baby it's cold outside

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I had a semi-decent day's sleep, and I know this because I was dreaming. Whenever I recall that I've been dreaming, and especially if I can remember bits, that means I'm getting some of the good quality sleep, which, ahem, is not usual enough for me, for anyone. I don't recall that much about the dreams, except that I was at some sort of not okay resort with, I think, a landlord type man trying to sing its merits to me and me trying not to slip off the pier into the water while he was holding forth thus. I don't think trying not to slip into water is a good thing in either Jungian or Buddhist dream analysis. Water is the unconscious, the place one needs to make conscious in order to be a free human, a true human. Fuckup one. And then I was at some sort of fast food place—fuckup two—concerned for the staff, and finding I'd remembered my pocket change but not my paper cash and had to go back to the resort to get my money so I could purchase my "food". When I got back, the "food" thing wasn't happening, the ladies room was! I needed toilet paper. My money turned into toilet paper. This could be Buddhistly good, shedding awful habit, the toilet is the ace dream metaphor for that... OR it could be that I had to pee so badly my dream was trying to warn me not to wet the bed. It could have been either, but maybe it is the latter because I wasn't performing so well with the resort landlord thing, or with the entering a fast food "restaurant" even in a dream thing... except that I really did go in there with the intention of saving sentient beings, wasn't interested in the eating plastic crap part, but rather wanting to add energy to the liberation of the slaves behind the counter. So, hell. I'm ambivalent as heck about it... I just don't feel very enthused about what metaphor I can pluck out of the soup.

Not that I need to feel admirable or nuthin, but it seems too ignominious for someone who's been at it for this long.

Anyway, after a day of sunshine and then a Christmas Eve of only mild overcast, Christmas broke upon my home a sodden and too cold place yet again. Not as bad as the weeks leading up to Christmas, not quite as North Pole in its aspect, but dreary and uncomfortable as heck. A good sleeping day and that's really about all it's good for. I just hung a strand of itty lights, willy nilly in my kitchen—hang the electric bill and the added environmental damage. If I am up, and I need to be if I want to keep anywhere near a doable circadian rhythm, I'm going to have some atmosphere in this place... just turn off other stuff to compensate... like the heater. I've always loved strings of itty lights, preferably not colored, and I bought the suckers over five years ago and then never used them when I found out how environmentally incorrect they are. It's just a fucking ego trip to be this clean when BP is literally sliming the planet and overthrowing any government in its way. Okay? Being so scrupulously clean and correct to "combat" those fuckers is just a lethal head trip. Period. So my itty twinklers are happening.

Last night I stumbled upon the bad news that the wonderful anti-Israel bus ad campaign scheduled to begin on Monday is not going to happen and it depressed me. See, the moment I read about it I knew it wouldn't happen, was in fact pissed off that they'd put it out in the media BEFORE the fact, as though begging for a clampdown. I didn't feel like being negative over it, and so I wasn't, and I still don't, but, dammit, these pansy fuckers who grind paychecks out of "activism" make me yearn for my very own rocket launcher so I can blow their headquarters to smithereens. The tonnage of saved irk to everyone on earth would lift our hearts vastly more than any of these agony exploiters we do insist on adoring.

And I think I'm going to start my one-woman crusade against these evil fucks on KEVIN ZEESE. That dickless cash leacher and his incessant framings of "slow" and "longterm" and "long hard slog"—et cetera, et cetera, et cetera—has gone from merely making me want to knock his block off to making me want to nuke everything having to do with him to smithereens. He is the nexus for that little constellation of nonprofit, but paycheck generating, websites that pose as action against everything wrong. I DON'T CARE ANYMORE THAT HIS LAST NAME MEANS "COFFEE" IN BOONT! Now, if the filthy worm is murdered I'm going to be a suspect, even though my homicidal speech is unerringly just speech, every violent impulse I ever had having done a U turn about six inches off my face, but maybe they could just wrongly put me on death row and I'd still be glad that walking phial of sleeping powder in the apocalypse had been halted from perpetrating his deathless and pusillanimous and damn apocalyptically-lethal harm forever.

I'll be over this any minute, I'm sure.

What good what it do? He'd be replaced by another. They're in limitless supply. I hate them all, and indeed I hate them more than the ones whose perfidy is right up front, because of all the good people they BAMBOOZLE for a living. It has been pointed out to me that the bamboozled are bamboozled because it's their karma, and that is actually irrefutable, but my path must evidently be to fry out my circuits so utterly with wrath over the harm that I end up in a state of perfect enlightenment by dint of completely melted wiring. Others simply drop this shit, shed it. I couldn't be that sensible, all my toilet dreams notwithstanding. Not in my makeup.

So, still being up at some ridiculous hour, resolved to postpone my murderous impulses for the sake of everyone's holiday serenity, I invoked the use of my browser's reader function to blank out everything but the, enlarged, text to enjoy an essay by Neil Kramer. That was some help, but deflating a bit because he started it out with that crap about the whole WikiLeaks brouhaha being a psyop, which gets on my nerves. Number one, the sociopaths do NOT control everything that happens. They simply succeed in gaining control over it too quickly. There's a big distinction there. A huge one. One you could sail the Titanic through if you hadn't sunk it. And, number two, he has been extremely unclear about the need to keep your eyes open while you go about using nature to do the hard work of restoring yourself to some sort of near-human condition in this planet-swallowing mindfuck we call "life".

Still, there were a few really good paragraphs in it, and so I copied them, only editing just a jot, in case you find yourself too lazy or otherwise disinclined to click the link:

Mass culture is a control mechanism that devalues the individual. It is aimed solely at promoting collectivism. It seeks to enforce the dependence of the individual human on a collective group and the priority of group ideologies over individual life paths. It is, at the base level, the very heart of socialism, communism, fascism and totalitarianism. It employs nationalistic impulses to setup polarities of antagonism that exclusively benefits a set of ruling elites. At the top level, the elites fully comprehend that there are no distinct nations, ideologies or cultural imperatives to speak of. To them, there is only power and no power.

Real human culture, the natural expression of the individual at the pure creative level, always emanates a degree of uniqueness, spontaneity and asymmetry that is infeasible to manufacture or mass produce. It does not lend itself to reproduction or packaging. The value of real culture is therefore to be observed in that which is handmade, distinct, crafted, skillful, and is a profound representation of an individual, not an organization. It is anti-commercial to its core.

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When we hear of the important news items that are ‘the talk of the nation’, what we are witnessing is the self-referential narrative of the Control System. These headlines are not the news of the individual, or even echoes from the communities that are composed of individuals. The media’s ‘hot topics’ of the day, are collectivist memes that are set against the natural path of the individual. The exercise of turning off the TV and discarding the newspaper, demonstrates just how utterly irrelevant the news is to the progressive human narrative. The most profound, revelatory and exhilarating moments in our lives are always manifested by our own hands. They do not arise out of screens, institutions or ideologies. When we extricate ourselves from the mediaplex, we regain that which is our heritage – a knowingness that we are here to explore, to grow, to love and to experience. Nothing more and nothing less.

See, I can be mellow about my disagreement with him because, while some of his stuff sounds honestly too damn relax-have-a-pickle and would tend to ensnare people really only looking to get out of the blare of the ugliness—until the ugliness blows up the planet, of course—I mean I'm sure they haven't forgotten that part, right?—it is crystal clear to me that his understanding is such that he will never harm for a living. That is huge. That is RARE. And he is generally trying to get at the perfect elucidation of the OTHER way out of this hell for the masses.

The one where we wake up and cease empowering the sociopaths.

I think there isn't the time for it, but know that it is of the sort of phenomena that can turn on a dime, really can shift with the beat of a butterfly wing... only just extremely unlikely to happen no matter how many Neil Kramers we drum up to beat their butterfly wings. It would have the benefit of vaporizing the dread poison taffy river of Kevin Zeese Energy that is bombing children to pink mists in their sleep and which no amount of violence could ever erase. So I'm still in Kramer's corner, even if he doesn't give the beauty of Assange's action enough attention... yet.

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love, 99
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