American Identity!

U.S. commodities move in - waiting for the machine photos, plain as paper, the Russian menace invented once again will bring out this open juxtaposition. Baby boomers boost the market by government stock bonds non-negotiable to age 18. (This scam to bolster the failing market may prove as worthless as a pension scheme. Give the baby boomers the money when its needed – at birth). (After depletion comes dependency). We switch through cathode screens, the colour that T.V. has given, these are formulae, experimental probes as yet testing contents and equipment – from a biologic point of view ‘we’ knew the money keeps mouths open and shut – preferably shut. Calm the patient and then inject – ‘our’ troops will do the rest. ‘We’ know that identity does not always cut the image program we’d planned. These people learn to live with the damage ‘we’ provide and ah for the days when buildings were made of straw, (there is always someone available to do the dirty work for a price or doctrine) this form of ‘liberation’ doesn’t take on immediately. These militia are different from the last. They do not trust ‘us’, and ‘we’ pay the ‘news’ price…..in the markets. Carruthers picked up the phone – ‘we’ are buying not selling idiots. But that was last week ‘boss’ the markets are well practically incandescent. I said sell not buy idiots and make sure you buy back at the right price. It’s all in a day’s work. The figures emerge in time entropically because, whichever way you look at it, triumphalism is short lived. Everything has become short term. The markets ‘rise-and-fall’ used to take a decade, now it takes no more than 36 hours. I said buy, sell, buy, sell, buy in quick succession, then, idiots, sell, sell, sell.

This advice was given by a renowned operator reputedly worth billions which he repeatedly won and lost. It came as something of a surprise when it was discovered ‘he’ was a ‘she’ who hedged her bets writing adventure comic strips.

The formula was simple – blame the Russians for anything that goes wrong, the markets, the invasions, the bio-companies losses (in reality France, Russia’s ally), the cause of any panic. But these are not Russians boss, they seem to be speaking French – garlic lickers – idiots – we saved their garlic stinking skins - and now they present us with an image problem and the machinery in full operation, the photos arranged, and cartoons, in a thousand colour samples, what people think in a thousand years as long as this operation lasts from a biologic point of view, the reek of garlic down the centuries, I do not know, unless ‘my’ ‘american’ brain is preserved in cryogenic aspic whatever that is, (I will not be around to know) and stir uranium, a billion years in the rocks, the plutonium clock ticking down (does it get slower). We express the limits in Nagasaki and the Battles of B…. Belgrade, Baghdad, Boston, Beijing, Berlin, Block C, and by the way, put it out in junk bonds from the Afghan Stock exchange, a pale imitation admittedly of the real thing but it makes them American and that is what counts. (The ‘formula is pure propaganda and as ‘you’ know ‘we’ control the world’s press…. the press that counts that is). Our reporter looked around, seconds before the car in which he was unfortunately killed by an act of Parliament. ‘I’ said “human Idiots, - Apes – Goons – Gooks” call them what you like – until ‘we’ re-educate them they cannot be classified as what ‘we’ call human. Identity is American. Until they learn this who knows how many of our planes will be lost in friendly accidents. We can rely on the Brits not to complain Boss. I noticed in hindsight that the heels of the boss were rather high and I couldn’t help wondering was the President a ‘he’ or a ‘she’. It was like when we stripped the Money Boss and found something un–mentionable missing. This is gender war son – Yeess Sirr! (Is their sexuality neurotic and explosive?) I took off the high-heeled shoes with a digital touch – airbrushing away the false breasts and the so-called mistresses. ‘He’ kept up his reputation by pretending to have mistresses we learned later, and to enhance the effect he cruised areas with popular unisex bars and clubs. Here he would shave his legs openly in full view. 50 dollar notes fell from his clothes strategically and Iraqi street kids ran forward holding up cans for water. He played back speeches in a squeaky cartoon voice over missing servicemen and ‘blue on blue’ affairs.

By train ‘we’ moved ever closer to the capital clutching ‘our’ passports. Madam the hotel is suitable, there are showers and double or single rooms. Each landing has its own toilet sometimes two.

I pulled back the covers which showed that the sheets had not been changed since the last invasion. General Arbuthnott slept in that bed when ‘we’ invaded Tibet in 1903. A shocking emergency but a necessary one albeit costly.

The minister of finance dressed frequently as an ape with a stage phallus bought in an antique shop by Lord Egin in 1828. It squirts water, or gin if you prefer, he quipped with a pronounced lisp. From the start he was popular with Lady Trollope who wrote interesting political tales for children. I promise to tell you all about them one day. The armoured column moved forward and behind came the tons of literature we had specially selected. We would make sure their language was a distant memory. I (we, they) moved forward in the rear. Its costing how much, 60 billion at least we will have to borrow, the minister of finance removed his stage phallus and took his place in the queue. The K’s were melting away – they did not possess a capital city to call their own. Soon they were learning that alliances of convenience do not always last. In the past maybe a decade – today a week or less is possible as the techno uberpower engaged in another blitz - the ruins become aesthetic in time – if we wait long enough, and then the tourists will return. Each room has a toilet since Lord Egin was last here in 1838. So what are you saying – the Finance Minister is a piss artist. So what’s new idiots. The minister of Finance has to be a Gook but by God he’s our Gook and he makes bloody sure ‘we’ keep our money while the masses toil. Was he referring to the Russian I wondered – but no it was in reality the darling of the parasite class our own little darling…. and the minister of defence is incompetent, he has to be, couldn’t get a job unless you show absolutely no initiative. Initiative is de facto insubordination. ‘Our’ patent drugs are mood manipulators.

The blue on blue photos have been rushed out in cathode, like pictures in a gallery they are accompanied by ‘Mussorsky’ (music). The Russian formula could be involved. The old enemy eh boss, we who would believe it – and the wounded live on in a million old cathodes. I just want ‘ our’ boys home said a housewife this afternoon. I will do my job – this from one of our boys. It was a fair exchange showing both sides of the picture. The dictator’s days are of course numbered and is it in fact the dictator or one of fifty look-a-likes. Japanese reporters are moving in so we’ll soon find out. In the background we have our sights on other locations and the Swiss photographers are packing up their equipment and out on the next pack horse, Italy 1895. The cathode and the fake photo, they are now weapons of war. Look in the background, its Mount Vesuvius. And to think your Lord Bion had digs near here and there was a group who predicted organ transplants a long time ago. The royal reporter was convinced – yes – yes indeed, this would appear to be a genuine royal painting either of or by or with the aid of our illustrious deceased society brush stroker. We are campaigning for the drought regions, for so long most unfortunately their plight was ignored and now it is almost too late.

Psi Cop Enforce Immaculate Conception Information Injection…. Fake Uniforms Cause Stocks To Fall …

War-gaming predictions prove inadequate.

I see nothing wrong in the president dressing as a woman. I’m sure they all do it and why not, from the president of the Stock Act Company, and those of any number of client states, I see them all in sparkling evening gowns. But chief some of these presidents, executives and assorted security service bosses are actually real women. We believe we have conclusive evidence. Well, god damn it, all the better but I would like to see the proof, photographic if possible but bonafide medical affidavits will do, I guess. Yes chief but can you trust lawyers; there the gender lies buried under mounds of briefs, shoes awry and the schedule calling. I see there – secretaries in rows and some may be male, I see right down to school desks and lavatories of the world their underwear designed to establish their role, some in baggy ‘drawers’ fumbling against green toilet doors their lungs seared by exposure to diesel and print chemicals (domestic chemicals) the whole world awash with cleansing agents and the stench of vast sewage vats beside long rows of industrial complexes the new cheap roofing glinting in the moonlight and the traffic flowing by day, and at night the odd headlights pass across flyovers of concrete the blue road signs with white lettering glistening in the lights of the vehicles sparkling for a moment then enveloped in darkness and in clandestine meetings steroidal agents perform exchange rituals as old as Mesopotamia when the deities were both male and female and the mountains seemed to sparkle in the crisp dusk the last light of day rapidly fading flat bread baking in primitive brick ovens perfectly viable. Perhaps, sir, I could dress as Sheba in the school play, I think I could do it sir if you are prepared to let me try. (His enthusiasm was worrying). The latin texts fluttered in the breeze, the echo of the school choir down the years as clear as the sound of nightingales in the Weimar Republic.

This Russian minister, is his name Stolypin by any chance or that ‘Trotskyist’ economist Preobrazhensky? If so “I could do business with him” expleted Lady Trollope. Does this mean she fancies him. ‘Business’ is an old Bristolian euphemism I seem to remember. The Russian minister could be thus blamed and our illustrious chamber of commerce let off the hook. At least that is what most tabloids, our tabloids, were saying. It was a policy subsequently grandiloquently entitled Capitalism in One Country and we all know which country that is. The impression was difficult to discount – government ministers were spouting scripts like pre-recorded robots, voice clones, whose puppet master was elsewhere, that they are nothing more than ventriloquist dummies. Now the question becomes obvious, who really are the bosses, the cartel conglomerates managers, the board officials, the media moguls, the military, secret services, perhaps even aliens from outer space? And the dentists are laughing all the way to Wall Street and they aren’t the only ones, but even they get a shock when the latest bubble bursts. Yet even in these increasingly recurrent crises there are winners as well as losers and the racketeers can’t wait. Some may think they even promote the crises and who knows? The politicians queue up for their handouts and who cares really where that money comes from? More actually means less – for instance create more housing and the rest is devalued. Profit actually means loss because quite obviously in order to create profits someone or indeed a whole ‘class’ has to lose. Of course there will be problems in re-organising. Can one really expect Lord Arbuthnot to become a kolkhoznik in a blue overall. Precisely old boy and to give up his prized collection of vintage automobiles and limousines only to see them painted red with a yellow star, hammer and sickle, and used as taxis by any old Tom Dik or Harry. When you mention Harry that reminds me…. Leeway must be given to some foreign states in order to sustain a growing consumer base. The control value is by trade tariff when required.

What with the supply lines cut, bottlenecks, falling oil production, refugees and mountain based resistance, markets were nervous to say the least. Where is one to hedge one’s bets and the French are in with the Russians. I say the cities are now ruined refugee camps and the inordinate costs are mounting, first billions, then trillions apparently. How can we move in for definitive assets stopping short of the old pattern familiar to all apart from the stock market ‘night classes’ run by ‘sociologists’ experimenting with the social implications of small time bond investors. Acts of revenge, militants in civilian jackets pilfering and sabotaging. Word associations, lock/click, co-ordinate/sell, earth/mind, test/I.Q. Where exactly does it get us with an International Brigade on the border and the prospect of an ignominious retreat to cap it all. Bones and rotting metal, the news agencies, sniffing, pointing, minds numbed, collapsing infrastructure – you say it will take at least twenty years, And by then who knows. The whole show will have moved elsewhere. Derelict oilfields beneath a burning sun – refusal to accept – deluxe terminal on fire – image is self of all the stars fading in light years of doubt – end getting there – last water faucet in front of open sands – syndicates and cartels in panic selling – I said buy now idiots. It gets critical around zero – screens their appetite – one last look at the blazing oil fields – ‘oh the humanity’ – seagulls swoop over oil smeared harbours – at this point we experiment with minds or should I say brains – all electrical synapse you understand – merely electronic configurations out of control, like a P.C. with that terrible virus do you see the analogy. He looked provisionally – I cannot commit myself or the department – nylons are at a premium – its 1945. Pools of rain in the sandstorms, serrated board books in ruins – I took one final look down the deserted streets to the old elms – largely the coup was unsuccessful/successful we have no idea. Identities at a premium as the border posts go up everywhere. West Bank Critical. It is not pleasant reading. In the twilight the quietness of the tree lined avenue – look at the old millpond – the village smoke rising in slow columns of autumn, in a fading photo. ‘You, there by the village meadow, yellow flowers and waterweeds, picking cress. The medical supplies are out of date but it looks good – eventually they will learn to trust/distrust, depending, and what choice do they realistically have. The war is spectacular – it sells the media at least that’s something. Sound pollution in the vast tenement complex – corner crime – last exit blocked - identity is a commodity, it’s a basic law – tightening controls – restricted movements – the neighbours ever more vigilant, nervous hostile looks, silence across the roar of galaxies. Public execution was making a comeback. Ultra fanatics of the world’s religions don’t always make for reliable allies – running dogs, biting the hand that feeds – you president – you are the doomed regime. He said this with tears in his eyes from habitual association – gossip – boredom – surveillance – he’d known these for years and now it was time to burn the relevant files. Losers only think they’re losers – things weren’t that bad – look, this derelict housing scheme is only derelict because you think it is – poverty is all in the mind – empirical science shows that there is no such thing as social deprivation – in this way the establishment was able to avoid all responsibility. I have it in writing from Lady Trollope – there is no such thing as sociology, and as I walked the asphalt it turned into meadows of buttercups and daisies under my feet, the occupation was merely a bad dream, the neo academic psychiatrists were right after all. Now I could switch the TV channels off. I had achieved a new identity, the world image with which I had struggled for years collapsed, the stains of embedded chewing gum on the pavements turned to gold – well is it not true – what is chewing gum for the many is gold for the manufactures and cleansing company bosses. Soon the other disciplines followed suite – social exclusion was eliminated from the lexicon of the department. You were only socially excluded because we thought you were. Now we no longer think you are ‘excluded’ we have reversed the program. What was termed exclusive is now termed inclusive (the previous terminology consigned to the history faculty.) There was no further need to finance the social policy. Instead it could all be channelled into the military and the preferable class for whom tax was reduced to its lowest levels for fifty years. But president this isn’t Blitzdrieg this is trench warfare, taxes have to be increased. Chief this is your day of reckoning, the boss says sell dumkopfs , sell, sell, sell and then buy back as it bottoms out. “We was robbed we were never given the ‘Big Picture’!”

The new psychiatry backfired – those that had fully understood its implications ceased to be consumers in the current meaning of the word. Newsprint fashion, junk foods, political propaganda had become irrelevant. The real world emerged from its commodity cocoon. Once again the peasants were seen wending their way from the fields (celebrating festivals wearing embroidered costumes) milking by hand, ploughing by horse, brewing their own beer, baking wholemeal bread. Butter churners turned and the inshore fishing fleet resumed, their sails firm and proud in the breeze electric trolley buses replaced diesel. Power can be generated by non-nuclear means. A green flag with a red hammer and sickle flies over the grain store, Comrades return to their homelands to help with the harvests. (If the cross can remain a viable symbol after both Catholic and Protestant inquisitions etc, then there can be no reason why the hammer and sickle may not be retained as an emblem of the ideal ‘Workers State’.)

But boss the market don’t bottom out, its in free fall.

Oh my God Cedric that’s got to be a mistake.

No chief it ain’t and how come you call me Cedric. You ain’t done that before boss.

Cedric may I call you Cedric – tonight I need a friend and you can call me Lula.

And the ‘Texan’ Cabinet Ministers were beginning to look like performing monkeys in a zoo…. But in some ways less intelligent.

Well is that not so……. ‘Darwinian’ apes in clerical gowns? Beasts with spiritual potential. Fake ‘Christians’ in uniforms fighting imperialist wars.

The prime minister is addressing the ignorant over the heads of the wise. Private capital benefits from public services.

Wealth thrives on poverty.

The minimum wage is a placebo.

The car is the vehicle of capitalist control, oil is the lubricant and blood the price.

Bourgeois democracy is the dictatorship of faceless men - the ones who pull the strings of the elected.

The car is the vehicle of alienation.

Problems with oil? Invent an engine run on alternative fuel.

Overcrowded cities? Return to intensive labour organic farming.

Rehab versus punishment – places where ‘open’ accommodation would enable people , unfortunately requiring some form of rehabilitation, to be able to grow crops and tend free range animals as well as undertake substantial courses in construction and other forms of contributive work.

Creative detention versus privatised penitentiaries – in these closed, special diet prisons, the prisoners would learn crafts and how to bake bread, and cook to the highest standards of the best restaurants. Also they would be able to study in libraries, watch educational videos and be visited frequently by friends and relatives wherever this proves viable and does not disturb anyone. ‘Partners’ staying overnight at intervals.

A ‘prison’ must be a microcosm of the free community but limited to location especially where violent of psychopathic crime is involved.

For this to happen we will require a non-violent revolution (the 60s model?)

Does this mean more than ventriloquist dummies – winners as well as losers, the stench of vast sewage contaminated with capitalist chemicals and unsuited to composting – in the moonlight traffic flow, cheap roofing – aesthetic ruins kept their reputation, false breasts, and unknown bureaucrats, faceless dictators ventriloquising the so- called elected – visiting adventure comic strips. The formula was simple – blame the Russians.

War comes as a relief to the squaddy…….at last he can escape the bullshit and roll around in the dirt and maybe get to kill a gook and be a hero. And in the thirties they turned a ‘blind eye’ to fascist expansion because of its anti-Communist stance. Their henchmen and puppet dictators sometimes require toppling when they bite the hand that feeds. All resistance is labelled terror….

And get this, they expect to gain credit when they topple their ‘own’ puppet despot.

Hogwarts is hogwash! Boarding schools - the training grounds for imperial running dogs. Fantasy is identity…. Identity is fantasy. Figures for the dead move up and down the variable media scale. Atrocities are invented/denied which makes it more difficult to determine the truth….

Propaganda goes into overdrive. The name of the Great Spirit is hi-jacked by those who dole out religions of deceit and death.

1. If life is generated on earth or seeded from space why do we not see this process occurring in ‘embryo’ repeatedly?

1. Because the suitable conditions only arise once.
   
   

So where do we go from here – ‘The Three Stooges’ are dead all five or six of them, and America has become a fundamentalist nightmare….. so what’s new.

Comrades, storm the heights of history and raise the flag of objectivity on the summit. Communism is bigger than any of its factions. War is not conducive to mass democracy and international solidarity. Study cause and effect. When resistance leads to war dictatorship becomes inevitable and victory can bring a triumphalist oligarchy.

The reason the situationalists failed is because they could not appreciate the love the masses have for the sugar plum fairy.

As regards identity the iris can alter over time. According to iris diagnosticians this is because the iris reflects the health of an individual. Finger print ‘experts’ have failed and can ‘we’ therefore assume that D.N.A. experts will not also fail.

Identity is a commodity!

Debunk Publications

Edinburgh 2003