God Poet Transmitting.......
It's Petri Dish... The Taylor Swift Machine released a new product. The two dovetail and I am left with... at least... the opening salvo for today's posting. Some might think I bring this creation up too often. It is not me who brings her up. It's wrap-around Billboard World... Time's Square news-flashing in a trenchcoat... LED ticker-tape readouts... the Alexa machine on the counter... every mass media... internet tabloid... that brings it up. I don't have to look her up. She looks me up.
I have a few thoughts about this... whatever This is. Then I'm going to move on to something more interesting, like the mating habits of the sloth... or funereal fashion... or... golf.
I am not the one who... usually... goes to the supermarket. I do go... now and then, but... it's never more than once a month... if that. I go there for specific items. I have no use for 90-some % of what is on display, but... I do see it as I pass it by. Most of the time I pay no attention, BUT... it is my very nature to pay attention. It is what I do, so... even though I seem not to be paying attention... sometimes even to myself... I am paying attention.
There are more of certain things in the supermarket than there are other things, and some sections grow over time, and some shrink. The biggest sections in most supermarkets... are the soft drink aisle and the potato chip aisle. I don't drink sodas or eat potato chips or... the various derivatives, BUT... like Taylor Swift... mention of them comes to my attention... through advertising... even telepathically... if I am not minding the mind.
Potato chips are like most quick food... and most snack food. You can eat any of it. You can eat a whole lot of it, but... half an hour later you are hungry again. I've never eaten Funyuns, BUT... I've seen them. They even show up in movies sometimes. Taylor Swift is to music what Funyuns are to food. I once... recently... listened to clips from half a dozen of her songs because... I wanted to make sure that my disinterest in her was a legitimate thing.
Half an hour later, I could not remember what I heard. The only impression that remained was that my disinterest was legitimate. There is nothing inspired or inspiring in what she does. She's pocket lint brushed with rainbows... in a petting zoo filled with plastic unicorns. I've heard the same thing at open mics over the years. All that has happened is she got better tech... better makeup, and a whole lot more background dancers than a sidewalk Buskerina.
I don't listen to RAP music, but I have an idea of what goes on there... the same way I am aware of Taylor Swift and Funyuns, and... jock itch... which I don't have either. It seems that modern RAP creations are... these days... mostly DIS creations... because it is all nothing more than a stream of mentions about other people in the industry... putting each other down, and making oblique references to events and the people in them.... that you... as a dumbass fan... have to keep current with.
The same thing is true in Taylor Swift's music. It's all about her body count and this guy or that guy who broke her Valentine heart. I can tell you why she can't hold on to a man. She's boring. She has no depth at all. She is a surface creature, and even shallow people soon tire of surface creatures. Apparently... Taylor Swift's music is like an Easter egg hunt, and the song that is listed as Track 5... in each album... is supposed to contain all kinds of secret clues about her romances.
People are obsessed with looking for meaningful references in her songs. Are they retarded or what? Meaning??? It's like an archaeological study of gum wrappers. Then the mind-scavenger hunters get on Social Media and trade information like Pokemon cards.
Sexually... from what I can see through observations on body language... and my physio-gnomic read, she is like a trampoline. She has no bounce of her own whatsoever. You have to give her the bounce, otherwise it is non-existent. I suspect she is very good at rolling over and playing dead, but not much good at Frisbee catching and ball return.
That is the worst kind of sexual partner and there are many... many millions of men who are counterparts to this dead-on-arrival sexuality. There is no spontaneity... no grace, no actual romance, and no awareness present. They are like five-year-olds trying to repair the inner workings of an expensive watch, and... we don't wonder why it's broken.
She's an animatronic human tchotchke. Something one sees from afar... on a shelf... in a display window... an object of desire that is out of reach, but that cannot do anything at all. Your imagination has to be the trampoline. That is why porn is so epidemic. It feeds into the nature of cowards and selfish people... who can't risk anything, and now... no longer have the capacity... even if they were driven to risk anything.
The Gay Lifestyle does this. It encourages selfishness and lack of commitment. There is the endless search for someone who looks like you... so that you can have mirror masturbation sex. Back when Freddie Mercury was THE gay icon... there were thousands... tens of thousands of Freddie Mercury clones in leather vests, and leather Luftwaffe motorcycle-cop... cruising hats with RAF mustaches. It was quite a cultural trend for about a minute. They are strangely reminiscent of The Swifties of the present. Get the merch! Get the look, and then... get lost!
The Gay Life is a pretend life... where movies are real, and you are in the movies. It's all an absurd and infantile acting-out. It's what happens when materialism gets to a certain stage. It always comes around at the decline of a culture, along with suicide... ever lower birth rates, and all the other elements of The Negative Female Manifestation... as it is expressed through the males who co-opted it... in the death throes of a culture. Women have been turned into mindless fireflies... in love with a candle flame, and men have become a mockery of the type.
Material culture turns men into bitches, and... women into hysterical harridans of duplicity... caused by a compromised internal nature; real has been replaced by Memorex. This is not the case with all men and all women, but of an astonishing amount, nonetheless.
Taylor Swift doesn't actually exist. She is a media creation. She is meant to distract the public from what is actually going on. It is one more temporary theme... in the endless procession of Bread and Circuses. It is especially tuned toward the activation of naval gazing and self-absorption. There is an endlessly replenishing stable... of variations on the theme... of The Whore of Babylon.
Many millions are tuned in to this, and other shitstorms of trivia... that come and go... in the deceived and hypnotized eye of exteriorized focus. It's all happening... Out There! Rush the stage!!! Trample the weak for a moment's eye contact with the singing android that is made out of cannibalized cellphone parts.
Everything is an act of mislabeling... on a conveyor belt of deceptions... running through The Penal Colony Hive Mind. Breast Cancer Awareness month makes all the fountains run pink... while the cash registers ring, and Cancer blooms like Spring in Hades. Autism Awareness Month brings blue waters and should be called Vaccine Injury Awareness. It's all marketing and sheep shearing. It's all the sociopathic smart guys... in a rigged casino... running a crooked game on The Stupids.
Some talentless yahoo gets famous and everyone wants to inhabit the vacuity behind their eyes. People wait in lines of lifetimes... on a karmic waiting list for fame; any... kind... of... fame. People cut deals... so that they can cut the lines, and get ahead of those not smart enough to sell off the good parts of existence for a long run of the bad. If there were a cattle call for hosting The Price is Right... millions would show up, and it wouldn't matter if they could do it or not; just give me a chance! Give me a chance!
What kind of a waiting line do you think there is for someone to spend a year in a fire tower in the forest? I would be in that line. If it were a lottery for a penthouse in NYC... or a cabin in the woods by a stream, where do you think the greater interest would show? Right.
The things that people will do to be able to do something that is not worth doing is... well... words fail. The Glitter and The Glow call them. The Bright Lights promise them that... maybe... just maybe... they can become one of a hundred thousand forgettable characters in a limited time frame... who lived the rest of their lives... thinking about a brief moment in the past. When you look at the sell-by date... on the back of Taylor Swift's head... right under the bar code, you can see that the date has long passed.
This is the case with everything promised by The Father of Lies. The only thing that the rich, successful... and famous have... is the illusion that they are better off than you and are something to shoot for. In reality... they have bigger and more powerful enemies. They have far more false friends. Their lives are not their own, and still, they die from the most pedestrian diseases.
Unless they are among the very few, they don't even get to pick and choose what they do, AND... the ritual humiliations on the way to any of it... oh my! Well... you'd have to be there.
When you fuck up, maybe the neighborhood knows about it. When they fuck up, the whole world knows... or it will... as soon as the videotape is released... if someone doesn't do what they're told.
You know who doesn't want to be Whoopi Goldberg... or any of the rest of them? Whoopi Goldberg and the rest of them is who, but... it's too late for that. Any minute now... Taylor Swift will be cast to the side. She's like money and the stock exchange... none of it is real. It's all held in place by artificial means. It's all smoke and mirrors. It's held in place by Hope, and Hope is a fragile thing. When the money isn't based on something real... when the artist is devoid of talent and inspiration... Destiny and The Recording Angel will tell the tale in the aftermath.
The World is the place where you get to be Warren Beaty or Hugh Heffner... even Stalin or Ted Bundy. All you got to do is pay the freight and acquire the bonus points. You can be a complete two-dimensional airhead named Taylor, who likes to be called Tay Tay. It's almost like a Barbie doll came to life with the personality to match and... a public equal to the admiration required.
Hear me, people! Anything!!! Anything!!! Long as you can pay the freight. You want to be like Hillary? Done! You want to be Bob Barker? Done! You want to be Mickey Mouse? Done! You want to be the next Walt Disney or Elon Musk? Done! Done! Done! You want to be like ANYONE... Jesus... Martin Luther... Queen Victoria? Just get in line.
It's all a show here. Like Hassan-i Sabbah said; “Nothing is real, everything is permitted.” How rare they are who search for the road out, and do not spin forever in the coils of religion... or carnal excess... or any number of the countless delusions... that wait between what you see here, and the unspeakable splendor and glory that lie up the road.
Well... there are only so many hours in a day. Yeah... but some days are longer than others.
End Transmission.......
Links await you at GAB=
How about some Sufi Mysticism?
They are all so different from each other, but still very similar, and always about the... same... single... thing. There is ONLY one. I like certain aspects of Sufism a great deal. I have little interest in Islam because they are so hard core... stern... unyielding... unforgiving... mean. I'm sorry but it's what I see and you will see what I mean when... and if you read this link.
