hundreds of thousands not knowing the fate of their children, their family, or their homes. Those on board one of the planes sacrificed themselves and helped to crash their lives into a fallow field in Pennsylvania than what is presupposed another target. My goal here is not a dialogue of what happened or who are the terrorists. The angels I speak about are the humankind who help each other through such psychosis in spite of govt. goals.

What is happening in refugee camps across the world is not civil disorder or mass madness. Rather, it is one tiny kindness after another offered even as children become skeletons and help is derailed by piracy outside the camps.

The original form and purest form of humanity is the demarcation line of victims who become helpers to each other while those responsible for the behavior of psychosis continue to trample and tumble our species to the brink of extinction. It is such a disparity in human activity; it mostly goes untold around the dinner table, let alone put up on the daily piddle stream.

The trained killers inside the nuke proof shelters watching mass murder perpetrated by virtual mapped drones have their breaking point of compassion. Private First Class Chelsea Manning is the poster-kid of such remarkable bravery in the face of political interaction geared to shock and awe to the arrogance of US of Hillary killing journos and the citizenry on the ground.

Unfortunately, the tribal grouping of our species works both sides of the street. In MENA, operate associations bound by a tribe-like spirit of solidarity, with a total obligation and allegiance within a mutual loyalty. This duality survivalist quality exists in the hundreds of factions of killing insurgents and in the innocent people who live within these regions.

I suppose many would like to distill such insanity to good vs. evil. Yet, our comparative frail souls are not yet so simplistic. What fires an Israeli to flip a switch in a jet and send lethal bombs into Palestine is a prove I cannot comprehend. In return, what Assad I did to the residents of Hama (murdering 35,000 of the MB) is way beyond any deeply rooted political institution I know.

The long tradition of authoritarianism in MENA politics is related to the persistence of tribe-like affiliations never able to be strong enough to withstand foreign invaders. Warring cities, tribes, hinterlands, clans, sects, and neighborhoods never struck a balance of intimacy and cohesion. People in the region have never reached a consensus required to establish a peace polity.

“My friends, if there is one lesson we can learn from the past hundred years of conflict with the Palestinians, it is this: As long as your neighbor is your enemy, your house will never be a home. It will be a fortress, and in a fortress, you can never really take your shoes off and relax. What this means is that we will never really be able to feel at home here in Palestine, we will never really be able to end our exile, unless the Palestinians, our neighbors, feel at home as well. I wish this were not the case. Nevertheless, the truth is we cannot save ourselves unless they save us too. However, how can we save them without committing suicide? And can they save us without total surrendering, which they are not going to do?”

Above is an imagined dialogue offered by a prime minister of Israel, yet to be realized, as written by Thomas L. Friedman, a Jewish raised guy from Minnesota who reported from Beirut to Jerusalem for years, and is incidentally, a three-time winner of a Pulitzer. Many times, I do not agree with Friedman’s economics. Yet, I believe his awareness about MENA is salved in acuity and acidity based on personal, not faith-personal, actual eye witnessed experiences in the region, thus I listen and learn.

 

WARNING: Graphic photo of US Marines, January 2014, allegedly pouring gasoline on insurgents bodies in Iraq to burn them. 

 

As usual, take what you want and leave the rest.Image

H/w Friedman’s latest. http://www.nytimes.com/2014/06/29/opinion/sunday/thomas-l-friedman-who-is-setting-the-sectarian-fires-in-the-middle-east.html?_r=0

[1] From Beirut to Jerusalem, Thomas L. Friedman, 1989. Page 29.

 

Misty Intuition in the Here and Now

The red flower below is Brazilian Cloak (also called red justice) and hails from Venezuela. This large bush provides plenty of large flowers for cut arrangements, yet not a flower visited by feeding birds, bees, or bugs. 

Finca Vigia, is in the mist today, and so is my heart. To the left in the photo below is the edge of Bali Who, the bamboo guest cabina I built after Arthur DiPietro died to keep me occupied. Arthur tired of my incessant work load of designing and building. Yet, I think ADP would gingerly enjoy this cabina, especially its soaking tub looking into the jungle, and the placement of a tropical island style desk and file cabinet. The constant sound of seven waterfalls (directly below to the north) becomes nearly unbearably loud to human ears after a torrential rain. 

Bali Who maybe a message from the ethers. Now, I have a fresh and abiding friendship with someone who has lived on Bali since 1999. If we seriously look with humor about our lives, there are incoming portends – not only memories of joy and better left behind luggage. Time is cyclic. It is our choice to perceive our world as linear. 

We move forward and backward around a continuum. In this fluidity of motion and consequences we discover how intuition is our servant of what is, was, and what will be. Staying in the here and now is not statism, body politic or otherwise. Staying in this moment allows one to fling open the doors of perception to a vast potentiality of possibilities. It is only by being here and now we envision beyond ourselves and if in tune can better divine the difference between our precipitations of maya and the glories of God’s handy work. 

We are what we eat, in mental convolution and food substance, via a self-fashioned pantry of emotions and awareness.

I embrace loving solace connecting to seasonal migrating birds flying south and north yet I contend consciousness moves in orbits, not unlike the bodies of planets and the entire cosmos.Image

My letter of Resignation

Going from Rigorous Ranting to Righteous Raging – I resign from Homo sapiens.Image

Dedicated to Mahmoud, Bobby, and Eraser, somewhere in #Iraq. 

Dateline: Global, June 22 or 23, 2014

 

“To the leaders of the world. Let the music play, play it loud, and make it clear, it is time to stand up, to a new world that is now yet so far . . . let there be, peace. All the walls are falling down, no more children of the war, all the suffering will be no more, let there be, peace.”

 

Faith, you bleat?

 

Pedaling this as exacting as my bent light can illuminate, my resolve continues to break into fractals and fragments. How can we keep up this mass murdering of ourselves and other living creatures? Games of daily damned drama and recreational torture flow with rivers of human suffering thicker and wider with increasing maniacal ego and sicker, deeper animosity.

 

We participate by AK-7 gloved hand or cultural ennui in such blatant senselessness, in the name of what?

 

We blowup, murder, hang, gut, sniper, and stab innocents – children, parents, grandparents, canines, donkeys, camels, cats, and rats – and our culpable selves to oblige whom?

 

We carry forward agendas so ungodly there seems no outflow except bulk psychosis.

 

Leadership inflames and détente evaporates.

 

Dressed in blue camo, army green camo, desert camo, suit camo, and hate camo we proceed with drugged craziness and within too many the drug is not Big Pharma’s latest, it is the poison of bias, self-righteousness and pure odium.

 

My religion is love, kindness, and compassion. It manifests with delight, joy, and serenity. It is anodyne yet never analgesic.

 

Wide-awake, powerless, and disgusted with my species I neither run away, nor tumble into the abyss of apathy. I cannot abandon, yet I also can no longer condone any fellow humans from family to friends. We are all useless in the quest for peace, in essence, NGO, or prayer.

 

Delaware Joe Biden, running for POTUS, wanted a three-part Iraq – a balkanization with an agreement how to split the resources. Assad wants what? Kerry wants what? Maliki wants what? Putin wants what? CIA wants what? Dirty oil wants what? What do you want? Kurd, Sunni, and Shite, want what? The lions of the desert winds want what? Iranians are in Iraq fighting for what? Turks are in Iraq fighting for what? Muslim Brits are in Iraq fighting for what? American Green Berets are in Iraq fighting for what?

 

Why do we call the insurgents ISIS and POTUS refers to them as ISIL?

 

We are so dysfunctional we cannot agree what to name 7,000 plus insurgents rushing headlong across Iraq to settle-in at the Arabian Gulf and the Mediterranean Sea ?

 

I no longer acknowledge our species or refer to myself as a member of humanity, nadakind, and the human race, Homo sapiens, or of these times. Not for one breathe, have I been an adherent to shock and awe to do the bidding of human expediency in a paroxysm of evil tidings.

 

What about life? Do I account or you count for any accountable reprieve? There is barely seepage of light in deadly dreary darkness.

 

Where is ethos? As much as I crave to match the chafe of the heart with the empathy of our soul sickness, invisible forces block me. I can smell the stench of artificial self-assuredness. The soaking goo of human irrationality and human narcissism is more deadly than Ebola.

 

Why do the unnoticed slaughter fellowship in the phony appellation of opportuneness?

 

Standing stagnant, I am waiting for lightening to strike awfulness. Embittered hominid thunder rolls across an immovable bloodied human screwed world at an accelerating pace NSA’s fastest net connection cannot keep abreast of, as you and I Tor-struggle with 3G.

 

Do we now sacrifice our entire species at the ancient altar of the seven deadly sins?

 

Is it as No-Eyes portended the spirit Guardians of Earth have retired? Did the Caretakers take a well-deserved sabbatical so we can more quickly do ourselves in with wars stacked upon fresher insanities based in 1,400 old antediluvian hostilities? Earth regenerates, we pass into oblivion ?

 

My God is better than your God? My prophet said it is right, your idea of my prophet is wrong? You are wrong; I am right, bang, bang, bam, bam, scream, and scream.

 

Can you not see both sides do the work of the empire? Who gains in the elimination of slaves, taking of turf, and the destruction of hives? Not me, not you, not Iraqis, Syrians, Egyptians, or folks in the Costa Rican ghetto of Patterson, New Jersey – we serve the master of rampant greed and golden idols of the grotesque.

 

Is the crawling polluting collective unconscious beyond repair? Are we witnessing the final curtain? Why now? Can you not f*cking wait until I have crossed over to the over side? Why on my watch? I am refusing to be a victim to the wholesale retail destruction corruption of Earth, friend or foe.

 

Has the house of Saud and US Congress becomes so hate-infested, even the baying dogs that cannot hunt have fleas and their bitten bodies are sore with extra suffering saddled to bottomless box canyons of human misery.

 

The EOW virus is us. Is this news?

 

Have our psychic protectors gone away in dismay and disgust deeming 100% human species failure is the only option left on the table for tender you and exacerbated me?

 

The toucans yip, the monkeys howl, the waterfalls rush, the wrens sing, yet my ears buzz with vexation and my head with fool’s errand aloofness. The visual and audio contrast is too much. Mahmoud talks and we both hear nearby explosions and human shrieking – him in crazy Iraq, and me listening to nutso Iraq safe in my jungle sanctuary.

 

Enough. I no longer want to be a member of a clan, a sect, a group, a family of man, or labeled a human being. I have reached the outer limits of my tolerance and any understanding is null and void, canceled, invalid, and kaput. My membership has selfie-expired. I no longer seek renewal, or expect a possibility of restitution.

 

Condescension even if the Pope or Jesus or the Dalai or some greater faith magician gestures a magic wand to erase the blood, the abomination and the squealing woe of little children smiling evil has gained its own killing fields across the entire screeching planet.

 

Human madness curls through the wrecked dunes of MENA, the glowing forests of Chernobyl, the shady boulevards of Georgetown, the central parks of Guadalajara, the vast jungles of Guatemala, the 13,000 islands of Indonesia, the former wild plains of anywhere USA now corporate painted into the geography of nowhere – and on, and on, and on.

 

I am a friggin’ Godparent for Christ’s sake. You are a bawling father, mother, and grandparent for whoever’s sake.

 

You want a new paragraph in the US Constitution? Try this one:

 

We the people of this once semi-free nation refuse to work one more kvetching minute for the psychopath empire. We resign, in mass, with accumulated disdain for the empire’s insane mission in favor of the ultimate hope to save our human race, one and all, this date, July 4, 2014.

 

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Mars and Venus Consensuality* of Sobering Bliss

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    I believe this is not my alter ego, rather my former alter id (see bird photo). Why? Id’s are not into cleanliness is next to godliness. Ids are the aspect of our psyche according to Dr. Freud residing in the unconscious. I am Jungian but hang in there with my crappy attempt to pass along no whispering wisdom. What follows is the too loud crushing of recycled cardboard to fashion a cafe table and a pair of chairs – for two. Rereading this, I see it is note in a bottle.
     
    Id is the source of instinctive impulses seeking satisfaction in accordance with the pleasure principle and are modified by the ego and the superego before they are given overt expression. Primitives in our species have not integrated themselves and consequently swish around on wanting what they want NOW, allowing their Id to lead them through existence with neither watchfulness nor reflection. Swaggering four-year olds in adult camo clothing with AK-7s is the vision I am marking up in pastels.
     
    In the Miller personality test administered by US military, prisons, and also certain US police departments what is not commonly known is a near match between rapists and hardcore military or police officers. Within this lot of nadakind, I would venture are groupings of Id-driven types. ‘Men’ who in actuality are little boy primal animals with near zero self-awareness. These triple X-rated beings are not to be confused with psychopaths.Image
     
    Remember in our last social psychology lesson we learned how psychopaths are all narcissistic but not all narcissists are psychopaths? Using this framework we can expound, primitives are stuck inside the bubba bubble of the id, but not all id driven beings are unaware primitives.
     
    In many aspects enormously successful creatives give up their superego (seems illogical, I know) and become childlike ids. They accept no responsibility for daily care (see the dirty bird photo, again) with almost no sense of time or place. Captured by their own imaginations they plunge forward oblivious to the normalcy of human activity. Swallowed up by their obsessive compulsions they paint, draw, sculpt, write, and invent with zip awareness as to when dinner is ready, are way overdue to wash their dirty paws or take a much needed shower – and other conventions of human mini-events hooked to daily civility.
     
    Drug-crazed humans become virtually out of touch with their bodies and bury time, space, and place. Under constant mood altering influence their id takes precedence as their psyche disintegrates. Sobriety offers a pathway out of such neo-human surrealism. Yet, after 29 years of being sober and clean, with years sitting in 12-step meetings, I can testify not all those who stop using become fully integrated humans as Jung contended. Many remain trapped inside an immaturity not able to escape or grow out of as their emotive responses are locked to reactionary modalities. It is as if they are given a treasure of no longer in dire need of getting stoned yet remain fear frozen in their own prison of the graceless id. I have written about this aspect of sober living as not being sober living, and subsequently critiqued for taking people’s inventory. 
     
    Yes, I evaluate others to consider who amongst the milieu is absolutely no longer primordial and stuck on the wheel of what I refer to as masturbatory unconsciousness. Now, do not consider I am snotty speaking of self-pleasuring sexuality as a negative. We are in many aspect apes with bigga brains. What I refer to as masturbatory unconsciousness is the sentient being whose world view is warp-limited by self-absorbed me-ism. In this selfie encampment their energy swirls around like a pre-teenager in-love with love with hormones bursting.
     
    I am straight so I speak from my particular sexual orientation, but quite frankly i could give a toucan’s beak whisker if you are, or are not, straight. For me, love between a man and a woman is a sacred bonding of two souls who by luck of the cosmic Tarot throw recognize each other. Sometimes it is the whammy of eye locks and at other times sparking of unspoken energy exchanges. Such an event of two independent ships passing in the midnight canal and colliding is a rare non-accident, and i believe becoming even rarer. In this scenario of ancient love rites in the magical oasis what unfolds in spite of our contemporary times is a mutuality so powerful it encompasses far more than human mating rituals.
     
    What takes place is timeless, electric, and will-less. Projections and expectation do not surface in this azure blue ocean bombarded with bouncing moonbeams. Under the rainbow lit waterfall there is no horizon, bottom, or vessel of containment. 
     
    Once each champion steps over the holy threshold, fearless, leaving psyche baggage out on the front stoop, what Darwin-develops is remarkable and curious, yet barely contagious.
     
    As I have discussed this with my fellow sex I find in my surveys how few have a clue of what I speak. Yet, poets wax on about it the last several thousands of years. In the extension dimensions (my phrase for love) a man and a woman discover fascinations never considered. 
     
    These parity pairings are noticeable by others because of the depth of communications. Such wonderings are loaded with verbosity, secret inventive forms of attention, and hefty fits of laughter. If true to heart such constant yammering becomes the foundation of a love so intense it is never broken, even after death.
     
    Fear of intimacy of course is the cement boundary of ruination and dissolution. Recognition of same is paramount if the smoking dragons of what was are slain – to allow open space for what will be. Yet, if addressed individually, because the formula of fear is endemic to humanity, paranoia is joyfully released with faith. Faith being another mature operating core value and exhilarating component of expanding dimensions. The silly accepting dichotomy of unless we get out of our selves, we can not become our selves, alone together.
     
    Love is a clever deceiver and trickster. Its godlike nature is effusive and illusive. But, once the Eureka! decision is made to forge ahead in tandem there is practically no positive dream an actualized pair cannot manifest. The passionate union is greater than the sum of its winking parts. Celebrating its arrival is to insure the rest around us know how spectacular is the coupling. Humans cannot live well without hope, even if only by vicarious reinforcement. 
     
    In these extraordinary communions, a tantric oneness is shared and accomplished. All human intellectual to psyche barriers are let go inside the little death. Sex is not a five minute event or prescribed duty. Being inside of each other souls becomes the culmination of an off-world intensity filled with jokes and teases. Timeless orgasmic pleasures where bets are off and time has no relevancy can proceed into hours, or a week. Such delightful encompassing tantric matings find the resonating place of unconditional completeness.
     
    The pair tell each other their most hidden desires to entice and fashion a repertoire of surprises and tantalizations. Alienation no longer exists. Karma has no play. Trust blooms and begins to take seed the rich field where the lovers play, even when separated. Once in their comfy zone, senses are so elevated by a feeding at the wellspring of surrender and submission the experience of dual ecstasy is higher than shooting dope. 
     
    Again, when I surveyed my sex, almost no one had experienced such a coupling where they were lost to conventions and aspirations. My heart was saddened to discover how dis-connected we are from each other yet yearn for the miracle of losing all boundaries enmeshed with another. My point of reference is not scraped from the dogeared pages of romance novels. I have known this delicious oneness and until recently, never realized how precious and unique. I am more than grateful, but not forlorn. A flickering from its eternal votive is crisscrossing my path.
     
    Stumbling along our stubborn way, we receive glimpses of the possibility of such an exquisite golden thread between a man and woman. Yet, once out of denial and faced with its blatant glory it is overwhelming to our small shiny souls. Mainly because its arrival is never when we think it is either timely, or appropriate. God has a sense of humor.
     
    The worth of a haunting relationship such as i describe is better left to bluesy jazz musicians and delicate Arabian poets. The reality is way superior to human vision, or my feathering prose.
     
    “I am standing barefoot in the warm suds as waves roll in, looking calmly across the waters wondering how long before my bonnie love crosses the sea, or sends a sailing vessel to capture me.”  
     
    Either a premonition or a slice of maya . . . time is not on my side.
     
    I move in sync, then blurry, then crystal clarity, then glistening watery diamonds, then poof, then bam.
     
     
     
    * Another one of my made-up words – but you derive its meaning, eh?

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An ISIS Tale of Arabian Knights

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In the future present, some will recall this storyline put forth by a woman who grew up in the 50s in beautiful Napa Valley and wonder how she got from there to here. She is me. My me-moir is already recorded.

The incoming illogical tide of constant lies about what is happening in Iraq are part and parcel to the empire’s collateral damage propaganda machine. There are intelligent analysts who contend ISIS is the arm of US of Hillary. There are others, who simply believe everything shoved down their gullets by CNN, Washington Post, LA Times, and the rest of the piddle stream cadre.

Me and my lot, offer an alternative whistle. We expect no one to solidify support of our contentions because this is always how ‘truth’ seeps into the underbelly of civil society – dribble by dribble, spit wad by spit wad.

Even with the advent of viral social media, our presence does not amount to a mole hill of jumping beans let alone a legitimate rockin’ news source. It makes no vibrational or intellectual matter to us. We are what we are (existentialists), and are wounded yet proud to work for no one but ourselves. No one but us drives our vehicles, or flies our orgami made piper cubs. We are sober and sobering, 24 hours at a time and place.

What I offer, on behalf of our teenie team, is neither servicing speculation or fascinating fantasy. Our flickering LED lantern is certainly under constant evaluation and development as situations and personalities present themselves. Yet, we believe we see the burning jungle from the bombed out DU shells.

During this 59th minute we collect information – keeping factual in content and context – and in depth. We discard far more than what we discover or uncover. The amount of crap circulating is phenomenal. In several circumstances and cases putting some of us brave hearts in harm’s way is a scary yet necessary reality.

As a team of international investigative journos, writers, news junkies, justice freaks, and freedom fighting politicos our mission statement is to piss off everyone. Why? Then we have succeeded in telling the real deal and cracking the Easter or poached egg.

The storms passing over and in the heads of humanity are building in strength and affectation. Our simple goal is be compelling, compassionate, and factual. Sometimes, we actually bulls-eye our intentions and others time we take a step back and wonder how blind could we have been. Rigidity vs. willingness is a tug and pull amongst are wee bit ranks. Strong personalities committed to living a brutally honest life means there is little reward. If we get one more human to accept our premise of fact, the day has succeeded leaving the nights to dream of love generation rainbows and new found viable intimacy.

If you prefer to close this window and go back to chomping on the crap CNN is telling you, maybe over the near horizon you will experience a large smack to your communal third eye. Or, maybe you will look up and wonder how your country became part of the United States of Islam, while you were cooking your dinner in Gaza during the bombing, or downtown Beirut during the bombing.

Be assured none on us in this nameless faceless crew have an agenda to convince anyone of any reigning particular point of view. We move through our endeavors with as much compassion as we can muster, and at times the pallor of deep sadness for what our species does to each other and Earth hangs in the abyss of our hearts. Sighing is preferred to smashing walls, but sometimes a fist gets bloodied.

We use satellite phones to communicate when cellular technology is shut down. We do track and some of us hack. We research and pay attention to minute details in videos and during Skype calls. Many times we have no live feed to provide you as evidence. Our resources are curtailed – we pick our locales by majority vote.

What follows is our current update on Iraq/MENA. And again, as always, take what you want, and leave the rest. You will never know who we are, not because we are anonymous rather because our covers are so evident. We hide right out in the open. I am merely a greenie laser focus point = a digital spigot and called by my peers M.

The mythology the west and its puppets are yammering concerning ISIS is actually easy to pull apart from the rotting cooked up cotton balls steeped in black sticky opiate goo.

Myth One: ISIS came into existence one year ago. Actually, ISIS came into existence over a thousand years ago. When was the last time western influence succeeded in the Muslim world? Ask the crusaders, or the Vatican, or even the French.

Myth Two: ISIS is funded by KSA. ISIS has carefully allowed itself to be funded by just about everyone except some Turks and all the Zionists. Since the inception of Desert Shield ISIS has built a network of funding streams. They are reported to possess a treasury of $2 Billion. We would venture to say their operating fund is probably 100 times more. Capital investments aside (commandeered Hummers, Helios, hellfire missiles, arms, etc.) in the hands of trained focused insurgents more becomes mega. There is little waste plus we have it on good authority all DU bullets and fire arms are cached and not used.

Myth Three: ISIS is US of Hillary operating as a covert group. We see western faces in videos and stills as ISIS rolls across Iraq. Yes, there are western insurgents part of ISIS. Why? Money talks, as do drug deals but this is not an army of merciless mercenaries. Unless you personally swear on the sacred texts of Islam you are not of ISIS. Get it?

Myth Four: ISIS killed 1,300 members of the Iraqi army. First, the Iraqi army folded its tent in Mosul before ISIS had blown up their headquarters. They fled after a few phone calls. Secondly, originally there were less than 2,000 ISIS insurgents. Thirdly, never believe what you see in a video unless you have on-the-ground observations or hefty digital equipment to evaluate the video and also the ability to hack.

Myth Five: US of Hillary is going to align itself with Iran to settle down the war between the Sunni and Shite now being acted out in Iraq. This maybe more complicated than even super brainiacs and astute westerners are capable of comprehending. After decades, if not centuries, of lies about an inner war within Islam between the two factions the reality is the current war in Iraq, Syria, and other MENA’s locales has never been about one faction of Islam against another. Yes, there are some folks steeped in primitive tribal caca poopoo.

It is and will be so into the future past a war about Islam vs. dirty oil and the deep state of the global war economy. If westerners are incapable of cleaning the shit inside their own corroding mortgaged homes, at least the debt free followers of Islam can sweep away the colonialism and imperialism of western influence on their ancient turf. Sustainability is not a call to action only in the communes of those wearing tie-dye or community studies voted in by progressives.

Myth Six: ISIS is launching a world wide movement to eventually march down 6th Avenue (Avenue of the Americas) in Manhattan. The security apparatus will tell you anything to feed the bias against Muslims. The weapon of fear from US Homeland Security to stationing war ships in the Gulf waters lapping the shores of Iraq is more of the same paranoia. In a fear state, Americans will just about buy anything force fed them under the petard of nationalism and protecting the land of the free. This post 9/11 campaign of fear includes dismantling the Bill of Rights, being detained for years without due process, and creep by creep destruction of the rule of law while installing a class of corporate criminal entities as the unaccountable rulers of the New World Order. If you think the West Wing is in charge, please realize elected public servants have never had the power to change the course of nadakind’s greed since they first accepted a contribution into their ego-bent coffers from same.

H/w is a map (see above). Currently, there are more Iraq mapping info graphics surfacing around the world web than pictures of nude women. We weeded them out (the maps, not the nudies) and selected this one shown as we believe you need to review, and memorize. I am sure it is – as I type this – appearing on the wall-sized 3-D screens in the war machine bunkers of the west.

Divinity has a role in what happens. God is not unaware of our holy wars and ungodly ones. Yet, our puny non-angelic stance is to stay the course and explain to the best of our ability what is surfacing as neon signs in the currency and ebb and flow of human flotsam.

We are more than counter-media. We are in fact counter-new world order. At times we get carried away contending the spirit of human greatest has nothing to do with the organizing or dis-organizing of geo-political states in boundary swings or one practice of religiosity compared to another religiosity. We discuss amongst ourselves how not to come off self-righteous.

We are collectors of human psychological events attempting to inform, educate, and entice you to seek your own understanding and integration.

When and if collective corruption and the raging insecure maniacal egos are slaughtered on their self-made fields of human avaricious, we hope to be there acting as your nano-eyes and micro-ears maintaining a vibrant watch dog perspective. In the meantime, we walk with care and stay cool.

Freedom is not a four letter word. Right-action may or may not get you through the pearly gates. We know what we want: freedom, justice and gluten free organic non-GMO bread – and Earth to be freed from our human pollution and disorder.

If in the next back to the future consciousness life superceds our species then so be it, at least we tried to be part of the sober solution while inhaling the natural wonders and exhaling the possibilities.

If you want to join in the serious fun, in any capacity, send me a chat message here, or on Twitter, or Fedbook. Beware, you will be fully vetted.