One of my favorite movie "Genres" is the "Council Flat / Projects" Genre. I made up this genre myself, and it includes many superb movie watching goodnesses. Candyman is an example. So is the recent Caine mutiny called Harry Brown. An all time fav of mine is Smoke; Christmas dinner in the Projects, ma nizzah.
Today, so soon after my recent unhinged epic triumvirate with Plate and Green, I caught this little goodie, Heartless, which, ten years ago, would have sent me into a spiral of fear ending in a two or three month stint in the calmness of the loony tunes rooms. No shit, it has happened to me more than once in my tawdry, fun filled life. Let's just say I am committed.
There are enough points of reflection in this super little film to warrant a deep field plunge, but I ain't got the ju-ju for that mojo these daze.
Nevertheless, here are two morsels for your selection.
First, a character quotes Rilke. "Beauty is the beginning of terror".
Next are two screen shots taken from near the start of the movie, which occur pretty much one after the other. Note the name of the bodega in the second image.
Please, refrain from reminding me the main character of this ugly little gem lives with his Mother. Norma Bates, eat your heart out.
Heartless is on Netflix right now. Critics liked it a lot, audiences not so much, but you can trust Da WWWiz, it's horrorshow, my droogies.
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Compassion is not a quantity.
I am not a sports fan--never have been. I have a fully developed appreciation of athleticism, but because of many other interests, I never gave much time for the enjoyment of sporting events or team play.
However, once or twice in my life, I have been swept away by a Great Sporting Drama. I was completely seduced by Torvil and Dean at the height of their powers. I was equally transfixed by the age of McEnroe, Borg and the Connor comeback. Talk about drama, emotion and dazzling prowess. Really killer.
The Edmonton Oilers dynasty of the 1980's was profound. When every single person in a city of 1 million is rooting for a team, it is practically impossible to avoid the electricity. For a while, everybody likes everybody else--it is quite lovely, really. Later, after Gretzky was traded to L.A., streets and buses and markets were all out zombie land. Moping hordes--lost in the haze of a child who has lost a beloved pet. Edmonton, in those days, was in real mourning.
In the last day or so, one of my facebook friends posted a photo meme.
The trope presented by this image and text is glib and callow. In plain English, it is bullshit.
Yesterday, the T.O. Maple Leafs lost an opportunity to play for the Lord Stanley Cup, the top prize in the NHL. The seventh game of a seven game series was in Boston, against the legendary Bruins. The Leafs have not won a cup since 1967, so fans, indeed the city itself, camped at Maple Leaf Square to watch the game on a big outdoor screen.
Until today, I was not even aware of this drama. Like I said, I am not a sports fan. I heard about it this morning, watching the local news over coffee and smokes with my Mom.
Here is an image of the fans celebrating a goal by the Leafs, followed by the same fans in shock at their loss.
More to the point is the live video of fans feeling the loss. You'll have to watch a short commercial, but please look at it--all of it. You'll have to do so if you want to feel what I'm after.
Now I already know every argument to counter my theory here, and all of them are wrong. Some will say that this event and the feelings it created are out of a shallow principle, felt by shallow people. Others will chalk it up to ignorance or stupidity--I mean it's only a game, right. Somebody's got to lose.
These and other arguments are the source of the third rate philosophy of the photo meme, so-called bumper-sticker philosophy. This type of philosophy is no longer confined to the pages of cheesy self-help books or the high minded attitude of New Age self-righteousness. It is rampant on the internet and it is wrong.
Compassion can not be quantified. It is not possible to feel more or less compassion. One type of pain, or one magnitude of pain, is no more or less problematic than another type or magnitude of pain. Pain hurts, and if you have real compassion, you feel it too--regardless of the imposed dignity of its source.
Things are important for one reason only--because people think they are important. Importance is not instinctual or animal, it is an aesthetic. Only humans possess aesthetic values. In a very real and completely binding sense the position one holds on, say, the drone strikes in Syria, is no more than an aesthetic value. An animal would not "think" about such matters. An animal would get herself and her children the hell out of there or die trying, and if she was far away from the action, she would have no way to feel it directly.
Only humans can think about the other side of the world or the vastness of space. This "thinking" is not the origin of our existence, but it is the origin of our humanity.
No one can tell another that what they feel, love and think is "not important" or that it "doesn't matter". If something matters, it is because you think it matters. Everyone has the right to think how they choose, and although some are better at it that others, and able to see more of the intricate puzzle of human consciousness, these betters do not feel any more or less pain when they get hurt.
Last night, the city of Toronto took an awful blow. This blow was not aimed at the high-minded or the in-the-know, but at real people, people with feelings, and anyone who thinks it doesn't matter is a nitwit.
If you want to know just why this is such a gaping wound, consider the fascinating mystery of Bill Barilko while you listen to the song below.
Barilko was only 24 when he died. His people loved him. Turn it up loud and tell me it doesn't matter.
Bill Barilko disappeared that summer
He was on a fishing trip
The last goal he ever scored
Won the Leafs the cup
They didn't win another till nineteen sixty two
The year he was discovered
I stole this from a hockey card
I keeped tucked up under
My fifty-mission cap
Friday, April 26, 2013
Fellow researcher Jason Barrera has clued me into to another chilling example of the 133 King Kill Revelation Code.
As stated in two earlier posts on the Boston Marathon BS hoax, I interpret the explosion of the Waco fertilizer plant as a psy-op clue to the assassination of JFK. Revelation 13:3 states that The Beast will receive a terrible head wound. Zapruder film first frame is 133. The kill shot is frame 313.
Here is Jason's beautiful, boffo discovery. I don't know how he does it. The guy never sleeps. Thanks, Jason.
If you have done your homework, you already know that these photos have been faked. The shadow lines are physically impossible. What is not fake are the exhibit number assigned to the photos.
Thursday, April 25, 2013
I do not understand why you call us "black". We are more "brown", really. - Stephen Biko
I think Stanley wanted this movie to hurt people. - Stephen King
The Shining contains many clues about racial oppression. Two of the subjects of Room 237, Rodney Ascher's incendiary documentary, find that Kubrick's film contains powerful themes of both American Indian Genocide and the Nazi Holocaust. They are both correct, but they are wrong in the way in which they interpret the presence of these themes.
The Shining does not decry these phenomena, these terrible acts of racial genocide. It celebrates them.
The tougher question is that of the Nazi Holocaust, but it is less interesting, less subtle than the Amer-Indian question. It can be quickly dismissed.
In the allegory of Christ, we are told that Jewishness is not racial. After the sacrifice of Christ, Jewishness becomes a form of the direct consciousness of Godhead, available to all who seek after it. Christ identifies that in the latter days there will be Jews, racial Jews, who are not Jews, because of a pact they have made with the forces of Evil. These are called The Synagogue of Satan. In the 20th century, Stanley Kubrick was at the tippy-top of this Vampire Synagogue. His deft reference to matters of the Nazi Holocaust, available in almost all of his films, does not decry the atrocity--but celebrates it. He wants you and everyone to know how much power he really has. He wants you to know you can't do anything about it. He wants to make you mute and servile. He wants to mystify you.
Nice try Stan, but no cigar.
The Amer-Indian theme is where things start to heat up. To glow. To Shine.
Those whom the Gods wish to destroy, they first make mad. If you can't drive them to madness, you can't destroy them. You can kill them, you can not destroy them. The Synagogue of Satan has real admiration of those it wishes to merely kill. Satan loves a fighter. He is a boxer Himself. He loves conflict. He loves Christ, the Supreme Champion of The UFC. Upon these worthy adversaries, Satan heaps great accolades. Sure, He has killed them, but they battle on. They deserve respect.
The Catholic Church tried to force feed their "religion" down the throats of all the natural people of the Americas. They succeeded with the Southern Aborigines, the Maya, the Aztec, the Toltec. In the North they failed. The American Indian, though we beat and whip and flay him, will not eat the pablum. He will outright reject the false interpretation of Christian Scripture. He is too smart and too tough.
Later, in the North, the Protestant interpretation of Bible Scripture was presented to another conquered people. This conversion process was not violent. Protestantism is flawed, because Gnosis is a tough proposition, and mistakes were made in the efforts to convert The African American slave class, but the movement was driven by compassion. The early Protestant, the Quaker, the Lutheran, was among the first of the White class to call out the inhumanity of slavery. To be Protestant is to Protest. Even in error, people do not protest in the name of Evil, but in the name of Justice and Mercy. Evil does not protest. It doesn't have to.
It is worth noting that the Protestant hierarchy of today does not represent real Protestantism. Satan seeks to deceive many and his moles are everywhere. Nevertheless, the philosophical equality of the Protestant Gnostic Individual Tradition stands firm.
And so it came to pass that the African American Slave accepted quickly the proper interpretation of Christian Scripture, and integrated it seamlessly into their own tradition, a tradition that comes to the same conclusion as the Protestant, but with different data.
What must be stressed is the absolutely unique situation of the African American.
The Americas were invaded, but those who survive the invasion with tradition intact, the American Indian, are not fooled. The South was fooled. The finishing touches of the extermination of South American indigenous culture is happening right now. They are being jailed and murdered. The have no treaty.
The African, on the other hand, was not invaded, but kidnapped. Rendered violently asunder from both their natural tradition and the land that nurtures the tradition. This vicious and totally amoral process, which is the ugliest act of murder in history, belongs to the people of Africa alone, and in particular the African American Protestant Slave. Satan despises the African races. He hates how they smell. He hates the shape of their bodies and faces. He finds them lurid. By the likes of the Black Slave Traders, the turncoats under Jay-Z-Hova, Satan seeks to destroy the African American protestant. To drive them into madness. This influence is recognized by many level-headed African American Protestants. The soporific Lenon Honor is a good example. He has done his homework and sees what is what.
It is this particular racial atrocity that is the real standout of The Shining's hidden thema. In King's novel, Chef Halloran isn't of the African race, he is fucking Irish. And he doesn't die either. Kubrick makes him "black", and then ritually murders him.
The dead central image of The Shining, the precise mid-point of the film, is of Halloran in bed, receiving Danny's invitation to sacrifice. Halloran's room is the key of it all. The way in which it is decorated. The kitsch just oozes out of every corner. Halloran has marginal taste. Some may find this choice of design quaint and even refreshing, but you will never, never-ever find a design scheme such as this in the Halls of Earthly Power. Yaphet Kotto may be become President someday, and occupy the White House. But there ain't gonna be no African American booty-call decore in a single room. No sir. It upsets the white folks.
|Whose the sex machine the ladies love? Halloran, Dick Halloran|
Compare this decoration to the soaring honor given to both American Indian and Satanic Synagogue design features found in The Overlook. The whole place just drips in in praise of the proud and spirited Injun. You can find his presence in expensive and beautiful art in every room and on every wall of the Main Hotel except one, The Gold Room, which is for whites only, and honors the Nazi Holocaust, carried out by the Synagogue of Satan. The shimmering Golden stage wall is a collage of Swastikas. Good thinkers have already conflated The Overlook Hotel into a Western White House, and they are dead-on to do so. Amer-Indian and Nazi traditions are in a place of respect and dignity--they are cherished American values. It is worth mentioning that in modern Germany, the fascination with American Indian Iconography borders on a fetish.
When we meet Halloran, manager Stuart Ullman makes a revealing statement, when he explains to Jack that in order to carry insurance in the off-season, they must "remove all the booze". This is a nasty pun, a play on the slur of boos, which is short form for jigga-boos, a term used to demean the African American Slave. The phrase is introduced at the precise moment that Halloran is introduced. What Ullman is saying, by way of Kubrick himself, is that niggers aren't allowed in the Gold Room. In fact, for the African American Protestant, the entire guest area of the hotel is strictly off limits. When he says "remove all the booze" he is telling Halloran to get his shine-ass back in the kitchen where he belongs.
You may argue that Kubrick was trying to reveal the atrocity of the Imperial Destruction of the African Nation, and not identify his participation in the design of the destruction. This is a mistake. The use of imagery and code is simply too subtle, too difficult to find. Too cruel and demanding. Kubrick hates the African Race. The Overlook is his play ground, his hall of sado-masochistic delight, his Somerton Estate. The African Man is his slave--spirited away from his natural home in Eden. A man with Stan's talent could have made a revealing film about the true history of the slavery of the African, he certainly knows this secret history, but he chooses to encode it, not to reveal it.
When the African nations were kidnapped and enslaved, it was not to provide service to the American economy at bottom dollar--white-trash honkies can be persuaded just as easily. The reason for the African Slave trade is to destroy Africa from the inside out. To make it mad. Africa is a sacred paradise, but the Nazi Synagogue want it all for themselves. For the rare metals they need, to build their bullshit rocket to the stars, and a few Golf courses too.
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
I am in a state of rapture. This Sophia Stewart kerfuffle is utterly gripping. If you don't recognize the name, Sophia Stewart is the would-be creator of both The Matrix and Terminator film franchises, who claims that her original and copyrighted work, The Third Eye, was stolen by James Cameron and The Wachowski Brothers.
Yeah, that's right, I call them Bros. because that is what they are: The Wachowski Brothers. No one can change a man into a woman. It's genetic people! It has nothing to do with a fake vagina crafted by the best surgeon your many billions can buy. Lana Wachoswki is not a woman. Not by a country mile.
I am not being bigoted here. The way I see it, people want what they want and just can't help it. I do not judge but I am able to discern. People want what they want and they just can't help it, but that doesn't mean that it is a good thing when they get it. This idea--that a widely perceived good isn't good at all--is going to be central to my thesis here, as it describes the mechanism of Original Sin, the bestial heart of the Three Abrahamic Traditions.
I must state unequivocally that I do not subscribe to any of these traditions, or any other type of mystical or pseudo-spiritual perspective, period. The nonsense that "in whatever way one worships an idol, God answers" completely ignores the simple meaning of worship. Worship is the acceptance that a) there is a higher power and b) the ultimate belief that higher power is inherently good. These twin principles of worship are fundamental. You can't have one without the other. I do not worship because I know damned well there is a higher power alright, and I recognize that power as a Supreme God, but I don't have one shred of solid evidence that God is good. Some tantalizing clues, yes, but evidence: no.
We must also address the logic that one might change a man into a woman based upon the burgeoning possibility of pediatric hormone therapy or gene therapy. This leads directly and inexorably into the deformed ethics of Transhumanism, Eugenics, Cloning, AI and other Satanic Nazi delights. If one part of you believes, dear reader, that Transhuman Ecumenism could be a good thing, then you have completely failed to recognize the most obvious fact in Human History: Evil Wins. Every time kiddies. In our realm, the power of Evil is utterly Supreme and thus the use of Transhumanism, which entrains human empowerment and future peace, is inevitably used for Evil and not Good. Therefore, whenever and however Transhuman Futurism rears its head, it must be and is completely integrated into an Evil Purpose.
It is useful to look at this phenomena in terms of Golf. The sport of Golf requires vast tracts of valuable, beautiful, and very often fertile land--to provide amusement for the rich. It is completely necessary that these vast tracts of land, and the service to those who can afford to "play the game", must be maintained with the support of people who are slaves. If you don't see this you are blind. Those who consider themselves to be free because of the opportunity to move from one soul crushing McJob to another are not free. These people are zombies--they are mystified. Lincoln did not free the slaves, he gave them a document declaring them free so they could get McJobs and have a one in a trillion shot at becoming Puff-Daddy's body guard or Beyonce's make-up artist. And the land "freed slaves" were "given" wasn't even a reservation because it was taxed. It is impossible to be taxed for something that you actually own. Indian reservations are tax exempt by treaty. The American Indians have been nearly exterminated, they are a decimated people, but they still got a better deal than than the American African Slave. The Indians kept their traditions alive and pure, while the authentic and natural African tradition of the early slaves has been warped beyond recognition into a pornographic shit-show with Jay-Z-Hova at its repugnant crown. They pitch this shit to little kids people. C'mon. The existence of elite Golf courses proves this bit of logic beyond the shadow of a doubt. There is no wiggle room, no gap. It's a scam. Evil is real and Evil is in charge. If this wasn't true, we'd all be golfing. We'd all be golfing, at the best courses too, with the finest lodging and service at our collective whim. It's alot of fun, I am told. So why are we not there, playing together in the Sun, all of us, in Augusta, or Pebble Beach, romping, loving, sucking back Patron and fingering our Swedish nannies in the back room of the 19th hole?
Because Evil Wins.
The anodyne for the energetic power of Evil must be a sort of Messiah or Messianic principle, capable of restoring everything, including the force of Evil, to what I term uni-quality. Uni-quality is the state of a separated consciousness, aware of itself as unique, that is able to joyfully commune with other uni-qualities without frustration, neurosis, or disruptive metamorphosis. This state has never existed, anywhere, at any time, ever. This is why it is called Utopia. Utopia is Greek for Nowhere. Nowhere means Not Here. It isn't here.
Maybe the Messiah will come someday. I don't know. Some say, in the pop-ninny tradition of Joseph Campbell and the rest of the infernal theosophists, that the Messiah will come to restore, only to then leave. And things fall apart and he comes back again, and so on. It's kind of a Once and Future King thingy. This doesn't sound like much of a Messiah to me. In fact, such folderol forces a human being to save themselves, to become their own private Messiah, which exactly corresponds to the New Age freemasonic platform Oprah, Chopra and Wayne Dyer. This is sado-masochistic solipsism, not reality. The nature of the need for salvation predicates that one can not save oneself. You can't pull yourself into orbit by tugging on your shoelaces--not anywhere there is Gravity. These silly claims of travel, by hook or by crook or ritual or rocketship, to other planets, or to astral planes to commune with the spirits, fly and be free--they are total horseshit. Right now, somewhere in India, there is a dying naked wretch breathing pure asbestos in one of the most dangerous environments on Earth, dismantling a derelict freighter for 25 cents an hour because his family is fucking starving to death. That is what is real. His suffering, his blatant and criminal slavery at the hands of the Nazi Golfers from The Future is what's really real. What is this poor devil to do? Save his rupees for a copy of Eat, Pray, Love? Maybe Eckhart Tolle can help him out? Not a chance, Chinaski.
Evil is Winning. Winning is Evil. They are Siamese-twins. Remove one and the other dies--just one heart, you see. You may want to deny it, or to look away, but this type of mutation, which resembles The Siamese Twin, is the proof of my point, and of the eternal, unbreakable teleology of Original Sin and Evil.
Siamese Twins and Elephant Men and the severely mentally challenged are repulsive to many. Really, they are repulsive to most. This reaction isn't hateful--it is the reflexive reaction to a train wreck. It isn't proper to be so malformed, folks get uncomfortable. Oh sure, some of us are quite compassionate, we don't all despise or fear the deformed and the intellectually challenged. But nowhere, no-fucking-where in reality will you find these poor devils in positions of power, popular fame, or even regular ordinary social comfort. I clarify here that I am talking about the most extreme cases. Not Corky the TV star with Downs Syndrome or the conjoined country-singer sisters on TLC after Honey-Boo-Boo Child. I am talking about those so severely retarded they eat their own waste, and couldn't ever tie a shoe or tell time, and/or people so physically hideous or malodorous that being near them is nauseating. These people exist, and they aren't in a goddamm coma either. Their isolation is always present. They can feel pain and they feel it all the time. It is not possible to ethically modalize these people into so-called health. It can not be done. Nor is it possible to disguise them completely.
The Shoe is not a body-modality. When you take off your shoes, your feet are the same as when they went in. Every seven years all of the cells in your foot regenerate. The foot you have today is not the same as it was seven years ago. This fact is proven beautifully by physicians specializing in eye care. After a bad but heal-able eye injury, the patient will feel pain for seven years and then the pain just stops completely. Every eye doctor knows this. So does James Joyce. Your shoe does not regenerate its cells, it does not feel pain. The shoe is not a body-modality, it is a media device. You can heap all of the media you like on to these poor-devils, The Elephant People, The Retarded, the Ugly Mutuant. You can get them the finest pair of shoes that money can buy, and it doesn't help them one fucking bit. Not one bit. They can not modify their pain.
What did they do to deserve it?
By now, good reader mine, you are probably scratching your head. What, you wonder, does any of this have to do with Sophia Stewart? It has everything to do with her.
Miss Stewart's treatment, called The Third Eye, has been widely analyzed on the web.
The main question that revolves around Stewart is the authenticity of her claim against Cameron and the Wachowski Bros. Many find the connection to The Terminator and The Matrix series both obvious and profound. Based upon her 1981 copyright of The Third Eye and legal documentation that the Wachowski Bros. received a copy of this work in response to an add they placed for submissions of sci-fi narrative, this group upholds that there is good evidence of plagiarism. The connection to Cameron can be extrapolated from the very real possibility of a coordinated media conspiracy.
Others, most to be frank, find these parallels tenuous at best. This second, larger group, can see that there are some similarities, but chalk it up to coincidence. The sharpest of this group, who are aware of Jung and Joseph Campbell's mono-myth model and the cycle of "the hero", attribute the connections between these works to the collective knowledge of the mono-myth. They point out that the story has been told repeatedly throughout history and across all cultures. They have a good point here, those who doubt Miss Stewart's tale of woe. All of us who examine these phenomena in depth are apt to strike upon a similar theme now and then.
To bring this into focus, let's examine the main comparisons between The Terminator, The Matrix, and Miss Stewart's The Third Eye. They aren't oblique. In fact they are really quite strong. Remarkably so. They also resemble the narrative of Scientology. As a fan of science fiction, Miss Stewart surely came across Battlefield Earth, for example, and could easily have been influenced by its imagery. Moreover, Miss Stewart could have developed her ideas from contact with Joseph Campbell himself, whose work was really gaining popular momentum in the late '70's.
But there is just one little detail, and it is a stunner. In The Matrix series there is a particular and striking motif. Scenes set inside the Matrix are color added green. The scenes of Zion are color added blue. At the end of the series, after Neo goes to the Machine City, there is no color added. Both Zion and The Matrix are represented with natural color balance. This isn't about costumes or set decorations, although those elements are also incorporated in this same way. The color addition process is a done when the physical film, the negative of the movie, is processed. Three tints. The Matrix: Green. Zion: Blue. The Series Finale: Natural Color. This detail of color progression is also immanent in Stewart's The Third Eye, a fact I discovered not from one of of Stewart's supporters but one of her firm detractors. This guy was blown away by this very subtle and specific connection, and although he believes it proves nothing, he felt ethically obliged to report it.
By and large, I trust the public taste to determine the quality of an aesthetic. If one follows the many modern cultural movements with any regularity, one can discern pretty easily if a specific group of fans is going be delighted by a new project, or whether they just think it sucks. It doesn't matter if one likes or does not like the work oneself, the popular pulse is well represented. The imdb, for example, is egalitarian. If a movie scores an 86%, people like it. If it is only a 50% then not so much. One could argue that these numbers are being tampered with, but this is easily dispelled by listening to the people themselves, on the net, in pubs and buses. Standing at the water cooler, the opinion of real people is remarkably similar to the internet statistic that represents their demographic, and this is especially true in regard to media presentation. Using this model, a survey of Stewart's critics suggest she isn't much of a writer.
Trouble is this color-added thing, this strong and subtle connection between Stewart and those she accuses of theft.
Color Theory is deadly serious. Color Theory is the work of a real artist, and I don't mean your jack-shit local dj or slam poet or folk-singer. I mean Kubrick and Ridley Scott. Bruckheimer and Bay. Cameron and Wachowski Bros.. Ad Men. Powerful Men. High brow or low brow, these people mean business. Their influence on the social order is fucking mountainous. It casts a shadow on the World. They are and have been shaping your consciousness since you were in the womb and you don't even know it. Color Theory is a difficult and precise practice. It is ancient and codified. It has the power to radically change the way we see the World. It demands precision. Without regard to the aesthetic assessment of Miss Stewart's work, she is clearly adorned with a very precise knowledge of a particular aspect of color theory which is also used as a semi-liminal mind-fuck in one of the most successful media events in history. Add to this her complete mastery of the subtleties of the mono-myth and we find an intriguing problem that must be addressed.
Miss Stewart has been called "a liar", and, in general, crazy, lonely--scratching pathetically for some small piece of fame and respect for her work, which she describes as once in a generation. It is not a pretty picture, but is it accurate. People hate to give up their heroes, even smart people. The fanboys rally around the Wachowski Bros., fawning over their innate genius, and are quite willing to imply that Miss Stewart is mentally ill. Sounds alot like to what happened to Phillip K. Dick, another marginal, whose work has been raped, pillaged and twisted into lies by many, many a Hollywood Block Buster. When Dick publicly told the truth, a legitimate and difficult truth, nobody believed him--but it was out there in the ether and something had to be done. This is why his loopy, self-referential and reportedly unfilmable fiction has made him one of the most frequent authors to be presented in dramatic media, rivaled only by Conan Doyle, Ian Fleming and Stephen King. Dick had to be made massive, not in the obscurity of his life's work, but at the exact moment in history he revealed his truth--because his message was too dangerous to ignore. It had to be warped. It had to be managed and weaponized against itself.
Or am I wrong? We will see in a moment.
Another critique of Stewart's position is her expansive account of her talent, connections, and influence. It doesn't seem likely that she is really as in with the in-crowd of politics and power as she claims. If it were true, why would she have to sue the Wachowski Bros.?
When someone steals another's ideas, it is humiliating. It hurts. It demeans an important contribution. If Miss Stewart is correct in her claim that her work was indeed ripped-off, it is completely natural and common for her to exaggerate her status in an act of self-protection. To be misused in the manner of her charge is an assault. It hurts. It can and has destroyed lives. More will be destroyed in the same way. It is called business. Eminent Domain. Miss Stewart's work is copyrighted and the fact the Wachowski's received it is a documented legal fact. It seems obvious that she has not nor will she receive any money, regardless of any judgement in her favor. These big judgments against the rich and powerful are never actually paid. They represent a kind of kangaroo court, in which the guilty party is chastized with a hollow economic penalty, which is then dragged through appeal after appeal until the injured party is broken on the wheel. The position and power held by the guilty is not altered or weakened in the slightest. These overlords have invented the principles of social revolution and transcendental metamorphosis as a false front, a form of entertainment, to keep the little people at work, turning the Satanic Mill for the pleasure and comfort of the Nazi Golfers from The Future. They never pay a cent, and get away with real murder and slavery every day. It is right in front of your eyes--if they are open.
This brings me to the lynch pin of my thesis.
Miss Stewart, in a statement mocked by her naysayers, is planning to create The Matrix 4. Her website calls her, in no uncertain terms, the creator of The Matrix series and The Terminator series. Her actual term of choice is Mother of the Matrix, which, if it is true, demands that she is at least one-half owner of the property in question. If it is true, she should be very fucking rich.
What is important here is the concept of branding. The Matrix, The Terminator, these are branded franchises, brands that have generated enormous wealth, freedom and influence to their owners. James Cameron didn't get to journey to the bottom of the ocean because he is a great scientist, but because he is filthy, bloody rich. If you have been paying any attention you ought to know that these brands are absolute. Brand owners do not lease or allow use of their brands. Ever. Never fucking ever. Instead, they ruthlessly pursue piracy and copyright infringement against even the smallest offense. They will crush without mercy those who misuse or misappropriate their brand. Little people have been driven to suicide, sent to the poor-house, and imprisoned for decades for such infringements of brand. It is the story of business. And yet, at Miss Stewart's site, she comfortably proclaims herself to be at least the rightful half-owner of two of the greatest media brands of all time.
It shouldn't be happening, but it is. Her prominent use of branded property along with her claim that she is an equal co-creator is egregiously in your face. It begs a pressing question. The argument that she is merely being politely ignored is absurd. She ought to have been ordered to desist. Instead, and without regard to whether or not she is ever paid-out, she won her judgment. She can call her next work The Matrix 4 with impunity if she likes, and legally collect any revenue.
This leads at last to one of two firm conclusions. Logic simply demands that this phenomena be explained by only one of two fixed axioms.
1. That the entire affair of Sophia Stewart is a psy-op. A mock-up in which Miss Stewart, Joel Silver, Cameron, Wachowski Bros. and court offices conspire together, on a need to know basis, of course. Why would such an exercise be implemented? Marketing. It's all about the blood money. The elite Nazi Golf courses do not take regular cash. All of their currency is soaked in the blood of slavery.
2. Sophia Stewart is telling the truth. She is the Mother of the Matrix--the legitimate Oracle, and just as portrayed in the films themselves, she is isolated and a little weird. But, she is right: there is no spoon. Media lies. Shoes lie. Flatter than pancake, right there on the floor of your hall closet. The body does not lie. There is unimaginable suffering and it goes on and on and on. Look away if you want--pretend it isn't real. Believe in the myth of your heroes, your winners, your masters.
Surely, these two choices, these final choices in the conundrum of Sophia Stewart--they mean exactly the same thing. We are fucked--good and fucked. We live in a reality that is clearly and absolutely bound by a principle of suffering, torment and servitude that serves the orgiastic passions of Nazi Golfers from the Future. Just say they don't exist. Ignore them or admire them--choose not to see.
Art is a parlor trick. It is a method of fleecing rubes of their will. The future is a Satanic Deception. An elite class of Evil Scumbags, somewhere, somehow, some time, managed to make rubes of us all--to ensure our servitude in the ever widening net of pristine Golf golf courses that will one day cover every inch of our beautiful and savage Earth. And when they can automate it, they are gonna kill everyone. When you look around the table, if you don't know who the sucker is, then you are the sucker. I have seen the sucker and it is us.
James Joyce new this stuff as plain as day, I think. PKD sure as hell did. These men were not artists. They labored in poverty, madness, blindness and obscurity. And they were naturally bitter. It hurts to know the awful truth and not be able to share it. But some give it the old college try. They are never thanked, generally despised, always misunderstood, and finally their effort to tell the truth is co-opted into the maintenance of a theosophical false promise.
Maybe, just maybe mind you, Sophia Stewart knows these same truths--truths which are, in essence, the opposite of Art and Ad the bloody, transparently Evil mad-money machine they have designed to build their Golfers paradise. Maybe she should be rich and powerful--maybe she is. Maybe she is out there, on the links with the Wachowski Bros. and the fucking Huffingtons, dressed to the nines in the warm spring sun, laughing her fucking head off. But I seriously doubt it.
Sophia Stewart is black.
Sunday, April 21, 2013
The following image is from a recent pre-superbowl Adidas commercial. The very next frame of the commercial cuts to the wide shot of the next image below.
Please note the visible numbers of 313 framing the length of the scoreboard. A sign underneath seems to read "WET" possibly "WET Paint". Two other signs read "Patriots". The two pieces of white fabric are the analog for a finish line ribbon, when it is broken by the victor of the race.
My interpretation of these signs corresponds to my immediately previous article here at Da WWWiz (scroll down for confirmation).
The "Wet" is perceived as wet-work, and as a symbol of the blood smeared pavement at the finish line of the Patriot's Day 2013 Boston Marathon, which I have decoded as a meta-literal repetition, a kind of cosmic echo, of the assassination of JFK. The Zapruder frame that documents the kill shot is 313 and 314, which is indicated by the only remaining numbers visible on the scoreboard at the precise moment of the cut.
Adidas logo boldly present at the finish line:
Thursday, April 18, 2013
John F. Kennedy was born in Brookline, Massachusetts. Brookline is on the 2013 Boston Marathon Route, near the end of the race. Brookline Avenue also crosses the route, a few hundred meters from the finish line.
Early reports of the so-called Third Bomb explain that it was discovered and dismantled at the JFK library in Boston.
The Waco, Texas explosion is the Third Bomb. Dallas is just up the road a piece.
Thus, I interpret this event as the meta-literal explosion of JFK's head. The two bombs in Boston are the first of the two mythical missed shots taken by LHO. The third shot explodes the head. Because of the transparent shenanigans of present day Mystery Babalon, which is an overt simulation of Biblical Revelation running the gamut of media, politics and the new thought schools, I think it is possible that the event in question represents the head wound of 13:3.
UPDATE: In a discussion at the Kitchen Sink, Jason Barrera points out that the Kennedy kill-shot is frame 313 of the Zapruder film. I decided to take a look and discover that not only is the kill shot 313, but the opening frame is 133, which is a cypher of Revelation 13:3. Holy Shit.
UPDATE: In a discussion at the Kitchen Sink, Jason Barrera points out that the Kennedy kill-shot is frame 313 of the Zapruder film. I decided to take a look and discover that not only is the kill shot 313, but the opening frame is 133, which is a cypher of Revelation 13:3. Holy Shit.
Finally, consider the text of 13:3, that "the world was filled with wonder and followed the Beast", in combination with the lyrics of Pearl Jams The Brain of J.
Who's got the brain of JFK?
What's it mean to us now… yeah?
Oh, it's sound insurance
But I can tell you, this is no lie
The whole world will be different soon
The whole world will be relieved (2X)
You, you've been taught
Whipped into shape, now they got you in line
Stand behind the stripes
There will be order, so give it a good mind
The whole world will be different soon
The whole world will be relieved (2X)
And by name
The name they gave me
The name I'm letting go
The whole world will be different soon
The whole world will be relieving (3X)
The whole world will be different soon, soon.
That is all.