Good Thoughts, Good Words, Good Deeds

Impossible. At some point after so much torture – one has no good thoughts left. Any words left are seldom good. Deeds are of necessity and never pleasure. Good and bad are relative terms to a beaten down dejected individual.

This pessimistic conclusion goes against the way I had chosen to live my life up until recently. How does one combat evil force without using force to repel? In instances of battle; equitable acts of evil between warring parties are noble if done with a pure and good intent – but they still haunt the doer if he’s good inside. No pleasure is taken in attacking.

Pleasure is in peace and harmony.

If necessary, sometimes good men must act evil to protect the peace and harmony of themselves and their people.

When a predatory evil doer infects the thoughts and life of a good human; is there some balancing force somewhere that equalizes things and protects the good? At one time I had deep faith in this; but the older I get – the less I feel protected by the human systems that feign basic protections that are hardly delivered to the funding-class.

Our spirits can be infected by the evil. It will beat you and slap you and stone you.

Being taught to turn the other cheek has a limit. I turned the other cheek and it ruined my life.

Instead of the abundance of good; that perpetual good vibe upon which I lived – I find myself in the darkest of passageways – wishing anguish and destruction on those that stole my youth.

My body is aging rapidly and falling to pieces; those small drips of things other than pain that once provided an occasional sustenance; the periodic plateau and rest of momentary pleasure or respite; are fewer and further between.

I love being a father. Period. Despite the near constant physical pain I am in – seeing her smile and achieve things that make her proud makes every bit of work worth it.

Unfortunately, an exceedingly elusive feeling is that of a benevolent outlook on my fellow creatures.

As I observe the world around me; it would appear that not only has my micro-life disintegrated on the evil wishes of a select few awful people – subtly influencing me in destructive ways – but even coming out on top in the situation still leaves my child harmed by people that are supposed to care for us and especially her.

My chosen truth of so many years that ‘Man is Good and Just’ shattered by so few individuals, so quickly.

Not only has the micro-world around me shattered alongside the rose-colored glasses through-which I viewed my past – the larger macrocosm has taken such a dark dystopian turn that the only real vestige of faith or hope I can muster is that in some way or type or place we really are in a simulation of sorts and that the soul is immortal; that no matter what happens – at some inevitable juncture the lights will suddenly turn on and the DJ will halt the music with a scratch as a benevolent wizard stumbles out from behind the emerald curtain to reveal how all the plotlines weave together and beautifully display the poetic ways in which justice shall be served.

Here’s the difference between me and you, mystery stalker – you’re weak. Thats why you take so ruthlessly of others.

I’ve lived more genuinely and joyfully despite the shade thrown at us.

Kick all you want, you can’t kill the spark.

That’s all I needed.

Just a spark.

Then I took a calm deep breath and uttered a few simple words of truth; burning your House of Swords to ashes.


To be clear:

  • People are allowed to be odd.
  • If I could paint the neat shit I think about, I would.  But I prefer bang out word sounds.
  • Fuck off, mate.


Oblivious in Sosua: Part 8

“Mafioso,” she says as we adjust our clothing; gesturing at Diablo who spies us arm in arm. Her smile was intoxicating but the next day I saw that same gaze pouring into the eyes of a young linebacker-looking American as I made my first walk around the block.

Our eyes meet and we grin. I turn right and grab some fries at the restaurant that was without any doors immediately around the corner. There are several pairs of shotgun-wielding police in the area – just chillin’.

Skin for sale everywhere.

Half a decade after my research, I find an article written in Spanish exactly a year after I wrote those first parts of this story. An article in which a former-CIA agent retraced my steps in Sosua, found Diablo, and rescued 23 trafficked girls.

Probably just a coincidence.

The girls do it too. The pimping.

I saw a concerted effort by the older better dressed women to protect the younger girls from the likes of Diablo and presumably the likes of mysterious foreigners such as myself. They still plied the trade and taught the younger ones. Encouraged? I believe not. Accepted their situation, sure.

The girls all stuck together; recognizing the objectified, targeted, misogynistic niche in which they existed.

The subject of my interview that day tried to sell me a person that was clearly not old enough to be willingly choosing such a profession in any society. Close. But definitely not.

That being said – it appeared as though it was routine for everyone.

The way everyone gets paid is that the hourly hotels above the bars only accept local currency and the currency exchange was run by the mafioso.

All of the beach vendors and tips are paid in USD; who then exchange that cash quickly and easily and cheaply at small local roadside shops.

Same for drugs and humans.

Pondering About Aliens

Suppose extraterrestrials have visited since we humans evolved. It makes sense, really. They being able to travel so aeronautically impossibly dictates a higher order of tech that must presume to be older than us.

Whether or not they had a hand in our creation is beside the point; they certainly affected our cultures at a minimum as an ancient cargo cult.

It’s the height of human hubris to assume we are the primary object of curiosity on this planet. These ships have been reported traversing into and through water as warm and buttery as they shift through the air and into space.

The STS-75 Tether incident is not a video found easily online anymore; the above slice of newsfeed from AP is about it. The hundreds of ships are called debris. Those things are intelligently piloted. That broken tether is miles long; how large does it make those perfect circles? Some of those perfect circles flash like a moody octopus.

Perhaps earths’ sea creatures are more interesting and unpredictable than us to the otherworldly observers. Given that we know more about space than we do our own oceans; perhaps the visitors have found the impassable depths of our oceans to be more fascinating than the highest peaks and our most innovative forms of art and technology, terra firma.

Surely, we have found stranger things in our oceans than we have on land or in space. Odder, scarier, more fascinating and unfathomable forms of life exist in our oceans at different depths and pressures; even in volcanoes and extreme anerobic or arsenic based environments; than we have ever confirmed on land or in space.

Perhaps life is as rare as we have always collectively thought it is; and our Earth fascinates the heck out of other advanced life-forms.

Maybe they made us and that’s God… or maybe we all evolved the initial spark of life independently and that’s why the abundance and variety of life on earth intrigues them so; as it certainly would us if we found ourselves in their proverbial shoes.

Such an understatement to refer to Earth as an ant farm.

More-so a multi-level community combination aquarium-terrarium freak-show mosaic displayed in a magnetic spherical gaseous fishbowl that post-1800 moonlights as a certifiably delusional chain-smoking composter.

Fascinating stuff. Huge ratings. Yuge ratings!



Interesting Relevant Videos

This conference happened on May 9th, 2001 – discussing trillions of dollars in black budget UFO projects and disclosures by military officials about our relationships with extraterrestrials.

On September 10, 2001; US Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld announced trillions of missing dollars from the Pentagon.

The next day, September 11th of 2001, something huge happened where all the evidence was destroyed at the Pentagon and everyone forgot about the trillions of dollars missing. In turn they signed a blank check to the military industrial complex; directed by former Haliburton CEO and US Vice President at the time, Richard Cheney; that enabled two more decades of unaccounted-for spending.

ANTS! – Part 10: Swords Not Guns

A few of the groups tried traditional pest control measures. Exponentially more poison was required in relation to the increase in size of these creatures. As we watched the proceeding generations pass in the hereafter – the stratagems that evolved were worthy of any of the visual media that the other planets so readily consume.

Poison was not one of the more successful means of fighting the beasts as the poison killed us as well. The concentrations in the old days were so small that the human cancers and adjacent strange ailments took years to form and the corporate masters that poisoned our meat suits profited greatly.

These ants, too, profit greatly and soullessly and greedily.

The poisons did not work. Naturally the first line of defense for many of the human nations was small arms. Rifles had no effect. Small explosive rounds, sure. One RPG round per beast is great in the forest but what about when the hive wakes and the hill comes up-on-and-over the hill?

It was enough to injure one or three and get away; the quieter the better. Though they cannot hear; vibrations were something they picked up.

The war-swords of old and the forethought weapons of a zombie apocalypse were the ideal means of defense in many intimate situations with many of the ants. Again… it varied so much. If you take out a leg or two of a bigger one; or one of it’s essential functions like it’s eye – it will attack briefly and then recoil in horror.

It’s all pissing in the wind anyway. Anything beyond daily survival was as uncertain at bed-rest as it was if you even woke up.

We learned to love and cherish our fellow human sisters and brothers, though. Goodness, did we ever latch onto one another at the end. Perhaps things could have turned out better if we had embraced the unity much earlier.


ANTS! – Part 9: Masks and Distancing

The conspiracy nutters early on felt the six-foot social distancing was for military order. A few had the right idea with facial recognition. More accurate it was ocular scanning at a distance. Early iris scanners were tested on the Afghan and Iraqi civilians that we hired for work on the bases in their respective locales.

Before we had iphones; the technology to climb into someones eyes with a large clunky but single-contractor operated retinal scanner was advanced enough in ’08 to render identification that a photo-less paper-text taskira was satisfactory carried paperwork for the local even though the Canadian contractor manning the cage scanner doesn’t speak Pashto and the local hadn’t a photo. Some fucking glad I worked a safe 30 feet away in a paper-thin shipping container office where two Afghan National Police rolled up one day un-escorted and we gave them water. They had RPGs and a machine gun. Spoke no English. We gave them some water and granola bars. Took a few pictures. Come to think of it; that may have been one of the first times I died.

Decades later we find ourselves in masks; afraid of that which would drown us from the inside out; spaced evenly; retinas and perhaps brains scanned from afar as the rectangle covering our mouths helps the scanner find our eyes to identify the person and their fears.

In the days of industry; there were times when research suggested whales and other sea creatures were affected by our sonar; by our boats; by our poisons; by us.

Now in the ant-times we find that all of these little pieces of technology that we implanted inside of us act as a honing device for those that it does not repel.

A great number of rebels were Luddites long before the ants took over. Many of those that survived the pestilence; and then the bombs; and then the ants; were those that believed in older ways. They were often the people that could not afford all of the implantable upgrades that those in wealthier societies received. The tribesmen of isolate villages the world-round had a great shot in some instances. Armed American “prepper” folk; provided they weren’t religiously motivated; came together and found comfort in those core values that shaped some parts of that former nation.

As we learned in the hereafter – the ants taste the radio-vibes of our robot parts; and the flavor is bolder with every piece of metal we put in our body. Doubly for the gold-plated antennae of contemporary bio-metric society at the peak of humanity’s collapse.




Cockfighting is Logical: Perhaps Ethical

As the manufactured falsepocalypse transpired; I among others obtained chickens. The evolution and urgency in local Kijiji ads this past few months indicates a multitude of new chicken owners. As mine grow from babes; some of them are certainly dudes. I promised my daughter after much consideration that I would not kill and eat the ones that cannot stay.

All of the ways to resolve this gender balance had been pondered over. Outright execution and consumption seemed most logical. Second most logical is giving away. Which is likely what will happen. So an ad was considered; so many for young roosters were found. Owners requiring a ‘good home’. Nay, new chicken person. In the factory world these things get killed before they grow up. Just because your baby chicken is a baby rooster doesn’t mean you get away with skipping the deed if the homes run out. Half those folk taking your pet would eat it. Why else take a rooster; honestly? Unless it’s one sexy damned rooster that some fancy breeder wants laying chicken-pipe in his egg-birds.

I am left to wonder about thousands of generations past; cohabiting with small amounts of personal chickens to feed ones family. The same gender balance of all creatures would be then as now. What to do with the excess?

Human creatures kill each other for fun and sport as well as war. PTSD was the descriptor of nearly every generation to some degree until very recent in our species’ past. The logical deduction of a generationally-shell-shocked species noticing how the spare cockerels fight is being entertained by it. Perhaps abhorrent to some modern sensitivities; death was common from a young age for many of our forefathers. From waking up to the rooster you eat later that year; to hunting as a necessity; or as far as witnessing war as a necessity. The world before our modern one was not that pleasant to exist in by modern standards. Shit, much of our planet is currently at war or unjust. Slavery exists now. Rape as a tool of war exists now.

Chickens aren’t people. If our world is one in which Epstein can exist; one in which the worlds strongest nation can use the destruction of two insured financial buildings to justify the destruction of two complete countries – one could reasonably argue that a human channeling their primal simplicity at chickens fighting to the death is a logical and inconsequential derivation of the human animal. Anyone who wastes their time arguing otherwise is a child, a vegetarian, a hypocrite, or a coward. I watched a cockfight in the mountains of the Dominican Republic. I own chickens now, because apocalypse. Some chickens are absolute assholes; some are cool. Fucken let’em fight. Let dudes pimp their cocks.

My position is that when viewed relative to the things that our power structures allow and has allowed to exist since time immemorial; cockfighting is one of many logical ends for a simple minded mass of humans farming chickens. I am sure if ancient humans could have convinced pigs or owls to fight; they would have.

ANTS! – Part 8: Why the Bees Ruled the Skies

Their secret was in their sauce.


The biggest baddest murder wasp was still no match for an unrelenting mutated ant colony of nearly any tribe. The show of force was staggering. From bottomless tunnels, the ant-formations raided the vulnerable nests of wasps and hornets. I recall a time during the war, I found a hornet the size of my thumb. Surely it wasn’t really that large. I polished the marble and granite monument as I did every day; I observed it slowly dying as a swarm of fire ants dissected it. I initially observed out of fascination at the size of the yellow beast. As my routine around the cenotaph carried; the swarm of ants grew larger. They were so small in comparison but their numbers, my goodness. Piece by piece and in single-file they carried the bits of the dying hornet back to their home.

This efficient productive ant-instinct didn’t change when they did. While the adult hornets could escape upward and attack downward before pulling away; the ants raided their nests and ate their young. Many species of hornet lay eggs in their prey; a stinky treat for a merciless hunter ant.

The bees too, grew larger. Meanwhile the honey made by the bees; as delicious and enticing as it was; caused the ants to stick to themselves and die. They very quickly learned to avoid bees. The heightened instincts caused by the mutations allowed them to sniff out and avoid bee hives altogether. As the ants grew larger; their instinct to avoid the pollinators remained.

There was a pocket of humans in the New-Northern Territory that learned this in time to build apiaries to surround their village. As the endless summer turned into an even longer winter; so too did the bee-village fall.

The bee species, though, thrived globally.



ANTS! – Part 7: Currency Digitization and the Emu

All of a sudden there was no more money.

Granted… one could argue that there hasn’t been any real money since we got off the gold standard. Social distancing lead to a ban on using cash; hard irrefutable un-hackable cash was no more. We had no choice but to choose one of the major banks that offered all of the hands-free bells and whistles.

Cryptocurrency thrived. Eventually the debit-card ‘tap’ evolved into a hand-wave. Your hand couldn’t touch the sensor, obviously, because virus. It was a wave. It could be an aggressive wave; a royal wave; a salute. As long as your chip was functioning, it was simply a matter of getting your hand close enough to gesture positively – throwing ones energy at the device in a complicit acknowledgement that the human race ended long before.

We are machines.

Perhaps too were the ants.

Some of the rebels held a belief that by removing their chip the ants couldn’t track them. For some it was the whole hand if haste was the flavour of the moment. To a degree they were correct about the chips; this being confirmed for me in the hereafter.

The ants could still smell us; but the radiowaves emitted from an individuals RFID chip were like a haze of warm apple pie ascending the stairs on a sunny mountain morning. The ants could trace where you’ve been like a rabid yet silent wild animal.

Gill Bates had a backdoor into everything. As did Snuckenberg and the entire patriot acting establishment. Their insistence that we adopt these things; as beneficial as they were; assured our destruction.

In philosophies of millennia past; money was a great evil. Ironic really that the removal of it in favor of a once obscure technology feared for it’s geo-tracking ability was precisely what would give the technological advantage to our insect predators.

More efficient money hastened our demise.

Who’d have thunk it?

We reached a time of such abundance and opportunity that we could invent an invisible system of social credit whose minutiae allowed our worst biological enemy to hone with electronically supported malice their violent contribution to our apocalypse.

Hunters with night-vision brutally chasing stinky meaty prey.

A right irony in Australia was the dominance of the emu after radiation worked it’s way through us. Like a wave of colonizers taking the land from it’s inhabitants; the emu grew as the ants did and was one of the few animals that thrived after the fall. Vicious bastards.