Monday, January 01, 2024

"Legions of Pillsbury Dough Girls and Michelin Men... in a Freakish Arabesque... Spinning like Figurines on a Music Box."

God Poet Transmitting.......

He's there to keep me on my toes. So I was told, but... I try not to spend too much time on my toes. It's uncomfortable. I am not a ballerina. What's the male equivalent of that? Balarama? Bala-Rona? No... that would be a stealth disease that dances around you, trying to become an imaginary friend until you commit suicide by vaccine.

Who is he? He's the shadow side of The Divine. The one with a scratch for every itch.. The one who puts the idea of an itch in your head in the first place, before it travels to another location... as a desire in search of manifestation on the plane of its operations;

Once The World has reached a specific stage of materialization... it surrounds the ignorant mind... inflamed by desire, by ♫ the fire(s) down below ♫ Outward the senses are drawn... into the cauldron of fiery shapes. Fire is hunger personified, and... expressing at the level of its performance; the dance of The Horned God. Pan and his pipes of madness.

Well... you came here to experience it. You can't really complain when half the time it results in unpleasant events. You can complain... of course... but then you wind up on The Whiner Bus singing ♫ 99 buckets of shit on the wall. You take one down. You pour it over your head. You pass it around. 98 buckets of shit on the wall ♫

No one ever asks how the bottles or the buckets got on the wall in the first place. Shouldn't they be in the cooler or... well... wherever it is that one would store buckets of shit, and... the bus doesn't actually have walls... does it? It's mostly windows ♫ 99 buckets of shit on the window... ♫ Doesn't really work, does it?

Remember when they used to lock those people up who did bad things to other people in the public thoroughfares? Now they only lock up the people that complain about it. They turn the crazies loose right away. It's a reversal of the old system of indulgences, where the rich could buy forgiveness from a fat oily priest... whenever they imagined there was a need. Now they got a system for the angry and insane to get away with every offense imaginable, and...

The real reason this exists is to keep The Middle Class trembling in their homes and not paying as much attention to the monsters who have seized (temporarily) the reins of power. Perhaps they were always wielding The Power and now... since it's about to be taken away from them... they are being outed to the massing villagers with the pitchforks and AK-47s.

Meanwhile... on that vast plateau of The Land of The Stupids, which falls off on all sides into a landfill, like Guatemala City... where the same-old-same-old... is an endless series of Participation trophies... being awarded to anyone who stands in line for them, here come the theme songs for not-so-swift.

There's been a long line of witless bobbleheads following one another to the bright lights, and thence into a well-earned obscurity; Spice Girls... Backdoor Boys... Brittany Speared... there were many more but I failed to keep track of them. The traditional crooners of redundancy are not overlooked. There's Michael Bubbele-wrap and Adrenochrome Dion. The Deep State uses them for crowd control.

Now The Deep State is worldwide, ♫ I'm baa(d). I'm planet-wide ♫ It stands to reason that the whole idea of Flat Earth was destined to 'go condo' in honor of those whose intelligence flat-lined in homage.

Yeah... they came out with the socket wrenches and tightened up the whole dynamic of coming and going. If you haven't gotten The Death Shot, you can't go across the borders. Still! Still!!! You still can't!!!

I'm thinking of a whole new coyote industry, where you slather up your clients with Man-Tan and bring them in as illegal immigrants on tour buses. It's a slam dunk from what I can see, and you even get travel vouchers to the city of your choice... cellphones, and free hotel accommodations. There are ALWAYS workarounds.

Since Dark Brandon and The Usual Suspects came out of the closet, it's been a Grimm's Fairy Tale and a whole lotta more fairies... who need forklifts to get into the air; hmm... I seem to have taken a hard right into The Petri Dish. Well... it can't be helped. It's bound to happen now and again.

An excess of Material Culture... breeds legions of Pillsbury Dough Girls, and Michelin Men in a freakish arabesque... spinning like figurines on a music box that plays ♫ Da Ya Think I'm Sexy ♫ and ♫ Super Freak ♫ in constant rotation. It's solar-powered... if you want to leave it under the artificial lights on the windowsill. It's also motion-sensitive. If you feel like getting your freak on... just start moving around, and it will oblige you.

I close my eyes and imagine God... turning restlessly from side to side in his sleep. Every now and then, he almost wakes up. Does he know Lady Nature is shackled with chains in the basement of the Margate, New Jersey Chabad House? Sooner or later, he's going to rise up with the glare of a distant fire burning in his eyes, and he's going to come downstairs. (don't make me come down there!) The ground is going to shake with the sonic booms of a heavy tread... on... every... step.

He's going to step right out of The Invisible into full manifestation and slowly turn (slowly I turned) in a full circle. His eyes will be like a blazing spectrum of the 7 colors... each of them heat-seeking out their specific rainbow demographic, and... lighting them up in the military sense.

He's going to go from the showrooms to the boardrooms... across the shining seas... stepping over the rivers of sleaze... that course through the cities, and fill the air with the smoke from subterranean crematoriums... where Nature converts everything into compost, once the life force has moved on to the next iteration of ambulatory Silly Putty.

He's going to cry out in a voice of thunder, and The Whole World will freeze in place. He'll fragment into separate parts... like the deconstructing ping-pong ball sequences in “Lawnmower Man”, and each of them will become an individual bright angel... instantly dispatched to its specific destination... for the resolution of all the wailing deformities that woke God up from sleep. They will be either neutralized... into a brief cloud of flaming confetti ash... or restored to their former shapes.

He'll step around The World 7 times, and survey every particle of existence. He will study the integrity of form. He will look into it, and look out from it... whatever it may be... at the same time. He will restore order! He will scourge the nations of their predators... masquerading in human form. He will drive the swine into the sea... once again... in similar fashions because... if it ain't broke... don't fix it.

He's going to make every tooth in every head sing four-part harmonies to The Elements... coming into resonance... with The Quintessence... as The Fohat shines in the aethers, and lights up the universe in righteous accord. He's going to dance a Tandava all over the rakshasa conclaves... upon the corruption of a putrefied culture gone South. He's going to bury Bill Gates in a coffin made from 70,000,000 million trees that will all be crying out in his head, for his head, and... for.. a... very... long... time... or until the cows come home to shit on his grave.

He's going to put George Soros and his Rothschild bosses into an automobile crusher until they are rendered into a perfect cube and put on permanent display at MOMA. He's going dress up Hillary Clinton, and her submissive consort... like Furries on a merry-go-round of concertina wire... in case anyone is of a mind to cut them loose.

He's going to snatch and grab every fellow traveler that I don't have the time or ability to list here... and turn them into origami rowboats... on The Lake of The Fire of Unrequited Desire... that burns forever in the hearts of those... for whom existence is a buffet of carnal excess, and the selfish wounding of everyone in their way.

He's going to make it ring... until the swamp critters sing... like Pavarotti on DMT. He's going to tote all the barges... and lift all the bales... and set the prisoners loose from their personal jails... built from their attachments to unnecessary things.

He's going to get it done... and go back to his bed... so he can fall asleep and dream into being a golden age... that can't arrive... until he's... been... there... and... done... that. Until The Avatar came... and The Avatar went... and The Divine Mother dressed The World in her colors and heavenly scent; you'll know it when you see it... cause we ain't done here yet... and it begins in earnest this year!!!!!!!

Happy New Year, and... watch your step... along the digits on The Dial from Naughty to Nice!!!!!!!

End Transmission.......

Those machines across the way, that played (every single day) during my meditation routines, have not been back since two Origami postings ago, and we have witnesses to the fact. Don't tell me this is the way it usually goes. I don't know what was going on but... something was going on.

The Divine Mother is getting ready to bring it all into being as the vision precipitates into form.

Links await you at GAB=

And the health and sundry links appear below=

The best to you each morning
Whoops! That's the other guys, and... no difference=

Never ate this
I knew in the 60s that it tasted like shit. At the time I did not know that is was also... shit=

You will probably want to know about this if you have Arthur Ritus staying with you=

You'll never look at a fig the same way again
Talk about Sisyphean!!!=


Anonymous said...

Happy New Year!!!

Sometimes the poetic soliloquies you (re)produce are like the levitation of heavy objects. I especially like the rendition of B ill G’s permanent nap space. Maybe 70,000,001 trees will sprout from that spot. That last tree would be a doozy tho,
no one would want to come near that forest with an axe a saw or a bulldozer. So, perhaps something good could really could come of B ill’s rot spot. It COULD happen!
. . . and the cows would fart and make pies to their heart’s content. Which is like happily ever after, but with a mean streak.

I have a deep aversion to the Flerfer’s theory Earf and the universe, as you do, only to them it’s not a theory but absolute truth, which is why they will argue worse and harder than any brainded leftist if you don’t agree. But myth, history and theories are fun to test out and if they seem to have an unbroken 🎵note🎵 of truth to them,
i tend to want to look closer. For instance, i think the Tartaria theories have some teeth to them and this one as well:

This book goes into details about how Saturn was Earth’s brown dwarf star before it was captured by the Sun’s orbit. Remember Botticelli’s “Birth of Venus”? It explains that too. I found it interesting anyway. It also got me to thinking that these long ago inhabitants enjoyed the dim light of Saturn’s Ray because they do the same things they do now, and want the darkness to return, but they’ve been exposed by the Sun and, well, here we are.


Here’s a video series with Mark J. Ryan interviewing T. Mclachlan, scroll down the video page to find it:

Looking forward to the Divine intervention. I don’t think the human race is capable of heading this off without it.



Visible said...

Happy New Year, jimminy!

And thanks for the info.

Anonymous said...

Fran B’s prolly mad peeple might be catching on that there’s poison in their makeup and it’s not selling as good as it used to? Anyway she looks like she could use some large portion of cake on that happy face. I’d bet she doesn’t use her own brand either. I doubt much could be done to brighten that countenance. Anyway . . .

I used to like their product, but noticed in the recent past their eyeliner would irritate and swell my eyes whenever i used it. Buyer beware more than ever these days. I hate makeup anyway, think it’s a waste of time, and wish i didn’t have to use it when i need to look better in some situations. Usually, i don’t bother with it other than that. I don’t get invited to parties much anymore . . .

cheerios is twice the nice,


Anonymous said...

Oh, Visible, let's make it a good one, and you are welcome!


Mike. said...

Happy New Year Les.

Please accept my sincere heart felt gratitude for all you have given over the past 20 years (or so).

May the Sun keep forever shining through you my friend. My Brother.

With Faith, Certitude, Determination and Love.


TotoFromOz said...

Luv ya ALWAYS! Never has anything you ever served up here been a case of "use what you can & discard the rest". Nothing you serve goes to waste:) Thank you...your invisible friends...Mr Apocalypse...the Sun & ....The Ineffable.

Love To Push Those Buttons said...

I've never heard one song by Taylor Swift. I've been advised to keep it that way. No problem. As for are currently catered to invaders, I'm not so sure they're gonna be too happy to be here in about a year. Hey! I'm not happy to be here NOW, and statistically I have it better than most, for those who value a low stress, low obligation lifestyle with lots of discretionary time.

The ground shaking seems to have started already with Japan. 7.5 or 7.6 depending on what site's reportin'. Ayuh, I guess that's news worthy; though I swear the area I live in could use it better, considerin' the Bay Area is an pen air insane asylum.

May you have a wonderful new year, and nostrils to the sky!

Visible said...

A new Smoking Mirrors is up now=

"The Time Comes when The Movers and Shakers... Cross The Rubicon... between What is Crazy, and... What is insane."



Visit the recommended reading page for many more.


'I Need More Light' from the Les Visible Album
God in Country

Visit the Blog Music Page
to stream all of Visible's music for free
(purchase is always appreciated but entirely optional)


A classic Visible post:

With gratitude to Patrick Willis.

Click here to watch and comment on Vimeo and here to read the original text.

Visit the Blog Videos Page for many more.