Life in De Nial

By WILLIAM McCALL, Associated Press Writer — 36 mins ago

TUALATIN, Ore. – A man opened fire with a rifle Tuesday at a drug-testing laboratory in suburban Portland, killing one woman and wounding two other people before fatally shooting himself, police said.

 

 

By DENA POTTER, Associated Press Writer — 34 mins ago

RICHMOND, Va. – Virginia’s governor refused to spare the life of John Allen Muhammad and cleared the way for his execution Tuesday night for the sniper attacks in 2002 that left 10 dead and spread such fear people were afraid to go shopping, cut grass or pump gas.

Fragile X Syndrome: Gone from Sorrow (addended)

Satan has Texas

– Daniel Johnston

illustration: The Spearhead

In concluding The Shriver Report: A Woman’s Nation Changes Everything, neogoddess Maria Shriver commands:

 

As we move into this phase we’re calling a woman’s nation, women can turn their pivotal role as wage-earners, as consumers, as bosses, as opinion-shapers, as co-equal partners in whatever we do into a potent force for change. Emergent economic power gives women a new seat at the table—at the head of the table.

 

Well, that is a long way, isn’t it baby?  All the way from Equality and Let’s All Love Each Other to A Woman’s Nation!

Which one are you again, hon?  Old Dan (Thirty Pieces) Brown says first from the left of whoever that dood in the middle is.

 

Ms. Terminator ends:

Back in 1960, President Kennedy talked about the torch being passed to “a new generation.” Well, five decades later, the torch is being passed . . . to a new gender. There’s no doubt in my mind that we women will lift that torch. We will carry it. And we will light a new way forward.

 

Ah yes.  The rye-caught king you slaughtered to inaugurate your New Girl Order, the corn cut down to provision your Demetrian Matriarchy.   

And the whole Torch Thing?  Classic!  Really captures that progressive Neolithic vibe.

Isis/Ishtar/Libertas with Torch of Illumination

Instead of a creche this Christmas, how about a Wicker Man display on the Sacramento Capitol Lawn, Madam Shriver?  To celebrate your great goddess Victory, and her harvest of the nation’s sons?

 

(See here for Shriver occult connections.) 

There’s no place like Homeland

 

Blathering about security, oppressed gays, and “careless spending,”  last week Pharaoh Obie snuck his odiferous “hate-crimes” legislation into a “must-pass” defense bill, ensuring  enactment without political opposition of ”laws” that will make every (non-elite) American male a pre-perpetrator of sin most mortal, Offending Woman.

The male congresscum allowed this won’t be subjected to their own hate- legislation.  That’s only for non-wealthy, non-connected boys and men.  Like any self-respecting predator, the Gynogulag targets those least able to defend themselves.

Hegel’s Dialectic, solve and conquer, rides like a was in the Washington Wizardboy’s hand.

Mass Ma-nips, that’s the face o this place . . .  the races, yes . . . but most potently, the genders.  Medieval alchemy, descended from gnosticism, druidry, kabbalah, and back to Babylon and Khem, is replete with manipulation of the opposites, the theoretical foundation and ontological building blocks of practical magick.  Human male and female, essence of universal polarity, the beaker-bound alkhemikhal King and Queen merged and divided, folded and spindled, divided and coagulated,  their retort extruding by-products and get of conuinctio.

Hate-crime statutes nestled within a defense bill, sphere within sphere o fasthanded puppeteer, Earth’s devourers operating alien greylike on mass psychosocial scales, molding the Dreaming Mind, fostering and funding a movement here . . . setting a hit . . . tweaking legislation there. 

Pharoah’s pet measure attempts to head-off the inceptive men’s rights/anti-feminist movement which, although tiny, disorganized, ignored, and impoverished, constitutes the only opposition, secular or religious, to our glorious and beloved New Woman Order.

Nice going, Amerika.  Knew you had it in you!

Clearly a waterboard woops whippingshed erp watershed day for serpent subtlety and ms-direction.  Long-time masochists devotees of this blog recall last year’s Christmas-eve post, This Shouldn’t Be, documenting the  state-sponsored torture of boys at the Marianna School for Boys in Florida.

One thirteen-year-old inmate resident, Robert Straley, recalls his initial visit to the infamous White House torture-shack:

 

The first four or five blows were so hard I was merely stunned and amazed at how far down in the bed the force of the blows had sent me. Then it started to get bad, really bad, some of the blows were landing just at the top of my legs and some just at the bottom of my back. It felt like my skin was ripping, being peeled off. I rolled over and started to get up thinking it would be better to fight these men, anything would be better than this, maybe they’d just knock me out. No such luck. The tall man grabbed me by the neck and slammed me down on the bed, his knee on my back. I started screaming, begging, shouting to God to help me, but the beating continued. Each lash felt as if it were tearing off my flesh and with each lash the pain just got worse.

Likewise recently, the southermost tentacle of the gulag, Florida,  “found no evidence” that Marianna’s victims were killed by abusive staff members, as former residents claimed.

++++++++++++

Tom: If there were no autistics in the world, would there be any differences.
Brent:  Yes.
Tom:  What?
Brent  Its mass lirch’s on us.  Lake’s meek will gets it’s gas from us.  More like getting rain in summer. 

“Qim Tunes”

 

 

 

Brent: Try learning it from the unloved salt of the earth that we are.  Mercy was never lent more lovingly.

– Qim Tunes

When in distress, nonverbal autistic kids emit a unique wail, heartpiercing and wordless.  Shreds the soul.

Century after century, countless beautiful and brilliant Lesser Beings, amongst them the species’ best and brightest, stowed away in prisons and institutions, in basements and cellars of ashamed relatives, terrified and alone, discarded by families, mocked and ignored and beaten . . . lacking even the comfort of speech.  Discarded in urine-stink rooms, dismissed as worse than useless, abandoned on cots, blank-eyed as the years inch past.

 

Last night I was cool at the poolhall
I held the table for eleven games
nothin’ was easier than the first seven
I beat a woman with varicose veins

She stopped to see herself in the mirror
fix her hair and hide her veins
but she lost the game

 

 

Next day I went to the dentist
he pulled some teeth and I lost some blood
We’d like to thank you for the cards you sent us
My wife and I were all choked up

 ”Sedan Delivery”

Tragically, our Sincere Plea to Bush Uno and Dos to re-take the wheel of womanplanet  remains, even to this moment,  unanswered. 

We are walking slow.  Sigh.  They’s probly shooting manacled sheep on The Ranch.  

Now, you boys say hi to Mary Ann.  ;O)

On September 29, formerly Michaelmas, the GynoGulag’s Goons gathered at VAWA Joe Biden’s posh digs in the Distrito de la Goddess to celebrate the matriarchy’s apotheotic trajectory and the 15th anniversary of VAWA, the Violence Against Women Act . . . to gloat in their annihilation of masculinity and fatherhood, and to stategize further patho-gendas.

The prior month, A-Mary-Ka encountered a rare (if minor) setback, as The Pantsuited One endured another diplomatic drubbing by those backward, primitive, patriarchal North Koreans.   Ran her ’round like a dirt-track bitch-hound.

Last outing, NK dismissed her as appearing “sometimes like a primary schoolgirl and sometimes like a pensioner going shopping.”

YeeOwch.  That rustic eastern humor do bite.  

Still seething at the misogyny of that plus the broken elbow, our Secretary of Hate jetted off to Save Africa, the West being well in-hand.  Promptly she pounced on a naive, unsuspecting Congolese boy, some luckless lightning-rod who forgot to bow  addressing Herr Herness.

 

Clinton snapped at the university student in Kinshasa on Monday when he asked what her husband, former President Bill Clinton, and Congo native and former NBA star Dikembe Mutombo thought about an international financial matter. Mutombo was appearing with her at the university.

“Wait. You want me to tell you what my husband thinks?” Clinton asked in response. “My husband is not the secretary of state; I am. So you ask my opinion, I will tell you my opinion. I’m not going to be channeling my husband.”

 

Yeah we know who you’re channeling, pensioner. 

 

The French-speaking student later said he had meant to say President Barack Obama, according to U.S. officials traveling with Clinton. It was unclear whether that meant he misspoke or the translator erred.

 

Another affirmative action poster-girl.  Way to go US.  Hillie’s got all the ambassadorial qualifications of a sourcreamed potato.

Whoa now.  No offense, jefe!

Nice cruelshoes!

Yep them brow-ridged, seaweed munchin’, raw fish gobblin’ Koreans worked ole Hill like a mule on meth.

Then NK chummily invited Hubby Bill on over for a “secret diplomatic mission.” 

Uhhh . . . yeah.  Shhhh!  Real high-level diplostuf.  Couple Tsingtaos and a clambake YOU ain’t attending.  PsychoMissy.

The North Koreans, waving buh-bye as Beestie broomsticked ‘cross African skies, promptly turned over two captured U.S. journalists to Mr. Bill . . .  two children women sufficiently foolish and empowered to wander around the DMZ, on the (correct) assumption that Gynoland would bail their precious panties out.

. . . leaving North Koreans slightly off their rice, shaking noggins in pitied wonder at those inscrutable loco Americans, who insist that women be men, and men be gone. 

One thing the North Koreans don’t grok is willful self-destruction.

Utterly predictable . . . assuming it’s vato a vato.  Respectful caution of opponent,  across the polished wood deck of a dojo.  Mutual threat covered by a bit of display.

Anything else, like limping deer, invites predation.  

Hillie figgered she’d just bully NK into Compliance, as with American somethings men.

Bzzzzrrt! 

Long-belated Anti-Skank Award for August bestowed on Kim Jong Il.  You the man, uh, Il. 

Could we call you “Ron”?

No Fear of Flying for that Jong!

Bonus Oak Theif Cluster for matching Illinois abbrevo.

How cherished the Old Days in Frenly Fuckit feel now, eh Hill?

 

she came in through the bathroom window

 protected by a silver spoon

 

And how’s that prettily-turned ankle?  :O)

 

Taming the shrew sole bent to our purpose

– Brent, Qim Tunes

 

While Auntie Empowered roamed the Dark Continent following Obie’s tribalstrut, the GGG ramped-up its “health agenda,” which just happens to feature mass excisions of male genitalia.

Gol-darnit.  As always, we are just tremendously shocked. 

Cheerily careening along the Yellow Trick Road, we note that South African males are currently being ”educated” that Circumcision Should Be the In Thing.

And who, he queried redundiously, is telling them It Should?

Why, the nurturing, caring, egalitee GlobalGynoGulag of course . . . and their own women. 

 

The opinions of female partners appeared to carry weight. “A friend of my wife’s brought his son here, so my wife told me, ‘Why didn’t you do this thing before?’” said Phineas Soko, 48. “Some nations do this thing, but us Zulus know nothing about this.” . . .

Soko gave in to pressure from his wife and friends. “I see some of the guys say you’re supposed to cut this thing [because] sometimes you catch diseases,” he told IRIN/PlusNews.

Taljaard said the centre offered men many sexual health benefits that were not readily available in the public health sector, and “It’s often the first time they’re offered these services.”

He sees no reason to delay rolling out a mass male circumcision programme – the risks are minimal, the cost low considering how many infections could be averted, and the demand plentiful.

The South African government may struggle to finance a national male circumcision programme, but in other countries international donors have been willing to fund a relatively inexpensive intervention that lasts a lifetime.

Rwanda:

Mass male-circumcision, a policy that was adopted by government last year, as a way of reducing the HIV/AIDS infection rate is at a snail-pace due to lack of capacity to carry it out countrywide, according to Dr. Richard Sezibera, the Minister of Health.

 

Whoa now Nellie!  Hows about we strap week-old girls into Circumstraints and snip-snip our way around their vaginas?  Under pretense of fighting AIDS?  Then ”harvest their tissue” to make face-cream for wealthy old men, so they can pretend they’re teenagers?  How would that go over?

Like 25 years in the Maximum ManCages with Bubba, is how.  Roll over Roman.    

Genital mutilation of girls is a major felony in the United States of Columbia.  Genital mutilation of boys is an industry. 

Donkey ears only hear the screams of the Korrect Gender.  Donkey jaws only speak the Korrect Truth.

To wit: Clinton Sees Evil in Sex Crimes in Eastern Congo.

With the Medea shilling for planet-wide circumcision, and fresh off her Korean smackdown triumph, Hillie stormed through a Congo littered with dead boys and men, “visibly moved” not by the massacred bodies, but by a nonevidential, assumed “epidemic of rape and sexual crimes.”

Hm.  This all sounds very familiar.  We’ve got that Epidemic here too, Congopersons!  In point of fact, three out of every two American females will have been raped in each of her lifetimes. 

In response to the Neverending Epidemic of Sexual Crimes in the Congo and Everywhere, the Hilderbeest sent $17 million in aid to  . . . well, we already know who.  (hint it ain’t the next dead guys.)

Gears a grindin’, the PMS (Propaganda Matrix Sisterhood) rushed in with Fresh Hysteria:

South Africa’s Health System Fails Women, Kids

The men being dead or conscripted, presumably The Congolese Patriarchy already “served” them.

Boy-king Obie’s Administration fits snugly into the schema of the serpent-o-philic mother-son cults of the ancient world.  Health for Mommy, Health for Baby.  Make Boom for Daddy.  

Yo B.O. – Opie from Mayberry had bigger, well, mayberries. 

We assumed from getgo that Fayrow got manchuriated early-on . . . not obviously and theatrickly, like military zomboid Raymond Shaw . . . but slow-cooked at Teleprompt Tech, initiated into the Demented Demetrian Mysteries not in the heat-rush of some midnight metro lodge, nor in a National Lab, but across decades at spooked- up shops like Orient Occidental College and Goddess Columbia University.

To say nothing of home schooling with “Asset Ann” Dunham!  (AKA MA.)

Verifying overt intelligence/masonic afilliations is moot.  Even if uncovered, so what?  Both Bushies were admitted Ma-son spooklings.  So was Scary Kerry.  Ho hum.  How my stocks look today?

This site’s  casual but highly suggestive content fills in a few gaps in Obie’s “education.”

Sample:

. . . [Ann Dunham]  had visited at least 13 countries in her lifetime, and had worked for companies that required travel to Pakistan. Her employers appear to have included the U.S. Agency for International Development, the Ford Foundation, Women’s World Bank, and the Asian Development Bank. Note that USAID and the Ford Foundation have (allegedly) been used as covers for CIA agents. . . .

 

Victims of this blog already are past grunt-level spookery. . . who tapped who at what lodge blah blah.  We include it for The Amazing Randi.  ;O)

While Bill saved two First Class Citizens and wifey saved Africa, prepping it like Nurse Ratched for its “little head” lobotomy, the GGG launched this trial balloon:

Public health officials are considering promoting circumcision for all baby boys born in the United States. Officials hope that taking this action will help slow down the spread of H.I.V. and AIDS.  [emphases added]

Looks plenty coherent when adding up the “eddicatin’” in various nations . . . Demeter aloft and trailing smoke, athame in one hand, lawbook in the other. 

Ah, here’s Her Herness now, approaching the DeaLey Plaza lectern, to mock god’s servants on feastdays and announce her candidacy.  Running unopposed.

 

 

Nationwide circumcision.  Make that planetary, please.  It’s For The Children, doncha gnow.

The boy children.  Those Others.

The CDC cell of the GynoGulag is merely formalizing collective female Will.

Aleister would be so proud.

In another impossible synchronicity, the United Nations, that NWO mouthpiece, chose this moment to release its “report” trumpeting that:

 

Male circumcision is a cost-effective means to prevent the spread of HIV. . . .

 

See?  Not only ain’t it YOUR dick, ladies, it’s Cost Effective! 

Case closed.  Nurse, unwrap the instruments.

Orca Winfried, Columbia’s Chief Commissar and First Ambassador to the Global Elders, paragon of NWO virtue,  fills her purse with the agony of tiny boys strapped to her harness.

 

Different beauty products companies have used different ingredients to make their product the best one. Now it is the turn of the human foreskin to join the list of ingredients being used in such products. Suddenly, the foreskin fibroblasts have turned into big business. . . . [F]oreskin fibroplast is now being used in SkinMedica, a new facial cream  promoted by Oprah Winfrey.

 

 The Devil wears Prada.  Pimps ‘em, too.

 

Speaking of Purse Power, the spook-soaked New York Times, America’s Paper of Discord Record, just released a Special Issue titled Saving the World’s Women.

(For balance, last week’s issue took the opposing position, ”Crushing the World’s Men.”)

 

There are more women controlling more wealth in the U.S. than ever before. (Of those in the wealthiest tier of the country — defined by the I.R.S. as individuals with assets of at least $1.5 million — 43 percent are women.) And unlike the women who preceded them — old-school patrons who gave to the museum and the symphony and their dead husbands’ alma maters — these givers are more likely to use their wealth deliberately and systematically to aid women in need. . . .

In general, women give differently than men. They are less likely to want their names on things and more likely to give as part of drives (large ones, like Women Moving Millions, and smaller ones, like living-room “giving circles”) that include other women. And they tend to spotlight different causes (women’s health, microfinancing of businesses owned by women) and for different reasons. A study of more than 10,000 large donors by the Center on Philanthropy at Indiana University suggests that while men describe their giving as practical — filling in the gaps that government can’t or won’t — women describe theirs as emotional, an obligation to help those with less.

 

TripleSpeak aside: men give to everybody, and women only give to females. 

To themselves, basically.  Like that “worship” trick.  With mirrors.

The NYT finds all this not only progressive, but cause for celebration and modelling throughout the land.  Cosmos.

Most rancid is the assumption that, in a nation where at 90 percent of the homeless are male, where females are favored in every aspect of culture and government, women imagine that giving only to other females is somehow noble and selfless.

Elsewhere in the Land of the Fee, Home of the Slave, veteran journalist Cokie Roberts announced via the Washingon Post Magazine that men are just lesser beings.  (There the darling is, announcing it.)  :O)

 

 

 

 

Women tend to be a lot more common-sensical than men are. In fact, when the Mark Sanford thing broke, I went tearing into my husband’s office and said, “Okay, that’s it. Women just are better. Men are just lesser beings.” He couldn’t argue at that point.

 

‘Course he couldn’t, my little arsenic kupkake.  Hubbie Steve Roberts is a former NYT shill.  Those boys leave their balls at the building’s front door . . . like the White House and Capitol pimples.

No scathing newsmagazine pieces, no network-news soundbites, no protests from politicians, no howls of rage from N.O.W. and the A.A.U.W., no demands for retraction, no immediate firings, no recriminations.

If a nationally known male “journalist” had claimed females are just lesser beings, he’d be Larry Summers’d out on his offensive ass jiffily, replaced (as at Harvard) by an uberfeminist.  The Medea would do backflips and milk the agitprop for weeks.  Summers was terminated merely for suggesting that males perform better in certain academic areas.  Heresy to WomanChurch.

On November 1, most of the You Ess reversed clocks by one hour in observance of “Daylight Savings Time,” most recently codified and revised by the Energy Policy Act of 2005, which changed the starting and ending dates to the second Sunday in March and first Sunday in November, respectively, beginning in 2007.

(Messin’ about with time usually = saturnian/cerelean rites, navi-gation, tessellate coordinates, typhon, occult merchant frats, etc.)  Like

the fourth beast is a fourth kingdom that will appear on earth. It will be different from all the other kingdoms and will devour the whole earth, trampling it down and crushing it.  The ten horns are ten kings who will come from this kingdom. After them another king will arise, different from the earlier ones; he will subdue three kings.  He will speak against the Most High and oppress his saints and try to change the set times and the laws.

(Daniel 7: 23-25)

  

HOUSTON —  Prosecutors told jurors Monday that a Texas woman accused of cutting off her infant son’s genitals two years ago was a drug abuser who showed no remorse or concern for her child as he was on the verge of death.

Katherine Nadal’s defense attorneys, however, said an expert will back up the 28-year-old woman’s claim it could have been the family dog, a 6-to-7 pound dachshund, that mutilated her son in their suburban Houston apartment in March 2007.

>

 

 

 

 

Nadal is on trial on a charge of injury to a child, a first-degree felony. She faces up to life in prison if convicted of attacking her then-5-week-old son, Holden Gothia. . . .

 Doctors who examined Holden will testify the genitals were cut in a perfect square by a sharp instrument, Oncken told jurors. An animal control officer who examined the dog found no blood in its mouth, on its fur or on its paws, she said.  [emphases added]

Guess that’s why it’s called Square Dealing, see checkerboard supra.

Holden Gothia?  Dubble Erk.

Our July 5 post, “Say Goodbye it’s Independence Day,” discussed an at-large cereal-killer in Gaffney, South Carolina.  The English surname from Gaffney is Caulfield.  Speaking of pharaoh and paradice mindslaves, Holden Caulfield is the protagonist of manchurian-trigger-tome The Catcher in the Rye.

Cokie, Hillie, and all u.s. get our Molochian wish.  Columbia certainly made a Lesser Being out of Holden Gothia.

The little oppressor.

Thankfully, America’s busy stamping out Rampant Sex Crimes in The Congo.  And hiring more female bureaucrats to “fix” the economy. 

Hopefully, Houston can call Peckerwood Hill and reserve a spot for Holden.

If they’re full-up, try the White House.  Where they force little boys over filthy mattresses and whip then until the skin flies off.

 

As it was in the days of Noah, so shall it also be in the days of the Son of man 

(Luke 17:26)

P. Kindred’s Divine Invasion described a “zone of evil” protecting Kore Earth from any masculine “invasion” by the child Yahweh. 

Here’s Amerika’s Sweet-Tart, Miley Cyrus, doing a “pole dance” at an awards show attended largely by kids.

Elsewhere and samewise, little sis Noah Cyrus and friends get in on The Game.

source: Dlisted

Responsibility for these outrages, clearly, rests with those rapacious Congolese men, and their Old Boys Network across the planet . . . forcing poor Miley and Little Sister to cash six-figure checks and teach eight-y.o. girls to slutdance.

Miley and Noah don’t want to exhibit their sexual Grrl Power.  They’re being made to against their delicate, defenseless wills.

Miley and Noah, of course, are latecomers to the Maypole Matricks, but seem already bred-in for Demetrian designs.  Maybe they’ll get a spin-off sitcom, Hetaerae Today, on MSNBC.

Check your local programming!  :O)

“All Will Fall” (Goya)

The August Rap-up over at Concrete Junkyard reminded that antidepressent use in the Ugly US recently doubled.  Twenty-seven million New Atlanteans now gobble this snake-oil — rather than confront the matrix that they are. 

See, Doc, I gots dis khemical impbalance!

Junkyard Terry’s monthly timeline recalls Pharaoh’s Big White House awarding its Presidential Medal of Freedom to Mary Robinson, first female pres of Ireland.  Not only a Mary, but shares the Mom-in-Chief’s bloodline surname.

Talk about loaded NWO gestures!  Made Mary last appeared herein as a Global Elder, the New Woman Order’s hilarious “galactic council.” 

Tee-hee! 

Bizee bizee backstage, the GynoGulag chugs ahead, dotting every eye and crossing every dubble.

All in the Family Lepidosaur.

Tellingly, Phyllis Schlafly’s above link describes how the FemSupremacists bullied Obie and Staff into sitting in a circle, before the Matriarchy’s Mouthpieces told Pharaoh exactly where the Stimulus Money would go.  (Into purses.)

 

You all know the drill, folks, When the ecomony goes south, who are the first people who get hurt the most?  It’s women!  It’s women!  We’re going to change that!

– VAWA Joe Biden, pandering and lying to Big Sis on the camp pain trail

In truth, of course, it was BOYS and MEN who were and are the owerwhelming victims of the Gynogulag’s mancession.  But VAWA Joe’s forktongue served its purpose, like the neverending propaganda assuring females they are oppressed victims.  Biden enraged and delighted hordes of women, feeding them delicious lie after lie, stoking them for (more) WOMANWORLD.

‘Cause ya can’t build a GynoGulag unless the air’s full of shit.

Ka-Trina (Hecate)

 

Hydra below Crater (the cup) and Corvus (the raven)

 

(Celestial wrath poured out onto the sea-serpent, while the crows that fed Elijah devour the beest.)

 

In light of hopeless voices, changes can’t be avoided

– first line from “In Jupiter’s Realm, Waiting” by ottiepoet Jeffrey Powell Jr.

 

Julie Ann Parish and Kristina Marie Kallies are each charged with one felony count of assault on a minor and one misdemeanor charge of endangering the welfare of children after the Great Falls Police Department investigated the alleged December abuse of student Garrett Schilling, then 13.

Schilling’s mother, Tifonie Schilling, said her son, now 14, has Fragile X syndrome, a genetic disorder that leaves him with limited means of communication and results in his showing symptoms often associated with autism.

Because of this, Schilling said, her son was never able to tell her about the brutal treatment he was allegedly receiving at the hands of his own teacher’s aides, which they have denied.

“If the teachers thought Garrett was being lazy or falling asleep at his desk, they forcibly took my son to the kitchen sink in the room and forced his head under the water while he was screaming for his mother,” Schilling said of the alleged incidents. “And if he had an accident in his pants he was made to sit in it all day. They would taunt him and say, ‘You stink like a baby.’

“I have about 14 other families who have kids who have been subjected, in one way or another, to different schools in the district,” Tarum said of the allegations. “The abuse comes in varying degrees, and not every child says they were tortured.”

. . . Tarum said that one family said their child was slapped or that behavior devices such as restraints were often misused in special education classrooms. One mother said that she noticed that her daughter, who has cerebral palsy, was missing chunks of hair on her head, a result of what she believes was the punishment of getting dragged across the floor, Tarum said, declining to say if the charged teacher’s aides were involved in either of these alleged incidents. . . .

Garrett lives in a world of fear,” she said. “He doesn’t understand that when we take him to new places, people won’t abuse him.

“He’s a great kid. He loves to swing outside and play with his toys with his brother,” she said. “He’s a really wonderful, outgoing kid and it’s just been devastating to see what’s happening to him.”

 

More than 200,000 schoolchildren are paddled, spanked or subjected to other physical punishment each year, and disabled students get a disproportionate share of the treatment, according to a new study.

The vast majority of severely beaten and psychologically tormented kids are Lesser Beings, of course – a fact the NYT would never publicize, given their ideopolitical supremacism and hypocritical misandry.  Not to mention spook overlords.

In most cases, an autistic boy would have no idea why he’s being beaten.  Often, it’s not possible for them instantly to obey a teacher’s directive or command, based on motor-delays inherent in their condition.  Example:

L.D. once taught three kids the Dead Bug Game.  One of the kids was neurotypical, one was Aspergers (relatively mild autism) and the third was Kanner-autistic (nonverbal w/significant motor delays).

Rules were simple: any time during the day, if someone calls out “Dead Bug!” everyone must fall on the ground supine, and wave their arms and feet.

Hey.  You were seven once, too.

In an unguarded moment, l.d. suddenly shouted DEAD BUG! and the NeuroTyp and Aspie kids flopped on the rug, flailing and snickering.  Their nonverbal Kanners brother stood nearby, watching but unable to participate.

Forty minutes later, the boy’s mother found him on top of the diningroom table, on his back, shaking his little feet and hands for all he was worth.

It had taken him the intervening time to translate what he’d heard from l.d., and seen from his siblings, into the concentrated and coordinated series of fine/gross motor movements necessary for Dead Bugging.

Laboriously, painstakingly, the boy had to work out the “game,” first meta-cognitively, and then via CNS/motor functions.  He did this without the motivation of real-time participation . . . the instantaneous shared-joy most of us take entirely for granted.

Everybody else in the game had long moved on.

It was so brave.  So admirable in his determination.  Yet they’re called withdrawn and selfish, and punished for their well-founded distrust of neurotypicals, for their “disobedience.”  The Judge Rotenberg Educational Center in Massachusetts uses electic-shock to “behavior-train” autistic kids.  Their parents approve.  Pay good money too.

Relatively few teachers and outside-home caretakers of deep-autistics fully understand the Kanners-ottie’s lack of certain physical capabilities . . .  or their plethora of abilities and gifts.  Certainly most school-personnel, particularly in advanced cultures like Florida and Mississippi, are incapable of understanding, supervising, and “teaching” deep-otties.  It’s a specialty, requiring years of observation and interaction.  Few of the best people have credentials, education schools and programs being useless but profitable.

Only in the last decade have a smattering of local district programs around the nation come up to speed with autistics.

 

Among the cases cited in the report was that of a 6-year-old, first-grade boy with autism, who was paddled at his Mississippi elementary school. An assistant principal who the report described as weighing 300 pounds “picked up an inch-thick paddle and paddled him” on the buttocks, the report said.

“It just devastated him,” the report cited the boy’s grandmother as saying. “When a child with autism has something like that happen, they don’t forget it. It’s always fresh in their minds.”

The two watchdog groups that collaborated on the report, Human Rights Watch and the Americn Civil Liberties Union, are urging federal and state lawmakers to extend the ban nationwide and enact an immediate moratorium on physical punishment of students with disabilities.

 

An inch thick board.  Measure it out between your thumb and forefinger.  Take a nice long look at just how thick that “paddle” is. 

Little Dynamo will wait while you think about it some.

300 pound man.  Beating a helpless, trusting, gentle hearted little boy who doesn’t even understand why he’s being whipped.  Just as bad, the boy was unable to communicate to anyone, even parents, his confusion and dismay and agony.

 

Did you see our brother?
He was here the other day
but he only came to say that he was leaving

 

Long ago l.d. stopped sniffling from grief, lest nothing get done.  But he had some teary days and bleak weeks after reading that story.  This stuff’ is standard, never a surprise, yet always manages to draw fresh blood.  Guess that’s the point.

Like countless others, that little boy’s heart is too dear for rage.  L.D.’s isn’t, though. 

You want Barabbas?  Keep it on up.  This rock could crack like a rotten walnut.

 

Early today as I watched while the skyline was shaking, I heard a rumbling

 

Austistics need a certain kind of discipline, like all kids.  But whipping otties unable to comprehend their “offenses” isn’t the answer to a godless (fatherless) culture.  The deep-otties (Kanners) function far better than NTs in highly structured environments.  They depend on repetition and rote to accomplish many “simple” cogno-motor tasks that NTs take for granted.  Their special abilities open only to love, can’t be coerced.

No wonder they’re Strangers on Demonplanet Nine.

++++++++++++

 

L.D.’s experiences indicate otties require less discipline than the average NT child — assuming their environment and caretakers understand autistic natures and needs.  Schools not set-up for autistic boys, and already feminized like most U.S. social environments, will only fail otties monumentally, then try to beat and drug them into submission . . . society’s standard method for Lesser Beings. 

Sadists scar them with belts in White Houses.  Massive men whip them with boards and call it “discipline” and “tradition.”

Bus drivers threaten to sever their heads.

 

OTTAWA — The mother of an autistic boy says he continues to suffer from severe emotional trauma after his school bus driver allegedly threatened to cut his head off with an axe, according to documents filed in court Tuesday.

The boy’s mother has filed a $750,000 lawsuit against the bus driver, the driver’s employer and the school board for the “serious and permanent consequences” sustained by the boy, including post-traumatic stress disorder, a statement of claim said.

 It also said that, “since the incident, (the child) has also experienced significant setbacks with regards to daily functioning, night terrors, anxiety, tension and heightened fearfulness.”

The alleged incident occurred on Sept. 22, 2006, when the boy was seven, on the premises of his elementary school west of Richmond.

After the boy began crying, his bus driver, Ariette Schoorl, threatened to cut off his head if he didn’t stop, according to the plaintiff’s claim. “The defendant then proceeded to remove the emergency axe located on the bus to further emphasize her threat,” the document said. “The incident terrified (the child).”

 

Beatings of defenseless and innocent boys — very rarely girls, because they’re Greater Beings — mandatory mass circumcisions, male-only recessions . . .  troubled times aren’t coming.  They are here.

The State Department and other Columbian Instruments scour the planet, manufacturing gyno-problems and inciting hate, hysteria, and fear.  Slicing male genitals, like mass imprisonment and fourth-class citizenship, is the In Solution for guys.

The Lorena Bobbitt Answer.  The Doctor Krippen Kure.

 

And before the throne there was a sea of glass, like unto crystal

(Rev. 4: 6)

The lessons learned under the GGG won’t ever be forgotten.  The dread will remain indelible and eternal in the race-consciousness, a nightmare preserved and cherished for its horrible necessity, an iron lid over the past.

But that’s then, and this ain’t.  For now, you are deceived.  Earth’s powers oppose you, sapiens sapiens, and you must fight for your inheritance.

 

Someone who had been away
suddenly came back today
and I allowed him home today into my mind

For a moment face-to-face
evil packed upon the place
long ago he meant to stay out there this time

Oh what do you know
the love that I’ve been feeling
The past is healing so slow
By tomorrow, gone from sorrow

 ”From Silverlake”

_________

ADDENDUM

By APRIL CASTRO and DEVLIN BARRETT, Associated Press Writers — 3 mins ago [November 5, 2009]

FORT HOOD, Texas – An Army officer opened fire Thursday with two handguns at the Fort Hood military base in an attack that left 12 people dead and 31 wounded. Authorities killed the gunman and apprehended two other soldiers in what appears to be the worst mass shooting at a U.S. military base.

 

Of course l.d. doesn’t know much, and isn’t much, but it appears that business-as-usual is no longer acceptable, in Texas or elsewhere.  The grace period has expired.  Mercy is removing from this nation.  Nor will this nation imprison, torture, intimidate, silence, or buy its way out of this.

_________

SECOND NOTICE

 

By MIKE SCHNEIDER, Associated Press Writer – 7 mins ago [November 6, 2009]

ORLANDO, Fla. – Officials searched Friday for a gunman who opened fire in a downtown office building where he used to work. At least six people were hurt.

People streamed out of the 16-story Legion Place office building around lunchtime and some told local television stations they had barricaded themselves inside their offices.

He Got Away! He Got Away!

 

 

FORT COLLINS, Colo. – Authorities are carrying out an intense ground search for a 6-year-old boy who was thought to be in a balloon that floated away from a Colorado home. The boy was not in the balloon when it landed, and his fate or whereabouts were not immediately clear.

 

Run, son, ruuuuuuuuuuuuuunnnnnn!!!!

And don’t look back until this vile planet disappears from your rear-view.

A Plea Goes Out to Former President George W. Bush

 

River rose all day, the river rose all night
some people got lost in the flood
some people got away all right
River busted through clear down to Plaquemines
six feet of water in the streets of Evangeline

(R. Newman)

 

Parish of Plaquemines, LucyAnna, where they left Captain America’s holey body in the roadside ditch as a warning, like witnesses dead-on-display at Times Square.

 

two uniformed devotees of the hoary Dildic Goddess, aka Swine Flew, worshipping at his her its feet

 

 Recapping the hub-bub: the Wienermobile’s Baby Driver thought she was moving backward, when in fact she was going forward.   Or something. 

  

 

 Whatever momentary gobbledygook she concocted, no citations were issued.  Certainly the massive trauma she underwent is sufficient for not knowing backward from forward.  Oscar the Third insists on PTSD Counseling.  Legal team notified.

Sun-day 7/26 was rife with victims. 

Sarah Palin(ogenesis), frequent flyer herein, desisted as A-lass-ka Governor — a Rong Way Ruckus from the getgo, females not being created to Govern males – while on Columbia’s east coast, a Babylon Mom continued the bass-ackward motif.

 

 

Navigating a family minivan and going the wrong way on New York’s Taconic State Parkway, someone’s personal Wienermobile  smashed into two other vehicles, killing eight, including four kids.

 

The parkway, which stretches about 100 miles from Valhalla, in Westchester County, to East Chatham, in Columbia County, was closed to traffic in both directions in the area for hours following the afternoon crash.

 

Later, this account surfaced:

 

A mom from Long Island who drove the wrong way on a suburban parkway sparked a horrific car crash on Sunday that killed eight people, including four children in her minivan, police said. . . . The driver of the minivan was identified by friends as Diane Schuler, 36, of West Babylon, L.I.

 

Diana the Goddess, from Babylon West, land o’ Shinar.

 

Your merchants were the world’s great men 
By your magic spell all the nations were led astray
In her was found the blood of prophets and of the saints
and of all who have been killed on the earth

 (Rev. 18: 23-24)

 

Valhalla, prefixed like Vallejo, is the Norse “hall of the slain” where the dead gather, not to rest or party, but to prepare spiritually for eschatologic Ragnarok.  (See our “Ragna Rok and Man Son Role” at the blogspot teepee.)  

 

rabbits in de briar : brace o coneys

 

Note also prominent 17s above.  Obama Pays Parking Tickets 17 Years Late.

 

The Taconic Parkway Smashup reports:

 

The three other victims were father and son Michael Bastardi 81, and Guy Bastardi, 49, of Yonkers, and a family friend, Daniel Longo, relatives said.

 

dead father and son

 

Sounds like Michael was bastardi non grata around West Babylon.

The Taconic Mountains are part of the Appalachian Range, highest peak Mount Equinox (see Wienermobile, figger  ”sow-squeals” from Deliverance.)  Taconic derives from a Native American dialect meaning “in the trees.”

As always, the red line leads back to the Grove, Dianic and Bohemian.  The forest of Nemi never ended.

Same day, in Georgia’s State, a Queens-man and two others, on their way to a wedding, were killed by another wrong-way vehicle, this one driven by Michael Delph of Clemson, South Carolina.

Queens is a borough (neighborhood) of New York City.  South Carolina is a stronghold of masonry, as we’ve documented.  Delphi, on the slopes of Mt. Parnassus, was the sanctuary of Apollo, and home to the Delphic Oracle, the most important ”seer” in classical Greece.  Baphomet or the “head Apollo” of the East Coast Templar cults fits also.

 

Wikipedia:  The name Delphois starts with the same four letters as δελφύς delphus, “womb” and may indicate archaic veneration of Gaia, Grandmother Earth, and the Earth Goddess at the site.

 

In lovely and obedient Texas, meanwhile

 

A 3 1/2-week-old boy lay dismembered in the bedroom of a single-story house, three of his tiny toes chewed off, his face torn away, his head severed and his brains ripped out . . . [Otty] Sanchez, 33, apparently ate the child’s brain and some other body parts before stabbing herself, McManus said. . .  The slaying occurred a week after the child’s father moved out, McManus said.  [emphasis added]

 

Media Medea About to Devour Her Children (Eugene Delacroix)

 

“Otty” is a very unusual name, almost unique.  For years l.d. has called autistic people “otties.”   Qim Tunes opens with an “otter” reference.

Returning to Georgia’s State, over in East Point on Sunday, 12-year-old autistic boy Jacob Doby was shot by his grandfather, who also killed his wife on the occasion of their 57th anniversary.  

Heinz 57, eating + blood.  The Dreaming Mind last encountered Heinz on the Greek Choral stage of Jay Leno, when (underage!) Miley Cyrus first demeaned, and then subjugated her pathetic father nationwide, then sucked the seed blood fruit out of a Heinz Ketchup bottle.  Bonesman John (Scary) Kerry is married to Saint Teresa, heir to the Heinz fortune.  For more on the Heinz connection with the gynogulag and ritual murder in Georgia, see My Achy Breaky Heart.

 

He was saying, ‘Hold on, help is coming,’” Glenn Bowman said of the scene. “Then I heard sirens. . . . George Doby, the family patriarch, had a Colt .45-caliber revolver in his hand, police said.“

. . .  [T]he motive for the shootings is unknown, but a neighbor who was friends with the family said 82-year-old Edna Doby’s health had been declining, and 87-year-old George was caring for her.

 

That’d be near impossible alright.  If George tried to take care of Jacob, too, well that’s No Chance.  Maybe George knew it.

Given the mass of relatives mentioned, you’d think that George would’ve had plenty of help taking care of his wife and Jacob.  But American families are increasingly shattered, selfish, isolated, and matriarchal.  Even kin often don’t help each other any more.  Autistics, requiring intense (sometimes exhaustive) care, are especially vulnerable to civilization’s devo.  

Plenty of money for wars, recreational vehicles, cosmetics, botox, corporate evemts, designer handbags, and the salaries of female government paperpushers, though.  Bottomless purse available for the Patriot Games and Violence Against Women Act!

Following-on fractures, follows the Injury Report for Week 101 in the National Foozball League.

*  Herr Hilderbeest (elbow) is probable. 

*  Wise Latina Sotomayor (ankle) is probable. 

*  French jefe Nicolas “Tyranno” Sarkozy (groin strain) is questionable . . . game-time decision.  Sources indicate still woozy and weak-kneed after jumbo butt-oggling.

The Sark, btw,  folded while jogging Sunday at the  Chateau of Versailles — an incident mirroring Global Elder Jimmy Carter’s tumble 30 years ago:

 

Sarkozy is not the first president to have problems while jogging.

U.S. President Jimmy Carter was in the middle of a 10-kilometer race in Maryland when he collapsed into the arms of his bodyguards on Sept. 15, 1979. Dr. William Lukash said the next day that the American leader was in “excellent form.”

 

Speaking of cocooning in the Matricks, last week at a medea-conference Our Obamanation dispensed medical advice:

 

If there’s a blue pill and a red pill, and the blue pill is half the price of the red pill and works just as well, why not pay half price for the thing that’s going to make you well?

 

Baracked again!  And so soon!  We’d barely ended our snarkfest from the bowling, pitching, and caboose-drooling feasts.

The film The Matrix (tri-fem) concerns the escape of a small group of Perpetrators from a planet whose inhabitatnts are completely deceived and brainwashed by a Ma-sheen Intelligence that enslaves humans, using their bodies/minds/souls for nourishment. 

In that film, the Blue Piil is a placebo, allowing potential escapees to refuse reality and return to Dreamland and the warm, open arms of Central Programming.  (And the ones that/Mother  gives you/don’t do anything at all.)

Taking the Red Pill, otoh, dissolves the Matrix’ programming, allowing the human to join the outcasts in their ascetic and difficult — but real — existences “outside” the Programs. 

After Neo downs the Red Pill, Escapee Leader Morpheus guides him on a Virtual Reality Tour of Earth, freshman Introduction to Spirit,  explaining that the peeps are, unfortunately, the enemies of the rebels, because the Regular Folk support the Matrix’ illusions, terrors, and literal vampirism.

So when Pharaoh counseled quaffing the Blue Pill, he wasn’t advocating Change We Can Believe In.  (Tho he was advocting belief, of a kind.)

Appealing to Konsumer Kulture’s MAterialism, Obie’s natural selling point was the Blue Pill’s half-price. 

bzzzzrrt . . . there’s Our Leader, under the flourescents, in that little booth leaning into the mic, warbling out a vaguely sexual, soothingly excited

We’ve got a Blue Light Special, K-Mart shoppers!

   

The cuckoo-clock winds backwards, like mom’s minivan, hurtling Rongward along the Taxi Taxonomic Taconic Expressway.  The little bird emerges, peeps out a false hour, adds something about dildos, then crashes back into the twisted metal hands.  Medea hits the register key cha-ching, reaches for a dubble choco-latte, and across the wires mangled bodies litter Columbian express ways.

Exiting the Matrix hurts.  It’s like learning that your mother boinked the entire Garbagemen’s Union, or that the country of your birth and love conspires against God.

George, don’t you dare tell, but l.d. is starting to warm up to you.

OK it’s nascent, with readings in the microgram range, still . . . .

. . . those golden years of MotherLode Placer! the decades of True Pork: tombie rites, Abu Ghraib, the V.P. blowing off some hucklebuck’s face with a shotgun.

Folks, you can’t get that just anywhere.

Ah, Nostalgia!  You naughty tart you.

The Burning Bushes seem kinda Fifties now, chummily feudal, Ozzie and Harriet, My Three Sons, the Beav. 

My Favorite Martian.

Little Dynamo fesses up – he misses Junior jeeest a little . . . the broken furniture, the startled neighbors, otties covering their ears, humming, rocking slow.

President Obama . . . it’s just not the same.  Even with the pharaoh stuff tossed in.

The guy is mondo manchurian, probly hasn’t been on his own a month lifelong.  He inspires an admittedly reluctant pity, used and fatherless lad that he is.

In any case, l.d. isn’t in the habit of beating up boys.

Yes. The thrill is gone.

King George please come back to your little dynamo! 

All is (perhaps) forgiven! We’ll be your best colony ever, you’ll see, you can even keep your Queen.  You can steal and lie and play Necromancer II. . . you can hit us with bowling pins . . . we promise not to barack you. 

If this isn’t possible, perhaps your father could un-retire? If that’s not too inconvenient?  Watchword: Term limits are made to be broken.

We need someone to yell at.  It’s really that simple.  Improves the digestion, and we ain’t gettin’ any older.  Well goodbye George please think about it and thanks a lot.

With Warmest Regards,

Little Dynamo

It’s a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

 

 

 

And all this science, I don’t understand

It’s just my job five days a week

 

Apollo 11 astronaut Buzz (“yeeee-haaaa”) Aldrin — sober for thirty years btw, so no more bzzzzz jokes  – recently remarked of  the Monolith on Phobos, one of Mars’ two moons, that “God put it there.”

Eh, Buzzster?  The ‘Monolith’ thang . . . not really common currency, y’know?

The Buzzsman’s a 33-degree initiate . . . so let’s all overlook this thoughtful  indiscretion.  Great Secret Keepers ‘n Such that them Southern Jurisdictioners bee.

Aldrin’s Annunciato paled, however, in compare with North Korea’s long-overdue smackdown of Der Hilderbeest, fresh off a broken elbow, spluttering-mad, and ready to make space A Woman’s Universe.

 

Maria the Shriver, Governess of Kalifornicate, gone feral

 

Green Witch Mean Time, over in Fuckit, Thailand:

 

Today, a meeting of Asian leaders in Thailand turned into the set of “Mean Girls”: North Korea called the Secretary of State a “funny lady” who “looks like a primary schoolgirl and sometimes a pensioner going shopping.” Ouch. To be fair, Clinton stirred it up earlier this week when she compared North Korea to “unruly teenagers.”

 

 

 

Hillary, like millions of other spoiled Bullyland Brats, is addicted to attacking without fear of reprisal.  She forgot that the North Koreans are Package Intact (with extreme prejudice) unlike the manlings in her own country.

Took some noodleland halfway ’round the rock to do our dirty laundry for us.  Whole place is probly smaller than Orange County.

And, wouldn’t the Chinee have been cheeper?  They love doin’ the wash.  :O)

With Your Dynamo still chortling over that fine and righteous baracking of Herr Hill, God dropped a Third Golden Plum in our unworthy — but unaproned — lap.

Doubtless still bedecked in MomPants, Mister President adjudged that Cambridge cops “acted stupidly” in arresting Henry Louis Gates Jr., a self-idolating, affirmative-actioned, over-entitiled little prick of a perfesser.

What manner of brutality did those Nasty Racist Police inflict?  Rubber hoses behind the BustWagon?

 

Gates was arrested July 16 by Sgt. James Crowley, who was first to respond to the home the renowned black scholar rents from Harvard, after a woman reported seeing two black men trying to force open the front door. Gates said he had to shove the door open because it was jammed.

He was charged with disorderly conduct after police said he yelled at the white officer, accused him of racial bias and refused to calm down after Crowley demanded Gates show him identification to prove he lived in the home.

 

Yep, cop’s name is Crowley.  Sgt. James Crowley. 

Car 54? Where are yahooooo?

So . . . an American Woman — that Endless Busybody and Moral Infallate of The Totality – calls her Private Army local copshop, they arrive to question the Most Eminent Henry Louis Gates, Jr.  (don’t redact the “Jr.” upon tortic pain) and Off he Goes because, after all, he’s full of his Most Eminent African-American Self.

Pharaoh, the Identity Politics Poster Boy, backs up His Eminence to the circus maximus, adding, ”there is a long history in this country of African-Americans and Latinos being stopped by law enforcement disproportionately, and that’s just a fact.”

Since then, Obie’s been backpedaling faster than a weakside linebacker trying to cover Mercury Morris out of the slot.

Golly, this Pharaoh Phoolishness isn’t turning out as distasteful as l.d. figgered.

Fact is, we’re going for the Family Dramamine tonite, two tabs, so anxious are we to wake next morn, in peejays before chimbley stockings, to discover what delightful folly the kritturs engage in next, what grand vistas of baracking stretch out awaiting the patient, the faithful  . . . you and your servant, little dynamo, surely we shall together witness, as each barack like manna falls.   Could Buzz the Astronut somehow be right?  we will exclaim at each new wonder.  Did God put it there?

Ah!  With scrumptious morsels of fate these generous ravens have graced our humble doors.

To Infinity!  And Beyond!

‘Cause I wouldn’t have nothin’ if I didn’t have you.

Commander-in-MomPants

Neighborly Donation: E.S. Annie

 

Aaaaaannd down the stretch they fly! It’s CHICAGO DOG inside on the rail, gaining fast on the Redline Streak, DANGER DOG!

 

 

Turns out the Oscar Meyer Wienermobile, latterly seen penetrating some guy’s garage,  was created and based in Chicago.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Today (7/21, so 7/7/7, a triplicate) NORAD deployed over the Chicago area in “direct response to the 9-1-1 airplane hijackings.”  The exercise was named Falcon Virgo 09-Windy City-One, managing to compact Virgin (Atlantic) and Egyptian riffs into the Robinson/Obamic theme.  This in the wake of Chicago’s Sears (Seers) Tower’s nominate makeover, the (do as thou) Willis Tower. 

Billionaire Larry Silverstein developed, and owns a major interest in, the Seers/Willis Tower in the heart of Robobama-ville.  He signed the lease on the WTC weeks before it fell, and retains rights to build three office towers at 150, 175 and 200 Greenwich Street.  Triune GreenWitch Towers in Occult Depot Central.  Been down this cowtrail before.

 

 

Greenwich has temporal connotations . . . so Saturn’s involved.  And of course, last year as the Robinson Obama star rose, India claimed the Moon for, well, India.  Mumbai got a reply. 

Currently, shadow spreads across the East in this century’s longest solar eclipse, with the umbra at landfall in Gujarat, western India.  In solar eclipses, light is extinguished on parts of Earth when the Moon passes between Earth and Sun.

 

 

 

 

Wahhhl, lookee what just surfaced, day after our latest cha-cha with Mom-in-Chief.  (No, not Witchie Mitchie.  The other lass.)

 

Last week, when President Obama threw out the ceremonial first pitch at the All-Star Game in St. Louis, he was probably more concerned with getting the ball over the plate than with his choice of attire. Call it a rookie mistake. The president’s baggy pants were mocked as being… brace yourselves… “mom jeans.”

 

First was O’Bama Bowl, Wonders Unceasing, in which El Uno couldn’t break forty.

Little Dynamo’s granny could break forty.  And she’s dead.

Then it was BabyDriver Buttgate, where Super O got snapshotted oggling the ass of a minor.  

 

 

Mr. President, we’d like to believe you were really looking elsewhere, but, sigh, Zero Tolerance.  The Dreaming Mind is already imprinted.  Durn.

Mighty convenient having that photog placed Just so. Big ole rollin’ convenience store, no need to leave the rocker, fight traffic.

Equality is a bitch, Obie-me-lad.  Stick with us.  You’ll see.  :O)

On some U.S. college campuses, it’s an Actionable Offense for a male to look at a female in any way she finds objectionable.  (Not kidding.)

So . . . can’t make an exception for you, B.O.  What kind of example would that set for Malia and Little Sasha?  They wouldn’t feel safe in their well-scoped bedrooms at night.

Then the All-Star Delivery Debacle, in which the Bronzed Singularity couldn’t reach home plate.  When he should have been learning from dad how to snap-wrist a fastball, he and Mammy were busy weaving afghans and telling each other how much men sucked.  Tra la.

Now it’s Commander-in-MomPants, in which the darling – who doesn’t even wear the pants in his own family, much less in “his” country — can’t manage to appear like something he in fact isn’t: a man.

Yeah yeah don’t quote Wikipedia,  he’s male anatomically.  Probly.  Reportedly.  (Need proof?  Rent an electron microscope.)

 

 

How you likin’ the limo now, slick?  Couple juicy speedbumps? Need a re-fill on that Dubble Moojuice Latte? 

You just keep on grinnin’ and stabbin’ the lads in the back.  Telling them to ”man up” while you and Babs take turns with the stick.

 

 

There’s a whole Unexplored Cosmos of mockery just waitin’ for you, boyo, and all the time in Creation for imaginative application.

We’ll say “good luck” to you, VAWA Joe, Clinton, Dr. Phil, Carter, Bush, Branson, and all the other castrati traitors now.   So we don’t have to lie later.

____

p.s.  Actually see nothing wrong with the pants, wtf, he shouldn’t be grunting over such trivialities anyway.  Fashion is a self-indulgent abyss.  But that’s not the point, any more than whether he actually was scoping the girl’s butt.  (He wasn’t.)  He’s getting some tonal Feedback from the Slumbering Noodle.

So you have a real nice eclipse, Pharaoh.  Can’t wait to see what you barack next!

Star Baby Driver

 

Last Friday the Oscar Mayer (OM) Wienermobile raped the garage of one Nick Krupp in Racine (Ra-seen) city, in the moo-state of Wisconsin.

Police said the driver was trying to turn the Wienermobile around in the driveway and thought she was moving in reverse. But she instead went forward and hit the home.

 

Back before J.F.K. was bled-out, in the Bad Old Days of Oppression, Discrimination and (ahem) Patriarchy, L.D. once saw the Wienermobile cruising near his old neighborhood in Valley-Jo, Kalifornia.

That’s when men were still allowed to have jobs.  NOW, o curse, The Grrls wheel the Weiner Wagon, being better at everything – including wieners — than males.

The Wierner Wagonmaster thought she was going backward, but in fact was going forward. 

Straight into Mr. Krupp’s Kastle.   Her navigation = his disaster.

(Thank Goddess there’s no gear for sideways!)

Now, you’d think backward and forward were pretty, well, straightforward concepts.  But taking a good look Around, ya realize it Ain’t.

  

Beauseant, Templar war-banner

Pharaoh and his nigger, VAWA Joe Biden

 

Wisconsin State Troopers already have located some male suspects in the case.  Arrests are pending.  Authorities believe that one of the perps reversed the transmission and linkage, just before the (unidentified!) Baby Driver engaged the gears.  So rest easy, everyone.  The real criminal will soon be found and punished.

On subject of sows-with-dicks, Beauseant Barack recently fired the first pitch at the 2009 All-Star Game.

Obie’s intent was to fastball one over the catcher’s head, so as — at all costs — not to be woefully short of the plate.

 

 

The pitch never made it home.  The catcher had to jump out in front of the plate and grab it, salvaging a P.R. minus.

Perhaps Pharaoh ought stick to bowling, where his comprehensive wimpiness is less obvious.  That or bring Little Sasha in for relief.

 

 

Whoopsie-daisy!  as Butcher Bill is wont to exclaim.

Looks like you been baracked, Mister President.  Again.  Dubble Time. 

The Woman-in-red (kinda regal purple, actually) is 17 years old, making her legally a minor.

Drooling over the ass of a child is strange behavior for Mr. Family Friendly who, following the fix Election, made such a photo opportunity of repeately “scoping out the girls’ bedrooms.” 

When last we reluctantly visited Herr Hypocrite and French President Nicolas “Tyranno” Sarkozy, they hobnobbed in Gay Paree under the watchful Eye of Lucy-in-the-Sky-with-Jelly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After witch they trundled off to Normandy to celebrate D-Day’s Operation Overlord and Operation Neptune, in which thousands of (ho hum) males on both “sides” were sacrificed horribly so their Wienermobiles could be awarded to females.

 

And if it please Your Highness
on a sunny day sometime
can I take your picture in the park
with silk and satin on?

Star Baby, flashy little shiny little two-timin’ mama
Star Baby, shiny little flashy little loving machine

(B. Cummings)

 

 

The princess industry has been booming in the past few years — not just the Disney dolls and scratchy toy-store ball gowns that are a rite of passage in most American girlhoods, but a brazen new breed of princess products that target a far wider age range and tap into less seemly attitudes. The hot-pink, leopard-print princess backpacks, T-shirts, purses and bedspreads that girls are now buying (or, rather, their parents are buying for them) have little to do with indulging sweet princess fantasies and everything to do with catering to over-indulged princess egos. . . .

While there’s unlikely to be much harm in indulging in one or two princess products, Ms. Twenge and other experts find that girls immersed in princess culture are embracing the notion of privilege that goes along with it.

 

Western cultures convince girls they’re superior to males in every facet of life, and structure all their experiences – from school to marriage, from law to employment to media– to ensure that bias is confirmed.  Then they express shock when girls become  monsters precisely as designed.

 

Every recession since at least 1964 has impacted men most. By 1982, men’s annual average unemployment rate surpassed women’s for the first time, according to Bureau of Labor data.   

 

Well duh.  Such a conclusion requires neither analysis nor computation.   American streets have been full of boys and men for decades, to the utter disinterest of the government, universitites, and medea, who were busy liberating females from princessification oppression. 

The true “unemployment” rate among U.S. males is 30-35%, not a reality the Gynogulag wishes to acknowledge, much less advertise.  America teems with talented guys gleefully discarded over the past 40 wilderness years in favor of females and the fourth-rate emasculati serving them.

 

The female-slanted stimulus is owed in part to the weight of the women’s lobby. As Christina Hoff Sommers detailed in the Weekly Standard, women’s groups successfully lobbied for redirecting the spending away from men. It was Christina Romer, head of the Council of Economic Advisers, who recalled that, “The very first email I got … was from a women’s group saying ‘We don’t want this stimulus package to just create jobs for burly men.’”

 

The openly misandrist Obie Admin needed damn little “convincing” by its primary constituents — females and their thousands of organizations — to further sodomize the American male.

Across the Pond, the same Wienermobile Agenda barrells “forward.”

 

Quotas have been covertly introduced to the honours system by the Government so that more women and members of ethnic minorities are decorated by the Queen.

 

Indeed, the ticket for “advancing” civilization is to punish maleness and merit, and reward femaleness, race, and incompetence.  

Speaking of princesses and queenslands, our last CyberBlunder scanned the sacrificial groves documented in the Old Testament, and inThe Golden Bough, where Frazer examines the once-and-enduring cult of  Diana Nemorensis (Diana of the Wood) and her blood-oak groves at Nemi in Rome. 

[The Empire Never Ended, burger one-billion-and-one.  Sold!]

Around a certain Mt. Tamalpais oak, we recently reunited Pat Tan and The Zodiac.   Tan was oak-strung near Pan Toll Ranger Station on the living corpse of Mt. Tam, the Indian (Virgin) Princess.

Defying conventional logic, the Red Line Trail led from Mt. Tam’s Bootjack Camp to Chicago.

From The Zodiac-Manson Connection:

The sharp investigator that found out the girl’s identity was Marin County coroner / investigator Keith Craig. Craig found a key in Ms. Tan’s pocket and traced it to a Greyhound bus terminal locker in the area. In that locker he found an address book with phone numbers. One of those numbers was to the University of Chicago. There was a professor there that had met Tan in 1966. Tan had been  living in San Francisco since March 22, 1970 (the day Kathleen Johns was abducted.) 

 

After which, cogitatin’ on Obie’s Land-o-the-Dead birthing, we wrote:

Did the Zodiac-Manson Connection just say Chicago?  Them’s the Three Magick Psillibles these days!

 

A couple days later, the airwaves crackling necromantic, we learned that one Carolyn Towns masterminded a graverobbing scheme at Burr Oak Cemetery in Alsip, Illinois, a suburb of — where else – Chicago.  (Cranial pressure is relieved via the drilling of burr-holes.)

Seems Sweet Carolyn and three Unworthy Shovelmen spaded up hundreds of corpses and dumped or mass-buried them . . . and then re-sold the burial plots.  Over and over.

I Am Legend manifest, the zombies not only roam free, they’re in charge. LOL

Perhaps the most famous “resident” at Burr Oak Cemetery is  Chicagoan Emmett Till, who at age 14 was lynched in 1955 for whistling in Mississippi at a white woman – the summa of the American cultural pyramid — venerated Columbia herself.  Till’s open-casket funeral, beamed worldwide, flashpointed the U.S. civil-rights movement.   

His casket, rusting and battered, recently was discovered discarded in the back of a shack at Burr Oak Cemetery.

“When we opened it up trying to find what we have, a family of possums ran out,” said Cook County Sheriff Tom Dart. 

(Dart appeared herein last year in connection with a temporary “eviction amnesty” and a memorial for Cook County I. A. Officer Tim Kaufmann.  Possums are known for “playing possum” = feigning death.)

Named after 19th Century brickyard (=masonry) owner Frank Alsip, the Cook County village began thriving after post-WWII construction of the Tri-State Tollway.  (Thus, sacrifice of toll paid to triple-goddess, Kore/Demeter/Hecate, or girl/mother/crone.) 

 

 

Alsip infers hyssop, the herb from family Lamiaceae, a plant with an ancient ritual/sacrficial pedigree, figuring prominently in the Passover, Crucifixion, and Temple of Solomon “purification rites.”  Hyssop’s a common ingredient in absinthe, the ritual-rich Drink of the Green Fairy/Green Goddess, whose “hub ingredient is  Artemisia absinthium or grande wormwood. 

 

 

Ho Ho Ho.

 

Chicagoan Till’s glass-casket revealed his severely mutilated face, an image beamed around the world, etched into the Dreaming Mind. 

So . . . Tan and Till both lynched, with Till converging into the Demetrian/Cerelean agricultural current, standard grain sacrifice, opening or penetrating earth for crops. 

Babalon Babyland Neverland.

Graverobbing plan-hatcher Carolyn Towns also apparently solicited and gathered funds for an Emmett Till Memorial at Burr Oak Cemetary. 

Carolyn’s pastor at First Mount Calvary Missionary Baptist Church in Woodlawn, the Reverend Robert Cain <— called her a “kind and helpful person at our church.”

Guess he ain’t ever been to the dark side of Towns.

. . . like Fayetteville, which appeared in our De Queen of De Sowf . . . just before the Swine Flew.

 

 

In that post l.d. hadda start talkin’ Mena, connected to the influence of Fayetteville, Ark., the latter named after

. . . the Marquis de Lafayette, Mason and primary French operative in the Second French Revolution, also known as the “American Revolution.”  (See post of March 18, 2009, “A Woman’s Nation” for more on Goddess Marianna, the Phygian Cap, and the Masonic (non) Revolutions of Lady Libertas.)

 

Today in Fayetteville, Tennessee, six slayings are confirmed, with Jacob Shaffer  of Huntsville, Alabama, in custody.  Fayettesville is about 90 miles south of Nashville.  Two weeks ago today, former Tennessee Titans quarterback Steve (Air) McNair was murdered while he slept by (wannabe) girlfriend Sahel Kazemi (= sa hell ka nemi ?)

No doubt Ms. Kazemi was celebrating the Independence of her country.  And it is her country.  Lady Maria the Shriver said so.

McNair went down in Nashville, recently cited herein as host to the infamous Nashville Bicentennial Osiric Resurrection Chamber Mall.  (See Treading the Capitoline Hill and Installing Os U.)

When Rihanna and boyfriend Chris Brown bitchslapped each other into a frenzy, the U.S. Medea spent weeks milking it for Gynogulag propaganda and profit, greasing the multi-billion-dollar VAWA/Domestic Violence MaSheen.

When Steve McNair, male, is slain asleep in his bed, the words domestic violence suddenly diappear from the lexicon of the Western Medea.  The discriminating Medea — Oprah included — falls unaccountably silent.

. . . remaining silent, until the feds finally located the Real Perpetrator in the McNair Murder.

And glory be, we discover it’s a male — one Adrian Gilliam — who sold Ms. Kazemi the gun.  

We just knew it.  That bastard Gilliam likely told poor Ms. Kazemi to murder Steve McNair.  Forced her, in fact.

Yessir, by the time the Law and Medea get done, why, the Dreaming Mind will have forgotten all about Ms. Kazemi . . . except to remember her as the victim of Adrian Gilliam and that two-timing cheater, Steve McNair.

Females don’t kill people.  Guns do, silly.

Men with guns.

McNair got what was coming to him.  Next time he’ll be more careful about being born male.  Just ask Nemorensis . . . if you can spot Diana in the dappled shadows of her dark, dark grove.  That girl knows all about Domestic Violence. 

 

Christopher was asking the astronomer
can your telescope tell me where the sun’s gone?
and I’m still sitting with my next-door neighbor saying
‘Where’d you get the gun, John?”

Changin’ just a few things
Laughin’ while the bell rings on the door
Changin’ just a few things
shootin’ when the bird sings

Don’t you wanna rain dance with me? 

(B. Cummings, K. Winter)

 

VIRGIN UPDATE

Huffington-honeybun Sir Richard Branson, owner of Virgin Everything and financier of The Global Elders, crows about his most recent Dragon’s Den event for the Branson School of Entrepreneurship. 

Subsequent to our two-part trashing of Branson and his Global Elders,  The Elders — “Global” apparently having been scuttled as perhaps a tad puffy — have taken their gospel to the cyberstreets.  The site’s frontpage is dominated by, what else, scathing exposes of the global oppression of women and girls.

Their “Latest News” feature lie article is from Jimmy Carter, published in the July 12 Observer, titled The words of God do not justify cruelty to women.

Huh?  And how long have you been beating your wife?

Uno:  not one of these snakes knows diddlysquat about God the Father, the Son, or anything remotely connected with spirituality or masculinity.  Phakers like Pharaoh.

Dos:  the Westen denominations, far from preaching “cruelty to women,” have been dominated by females, feminism, and subjugated (semi) men for decades.  Pastors not toeing Mammy’s Red Line are excused from duty, pronto.  Many men have left the churches in droves for precisely this reason — they’re shamed, disenfranchised, and attacked by every instrument of their cultures and governments, and they don’t want to hear it all again every Sunday morning. 

Tres:   Be seeing you soon, my Eel-ie Elders.  No matter how far into heaven you run.

Say Goodbye it’s Independence Day

 

 The boy cried out/gaily from the ground/at the joy/of something he had found 

 (Dan and Catherine Peek)

 

 

 

 

Some of you Punishment Gluttons recall this re-run ottie click.  This isn’t one of Annie’s autistic sons, but last week the re-verb sounded on her porch, with robin eggs aligned harmonic, blue as new eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Right on the edge of hatchtime, seems Mama Robin vamoosed the coop, allergic to Fourth-of-July bunting near the nest.  When the Offending Sigils were removed, she cautiously returned — only to be rousted again a day later by close M-80 reports.  Bombs-bursting-in-air, celebrating America’s Independence.  

Every year on the same day, the Natives gather to celebrate my father’s death.

L.D. didn’t caper on the birthday of  Goddess Homeland.  He grieved at the betrayal of the nation’s sons.

This’d be a good time for birds everywhere to remember whence come their eggs.  Hint, it ain’t The Goddess.

When autistic boys line up quackers or shoes, they are imposing order on chaos, thus their distress at attempts to interfere with or deconstruct that order.  Certain otties gossimer the great waves, smiting Tiamat’s unruly aqua with their mindrods.

Greenwich meantime, Ben Fairhall reduxes the dark waters, and Witnesses the Marian Dawn.  

Part I. 

LOL.  Sounds like Ben’s expecting!  Will the London Books take a few bob on the Old Grrl?

 

In that last quarter of the twentieth century, the whole world seemed to sicken.  Civilized institutions, whether old or new, fell, as if some primal disorder was re-asserting itself.  And men asked themselves: Why should this be?

 (opening voice-over of Quatermass, Episode One, “Ringstone Round”)

 

 

The Goddess of the North arises in Northumberland, 400-yards long and nekkid as a jaybird robin.  Let them eat Ceres-eal! saith Marie.  Three times a day.  All shall love me and despair!

In the design depiction above, the Great Goddess’ lower-trunk is, literally, mere-bound.  A water entity.  Like that Grainy Grrl, Mount Tamalpais (tam-ul-pie-us) across the Golden Gate from San Fran is a Virgin Goddess whose western slopes sub/merge with Pacific-o.

Viewed from Vallejo, looking west, Mount Tamalpais mirrors the supine Northumberland Goddess.  Mt. Tam’s legend as Indian Maiden probably extends back millennia, through various oral-traditioned indigenous language groups.  L.D.’s dad oft  repeated the legend, as the mountain, about 20 miles from Vallejo, is so imposing and prominent throughout the North Bay Area. 

The Coast Miwok called Mt. Tam the Sleeping Maiden.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This page recounts the Miwok legend, plus the Lakota belief that Mt. Tam is the “holy right eye” of the “Great Turtle” — with Mt. Diablo, which appeared in our last post in conuinctio conjunctivitis conjunction with Zodiac, as left or unconscious eye.

 

But the best of each trip
is the Golden Gate Bridge
and the road like a snake
that takes me back to my home ridge

(Jesse Colin Young, from “Ridgetop” — a song about his home on Mt. Tam)

 

Your dynamo’s been up n down that road oftener than a plebe on a First Degree ladder.  He’s mystery-tramped all over the bushy maid.  One summer eve, after a day at the Pacific, he and girlfriend hiked over the western face of The Princess, back to our car at Pan Toll Ranger Station.  (Pan.  Toll.  Yuppers!)  As we passed along a fire-road, a whole procession of deer appeared just above, hovering on the hillock’s brow, still and silent, watching the sun crash behind us.

Toll is an important and frequent word in Qim Tunes.  It has various cognates, dependant on context, but generally might equal collectivity, with a major secondary meaning of downtrodden or poor.  Often toll appears in a context of spirituality or judgment, describing a group of souls bound in a common enterprise, or under a common malady, curse, or travail.

 We recently covered Zodie’s first four Ceres-ial-moanies:

–  Lake Herman Road on the Vallejo-Benicia (red) line, very near where Bill Graham intended to build his ampitheatre . . . soon after which his helcopter finished downside-up at Sears Point (Seers’ point) —  dangling from the power-lines between Vallejo and Mt. Tam

– Blue Rock Springs Golf Course/Park in East Vallejo, about a mile from Lake Herman

– Lake Berryessa in the hills above the Valley of the Moon (Napa County jurisdiction)

– Presidio Heights in S.F. overlooking the Pacific

 

Recall Zodiac’s promise on the car of his Berryessa slaves:

 

(prop reproduction – quite faithful tho — dig the checkerboard base!)

 

Brian Hartnell’s (heart-knell/knoll) car door is the medium for Zodiac’s tally-to-date.  The third date-inscription, “Sept. 27 by knife,” refers to the victims he slew on Berryessa’s shores, a few minutes prior – Cecilia Shepherd and Hartnell.  (Yep, Shepherd.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cenotaph from the First Section of the Egyptian  Book of Caverns – the bottom register depicting “afterlife slaves” with hands bound behind backs (exactly as Zodiac bound Hartnell and Shepherd at Berryessa)

 

 

 

 

 

Cenotaph from the Sixth Section of the Book of Caverns, with bottom register showing more “paradice slaves” being tortured and decapitated by three “goddesses”

 

 Note that in Zodie’s ritual-schema, “Vallejo” is the “site” of all his killings.  The “Vallejo” inscription is the “ruling tessellate” in this instance, the locus of his o/c mind’s feverdream.  Beneath the geomantic inscription, as in the lowest registers of Egyptian codices, duat-slaves are identified.

Dominion is established with Zodiac’s “gunsight” mark, set over the tessellate-locale and paradice slaves (the victims) — like a pharaoh’s mark over executive orders.  [No, I'm not going to run it again.  Stop complaining.]

 

 

 

Here’s Zodie’s “Halloween 4-teen” card from October 27, 1970.  At this point, killings by knife and gun were already confirmed.  It’s strongly suspected that in an aborted murder attempt, Zodie set the car of Kathleen Johns on fire on March 22, 1970, on the edge of Maze Road, just off Kalifornia Interstate 5.  (See prior posts re Michael Jackson, Jackson Browne, etc.)

 That accounts for all the Lord High Executioner methods, except “by rope.”

 The Zodiac-Manson Connection suggests, like many researchers, that on April 19, 1970, Zodiac hanged Pat Tan, a Eurasian girl, from an oak near Bootjack Camp on Mount Tamalpais, with rope and an electric cord:

 

There was a Pan Toll Station (Pat Tan) leading to Bootjack Camp at this State Park. Zodiac was connected to three other parks: Blue Rock Springs, Lake Berryessa and the Presidio area with Julius Kahn Park.

The sharp investigator that found out the girl’s identity was Marin County coroner / investigator Keith Craig. Craig found a key in Ms. Tan’s pocket and traced it to a Greyhound bus terminal locker in the area. In that locker he found an address book with phone numbers. One of those numbers was to the University of Chicago. There was a professor there that had met Tan in 1966. Tan had been  living in San Francisco since March 22, 1970 (the day Kathleen Johns was abducted.) 

 

Did the Zodiac-Manson Connection just say Chicago?  Them’s the Three Magick Psillibles these days!

Many of the Elektra-fried leylines of modern ritual magick lead, unsurprisingly, to the Midwest hub of Columbia’s heartland. 

 

 

illustration: Manson-Zodiac Connection

 

Pat Tan suggests Tamalpais, the Sleeping Princess.  Both are young and exotic or Eastern.  Pat Tan almost anagrams Pan Toll, the ranger-station a couple miles from Bootjack Camp.  (Pat Tan = Pan Tat)

L.D.’s been to Bootjack Camp often.  Couple thousand feet elevation, Bootjack’s a dark little campsite just off a main trail – picnic table and grill, heavy oak and brush, with a small stream on one side of camp, at the foot of a steep ridge.   

Bootjack Trail winds down the southern slopes of Mount Tam, into the deep redwood stands of Muir Woods.  The mid-July gatherings of the nation’s “elite,” the Bohemian Club, take place at a private grove near Guerneville/Monte Rio, and a public site, Muir Woods Grove.  Both are “Bohemian Groves,” very close to the Pacific, that abyssic realm of Leviathan – Neptune and Tiamat. 

 And the children of Israel did secretly those things that were not right against the LORD their God, and they built them high places in all their cities, from the tower of the watchmen to the fenced city.

And they set them up images and groves in every high hill, and under every green tree:

(2 Kings 17: 9-10)

 

So in probable Zodiac-victim Pat Tan, we glimpse The Virgin’s reflection. . . in Princess Tamalpais – the mountain itself – and in the Northumberland Goddess.

Goddess icons and worship mean pagan mentalities, occultism, enslavement, and ritual blood sacrifice.  Lots of it.  To keep the Ma-sheen shiny and sleek.

Recently someone compared late-20th-century American males to late-nineteenth-century buffalo.

Boy howdy! as they say on Peckerwood Hill in Texas.

 

Summer days, where did you go?
you let me down so bad
Clouds fill the sky
Gone is the dream of Happy Hunting Ground
Wild buffalo played!
and I never saw a rainy day
but it looks like summer days ain’t coming back

(J. Lynne)

 

Cross-country from Mt. Tam and  Mt. Diablo in Kalifornia, and from Willow-ville in Sarah’s State, Old Style masonic HQ South Carolina is in lock-down, the citizenry cereously fondling their triggers.

Make you go blind!

Oops already is! 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Both Charlestown and Columbia, South Carolina, are Rite strongholds.  Origin of Manson’s amphibious basilisk, the state borders the Atlantic, bookending La Pacific. 

Charleston, also called Chucktown and The Holy City, was American Masonry’s official birthplace, one of the first established European settlements on the continent.  (For more on Egyptian codices, Zodiac, Manson, and South Carolina, see Ragna Rok and Man Son Role from October 2005.)

Four people have already been shot to death in Gaffney, S.C., by a “serial-killer.”  Gaffney from Gaelic Gamhna or Gamhain, meaning calf.  Figger golden calf worship, as when Moses descended with the rules, only to find the Israelites had already regressed to idolatry . . . the minute he turned his back, basically.  Speaks volumes about human psychology and the madness of crowds.

Also relevant is the recent Hathor/cow thread, including the mysterious “Caddo” bovine deaths, heavy on the Ritual Sauce.  You want jalapenos with that or Freedom Fries?  See AF and Newspaceman (currently undercover as Mr. Pasta Bake) for more.

The English surname from Gaffney/Gamhna/Gamhain is Caulfield — sure to widen the orbs of those grokking John Lennon’s ritual slaying — Mark David Chapman, calmly waiting for the cops, reading his “bible,” The Catcher in the Rye, while Lennon dies nearby.  

Another day, another grain-sacrifice, eh Chappie?  Ho hum.

The book’s protagonist is Holden Caulfield.

Secondarily, a gaff is a long pole, hooked on the end, used to spear and boat fish.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Third-adarily, a gaffe is an error, especially in social settings.

Fourth, a gaffer is an old man or boss – Sam Gamgee, in LOTR, calls his father “my old gaffer”

Fif, in moviemaking a gaffer controls the electrical/lighting systems  

Finally, Gaffney is possibly an altered spelling of the German Ga(f)fner, a topographic name for a cottage dweller, from Gafene, “large basket.”

Ring the gongl?  How bout Zechariah 5, the endtimes prophecy in which a large basket, or ephah, is “removed” to the “Land of Shinar.”  Within the ephah is a woman, representing wickedness.  Ephah, originally an Egyptian word, is a measurement of iniquity, associated with the “flying scroll,” an instrument of judgment – one side cursing thieves,  the other cursing liars, forswearers, or those who misuse God’s name.

 

I was a diesel fixer, fixed a diesel, diesel fixed me
What a weasel
And baby was a Workshop Owner
Baby and me were ripe for the picking
That was the day we ran into Albert Flasher

(B. Cummings)

 

Speaking of Uncle Albert, the Invisible Circus, Pop Kings and Red Line head-ons, two Monorail Trains crashed this morning in the Magic Kingdom, killing one operator, and twinning the recent redline pileup in Columbia’s Dis Trick.  The link contains source comments from Disney VP of Communications, Michael Griffin.

Last Tuesday, June 30, a man was killed by a Chicago Transit Authority Red Line subway train.  Eight days before, on June 22, nine people died on the District of Columbia-MaryLand border, ridin’ the Old Red Line.

In the wake of the Red Witch milkshake at Willow, Alaska, Governor Palin announced her resignation, in favor of a “higher calling.” 

God help us all.  Here’s hoping Sarah means staying home and shutting up.

If she can break away a moment from watchdogging Willow — even when dotter isn’t threatened — perhaps she’ll turn Hathoric Eye to this fifth-grade teacher in Elk Grove, Kalifornia, who distributed X-rated vids of herself to the kids and their families.  (Elk lodges/fraternities + goddess grove = libidic magick.)

All a Terrible Mistake, doncha gnow . . . might even say a Big Ole gaffe . . . and, of course, all is forgiven.  Live and let live!

The teacher won’t even lose her job, much less be prosecuted to the Fullest Extent of the Law, sentenced to decades in prison, placed on the Sexual Predators Lifetime Registry, and be tortured and sodomized.

No indeed, not a bit of it!  That’s only for the Inkorrect Gender.  Would the Media, the Authorities, and American Sossity be so benevolent had a male teacher handed out his personal fuck-flicks to the grade-schoolers?

He’d be in Central Holding — probly a little worse for wear – awaiting his preliminary hearing, and talking with his P.D. about plea-bargaining his (multiple) felonies from a probable 30-year sentence down to 20.

With no time off for split colons.

Luckily, the hordes of female lawyers, judges, and law professors churned out by The Gynogulag the past half-century are fully prepared to administer The Maximum on all Perpetrators equally . . .  when they’re male.

Otherwise, it’s an Oopsie.  Never mind.  Widdle boo-boo.

Most of the damage is already done and probably irreversible, but WTF, we’ll keep pissin against the hurricane.  One example from legion:

Here’s influential and respected Berkeley Law Professor Nancy K.D. Lemon, editor of the Domestic Violence Lawbook that she and her fellow illnesses use to “educate” the Kalifornia Judiciary (when the judges and lawyers aren’t attending Diversity Workshops or Multicultural & Trans-sexual Re-education Forums.)

 

“The history of women’s abuse began over 2,700 years ago in the year 753 BC. It was during the reign of Romulus of Rome that wife abuse was accepted and condoned under the Laws of Chastisement. … The laws permitted a man to beat his wife with a rod or switch so long as its circumference was no greater than the girth of the base of the man’s right thumb. The law became commonly know as ‘The Rule of Thumb.’ These laws established a tradition which was perpetuated in English Common Law in most of Europe.”

 

There we have it.  Only true word in the whole paragraph is and.  The Law is whatever Nancy and The Grrls feeeeeel at any particular moment. 

The “reign of Romulus of Rome?!”  From a LAW PROFESSOR!?

Obviously, facts are Inutile Impediments here in the Homeland of Goddess Justice.  Once upon a pre-feminist (non) revolution, fifth-graders knew that Romulus was a mythological figure, not a political “ruler” of Rome — much less an opportunity for princessified haters to bully the judiciary and propagandize the citizenry.

Now the fifth-grade boys are drugged and intimidated by the matriarchy — when the class isn’t watching Teach dispensing blowjobs to her gardeners. 

Facts, like truth, turn out to be a “guy thing.”  

“V is for Vampires.”  Apt title for that blogpost!

All is well, however.  The sparklers sparkled and the firecrackers cracked, the nation patted its  back, and Lady Liberty’s crown, for the first time since 9-11, re-opened for habitation.

 

“I feel the Statue of Librety represents global unity, a sign that our world must unify,” said Barbara McLean, 57, of Atlanta. After ascending the total of 354 steps to the statue’s crown, she sang “America the Beautiful” — her deep voice resonating off the low, rounded ceiling of the crown’s interior — before fellow visitors broke into a hefty applause.  [emphasis added]

 

No doubt Barbara sang “America the Beautiful” with lusty joy.  It’s her statue, her crown, her song, her country, and her NWO tyranny unity.  Babs doesn’t need Maria Shriver’s confirmation that It’s a Woman’s Nation.  From her high tiara seat, she need only gaze in any direction.

Tomorrow, the three aligned eggs will be buried.  Mother was off the nest, distracted by mere national pomp, as America celebrated Herself.

The human race is not an experiment. 

The difference between Nature and Woman is that Nature knows she isn’t independent.

Even a country robin can tell you that.

Little Dynamo didn’t chirp much on the Fourth.  While the Goddess of the North gazed heavenward with vast anticipation, l.d. consoled his dad, face down and spread across his own livingroom rug, blood seeping from his head. 

Never was any investigation.  Babs ruled no fowl play.  She’s the boss.

Your Ad Here*

 

 

 

For who hath despised the day of small things?  for they shall rejoice, and shall see the plummet in the hand of Zerubbabel with those seven.   (Zechariah 4:10)

 

AF’s latest highlights the District of Columbia’s subway system, featuring the Red Line running along the Roslyn MaryLand border.  AF and Egg Salad Annie saw MedUSA in the system layout — tho typically Yrs Trooly missed it.

Doe from Prover!

Master-Mason Gen’ral George’s city, in The Goddess’ District, envisioned, designed, created, constructed, and operated for Her Herness – the head/brain of Noo-vo Atlantis and its New Wroman Order. 

 

 

Reviewing last week’s a-sign-ment:

Yeah now I’m running down California 5
with your laughter in my head
gonna have to block it out somehow to survive
’cause those dreams are dead
and I’m alive

 (Jax’ son)

 

Jackson 5 demarcates our prior psychotic break literary gem something, wherein we stared down MedUSA in Cybergulch, Air-a-Zona, while the Townspeople scurried to grab the last Red Line outta Doomsville.

A few hours after posting “All Along the Red Line,” Michael Jackson succumbed to bladeless — but no less effective – regicide.

“Jax” above is Clyde Jack Browne, father of Clyde Jackson Browne of Lost Angeles.  Jackson’s pop “Jaks” was an ex-serviceman and musician with Django Reinhardt, Mahalia Jackson, and others.  Jaks worked for Stars and Stripes in Germany, where Jackson incarnated.  (See Jim Morrison, the band America, etc.)

 

 

Like Jackson Browne, Michael Jackson is a puer aeturnus, that mysterious entity so fascinating to Jung and von Franz, to mystic and theologian alike.   The collective conscious knew Michael as King of Pop, but in Snorry Mindburg he’s apriori, his semi-divinity as obvious as that of Christ, Dionysus, Attis, or John Barleycorn.

Like fellow pharmaki JFK and Elvis, Michael Jackson’s death was collective regicide – I shouted out “Who killed the Kennedys?”/when after all/it was you and me — with guidance by the Secret Commonwealth, who take microscopic interest in the puer, for reasons we’ll skip at present.

Neither JFK nor Elvis were puer, but all three deaths were preparatory rites in an overarching masonic working – one of the lesser-known rites.

Returning to the subterranean Red Line Strand of Goddess Columbia’s snakewig, Fairhall’s “Twilight Over Mumbai” of Dec. 20, 2008, cites another aspect of these Rose Line cereal-moany concertos:

 

In this post from last December, I reviewed the movie ‘I Am Legend’; a film described by the uber-geek at my local SynchComp Odeon as concerning ‘not zombies- but vampires.’ Lodging itself snugly in my gourd, that little nugget of reportage seemed keenly significant even then… but why? I began understanding why a couple of weeks later, when, in the midst of investigating the (morbidly fascinating) story of Meredith Kercher- and Amanda Knox, America’s Favourite Bad Girl- I discovered a YouTube video posted by Rudy Hermann Geude, currently beginning a thirty year jail sentence for his part in the murder. It was a story with considerable occult pedigree, and Guede’s self-description, captured on video and transcribed below, seemed to encapsulate that perfectly…here.)here. According to this theory- devised by Gabriella Carlizzi, a psychic investigator who claims to channel Padre Gabriele, a charismatic priest who died in 1984- the manga-fuelled murder was part of a broader Satanic rite of human sacrifice originally planned for the night of Halloween. (See here.)

‘Oh my God,’ said the well-refreshed Guede. ‘I’m an extra-terra. I’m from alien earth who must be called human people. Oh Mamma. I’m a vampire. I’m Dracula. I’m gonna suck your blood.’ (Article

Vampires were evoked for a second time in that case when Italian prosecutors identified a vampire-themed manga comic owned by Guede’s co-accused, Raffaele Sollecito, as having inspired the killing.

 

Plenty o work for Professor van Helsing in today’s Free Fly Zone! 

Vampire and murderer Rudy Guede’s middle name, Hermann, matches Lake Herman – Ness West – prominent in our last post.  On Vallejo’s Lake Herman Road, near the marshy and low lake itself, Zodiac enjoyed his first public ritual slavetaking, shooting two local kids to death.  Then he plopped in his car and pulled away regally, his tail-lights crocodile eyes, sinking into the tule fog. 

Last rumble we soldered The Willow Palin Incident to the subsequent 5.5 shakeytown at Willow, Alaska.  Willows thrive in the Valley of the Moon . . . and at Blue Rock Springs, site of the second slaying . . . probably some on the banks of murky Lake Herman, too.

Water-loving Willow, one of Wicca’s “nine sacred trees.”  Witche’s Tree.  Tree of the Goddess.

 

 

Zodie’s first rite-site was Lake Herman, just downhill from the Water Pumping Station, on almost the exact borderline between Vallejo and Benicia, the latter perched coquettishly on Carquinez Strait’s north bank.  Both Mari-time towns are in a County named after a Suisunes Tribe injun, but adhering to occult solar overlays:  Solano.  (Recall here the Rafael Sollecito moniker.  San Rafael is about 20 miles southwest of Vallejo.)

Next,  Zodie – in his Lord High Executioner drag from The Mikado, the little snipe – struck literally on the shore of Lake Berryessa . . . a site frequented by teen  l.d. . . .- and then killed a taxi-driver (hell-o de niro) atop Pacific/Presidio Heights in San Francisco, overlooking the bay, ocean and Golden Gate Bridge.

 

Kalifornia State Capitol at Benicia (active 1853-54)

 

Benicia was named after General Mariano Guadalupe Vallejo’s wife, Francisca Benicia Carillo de Vallejo.

A century after Benicia’s inheritance of Kali’s Forum Legislature, little dynamo fell into the world, enjoying uncountable outings over the years at Blue Rock Springs Park and Golf Course, where his grandfather was Course Marshal.   Fifteen years later, on July 6, 1969, Zodiac killed two kids in their cars, under the willows and eucalyptus where l.d.’s father once parked, treating his sons to a late-Saturday afternnoon nine holes.  As a toddler, l.d. was already a clubhouse regular.

The operations of Pharaoh and the Mom-in-Chief are no less overt — though perhaps less conscious — than the death-rites of Sollecito, Rudy Hermann Guede, and Zodiac.  [It'll piss him off to get grouped with these others!] :O)

la la la . . . anyway, all are involved in blood-magickal rites as instruments of necro-cults — no less than the Bushies and their Boney-Maroneys.

There has been no change in the Agenda.  Thank Goddess the nation’s delivered from those East Coast spook-o-frats and their horrid whitemaleness, and given into the soft, clever hands of Pharaoh, cyborg changeling of the Multicorrect Matricks.

Zodie loves to dress-up too, Mr. President!  Pageantry and theatre!

 

 

Barack Zodiac

 

Happily, we’ve fabricated encountered many occasions to drag out our BarackZodiac shtick.

Consider this another. 

Don’t even click away.  We’ll know before you do!  Deserters will be found. 

Egg Salad Annie – whose front porch lately confirms her name, according to Robin Hood – humours us by viewing Obie’s signature through the eyes of Gregg Shorthand.  Back in the Pliocene, when Annie and Little Dynamo roamed the Erf, secretaries codified dictation via a system of standardized notations, example:

 

 

 

 

Annie, apparently dissatisfied that her autistic kid merely humiliated Ms. President at The Wonder Bowl, cites our BarackZodiac templar-twinning, then reproduces Obie’s book cover sig: 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gregg Shorthand compresses vocalizations into discrete squigglets.  In Pharaoh’s sig:

* the first half of the B, beginning at lower-left, corresponds to the dev sound

* the bottom curve of the B plus the curlicue/loop = the er or ur sound, or alternately, the oi or ou sound

* the mark between the B and O  = the il or ur sound

. . . roughly then, as the beest flies, devoil or perhaps devour 

Moving to the surname sig:

* the circle with vertical slash = an “exaggerated” I sound

* the squiggle emerging from the vertical slash, looking much like the P-wave of the sinus human heartbeat = am sound

So, devoil or devour I am interpreted by a former Gregg Shorthandist, combined with the ZodiacBarack “O” (=the world) – well, let’s say it’s suggestive.  Mite ’spicious.

 

 

Well, that’s about all we have time to traumatize you with for the moment.  No doubt meaty enough to tide us all over.

Ah Dios!

Ninth-inning note: check Mr. Pasta Bake for “felicitous” willow-watching.

* The kruggerands are still unarrived.  Please tell us the error’s in shipping.

All Along the Red Line

 

I’m just mad about fourteen

 

 

fourteen’s mad about me

 

(top: October 27, 1970 “Halloween Card” from the Zodiac, announcing his fourteenth victim; bottom: Patriot Palins; lyric: “Mellow Yellow”)

 

Any ‘jokes’ about raping my 14-year-old are despicable. Alaskans know it and I believe the rest of the world knows it, too.

– Todd Palin

 

What a fine White House 2012 addition the Palin Family will make for our New Woman Order!

– Mayor Hector C. Bato, B.M.F.,  inviting the Palin Posse to Eagle Pass, Texas, for a Peckerwood Hill Weenie Roast

 

As drearily debriefed last missive, the matriarchal meme of Sarah Palin’s village family, if not already sufficiently blunt, crystallized in the aftermath of a lame David “Red” Letter-Man joke about a Yankees player “knocking up” Palin’’s eldest dotter, the already once-knocked Bristol.

Catty kitty Dave. 

From there, the tableaux suddenly ratchets to charges of advocating rape of a fourteen-year-old, Willow, Palin’s middle daughter.  Demeter raging in defense of Demeter Persephone.

  

 victim’s car door showing Zodie’s “slave tally” – evidence from knifings at Lake Berryessa, midst Kalifornia’s Valley of the Moon

 

Last yak mentioned Mare Island/Vallejo again, and thissun kicked off with Zodiac’s 4-teen Halloween card.

[The sentimental old salt.  Sniffle.]

From a page called “He“:

“Surrounded by water on three sides, Vallejo was a water town – home for Zodiac, a water-obsessed killer…” ZODIAC UNMASKED p.2.

Satan, who is water-0bsessed, comes from the sea or lakes where he was drowned. Mark 5-13. And in the end a lake figures in his doom. Revelations 21-8. Also the name Vallejo is very close to the word “valley.” The following shows that a valley is significant to Old Scratch:

The Valley of Hinnom had a very horrendous history in ancient times. It was used as a place where the pagan worshipers did all sorts of vile and wicked things – including burning children alive as sacrifices to the idols Moloch and Ball. One section of the valley was called Tophet, or the “fire-stove,” where the children were slaughtered (2 Kings 23:10). It was a place of tremendous evil for many years.

 

 

We’ve scrutinized Zodie, Vallejo, and the mystical topography of the North Bay Area B-4, to use Zodiacese . . . along with tussling Manson’s Arctic seabasilisk (an amphibian actually, like the polliwog/frog) and endless other nautical occulture — most recently, “Crossing the Line.”  

The valley in  ”He” indeed is Vallejo, only partly after its founder, General Marianno Guadalupe Vallejo — though geophysically “valley” references the adjacent Napa-Sonoma valleys, the Kalifornia Wine Kountry collectively called “The Valley of the Moon.”  Giza West.

Note drawn sickle moons at bottom of Zodie postcard, and recall our chitchats about the late nineteenth-century “ Good Templars Orphanage” on the verdant and breastful hills overlooking Vallejo and the Carquinez Straits –very near the site of Zodiac’s first lovers-lane cereal-moany, on Lake Her-Man Road.

 

 

Pharaoh — all on his own, the big boy, no more dideys for you!– equated himself with the Egyptian Priest Qar/Kar.   Vallejo is separated from Mare Island by the Carquinez Strait which leads — under gaze of Mt. Diablo — to the Abyss Duat hm one more chance . . . Pacific.  Qar + quin (five) + Z, with quin also Cain.  A strait is a narrow nautical passage, and/or a danger or crucible.  AF reminds that cropcircle or Otherwise, the ubiquitous “jellyfish” = MedUSA. 

 

Yeah now I’m running down California 5
with your laughter in my head
gonna have to block it out somehow to survive
’cause those dreams are dead
and I’m alive

 (Jax’ son)

 

Carvaggio’s Medusa, porthole agape in prosecution, circles us back all enantiodromic-like to PalinGenesis, and them trippy trip sisters. 

Question to the Dreaming Mind:  in this modern-day TV re-enactment of the Demetrian/Eleusinian “Mysteries,” why not invoke Piper, the youngest daughter, for full mass-hysteric value? . . . max  Kore kaaba dramatae?   

Answer from the Awake Mind: because no mountains in Alaska are named Piper.

 

 

Yo Dorothy, look who sportin’ yo kicks.  

In the wake of The Red Witch Alaska Governor Palin’s Cerelean Meltdown, a 5.5 earthquake surfaced, prompting Anchorage folk to haul same and burrow ‘neath deck and desk.  (Linked story quotes 5.4, USGS has it 5.5.)

The jolt centered near Willow, Alaska.  Not Piper, Alaska.  Which unexists, townwise.

On Good Friday, March 27, 1964 — about four months after JFK’s kingkill — a 8.6 earthquake and tsunami weighed Anchorage.

 

 

 

 

On the original Good Friday

. . . when Jesus had cried out again in a loud voice, he gave up his spirit.   At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom.  The earth shook and the rocks split. 

(Matthew 27: 50-51)

 

There was a violent earthquake, for an angel of the Lord came down from heaven and, going to the tomb, rolled back the stone and sat on it.  His appearance was like lightning, and his clothes were white as snow. The guards were so afraid of him that they shook and became like dead men.
 

(Matthew 28: 2-4)

 

‘Twas a fussy, mussy Monday, postsolstice partum blues, as the Deal went twinning down the Red Line, on the skirts of the Virgin’s State, in the liminate funkzone between Columbia’s District and Mary’s Land.

A subway train piloted by Jeanice McMillan of Springfield, Virginia, plowed highpeed into a train ahead, killing nine and injuring more than 70.

National Transportation Safety Board Spokesperson Debbie Hersman and Co. are investigating the worst accident in Metrorail’s 33-year history.  

Like Vallejo P.D., drawing chalklines on Lake Her(s)man Road.

 

 

 

 

 

 

credit: Zodiac Killer Facts

 

Such a man is the antichrist—he denies the Father and the Son.  (1 John 2:22)

 

Pharaoh, that grinning megaphone of MedUSA, again celebrated Fathers Day by threatening and chiding American men for their faults and irresponsibility.  Our mother-in-law commander, married to Mom-in-Chief.  The masses love ‘em.

Obie didn’t “dream of his father. ”  He capitalized on him in a national climate of pandemic male-hating.  Mom and granny — and then those more clever, if no less virulent – groomed this gelding from the gate.  As with that other gonadal M.I.A., Bill Clinton, the Alkhemical Chessmasters of R’lyeh use Barack’s daddy-rage to further demonize maleness, to divide us from our Father.   Frontman Obie, the Gynogulag’s Presiding Dildo, making mammy not just proud, but ecstatic.

This blogger explains how Pharaoh and The Gals cooked the “Stimulus Package”:

A current story in The Weekly Standard by Christina Hoff Sommers details how NOW and its cohorts lobbied the Obama administration — successfully — to redirect the stimulus plan towards female jobs and away from infrastructure investment. (You may remember Sommers as the woman who was brave enough to take apart Carol Gilligan in her book “The War Against Boys”.)
This, despite the fact that this recession, as we all know, has hit men very disproportionately. As Sommers points out, 80% of the jobs lost in the United States between December 2007 and May 2009 were male jobs.

. . .  This war against men is entering a new phase, readers. They’ve taken our families and children from us. They’ve taken away any respect for us in society and the culture. They’ve taken our boys from us and repressed and emasculated them so that girls could surpass them. And now they’re coming after our jobs, full stop.

. . . The bitch queen of Mordor has turned her evil eye towards us, and slammed her pink fists down in her wrath against low status men.

 

See The Water Connection (scroll to page bottom.)

 

That concludes today’s tour.  Cheerio.  We’re off to meet Jack Fate at the Snowman Promenade.

Mind your step departing the bus.

The funeral directors calculate while the broken cars are dragged, screeching, off the Red Line.  The servants of D.C. matrons clatter tea-ware, the upstairs rooms abuzz with high, insistent voices.  Birds retreat deep into lush summer trees.

It’s a party! 

In a snug, tidy sloop on the North Bank of the Potomac, Medusa lounges in a beanbag chair, picking at the little fabric-clots on her bathrobe.  She’s occasionally daubing her toenails black, watching Deal of the Century.  When the party voices rise, her hair sways harmony. 

Across country a heavy, bespectacled man hikes an evening hilltop, playing it back, glancing out over the water, mumbling to himself in numbers.  By switchback he descends, a languid parashootist.  At the valley floor he crosses a broken-striped blacktop road and vanishes, merging with the tule fog that hugs Lake Herman.