Halloween, Necrosis before the Lambent

Bleeds with Knives in Back

Many traitorous events play out everyday, and Halloween is the celebration of these events, whereby we feed irresistible treats to these goblins, to curb their appetite for despair and mayhem.  If you are not armed with some sort of sweets, even if no goblin visits, you may fall victim to the “trick”. However, that is only a symbolic meaning of this day and truly is just a pretentious reasoning to be “evil” for that day, if not everyday. Commercialism has its bite in this celebration of necrosis before the winter. The beginning of the season where nothing grows, or at least in the northern hemisphere. But every season is fair game for the corporate seductive mesmerizing. They will drive you insane with advertising every season, even the season of the “witch”. Just think back, if you are old enough, about the season of the witch series that the witch’s husband was an advertising executive, creating ads for those very important clients, every episode whilst his wife, the witch, tended to her home and community with witchcraft seemingly solving all the problems that arose, for approximately 20 minutes of the half hour time slot, with the remaining 10 minutes packed with advertising from the epitome’s sponsors. A double whammy of adverse-toxic corporate reasoning. We all reach back for that dagger that has been innocuously placed in our backs by our trusty team members in the work force, attempting to make themselves appear more sweeter and worthy then you are, trying to take your position or just eradicate the competition. This is a “taught behavior” endorsed by the media swill , learning institutions, community leaders and clergy that force-feed us all on a daily basis, if you open your mouth like a weaned, waning novice. The competitive dregs of the “legal remedial greedy gangster philosophy” that our politicians and luminaries practice on a daily basis while they all dress up as respectable government and community magnates.

Tricks or Deceives in Rucksack

We are all sure that none of this really matters as we continue on our brainwashed journey as if we have it all under control. The trick is played out as we are sure that our existence can be chosen and at anytime we can change our given course. We are under control. We have no say in what happens in our indoctrinated existences and will never realize the truth. The deceiver has our fates locked away and the longer we wait to abrasively break away, the worse our lives will become, bowing down to the 1 percent of society and their greed. We have lost this choice, somewhere in the 70’s or 80’s, becoming most prevalent in the 90’s and extremely obvious in the millennium, leading up to of course, 911, the worst catastrophe ever to be orchestrated and played out in Commercial Corporate North American history. It was evident then that the 1 percent of society and their “puppet governments”  had absolute control. So what are we doing now? We are living our programmed lives to only slave until we are dead. If you manage to accumulate any money and assets by the time of your demise, you would be one of the luckier people, however you will most likely never live long enough to enjoy it out of fear that if you spend your money, you will lose your security and legacies that you would like to pass on to your family.

Limps with Shackled Feet

We attempt to be unique and we are all truly individuals. That fact is obliterated every time we turn on the media, allowing the adverse captivation to think our thoughts and reaffirm our duties as serfs. We will toil endlessly until we are convinced mentally that we have finished our enslaved details for that day. Then we will kick back and watch more indoctrination to prepare us for another day of slavery. The schedule is planned out to purposely absorb all our free time, and will not allow you any innovational freedom. This innovation could be a book, or a invention, or a great recipe or anything that is creative and rewarding. Instead, we give away our time to the media that lies to us every day, convincing us we are doing the right thing by just sitting there getting mesmerized by their dung swilled drool. Can we break free? Yes, and it is easy. But we all fear ridicule and isolation, and the first hint of these emotions, we all back off and act normalized. What is normalized? Not going against the grain to do what you want that would allow your own freedom of expression. Why is this fact so invasive when we attempt to create? Because we have been brainwashed to think that if you are not making money from these silly creative outbursts, then it is not worth our time or energy.

Creates in Back of Mind

We are taught that only the truly talented or special of society deserve to create, and our only place would be to idolize these intellectual artists and  purchase their intellectual art representing their latest and greatest monetary sucking releases. How we are low and they are divine and if you were divine, you would most certainly not be where you are, thus accepting your plight of being a commoner and a slave. If you took one day of the week and did the total opposite of what was expected, you would crave that feeling again and again, You would strive to do more for yourself and shed the mold that has been casted over your true identity that you had lost during your indoctrinating scholastic years, where it all started convincing you that you are not an individual. You were conned that you are a cog on a gear with little or no purpose, only to keep the machine of oppression rolling along, devastating and raping everything in its path, all for profit benefiting the 1 percent of society. Are we still asleep? Yes, and we are in such a slumbered state of denial, that we will never be free because we cannot break the melded mold of conformity that encases our true and original existences. A reality that we are programmed never to see, but it is there. Just open your eyes.

“Tex” oNid ittEnEbEd (sHow nO mErcY)

© Copyright: dYnoReX and ADGMusic/Soft/Literature Org All rights reserved 2017

Hipster, Factious, Epodic Sophism

Fop Conforming Jumpsuit by Caldwin Blind

We look to our Guru’s for guidance, but it is not there. Most of them have sold out to a better livelihood. We all succumb to the “pecuniary adjustment theorem”. That is how this ravenous system of capitalism survives. On our own greed. We have our “shimmering gurus”, “rebels without a maximum cost”, phoney personae’s grinning and posing, trying to steal the camera’s eye, whilst our own children get exploited on the streets of desperation.  This is the example our children are forced fed on a daily basis by our media, teachers, counselors, etc. The “chaotic clergy” of any given town, county, settlement, city, municipality, owned and formed into a greedy selfish corporation.  You can drive almost anywhere in the country, and find corporate owned farmers, whom once owned the farm, but now work for that corporation who comes to “skim the monetary cream” of their toils. Even if the farmer managed to form his own corporation to stay alive, it is still a corporation of self serving importance. Only to support their own spawned offspring. But to be fair, the ones that sold out to this greed, did not create this atmosphere, just step up and took what they could to survive. Does it still make it correct? No, it just makes it conforming. In schools, the agenda is clear. Conform and be a good little surf, and you will prosper? No, you will never prosper because of the “credit philosophy of debt”. Stay in debt until you are old and grey, or better yet, dead. They teach you how to obtain credit and sustain credit, because that is the only way you will prosper? No, because that is the only way they can control you and keep you enslaved. The invisible chains of bondage that hold you in your fop job, paying for your overpriced house, and deteriorating vehicle.

Unmistakable Rebel with a Ruble Slacks by Wannahella Disgrace

The family philosophy has been so twisted into “fop-hood-ism” to keep everyone in your family on the edge of “discontent”. Because, you as the father, or mother of this middle to lower classed family will struggle your whole life to provide the pecuniary crassness force fed by our brainwashing media to keep your son/daughter slightly to completely discontented for his/her entire teenage hood, depending on your level of available credit verses your income, to purchase the “covet level possessions” that your sons or daughters were brainwashed to allusively think they need to be “cool”. If you are a parent, you know exactly what feeling this is as you shop during the late summer, early fall to get your “teenagers” readied for another brainwashing school year. Schools have their agendas and most of the teachers and staff really do not have any time to truly discriminate what example this forum of education is really teaching our teenagers. It is a arena of dissipated hope, whereby all students have to follow a predicted “pecking order” that is necessary to produce slaves in our society, by sifting out the potential 1 percent of society, usually in a monetary mannerism promoted by the curriculum of the boorish tormented class structured enforcement. Class as in your parent’s income. Upper, middle, or lower. But that does not include the 1 percent that are in a class of their own. To become a Upper classed individual, you have to become “just like them”.  Does intellect have anything to do with this struggle? No, but it may cause some retaliation in the lines, but in the end, the “pecuniary adjustment theorem” wins. Because our streets are filled with homeless people with high IQ’s.

SS Imperial Revolting Swim Wear by Gorging-o Armedarmy

If anyone has any doubt of this reality, then you are living under a rock, or were home schooled. How do I know this? Because I went to these schools as a child and as a teenager and graduated. I had the rare advantage of a “nomad family” that were always moving me around, usually because of pecuniary reasons which allowed me to see many different schools in many different municipalities in commercial corporate North America. Every school is the same. Period. I would like to say there are some schools that were different, but that would be an optimistic lie. They have to brainwash you as a child because that is their greatest chance for it to “stick” to your brain throughout your lifetime. It has a 98% success rate and is why you grow up to be a fop living slave. Can you change this path? Yes, but you have to be willing to stand alone. Truly alone. I do not think there are many “self proclaimed” people out there that say they are alone and really understand what “alone’ really is when rejecting the brainwashing. Because, your friends and family will turn their back on you. This is implanted and a behavioral side affect that keeps the brainwashed free of the ones smart enough to break the programming. Most people run right back to their friends and family (friends mostly) in fear of social isolation. No one likes to be truly alone and it takes a vey strong individual to be truly alone. The power of abandonment is so intense that people that do get isolated, will pay people to keep them company.  They will actually borrow more money to pay some scheming person to make them feel they are not alone. Are all these isolated people  “breaking the program”? Not all of them, because that is a the “fatal flaw” associated with the recent brainwashing, interfering with the older brainwashing, sure to isolate people that are not with the current indoctrination. These are the soulless individuals that are the prime candidates recruit able for a revolutionary cause, like Nazism perhaps? Communism? which should never be confused with Marxism-Socialism. Why did I leave out Leninism? Because I am not convinced he was ever for the worker solely.

Bleeding Punched Face Feminine Business Wear by Cuckoo Channel

It is frightening how a revolution can happen overnight. It is something that is easy to orchestrate given the right greedy wealthy domineering individual to conceive. But that is what we are brainwashed to think could happen (fear) and that revolting is the only way to change things in a dominated society. That could not be further from the truth. We have to walk away from the so called status quo. That is, in a nut shell, all we have to do. Violence is a vast resource of a limited mind, and I believe one of those individuals has been elected President of the USA recently. Elected officials are usually polished people that make superb puppets, and fall guys, for the 1 percenters of society. Aggression and fighting is an outworn behavior that is dredged up for fear. To take things by force is a base tactic, and although it may succeed, it is never a permanent solution, and is a taught indoctrinated behavior to trap those on the edge of breaking the program who will lash out as predicted to be incarcerated and labelled, pushed into ambiguity until their hope and will is dissipated. What do you think gang violence is all about? What do you think social digression and  humility represent? Prostitution, drug cultures and alcoholism? Theft, Mafioso, exploitation, underworld? Perhaps there is a reason these are pushed as popular epitomic programming by the commercial owned media? These are preferred modes of behaviour if you reject serfdom-ism and attempt to retaliate, thinking you are rebelling. In truth, you will be doing exactly what you are indoctrinated to do so you can be easily found and labelled with the “star of corruption”.

“Tex” oNid ittEnEbEd (sHow nO mErcY)

© Copyright: dYnoReX and ADGMusic/Soft/Literature Org All rights reserved 2017

3-60’s Beatniks in Granny Boots

Spring-Summer-Fall Episode 3: Hippy Jail Break Bait?

In a bunked cell like holding room, sat Marsha on her bunk, a small cot like bed with a sole wool blanket and small white pillow with no pillow case. The wool blanket was sown into the mattress’s tough web belted polypropylene sides with a very strong silicon thread so that it could not be removed, only opened on one side so one could climb under the blanket, It was lined with a water resistive material, cold to the touch. Mary was on her bunk, stretched out laying and dozing. The door was solid steel with a small glass window meshed with thin steel screen. The room itself was very pink in color, the floor concrete with no other windows. In the hall outside the cell, some yelling was heard in the distance, coming closer to the cell. In the hall, Sara was yelling and kicking while two soldiers were carrying her, one holding her upper body, and another holding her feet, struggling to keep hold of her to put her in the cell room where Mary and Marsha were detained. The soldiers carrying Sara were being led by Patti with a large smirk on her face. “You know Sara, you could make it easier on your self if you just would cooperate. Did you really think Mark would be the one to put you in this cell and tuck you in? You are a political prisoner, and your Miranda rights mean squat here.” said Patti satirically while she unlocked the cell and opened the door. “Don’t tell me Patti? Mark is your boss now? I thought you were equal rank? Must be that Cajun inbreeding causing you to be inferior to the male of the species. Or was it because you majored in Barefoot and Pregnant 101 during your Cajun colleges years?” said Sara trying to get under Patti’s skin again while the soldiers entered the cell dropping Sara on her bunk. Patti quickly removed her gun from her holster and pointed it directly at Sara’s head. “Say one more word Sara! I will send you to 60’s heaven!” said Patti gritting her teeth. One of the other soldiers grabbed the gun from Patti’s hand quickly and de-cocked the trigger. “In here, you cannot remove your weapon. Only we can. Now stand down and holster your weapon or we will have to check your weapon next time you come in here.” warned the soldier. Patti grabbed the weapon back and reluctantly holstered her gun. “You really think you are smart don’t you Sara? Well we will see how smart you are when you all spend 20 to life in the girls club!” scowled Patti as she headed towards the door. “Must be that Cajun inbreeding. See how fast she did what she was commanded by that lower ranked, male? Be sure you run and cook up some chicken and grits for Mark now! Hurry!” said Sara in retaliation, now standing and folding her arms. Mary was still dozing, Marsha was giggling, as the two soldiers chuckled. Patti froze in her tracks at the threshold of the door, with her hand on her holstered gun, but removed her hand and walked out of the cell followed by the two soldiers where one stopped to close the door. “Please lock this place down with camera surveillance and secure the alarms, then you are both relieved.” commanded Patti while locking the cell door with the key then storming out of the holding area. “Yes sir.” said both the soldiers in unison.

Later that night, Mary was sleeping soundly in the same position, Marsha was undressed to her under garments and top, neatly tucked under the blanket sleeping soundly. Sara was laying on the bed staring at the ceiling. It was dark in the cell being controlled with automated lighting, now being off, excepted for the little light filtering into the cell from the small glass window on the cell door. Then the hall light went out, making it pitch black in the holding cell. Sara heard the transformer humming that was slight and constant  whir down to silence. Outside the cell, where it was now pitch black, was a slight scuffle. A person was crawling on all fours with a black ninja type suit and wearing night goggles. Once at the door, the person, who was still on all fours, removed a key loop with the key to the cell readied. Slowly and quietly, the person inserted the key and unlocked the cell door. The door opened very slow and the person with the night goggles, now crouched on their feet, crept into the cell, heading towards Sara’s bunk. Once the person with the night goggles noticed that Sara’s bunk was empty, Sara jumped from behind and grabbed the person around the neck in a full nelson. The person tried to shake Sara off but Sara had a firm grip. Mary, who was awoken from the scuffle, felt her way towards the noise and randomly grabbed on the person’s night goggles and wrenched them off amidst the struggle and fell backwards with the goggles in her hands. While the intruder was still trying to shake Sara from her back, curiously, Mary put the goggles on. Now that Mary could see clearly in the dark, she seen Sara still on the back of the intruder. Mary also noticed the intruder was attempting to remove the gun from their holster. Mary quickly ran over and grabbed the gun from the holster and yelled “Freeze!” The person now realizing the gun was removed from the holster, stopped trying to buck Sara from their back. Sara slowly released her grip from the intruder’s neck. “Mary, be careful with that gun,” said Sara not moving. Don’t worry Sara, I see you perfectly with these weird goggles. There is a flash light on her belt!” said Mary still holding the gun pointed at the intruder. “She?” said Sara as she felt around the intruders midsection, finding the flashlight, removing it, then turning it on to shine it in the intruders face. “Well, well, what a surprise. Miss Born on the Bayou returns for some revenge perhaps?” said Sara chuckling. “Mary, just place the weapon on the floor and I will note that you were cooperative while Sara attempted to escape the facility.” cautioned Patti staring at the weapon. “No no, Mary, just hold that gun on her just like you are. You are not going anywhere Patti. Take off your belt Patti or Mary will use you as target practice. Now!” commanded Sara in a serious tone. Patti reluctantly complied and Sara grabbed the belt from her hands, removing the holster and other gadgets and cases. “Put your hands behind your back Patti!” commanded Sara. By this time, Marsha was waking up, sitting on the edge of her cot rubbing her eyes. “Come on Sara. Let me go and I will recommend..” said Patti getting cut off by Sara. “Don’t move and put your hands behind your back now!” commanded Sara very seriously as Mary continued to hold the gun pointed at Patti. Patti crossed her arms behind her back, and Sara securely bound Patti’s hands behind her back. Then Sara grabbed Patti by the back of her neck and pushed her onto Mary’s cot. “What is going on, why are you making so much noise? Why is Patti here? Is it breakfast?” asked Marsha dressing in her clothes. “My Marsha, clueless as always.” commented Sara, as she looked through the access cards and keys taken from Patti. “Well Miss Virginia, looks like you disabled all the security in the building. Now it is time for you to lead us to our stuff and our van. If you do that, we will let you go and you can make up whatever fantasy you want? Got it?” said Sara as Marsha stuffed one of her nylon stockings in Patti’s mouth. Patti shook her head in compliance.

Once Patti led the 3 60’s Beatniks in Granny Boots through the hall, out of the holding area, into the interrogation and evidence area of the facility, while Mary still holding the gun on Patti, they came to the door that read “Evidence, Restricted. Authorized Personnel only”. “Well, looks like your clearance will not get us into this room.” said Sara, looking again at the keys. Noticing that the power was on the access portions of the doors in this area, Sara started to look through the access cards she took from Patti. “Oh, who is that cute guy? Looks like Mark. I guess he does out rank you honey.” said Sara as she opened the evidence door then pushing Patti into the room. The 3-60’s Beatniks in Granny Boots peered into the flashlight lit evidence room through circular rose shaded glasses. “Point out our boxes Miss Swamp Puddle!?” commanded Sara as she pushed Patti further into the room. Patti walked towards the area with the boxes. Mary still held the gun on Patti as Sara and Marsha grabbed their stuff out of the boxes. Sara carefully looked for the pill bottle with the Timothy Geary pills. “All right girls, all set. Found our ticket home.” said Sara shaking the bottle, then placing it in her bra. “Safe once again, where no man would be tempted to go!” said Marsha as she and Mary giggled. “Grab Mary’s box Miss Simpleton and lead on to our van Swamp Girl!” commanded Sara. Patti led them back to the cell area. As they closed that access door, the lights came on in the interrogation and evidence area. “Power on interlock restored. Have 180 seconds until building lock down and full power and surveillance restored.” as heard through the intercom with the cell area remaining powerless. Patti led them to a door that accessed the fenced in compound. Sara found the key and quickly opened the door and pushed Patti out in the vehicle holding compound. “Where are the keys to the Van?” asked Mary still pointing the gun as they all headed towards the VW Van led by Patti being pushed ahead by Sara. “Who cares, we do not need them where we are going.” said Sara as they approached the VW Van. Sara found that the doors were unlocked on the Van and opened the rear door and pushed Patti into the van, closing the door. “Lets go Girls.” said Sara heading for the driver’s seat. Just then, sirens sounded and the building came on full alert and lock down. The compound also started flashing warning lights and became locked down as well. Once they were all in the VW van, Sara pulled out the pill bottle from her bra and fished out 3 tabs. She gave both Marsha and Mary their tabs and they both placed the tabs on their tongues then swallowed. Sara placed her tab on her tongue and swallowed. “Looks like Patti wants to say something.” said Marsha as she pulled the nylon stocking from her mouth whilst armoured vehicles and personnel stormed the building, inside and out. “You said you would let me go, let me go, please Sara. I will put in a good word for you. Please let me go. They will shoot first and ask questions later, unless I stop them for you.” said Patti frantically looking at the guards running into the compound area from the building.  “Well, that is a nice offer honey, but I am afraid it is too late! Hold on.” said Sara as the van started to spin, slowly as the bright lights from the compound, surveillance warnings, and flood lights started to refract and infract in all directions as the van spun faster and faster, lifting off the ground. Patti finally got her hands free from the loosened belt and was clutching on to anything to hold on but felt something cold, soft and squishy. As she glanced to see where her hand was, she found she was clutching Sara’s enhanced breast on her silicone doll replica. She let go immediately as the van’s spin accelerated to light speed, ascending  and disappearing into the clear starlit sky. The soldiers that were approaching the VW van were now all standing and watching in amazement. Some of the soldiers got a few shots of the phenomenon with their smart phones, mainly Rhonda. Mark who was amongst the soldiers was standing there in awe scratching his head.

To be continued, in a melded militant, 60ish quorum or another…

“Tex” oNid ittEnEbEd (sHow nO mErcY)

© Copyright: dYnoReX and ADGMusic/Soft/Literature Org All rights reserved 2017