"There is simply no room left for 'freedom from the tyranny of government' since city dwellers depend on it for food, power, water, transportation, protection, and welfare. Your right to live where you want, with companions of your choosing, under laws to which you agree, died in the eighteenth century with Captain Mission. Only a miracle or a disaster could restore it." -- William S. Burroughs, Cities of the Red Night (1981)
There is a growing interest in new techniques of mind-control. It has been suggested that Sirhan Sirhan was the subject of post-hypnotic suggestion, as he sat shaking violently on the steam table in the kitch of the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles while the as-yet unidentified woman held him and whispered in his ear. It has been alleged that behavior-modification techniques are used on troublesome prisoners and inmates, often without their consent. Dr. Delgado, who once stopped a charging bull by remote control of electrodes in the bull's brain, left the U.S. to pursue his studies on human subjects in Spain. Brainwashing, psychotropic drugs, lobotomy and other, more subtle forms of psychosurgery; the technocratic control apparatus of the United States has at its fingertips new techniques which if fully exploited could make Orwell's 1984 seem like a benevolent utopia.
But words are still the principal instruments of control. Suggestions are words. Persuasions are words. Orders are words. No control machine so far devised can operate without words, and any control machine which attempts to do so relying entirely on external force or entirely on physical control of the mind will soon encounter the limits of control.
A basic impasse of all control machines is this: Control needs time in which to exercise control. Because control also needs opposition or acquiescence; otherwise, it ceases to be control. I control a hypnotized subject (at least partially); I control a slave, a dog, a worker; but if I establish complete control somehow, as by implanting electrodes in the brain, then my subject is little more than a tape recorder, a camera, a robot. You don't control a tape recorder - you use it. Consider the distinction, and the impasse implicit here. All control systems try to make control as tight as possible, but at the same time, if they succeeded completely there would be nothing left to control. Suppose for example a control system installed electrodes in the brains of all prospective workers at birth. Control is now complete. Even the thought of rebellion is neurologically impossible. No police force is necessary. No psychological control is necessary, other than pressing buttons to achieve certain activations and operations.
Sometimes I feel so low-down and disgusted.
Can’t help but wonder what’s happenin’ to my companions.
Are they lost or are they found?
Have they counted the cost it’ll take to bring down?
All their earthly principles they’re gonna have to abandon.
There’s a slow, slow train comin’ up around the bend.Click Here to Continue
Leonard Cohen: The Future
Give me back my broken night
my mirrored room, my secret life
it's lonely here,
there's no one left to torture
Give me absolute control
over every living soul
And lie beside me, baby,
that's an order!
Give me crack and anal sex
Take the only tree that's left
and stuff it up the hole
in your culture
Give me back the Berlin wall
give me Stalin and St Paul
I've seen the future, brother:
it is murder.
Things are going to slide,
Slide in all directions
Won't be nothing
Nothing you can measure anymore
The blizzard, the blizzard of the world
has crossed the threshold
and it has overturned
the order of the soul
For the past two years now, one musician has made it his mission to play the same 24 notes from his balcony every day, rain or shine.
As his way of respectfuly paying tribute to our nation and its troops, this musician humbly feels it’s his sacred duty to play this song for his neighborhood. At the same time, each and on every single day, whenever he begins playing, it feels as though time seems to stop. He Plays "Taps" At The Same Time Everyday. Watch What His Neighbors Do When He Starts Playing...And that's the real news of the day. Take it into your weekend.
HT: True North
June 1939. Daughters of a Tygart Valley, West Virginia, homesteader as seen at Love Truth & Beauty
August 1910: It wasn’t the last summer but it was one of the last summers when America was at peace with the world and at peace with itself. The Civil War was a 45 year old memory. The first of the World Wars that would scar the century to come was not even the shadow of a premonition. Lenin was an exile in Europe with no power and Mao was a student in Hunan. Hitler was living in a homeless shelter in Vienna selling paintings to tourists. Stalin was either being sent to or escaping from Siberia. Churchill was the Home Secretary in England and planning the first bit of social engineering, the National Insurance Act. Taft was President and his plan was "try to accomplish just as much [as Teddy Roosevelt] without any noise."
Both the automobile and and the electric light were ubiquitous. Air conditioning was still a wild fantasy, but the swamp cooler had begun to come online in 1904 so it wasn't completely out of the question for the very rich.
Halley’s Comet had just passed by taking Mark Twain with it. Somewhere in Macedonia Mother Teresa had just been born. If men looked up they could have seen, had they been in the right place at the right time, other men in flight. If any had been in Sheepshead Bay out side of New York City on the 20th they would have heard the first gunshots ever fired from an airplane. Individual lives might have their small tragedies but there was no perceptible or imaginable catastrophe in the cards dealt Americans that summer. It was August and everywhere Americans paused to refresh themselves.
Presented for your contemplation: One wave breaking over a group of Americans who have waded into the Atlantic on the Jersey shore sometime around noon on a hot day in August in 1910.
The wave would have swelled up and started out far over the eastern horizon near the edge of the Gulf Stream. It would have rolled with strict impunity in the midst of thousands of others like it, all bound towards the shore. The photographer would have gotten up early and hauled his cumbersome equipment towards the shore. The bathers would have arrived in the late morning if they were not already staying near the shore.
Once there they changed into swimming apparel known more for modesty than comfort. From the light it was around noon and would have been hot. Seeking to be cooler they waded in. Some stayed near the shore. Others waded further out the steadily deepening water.
On some kind of elevated platform above the sand, the photographer put the 8x10 glass plate into the camera and ducked under the black hood for final adjustments. Then he stood up and called out and called out and called out and finally got the attention of some. Most ignored him.
The wave rolled in from somewhere over the horizon, rising up and down, maybe cresting here and there, until it swelled one last time and, just as the photographer happened to release the shutter, jumped up in that one moment and splashed and spattered the unwary people posed and unposed in the cool salt water just off the beach on the Jersey shore.
That was the moment, less than a second, in the midst of that summer now more than a century gone. All, each and every one, of those nearly 300 souls are now gone as well, even the children held on the shoulders or standing in the shallows, all gone -- all perhaps, maybe, save one now almost silent centenarian.
Well, what of it? That’s the way of the world and the way of the waves of the world and our lives. What we have is this moment snatched out of time on the Jersey shore one afternoon in August before the last century went smash. Who is there? What were they like? It can’t be known, but it can be seen and what can be seen, at least in this one moment, is that these people had what anyone would recognize as that thing we call happiness. Let’s see what we can see of it.
We can see the chaos ruining the photographer’s carefully composed moment with a splash soaking those nearest and plastering down the hair of a man who was probably balder than he would like to be
We can see the young girl not entirely pleased with being drenched from the security of her father’s shoulder.
We can see those who are not particularly interested in being recorded on film for another century they would never know and gaze at something, at what?, that is just beyond the frame.
We can see one person who is concerned enough about the sun to carry a parasol with her out beyond the group until she is shoulder deep in the Atlantic and looking off at the horizon or contemplating the spatter of sunlight off the rollers.
Closer in towards shore we can see two sweethearts looking at each other and liking what they see in each others eyes.
Closer still we can see at least one who has not disappointed the photographer and is determined to present a smiling face to the ages.
We can see those who, in their frumpy and modest bathing suits, hold hands as the water deepens.
We can see those who smile and clasp each other ignoring the rout and the riot of water and waves around them.
In the middle of the splash we can see the young man, full of life and ready for anything, held up high by his father, shouting out and waving down the years as if to say hello from a great summer day in 1910.
Out beyond the bathers two men in a boat row past. Heading south. Perhaps for exercise. Perhaps as guards that would scoop up and return to life any bathers who had been swept too far from shore.
And then, finally, at the extreme right side of the frame we see two hands; the hands of a man moving towards the splash and the picture, but now caught forever just outside the frame; just a second too late to find himself forever frozen in this moment that I can see now, a hundred and one Augusts later. One step quicker and he would have been there. But at least his hands made it.
Maybe that’s enough. It’s August again in America. Maybe not the happiest August in our history, but it's been a hard century. We owe ourselves at least one more day at the beach.Click Here to Continue
"I don't see the legs. Do you see the legs?"
"There you go."
"Oh another boy!"
“We’d have to do a little bit of training with the providers or something to make sure that they don’t crush” fetal organs during 2nd trimester abortions, says Ginde, brainstorming ways to ensure the abortion doctors at PPRM provide usable fetal organs.
When the buyers ask Ginde if “compensation could be specific to the specimen?” Ginde agrees, “Okay.” Later on in the abortion clinic’s pathological laboratory, standing over an aborted fetus, Ginde responds to the buyer’s suggestion of paying per body part harvested, rather than a standard flat fee for the entire case: “I think a per-item thing works a little better, just because we can see how much we can get out of it.”
The sale or purchase of human fetal tissue is a federal felony punishable by up to 10 years in prison or a fine of up to $500,000 (42 U.S.C. 289g-2). Federal law also requires that no alteration in the timing or method of abortion be done for the purposes of fetal tissue collection (42 U.S.C. 289g-1).
Planned Parenthood VP Says Fetuses May Come Out Intact, Agrees Payments Specific to the Specimen
“I am not here as a serf or vassal. I am not begging my lords for mercy. I’m a born free American woman, wife, mother and citizen. And I’m telling my government that you’ve forgotten your place. It’s not your responsibility to look out for my well-being, and to monitor my speech. It’s not your right to assert an agenda. Your post, the post that you occupy, exists to preserve American liberty. You’ve sworn to perform that duty. And you have faltered.” -- Becky Gerritson
Howso' great their clamour, whatsoe'er their claim,
Suffer not the old King under any name!
Here is naught unproven—here is naught to learn.
It is written what shall fall if the King return.
He shall mark our goings, question whence we came,
Set his guards about us, as in Freedom's name.
He shall take a tribute, toll of all our ware;
He shall change our gold for arms—arms we may not bear.
He shall break his judges if they cross his word;
He shall rule above the Law calling on the Lord.
He shall peep and mutter; and the night shall bring
Watchers 'neath our window, lest we mock the King—
Hate and all division; hosts of hurrying spies;
Money poured in secret, carrion breeding flies.
Strangers of his counsel, hirelings of his pay,
These shall deal our Justice: sell—deny—delay.
Warning. Graphic and grisly scenes.
"The first episode in a new documentary web series features a woman who once worked in Planned Parenthood clinics describing the profit motive involved in Planned Parenthood’s sale of aborted fetal body parts, and includes new admissions from top-level Planned Parenthood leadership about the illicit pricing structure.
Episode 1 also shows undercover video featuring the Vice President and Medical Director of Planned Parenthood of the Rocky Mountains (PPRM) in Denver, CO, Dr. Savita Ginde. PPRM is one of the largest and wealthiest Planned Parenthood affiliates and operates clinics in Colorado, New Mexico, Wyoming, and Nevada. Standing in the Planned Parenthood abortion clinic pathology laboratory, where fetuses are brought after abortions, Ginde concludes that payment per organ removed from a fetus will be the most beneficial to Planned Parenthood: “I think a per-item thing works a little better, just because we can see how much we can get out of it.”
Planned Parenthood branches in several states are demanding local media refrain from airing damning footage obtained through recent undercover stings, in a frantic attempt to suppress negative criticism generated over their reported sale of aborted fetal tissue.Click Here to Continue
On Monday evening, Planned Parenthood of Minnesota, North Dakota and South Dakota issued statements to “Health and Political Reporters and Producers” recommending the footage, which they say was garnered “under false pretenses,” “not be aired.”
“[The Center for Medical Progress] gained access to Planned Parenthood facilities under false pretenses and filmed without securing approval from the Planned Parenthood staff being filmed or the patients whose privacy is compromised by this secret videotaping,” a letter sent by Communications Director Jennifer Aulwes to media said.
“The material should not be aired.”
Lack of privilege getting you down?
The privilege you need is just a tap away.
Connect with a white guy.
Get privileged, life-saving advice.
Privilege delivered, and you can move on.
[HT: Happy Acres]Click Here to Continue
"The original Kurtz had been educated partly in England, and—as he was good enough to say himself—his sympathies were in the right place. His mother was half–English, his father was half–French. All Europe contributed to the making of Kurtz; and by and by I learned that, most appropriately, the International Society for the Suppression of Savage Customs had entrusted him with the making of a report, for its future guidance.
"And he had written it, too. I’ve seen it. I’ve read it.
"It was eloquent, vibrating with eloquence, but too high–strung, I think. Seventeen pages of close writing he had found time for! But this must have been before his—let us say—nerves, went wrong, and caused him to preside at certain midnight dances ending with unspeakable rites, which—as far as I reluctantly gathered from what I heard at various times—were offered up to him—do you understand?—to Mr. Kurtz himself. But it was a beautiful piece of writing.
"The opening paragraph, however, in the light of later information, strikes me now as ominous. He began with the argument that we whites, from the point of development we had arrived at, ‘must necessarily appear to them [savages] in the nature of supernatural beings—we approach them with the might of a deity,’ and so on, and so on. ‘By the simple exercise of our will we can exert a power for good practically unbounded,’ etc., etc.
"From that point he soared and took me with him. The peroration was magnificent, though difficult to remember, you know. It gave me the notion of an exotic Immensity ruled by an august Benevolence. It made me tingle with enthusiasm. This was the unbounded power of eloquence—of words—of burning noble words. There were no practical hints to interrupt the magic current of phrases, unless a kind of note at the foot of the last page, scrawled evidently much later, in an unsteady hand, may be regarded as the exposition of a method. It was very simple, and at the end of that moving appeal to every altruistic sentiment it blazed at you, luminous and terrifying, like a flash of lightning in a serene sky: ‘Exterminate all the brutes!’
“We have lost the first of the ebb,” said the Director suddenly. I raised my head. The offing was barred by a black bank of clouds, and the tranquil waterway leading to the uttermost ends of the earth flowed sombre under an overcast sky—seemed to lead into the heart of an immense darkness. - - Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness
Hannah Brown and fellow activists demonstrate against the planned clear cutting of trees outlined in the East Bay Deforestation Plan on the University of California, Berkeley campus.
Bring me my Bow of burning gold:
Bring me my arrows of desire:
Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold!
Bring me my Chainsaw of fire!
“I want President Obama to know one thing,” West said.
“You may say that you have done something that no one else has done. You know why no one else has done it? Because it’s a damn stupid thing you just did. If people are upset because of what I’m saying, I really don’t care. Because I had a father that stood at World War II…I gave 22 years of my life to make sure that that great beacon of liberty, freedom and democracy continues to stand. And I have a nephew, I have friends that are still serving on the front lines — and my commitment is to the oath that I took on 31, July, 1982, to support and defend the Constitution of the United States of America against all enemies, foreign and domestic.”
HT: HomchickClick Here to Continue
Around and after 32:10
Let me say, there are such people who enjoy calling themselves transhumanists and are looking forward essentially to abolishing the human race by liberally implanting chips in addition to messing with the genetics of unborn infants.
So you can, you know, buy 10 extra IQ points for your first kid, and technologies always improving so with the same amount to money you can get 15 for your next kid, and your first kid will be obsolete and you can, you know, send him to a big parking lot in the desert for obsolete children. And meanwhile you’re building human beings whose IQ is, you can build them. A person with an IQ of 500, why not build one with an IQ of 10,000?....
Bill Kristol / David Gelernter Transcript
But there’s the darker side of that which says let’s improve. Human beings are not such a great design, why should we live to 100 when we can live to 1,000? Why should we have an IQ of 100 when we can have an IQ of 1,000. We’re moving there, and that’s the end of mankind. You know, what are we to a group of people whose IQ is 10,000? Houseplants. This is a real issue.
In his memoir Chronicles: Volume One, Dylan described the kinship he felt with the route that supplied the title of his sixth album:
"Highway 61, the main thoroughfare of the country blues, begins about where I began. I always felt like I'd started on it, always had been on it and could go anywhere, even down in to the deep Delta country. It was the same road, full of the same contradictions, the same one-horse towns, the same spiritual ancestors ... It was my place in the universe, always felt like it was in my blood."
Along the way, the route passed near the birthplaces and homes of influential musicians such as Muddy Waters, Son House, Elvis Presley, and Charley Patton. The "empress of the blues", Bessie Smith, died after sustaining serious injuries in an automobile accident on Highway 61. Critic Mark Polizzotti points out that blues legend Robert Johnson is alleged to have sold his soul to the devil at the highway's crossroads with Route 49. -- LaWik
Oh God said to Abraham, “Kill me a son”
Abe says, “Man, you must be puttin’ me on”
God say, “No.” Abe say, “What?”
God say, “You can do what you want Abe, but
The next time you see me comin’ you better run”
Well Abe says, “Where do you want this killin’ done?”
God says, “Out on Highway 61”
Well Georgia Sam he had a bloody nose
Welfare Department they wouldn’t give him no clothes
He asked poor Howard where can I go
Howard said there’s only one place I know
Sam said tell me quick man I got to run
Ol’ Howard just pointed with his gun
And said that way down on Highway 61
Well Mack the Finger said to Louie the King
I got forty red, white and blue shoestrings
And a thousand telephones that don’t ring
Do you know where I can get rid of these things
And Louie the King said let me think for a minute son
And he said yes I think it can be easily done
Just take everything down to Highway 61
Now the fifth daughter on the twelfth night
Told the first father that things weren’t right
My complexion she said is much too white
He said come here and step into the light, he says hmm you’re right
Let me tell the second mother this has been done
But the second mother was with the seventh son
And they were both out on Highway 61
Now the rovin’ gambler he was very bored
He was tryin’ to create a next world war
He found a promoter who nearly fell off the floor
He said I never engaged in this kind of thing before
But yes I think it can be very easily done
We’ll just put some bleachers out in the sun
And have it on Highway 61.....
Click Here to Continue
In which we observe that there seems to be a large vile insect pretending to be President of PPFA Medical Directors’ Council Mary Gatter. Very ugly death's head in a human skin.
Actors posing as buyers ask Gatter, “What would you expect for intact [fetal] tissue?”Click Here to Continue
“Well, why don’t you start by telling me what you’re used to paying!” Gatter replies.
Gatter continues: “You know, in negotiations whoever throws out the figure first is at a loss, right?” She explains, “I just don’t want to lowball,” before suggesting, “$75 a specimen.”
Gatter twice recites Planned Parenthood messaging on fetal tissue collection, “We’re not in it for the money,” and “The money is not the important thing,” but she immediately qualifies each statement with, respectively, “But what were you thinking of?” and, “But it has to be big enough that it’s worthwhile for me.”
Gatter also admits that in prior fetal tissue deals, Planned Parenthood received payment in spite of incurring no cost: “It was logistically very easy for us, we didn’t have to do anything. So there was compensation for this.” She accepts a higher price of $100 per specimen understanding that it will be only for high-quality fetal organs: “Now, this is for tissue that you actually take, not just tissue that someone volunteers and you can’t find anything, right?”
By the lunch’s end, Gatter suggests $100 per specimen is not enough and concludes, “Let me just figure out what others are getting, and if this is in the ballpark, then it’s fine, if it’s still low, then we can bump it up. I want a Lamborghini.”
Apollo 11 was the spaceflight that landed the first humans on the Moon, Americans Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin, on July 20, 1969, at 20:18 UTC.
Armstrong became the first to step onto the lunar surface six hours later on July 21 at 02:56 UTC. Armstrong spent about two and a half hours outside the spacecraft, Aldrin slightly less, and together they collected 47.5 pounds (21.5 kg) of lunar material for return to Earth.
Click Here to Continue
Matthew had some strong ideas about prayer. It is in his book that we find the Lord's Prayer, also known as "The Swiss Army Knife of Prayers." This particular prayer, according to Matthew (who should know about such things), is the Alpha and the Omega of prayers. He stresses this when he writes in Matthew 6:9-6:13, "After this manner therefore pray ye: Our Father which art in heaven....
Of late, and for obvious reasons, I've become more likely to pray than to curse. Indeed my new program is to swap a prayer for a curse whenever I find I've slipped into the cursing mode.
In a world that is accursed putting more curses into it is never a good idea. We are full up at present. No shortage of curses that I can see. Still, slipping into the cursing mode is easy to do in today's world. We're encouraged to do it by the very nature of the secular society.
Add to that my thirty year stint in New York City where the standard reaction to almost any event is either a curse that involves the middle initial of the Savior (Just what does that "H." stand for anyway?), or the invocation of unnamed males who have an affinity for crude sex only with females of the motherly persuasion, and you've got, when it comes to my ability and propensity to curse, one crude mother....
It's a bad habit and one that I am trying to break. One way is, whenever I catch myself in an angry cursing moment, to recite a prayer instead. And the goto prayer in these multiple moments is always the Lord's. It's brief. It's beautiful. I can say it at high speed and by rote.
Our Father which art in heaven,
Hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come,
Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven.
Give us this day...
The Lord's Prayer also has a hidden benefit. It has, at is core, one simple but profound request:
"Give. Us. This. Day."
That's it. That's the real core of all prayers. That is the one request of the Lord without which nothing else matters. That is what all our past, lost days flow towards and which all our future hoped-for days flow from. Without the gift of "This Day" the ones that have passed have no meaning and the ones that are to come have no potentiality. Both are but abstractions or, as the poet has it:
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
Which is a fancy way of saying that without the gift of this day being given all else is lost. Secular thinkers speak of this as being "in the now" as if "being here now" was all that it took to be really alive.
I've lived in that popcult fauxworld for years before escaping and, looking back, I seem to remember it not as luminous headlands overlooking the sea, but as shadowlands along a darker border. It was neither a gift nor a curse, a burden or a blessing. It simply was and, as a result, was rather unremarkable.
That secular world originated out of nothing, out of the limited imagination of the noosphere and, with no reach beyond itself, existed closer to the Alpha than to the Omega. It had, as secular things often do, a tangle of bright, shiny deceivers clustered around it like gnats outside a privy, but when you arrived at the center it had nothing to say about tomorrow, and very little to promise about this day other than that it would be roughly similar to yesterday. There was little inscape and no escape. Its "Now" was always the same day, neither given nor taken but simply existing. It was the kind of day in which the existence of the Human and the Planaria were essentially equal. I, for one, would rather ask for my day than simply arrive in it.
Which is why, when I pray the Lord's Prayer, I always pause -- at the very least -- when I come to the phrase, "Give us this day." And in that pause I remember another phrase derived from scripture, "Tomorrow is not promised."
I once knew that phrase, "Tomorrow is not promised," in a rather dry, academic, vaguely poetic manner. Now, having had my all my tomorrows removed and then miraculously restored, I understand the phrase down to the marrow of my bones. Coming into this day I always ask "Give us this day." Departing the day I find I return to the early litanies of childhood, "I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake...."
But then, so far, I do wake and I continue in my project to replace curses with prayers. I'm not very good at it yet. Still fairly shaky. Then again, as another poet tells me,
This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.
The Lord give me (and give you) This Day.Click Here to Continue
This was in the days before Photoshop, and the cover shoot wasn't going well. The dog was a professional model. Like Kate Moss, it sat perfectly still with a blank expression. Finally Lampoon's art director Michael Gross had the idea of standing off-camera behind the dog's trainer (who was holding the gun) and shouting the dog's name. Hence the perfect pathos of the dog's sidelong glance. Now, it's a totally different world. It's "If You Don't Buy a Ticket to This Crappy Movie, We'll Go Watch Mission: Impossible — Rogue Nation in the Theater Next Door." P.J. O’Rourke: How I Killed 'National Lampoon'
It is all contiguous, all elevated, all rather wild — this vast territory enheaved, where three continental plates collided. (Supposing one buys into the hypothesis of “continental drift,” which I’m beginning to find “too plausible.”) About a decade ago it received a name from the Dutch historian, Willem van Schendel. He called it, Zomia, from a root that means “highlander” in many Tibeto-Burman languages. Think of it as Appalachia, but on a hundred times the scale, and of twenty times the historical depth. Zomia : Essays in Idleness
Note that the ferrets must have a full set of claws and teeth, and neither can be filed or blunted in any way. Between these, they can wreak a fair amount of havoc on delicate human flesh, particularly once their instincts to bite and dig kick in. Plus, as with other carnivores, once the victim (or rather, contestant) begins bleeding, the ferret’s blood lust can trigger attempts to feed..... Undoubtedly, the greatest ferret legger of all time is Reg Mellor, a retired Yorkshire miner, who set the record at five hours and 26 minutes on July 5, 1981. -- TIFO
John Cummings was a game drunk. In June 1799, having watched a French mountebank pretend to swallow clasped knives, the 23-year-old American sailor boasted that he could do the same, and “after drinking freely” he proceeded to swallow his own pocketknife and three others offered by his friends.... when he died finally in March 1809, his stomach was opened and “a great many portions of blades, knife-springs, and handles were found in it, and were carefully collected for the museum at Guy’s Hospital, in which they are now preserved. In a Word - Futility ClosetFutility Closet
According to the Alan Guttmacher Institute, some 30% of all abortions in the United States are performed on black women, and another 25% are performed on Hispanic women. Rev. John J. Raphael of Howard University has calculated that approximately 13 million black children have been killed before birth since Roe v. Wade, representing a population decrease in the black community of nearly one quarter. Almost 40% of all black pregnancies currently end in abortion.So: "Did you know that altogether 55 million unborn Democrats have been killed before birth since Roe v. Wade?" Sense of Events: Unborn Democrats
We see this drive to live with the White Christian Dudes every day along our southern border;
Australians see it on their coasts and in the make up of their cities; the UK in the unceasing wave of migrants besieging their island. Canada's beautiful Vancouver in even more beautiful British Colombia has become a largely Asian city. Everywhere it seems, the civilization built by White Christian Dudes is the magnet. Non-WCDs don't leave; my family certainly didn't. The DiploMad 2.0: In Defense of White Dudes
People leave their doors unlocked when they leave their houses. The kids are respectful. By the roadside, one sees unattended fruitstands. You take the fruit and drop the money in a box. Small children wander off unsupervised. I am a stranger here, yet it fits like an old sock. Even wealthy whites in Silicon Valley live in a place that is frightening, dangerous, hostile, hateful, and alien. A place that hates them for the intolerable sins of sexism racism colonialism homophobia islamophobia and imperialism, and sooner or later will punish them as they deserve for those unforgivable and ineradicable sins. They are frightened and weak. And they cannot afford to have children. Going home ｫ Jim's Blog
may one day be old and as helpless as the infants they have dismembered. Then they will be in the care of men like themselves. And on that far day these young — then old — may want water. On what grounds will they demand it? On what basis will they ask for care, love or compassion? Guilt as Power | Belmont Club
Sex early will make people willing to have sex with everyone, which will bring about the utopia while eliminating homophobia and helping people become "who they really are." It will also destroy the hated nuclear family with its paternalism, sexism, ageism (yes, for pedophiles, that is a thing) and all other "isms." If enough children are sexualized young enough, gayness will suddenly be "normal" and accepted by everyone, and the old fashioned notions about fidelity will vanish. As sex is integrated as a natural part of every single relationship, the barriers between people will vanish, and the utopia will appear, as "straight culture" goes the way of the dinosaur. As my mother used to say: "Children are brainwashed into believing they don't want sex."
It’s about the fake, phony conservatives who enjoy watching the real fighters on the right get sodomized while they gleefully gawk. They crave respectability over power and the limelight over influence. Seldom paid for their performances on Fox News or MSNBC, they repeat conventional wisdom after getting gussied up—but you can’t polish a soul. Refugee From Cuckservatism
The second, and almost certain, is that a tyrant will arise, promising to save everyone by giving them all the things they want, if only everyone gives up their worthless freedom. All he will ask is that they kneel. And in a collapsing society with out structure or meaning, far too many will hit their knees grateful for some sort of order. God save us from this future, a future that has played out all too often in the past and was predicted as long ago as 400 BC by Socrates. Word Around the Net: JUST BECAUSE
In contrast, there are an awful lot of people willing to fight and die for their religion and our Constitution. And let’s be blunt – these are the people with most of the guns and the training to use them. That’s the reality of the rule of force. I’ve seen it. Liberals May Regret Their New Rules
You have to worry for black neighbourhoods when Hispanics, who have no lingering slavery guilt to worry about, are the ethnic majority in America. Trump also gets away with honesty that others don’t because he has such an affinity for aspirational mainstream black culture. Trump lives precisely the same life of ostentatious and unashamed wealth as do superstar rappers. Wouldn’t Jay Z have his name emblazoned in gold on skyscrapers if he could afford it? == Breitbart
those of us who guessed, deduced or knew in some way or fashion, but preferred not to look at what we knew was there.
The “secret knowledge” was in fact Planned Parenthood’s best defense, for it bound many to silence out of guilt or shame. We could not bear to look; we still cannot bear to look.
Now that the cat is out of the bag the objections to looking the issue straight in the face, without eupemism, must vanish. Even those who, like Geraldo Rivera, argue that the end justifies the means can have no further reason for refusing to tell us “what end in exchange for these means?”. And in that matter, handwaving will not suffice. If Geraldo’s so proud of “medical research”, surely our admiration for it can only grow after all 300 hours of undercover video have been broadcast. Guilt as Power | Belmont Club
They need to face the consequences of their actions. They need to be physically removed from our society. The left will not stop until there are clear, painful, real world consequences for their actions. They have gotten away with their evil crimes against us for far too long. When people are trying to disempower you, disarm you, abandon our children to gangs of predatory immigrants and destroy your community you do not debate them; you hurt them. The left must bleed. And if we can show people that the left can bleed, then they will believe that it can be killed. - The Iron Legion
We are now seeing people humiliate, embarrass and now even physically mutiliate themselves VOLUNTARILY. This is what Bruce Jenner is doing. I anticipate that Bruce Jenner will have his penis and testicles cut off, and this will be done as part of a ratings-getting ploy, no doubt timed to sweeps. After Jenner has cut off his own genitals, there probably won’t be anything more he can do to cause further spectacle, the entertainment complex will lose interest, and Jenner will probably commit suicide. Effusum Est In Terra Jecur Meum | Barnhardt
The earliest known image of a set of cats arrayed as sound-producing elements to be activated by the fingers dates to the late sixteenth century, that is, over a hundred years before the invention of the piano, at a time when it would more properly be called a cat harpsichord or clavichord. | The Public Domain Review
Sandwiched between a sun-kissed pineapple upside down cake, sits a beef patty ground with spam, crispy jalapeno rubbed bacon, and a gorgeous sharp cheddar riesling sauce. Playboy, call me. PornBurger | Burger Perverts Welcome
The capitalist propaganda machine outside of the Bolivarist Paradise has been telling people that toilet paper is now largely unavailable for purchase in the country. But, does man really require toilet paper to be happy? A few centuries ago there was no toilet paper at all â indeed, mankind survived for most its history without toilet paper. The desire for toilet paper is simply a form of manufactured desire created by capitalist marketing and advertising â the production of a want in people for a product they donât actually have a real use for. The creation of toilet paper despoils forests and the landscape, is unsustainable, and it is only to the good that Venezuela now leads the world in eliminating this scourge from our midst. No one could have seen this coming « Samizdata
The tremors you're feeling in culture right now is the imposition of this new system from above while from below people still cling to the shreds of the old. Homosexual "marriage" wasn't so much about the less-than-1% of the population that wants to marry. Demanding everyone celebrate and admire Bruce Jenner's self-mangling "sex change" isn't about the 30,000 or so transgenders in the USA. This is all just about replacing the old with the new and demolishing all the ideals and beliefs of the past. Word Around the Net: JUST BECAUSE
Hang (and make sure that the hanging takes place in full view of the people) no fewer than one hundred known landlords, rich men, bloodsuckers. Publish their names. Seize all their grain from them. Designate hostages in accordance with yesterday's telegram. Do it in such a fashion that for hundreds of kilometres around the people might see, tremble, know, shout: "they are strangling, and will strangle to death, the bloodsucking kulaks". Telegraph receipt and implementation. Yours, Lenin. Find some truly hard people."
boundless as a sea, delicate yellow, delicate soft green, the delicate violet of a dug-up and weeded piece of soil, checkered at regular intervals with the green of flowering potato plants, everything under a sky of delicate blue, white, pink, violet tones. I am in a mood of almost too much calmness, in the mood to paint this. Vincent Van Gogh - Van Gogh's Last
The peace the administration wins is the peace of appearances. Polite society doesn’t want to know the real deal any more than it wants to see ultrasounds of doomed babies that form the factual basis for “choice”. It can’t handle the truth, any more than it can handle what Planned Parenthood really does. Fiction at all costs. Honor is Whatever You Can Still Betray | Belmont Club
“meat which looked like beef began to fall all around her. The sky was perfectly clear at the time.” Falling like large snowflakes and settling all around the 5000 square foot yard, pieces of flesh ranging in size from about two inches square to four, dotted the ground and were even stuck on the fences. The Mystery of the Kentucky Meat Shower