How I Learned to Love the Bomb, Yo!

It's almost 7 am on Saturday. The boys are up, so I'm up. Rambunctious sounds of potentially dangerous and/or costly mischief pull me out of the haze of too few hours asleep. It's the opposite issue from Wednesday, where I was in bed for eighteen hours, only able to sit upright for 15 minutes before falling back into bed, exhausted.

It's "The Bug".

Oddly enough, the human body has a limited capacity to handle and store stress and toxins! Seems that wasn't much of an issue until the past few years. Ridiculous amounts of alcohol and system-abusing behaviors just rolled off. Takes a licking and keeps on ticking. Well, so does the Universal Clock. So, staying awake until 2AM, searching for answers, then denying them with alcohol makes Rick a Dull Boy.

God is dead.

Well, let me try that again. Not all gods are dead, but the big ones are certainly on their last gasps. The Gods of War, Famine and the lot have certainly made their presence known. But they're false gods - they're on call for all the wrong reasons. No righteous wrath stuff here - just old, rich men seeking the last opportunities to be even richer. Good men, women and children die as the Machine chews on.

The God Money is dieing. Hell, by 9AM it could be halfway to the grave. It's not what it used to be, and it was never what we were told. Titans of industry, bar your doors from your monsters and the mob. Torches at the ready, screaming, "We don't need no water! Let the muthafukka burn!" Sweet anarchy, wrap me in thy electronic cloak.

The Internet God is dead. Nobody told you? The signal to noise ratio is so great that digging for truth is like finding a needle in a wire factory. Millions of avatars proclaiming they see the End in all, but the only answers presented are creating infinitely more questions. "Disaster Preparedness for Dummies -- A reference ebook for the rest of us!"

The American Dream is dead. The future that was is dead. Hope, Faith and Charity hanging on in psychic ICU. And everybody's got the Bomb but you and I. Or is there a ticking time bomb in your closet of skeletons?

Oh, we're all armed to the teeth with hate and discontent. That's a fairly potent weapon in its own right. So screw it -- fire it up, Holmes! Nuke the bastards. The old beliefs, that is. Put the round between the eyes of every last god we ever believed in. Psychic Revolution, my brothers and sisters! Let's REALLY rape and pillage the last weeks, months or years we have left on the Mud World. Be all you can be, if you set your sights low and believe the Man's been keeping you down. Let's burn that castle to the ground, revel in true human carnage and suffering, and then stand on the ashes wondering what the hell we do next. After all, the clear-cutting philosophy got us this far, right?

The end is nigh. Repent.

Here's how it's all going to go down. And I know this because this is the way it HAS to happen, because the falsehoods are being exposed for what they are. No matter what you believe, your illusions are about to be shattered in ways too horrible to mention. Life as we know it will simply cease to be -as we know it. The walls that kept us safely confined are failing, crumbling and fading away, leaving the masses too confused to find their way around the New World Order.

Your very lives will be threatened by lack of food, shelter and medical care. Big Daddy Government can no longer support its bastard children. We all have to fend for ourselves. Ill-prepared, some right out of the womb of Corporations, we will revert to the only part of us that cannot be denied - the survival animal. Rational thought, take a hike. What you gonna do when there's no Pizza Hut delivery and your neighbor wants to borrow a cup of whatever you've got stored in your pantry with a shotgun in his hands?

There was one relatively simple goal in the Grand Experiment. Let's hop the natives up on Intergalactic Mojo, stir gently, and set them free on the Mud World. Give them all the tools to thrive and grow spiritually as galactic citizens, or create their own extinction. ("Ahhh... You have chosen .... poorly...") And then let enough of us wake up to realize it's too damn late to fix anything - the process is beyond repair now. Too far down the rabbit hole to pretend we give a shit about one another. We could have been something great. Instead, we're Punk'd.

We did this to ourselves, be it through coercion, greed or flat-out ignorance. We wanted to believe the lies because the feeling of security and possible happily ever after is so much easier if it doesn't require any real effort. Why be a better human being when the the lesson is "cheat to win"? Fuck you, here's to me! The American Dream let loose like Pandora's folly.

Well, kids. It's the last Great Party. I'm bringing marshmallows.

Winter Solstice Came and Went and All I got Was This Lousy T-Shirt...

All right - this was verbatim from my Myspace blog, but it's as relevant right now as it was when I wrote it. It's the 9th, kids - watch your backs, keep your heads down and stay focused. We'll be all right...

When you love something, and you can't do it (ie tattooing), you start to get a little squirrely. And if you add to that how friggin' weird the winters have been lately, there's nothing to do but sit at home and lose your mind.

Not that I'm a stranger to that. I mean, the first couple of times are kind of a big deal. Post-war blues, relationship bs, bad days that last a month - I've weathered it all, more or less. But how much is too much? Is there that "one last time" that your mind snaps and you don't find your way home?

Ah, who cares. I'm just here for the snacks and the front row seats. The Chinese have a curse that roughly translates as, "May you live in interesting times". New President, same bs. Bread and circuses for everyone. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain because he's not putting gas in your tank or food on your table.

Which brings me back to being a tattoo artist, arguably a decent one, sitting on my ass watching YouTube and wasting time and wondering why I'm not doing what I do. Winter's always slow for tattoo artists. Regulars become irregular. Newbies buy diapers and off-road diesel and sleep with visions of tax refund checks dancing in their heads. Sure, I get the occasional straggler but this place is a ghost town. People are huddled in their beds, wishing it all just went away so we can be back to the way it used to be.

There is no "used to be". It was never the "Good Old Days. The Man has always held us down. We just forgot how to deftly extend our middle fingers and loudly proclaim, "Fuck it! I'm going fishing!" Those were the closest we ever had to the good old days, when we didn't give a damn about anything but living our lives.

My wife, under duress about my ability to leave the planet on a moment's notice, reminds me that there's only one place to be - with people you care about, that care about you, and share a common goal of survival and kinship. I don't give a rat's ass about global events unless it results in someone pissing in my pool. I don't play the stock market. I am not a mover or a shaker, unless the door is locked and the kids are in bed. I not a global citizen - I'm a guy that knows some people and wants to make sure they're taken care of. I grew up here, moved away, came back - there's no place like home.

When the New World Order knocks on your door, tell them you've "already got one - it's very nice!" Take care of one another. Watch their backs. Live locally and let the towers fall. Our purpose her is to be who WE are. High school drama's over, kids. Time to be who you are. DO what you do, damn the torpedos, and we'll all get through just fine.

P.S. Anyone need ink? I can use a couple of bucks and I'm in the mood to unleash some really creative shit. All reasonable barters considered, as long as it's food, fuel or things I can't do worth a shit.

Peace!

Other fish in the sea...

Desperation.

When I was a kid I would live in unsettled fear of everything. I feared water, I feared crowds, I feared change. In order to survive on Terra Firma, you need to adjust and adapt, and I learned hard that change is never something that you've planned for. And reacting in predictable ways to unpredictable situations often leads to beating your head against the wall.

What you learn from hitting the wall with your head repeatedly is:
1) It hurts. Every time.
2) The skull can (on occasion) take a surprising amount of damage.
3) Referencing #2, it's amazing what you can survive.
(See "empath","war", "medical field", "emt", "divorcee", "tattoo enthusiast", "father of five")

Your psyche has been beating itself senseless against the wall since your birth. You know you're seeing the Truth through a pinhole. That's what makes you different. But that's also what makes you tortured and unwilling to go with the tide.

Peer pressure keeps you in the net. Red fish, Blue fish - you are aware that you can make a choice in which color you present. Not too many people can live the hermit's life, away from the school. In order to communicate and interact with another human being, you need to establish a mutually acceptable form of exchanging information. We can never be sure of our choices and need validation for our very existence. The human spirit cannot live in a vacuum.
(See:"Being God's Eyes")

Now, your soul is screaming from every pore that the poo is about to catch the fan. Psychic adrenaline rushes through you -- "Get me the FUCK out of here!" We're speaking that language right now- you and I - as we mutually accept that I am sharing ideas and you have read this far. In a nutshell, the issue up for discussion is the Human Condition. And we're talking the End Of Life As We Know It.

The tools you carry with you on your journey up the mountain are based on information spoon-fed to you from birth, and has little to do with Truth, or what's really going on. Start being more selective about what enters the melon- the Truth is everywhere, but to know it puts you in immediate danger of scooting out of the Net. And it's not just going to slap you in the face saying, "Here I am! The Answer!"

Challenge everything -- the Truth cannot be hidden. But the problem is we're all going to have to find our own Truths, as my perfect wave is nothing like yours. And that, ironically, is why the Black Hats have already lost. The cubicle life of uniformity and servitude doesn't work for long. One sunny day you're going to realize how good the sun feels and the air smells and you're taking a recess and never coming back. Grab the board - the surf's looking like it's going to be a good day.

As I see it, there's a system at work, and as much as I can know, I believe in a world like this:

The soul farm's been here a long, long time. Old habits die hard. In this Garden of Eden, we're growing hate and misery - the tastiest of psychic produce! And there's a lot riding on an excellent harvest. PTB Inc. ("We Own You"tm) has invested tens, if not hundreds of thousands of years developing this fertile soil. Billions and billions served. The great cycle comes again and the biggest, juiciest gathering of human misery is right on the doorstep. But there's a snag that they can't get around: seems this farm's about to be repossessed by the land Herself, so she can retire comfortably after a job well done.
(see "reptilian shape-shifters, Illuminati, Bigfoot, UFOs, the Loch Ness Monster and the theory of Atlantis". )

But back to the mess we have to live with every day. Think of it as a pyramid scheme. Little squabbles down here become collected and feed the PTB Machine. SO, in order to maximize the harvest with the least amount of hands-on, PTB has signed on with the best and the brightest to control every avenue of information about REALITY. And it's working, kids. People are kept in a psychic coma, deprived of their own world view and encouraged to give up the tough job of decision making and self-preservation. TV, radio, mass media of all kinds telling you who and what you are - a commodity. A thing to be deprived of its true essence in order to become a more productive source of hate and discontent.

You are being herded towards reacting and responding in very predictable ways. Hide under the covers and ignore the hot breath of the Beast on your neck. Take up arms and hack away at the toes of the Beast. Crush yourself into a ball and withdraw entirely. So few take the path of passing between the cracks, surfing the Wave and slipping through the cogs. Because the information is not easy to access, the option to opt out is rarely considered, let alone implemented in the average mind.

The secret to all religions lies not in the heirarchy but in each of us. No gods without subjects. But what if you are a religion of one? To worship the part of you that connects to ALL THAT IS. The prophets spoke volumes about the power of faith, connectedness and unity with all things. And the notion that everything is exactly as it should be is paramount. Intelligent design or divine province, it matters not Padawan. Realizing you have God on speed-dial at al times is the key you need to see through the noise and distractions of PTB Inc.

Duality. Divisiveness. Us and Them. It's their primary strategy. Divide and conquer. Imprison without having to do the paperwork. The dollar has become the choke collar we hang ourselves with. We do not make them, we do not own them, we can only trade them at what we're told their worth.
(see: Seven Deadly Sins, Economics 101, The Hustler)

They want you to see the coming war. The rockets red glare by land, sea or air. Economic warfare. You owe debts via a contract you never signed, and you feel obligated (by force, I might add) to continue that toxic tradition. You are Owned. But you can't be owned. You can't sell your soul, at least not forever. You agree to play. So, change the Game. Screw the pawns. Ignore the King. Real strategy requires you to know your enemy and the rules in play.