it shouldn't bother me that i have so much in common with david icke

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I don't like the ridicule from prigs for it. I don't believe everything Icke believes, but I adore what he's doing with his notoriety. Bodhisattva. I like that he's concentrating plenty of energy on injun civilization, which was vastly more evolved than ours. Ours doesn't even merit being called "civilization" anymore. This cannot be stressed often enough or hard enough.

Now that my contacts are back in, and notwithstanding all the puffiness from eating frankenfood and crying, I can see well enough again to go back to catching up on my magazines. I will not be renewing my subscriptions to any of them. I read a story about a completely unconstitutional murder trial last night. It was very well done, an excellent piece, and I might even be able to look at it as though the author had been trying to wake us up had it not been for her involvement in trying to get one of the prosecution witnesses' testimony impeached with a tape of him "admitting" that he's a truther, and knows about our illegal monetary system and other matters of FACT contrasting with consensus. I have lost even The New Yorker and can no way afford to subscribe to Granta so my magazines in bed thing will be drawing to a close.

I can't be trying to keep them alive if they will this blatantly hop on the war-is-peace wagon.

It's going fast now. As the hospice nurse would say, "Your country is now in the actively dying phase."

And, believe it or not, much as I holler for you to wake up and to stand up and to do something, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, I have not scrupled to be so insulting-but-honest as to tell you to grow up, but that has been precisely the problem all along. As far as I've gone is to remind you of our adulthood. Waking up means growing up so people prefer to sleep. Like frightened little children, people prefer fantasy to reality, and choose the one over the other, the vital other, every time. Well, it's time to join Icke in this call to your adulthood.

IT'S TIME TO GROW UP.

That fucking sellout in The New Yorker wrote a little masterpiece of propaganda to convince you that fascism is democracy and the truth is evidence of mental infirmity... and they published it. Pft. Over. Doesn't matter how well-written the lies of murderating fucks ever gets. It won't ever make their lies true. It won't ever save sentient beings. It will kill us all.

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love, 99
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