We the People are Not Terrorist

As a writer, blogospherist, and online researcher, it is recommended that we all stand our ground toward the perpetrated stance of the false “war on terror”, especially to refrain from “topic tagging” and duplicity of something that is a flat-out lie. Living in the U.S.A., and experiencing the truth spewed out of the political arena, following up and leading to the Bush Presidency, which has raped this country of all of its life, has been a new experience, an upgrade in beast software.

Enough topic tagging will wipe clean any effort of success preventing discernment of our people, as a group, whereby we can perceive imperfection in all of us, and to be able to monitor ourselves. As with my work, there is imperfection, a navigator may only understand; a course from point to another point often obsessed negatively. The course is not appreciated, and often the observers are not aware of it.

It may seem strange, but we all like to connect, to fill simple voids in our lives, especially this is evident in the blogosphere, and leads to emulating the forum power, which is similar to a nest for too many birds, removing appreciation, and preventing a learner from actually taking the steps to become knowledgeable, or to break bad habits burned into the psyche from the institutionalization of our world’s knowledge base.

In this idea for thought, look for order, and realize that we over-measure. If we perceive someone as not as smart as ourselves after measurements made, and we perceive someone smarter than ourselves after measurements made, it is just as likely that neither of these are correct. Until you have taken the time to set down and meet with someone in person, take the time to see each other eye to eye, there is no sure way of knowing enough to make an accurate judgment, if it be that, of the truth concerning people who participate in the online community, or live on the other side of the fence.

So, in reality, we are imperfect, and unable to make hard measurements in many areas, and these are now being used as a cloak within the minds of the observers. A good place to see some of the examples of this would be in the comment sections of many websites which allow, and do not monitor effect, open comments in order to help increase traffic. In this process, a price is paid for many who are quite obviously on a particular path, but will be weeded by those who post very hard measurements where subjects become objects, and fortunes of reversal.

Hard measurements are also attractive to psychopaths and those who have long given up their integrity for a new unit of deceit, and one often infested with greed and manifestation of super wealth where none actually exists. Our inability to weigh, to feel the pathos of others, is a key propaganda mechanism propagated as the “war on terror”, where the beasts are telling us that the people are the terrorists, while cloaking the fact that this statement is a lie, and the one making the statement are actually the terrorist, or non-obedient official, or spokesman for the beasts.

The ramping up of the gate to hell is a lie, and cleverly spewed out by the main press. As long as there is someone to fight, the people will accept the lie of the hard measurement, and the skewed mathematical arrangements for a perfect world in the clouds free of imperfection, and for those who already see themselves as perfect because they have worked hard to bond themselves with the beast of money over value of life itself, and the natural design of intelligence. Instead, in the beast’s stupidity for more; they attempt to convince intelligent people that intelligence is what designs, and this is complete ignorance. A number is just a symbol cut out of stone, which requires great effort to weigh and discern, and this must be constructed into a message by art and expression of feelings, the emotions of life.

Derrick Jensen posits the idea that we have lost our ability to feel, and this seems replaced by the thought of the survivor, the one who only sees what they want to see, and what is felt is cloaked, and personal, in what may be perceived as “planet of the slaves” run by ap-es. It may be a bad monkey wrench turned sideways for the almighty I’m mighty. [1] There is no loss, there is only the future, the false hope, where the words design the action of inaction, a nightmare that swims up stream only to spawn, a lesson in bad geometry, but damn you, I will survive as the innocent ones.

These hard measure men run a show of personal lust, with eyes on each side of their head, bugged by a bad weed growing on the back of their spines. All life is precious, but precisely how precious is not on the menu, it is only food. If the menu told the truth, it would have to be served in blood, and certainly just come in a jar of red, and full of the scales that always seem to get scraped off the surface making the measurements disappear. Try swallowing that a few times, and the truth will set you free. Take away the precious, and you’re just made of clay. This leads to being squashed like a bug, an entity of sugar, water, and warmth, without a body, and without a soul.

America was never meant to mean anything other than control, as Norm Chomsky has already informed us many times with truthful facts. Our confusion between facts and measurements is also clouded, as many consider facts hard measurements, and this is not a fact. They are only measurements of accuracy. The salmon is incapable of swimming in mud, and just flaps from one side to the other until the spirit is consumed. The political system is just this, a dead fish.

If you pay the government for services, you’re just a dead fish waiting to be consumed. If you shop at the Wal-mart, dead fish you are. Value has become the abstraction placed on the menu for a prompt that is plugged straight into hell. The beasts convince you that real facts are made up, another design that just screams until it dies and consumes all life.

It is the scales of weight that assist the salmon, as the salmon cannot create them, and must abide by them. They coat and soothe, keeping the fish alive, for without them, they would surely die before even being born, and the long journey that is coordinated by the scales divided by a fin, also known as “the five dollar bill”, has become the fils, the Abraham and Lincoln as one, and a car with four rubbery wheels.

The terrorist is not just something to be caught in a stream filled with toxic waste, by a fish with two eyes that have never seen each other. The real terrorists wear suits of black and blue, and get off on beating the shit out of you with soft gloves. Steven Stills tells you to love the one your with. I say, screw off, I’m not with it.

The action in the mind has become “walking tall”, a bad moral stick that is shoved up your ass for an enema of the beasts. Action must rests at ground level, where the sea meets the land, not a shore, but a form of love that cares deeply for life, a form of hard resistance and fair measurement, and removal of all control by monetary means, which feeds the demons who wear pants instead of slacks, and eat dead body for a habit, just as a virus, and a flat-hat that drips blood seen as the tassel of time, and sold as Micromud.

It has become a crime to live, and to have a right to feel, masked by the belief of a perfect world, one that only needs a special formula. The next thing you’ll notice is that you have been left in the so-called perfect world as a form of torture, you are chased around the universe because you wanted to have feelings, just because you dropped by and forgot that feelings can eat through your brain from one side to the other, and now you become a vegetable, ready to kill your own kind, a salmon with giant teeth.

In this game, there is only one way to win. We must es-cheat, the stronghold of the last judgment, and let the monsters think you’re mad, and the beast’s game of chess will consume itself leaving behind the wee in the people, now chased by terrorist on Capital Hill, and the ultimate betrayal manifested as perdition’s reign of bogus time. The poor are all that matters, and the meek can have their inheritance, keeping the pawns for themselves on a board that has no legs.

[1] Actions speak louder than words