(This entry contains street vernacular offensive to some.)
…Been back on the internet after a two year sabbatical for about a year and a half. Been doing the ridiculously inane and addictive “internet thing” for going on 15 years. Been wondering why the fuck I do it for a good solid seven or eight years. Been asking idiotic questions like this in some obscure corner of some digitally well trodden psychic graffiti portal long enough to know no one else is asking too many questions like this. Been looking for other people intelligent enough to even know which questions to ask for a very, very long time.
Since I do not find them, (the people who are asking the right questions) I ask the right questions for them. Because someone has to. Someone needs to be spiritually awake at the wheel. I chose me, and she said yes. I ask the questions. America thanks me for it, then goes back to screwing, watching the ball games, looking at porn, and dreaming of her next high fashion model’s underwear styles. We all live in this madness togther and we’re all kind of used to it, but some days Ijust have to step aside and spit.
I’m doing that today. Internet diary as psychological spitoon. Spewwwgh.
I know this much: our high technology is not making us more intelligent. If anything it cultivates a type of conceited, self satisfied high class techno-stupidity that I can barely stand to be around anymore. I stay home. I do not frequent “internet cafes”. If I have to see one more young well heeled techno jerk pull out his PDA, or his iphone, or his ipod, or his cell phone in a puplic place, and begin yammering the details of his particular vein of modern mindlessness into it, I may just explode from disgust.
We don’t talk to one another anymore. We show off our gadgets instead.
We don’t really converse with one another, instead, we shout out the embarrassing personal details of our day to day despair for all to hear in every crowded public place where shoulders are rubbed uncomfortably with smelly strangers. We rant. We don’t speak into these little machines that we carry around, we rant into them. Nearly every cell phone conversation that I am forced to be subjected to – is a “rant” of some sort. We are a very loudly bellowing, dissatisfied, increasingly uncouth, unwashed, unruly, unahppy nation, and we have been – for quite some time.
I travel. I see it. I know. This fact is not negotiable.
As for my own personal state of affairs, just this particular a.m., I’m closing in on a real case of internet burnout – already, again. Today is 8.31.2009. I have been following, researching, writing about, examining, monitoring, scrutinizing, and praying about Barack Obama for about 2-3 years now.
I’m not a white middle aged republican. I’m a gay woman, an artist, a writer, a lifelong democrat until just recently, oh about 2008. I grew up in mixed race neighborhoods and graduated from a high school and a college that were 70% black. So don’t start your shit with me. It isn’t going to work.
After my 2-3 years of Obama scrutiny, I now have very good reasons to believe that America will soon look more like Nazi Germany than anything we could have ever imagined, in our wildest nightmares, even just a few years ago. There are thousands of other people online who know what I know. We all did the “due diligence” that the mainstream media would not do in 2008, and now we all know it together and we come from every background and every walk of life. We have all been “had” – as they say – in the election of 2008. The bigger the truth you know, the bigger the so-called domestic terrorist you are, in the eyes of a crazed inside out White House in our crazed inside-out new America.
I believe the lovely pearl toothed smooth talking Barack Obama has now had a real taste of utter raw power, and that he is quietly going mad with it. I also believe he suffers from a dreadful clinical pathology from which there is no real treatment and no real cure. Psychiatrists know all about this pathology, and they are loathe to try to treat it because there is no treatment for it. Medications are as effective on NPD as bandaids are on severed limbs.
I believe our beautiful new Gucci wrapped iconic president is the Frankenstein King. He has been psychologically sewn together from a haphazard array of fringe politics, communist beliefs and embittered urban landscapes over the past twenty years, only some of which he has actually emotionally inhabited, but all of which he has passed through, like an urgent man travelling by bus over land, stopping here and there to indulge the locals and taste whatever was being offered up at the time.
His bizarre twenty year “journey over land” now over; he has arrived at his destination. But he arrives irreparably politically “stained” from all of the strange off kilter political boroughs that he passed through along the way – in the same way that one becomes stained around the hands and mouth from eating raw blackberries in the white hot heat of the day. The murky bluegrey purple color taken on will not wash away in the evening, and even bleach will not erase the damned spots.
Muslim, marxist, The Chicago New Party, wiccan, black nationalistsocialism enchantments, “God Damn America!” ministers, bi-polar politics: Frankenstein King, so lovely to look at, so handsome to behold. So horrendous to reckon with, ultimately, as he is now let loose on this nation to tear it to shreds.
Obama was elected by a cadre of voters too young to know better, too self absorbed to care, too vain to admit they have elected a gorgeous fascist monster to sit in the White House and dismantle America by degrees of his own “audacity and hope.”
We allowed the youth of the nation to elect a president in 2008. We gave the teenagers the car keys. Oddly, now these youngsters cannot be bothered much to show up at Town Halls and rant back at the patriots over the many coming benefits of Obamacare. That’s not sexy, you know. That’s old folks stuff.
“We’re young, we’re still sexy, we elected a very sexy man to the White House. Now don’t bother us. ‘Big Brother’ is on TV. Work it out on your own. We have new video games to play, new celebrities to watch. We’re busy.”
The condition that he is in, Obama’s inner “condition”, is known as narcissistic personality disorder. Obama exhibits numerous behaviors that just scream that his inner being is interlaced with NPD.The sense of absolute entitlement with which he embraced and stepped right into “Obama Messiah Worship” was the first big red flag for me back in 2008. it wasnot hard to catch the rest of them from that point on.
My gut tells me that we are in for a horrible, horrible ride here in these next four years. I fear there is no escape from the outrageous measures he will enact to protect and advance an ultra left wing liberal-beyond-all-defnitions political agenda that will destroy what is left of this country that George W. did not put through a meat grinder.
All the researching, writing, networking, blogging, and slogging in the world is not going to change the soul twisting “change” that Obama is about to put us through in America. My soul is senstive enough and clairvoyant enough to viscerally feel this one coming. We are losing our freedoms. And it is happening at a rate of speed that is almost impossible to comprehend.
This whole situation begs the question: Just exactly what was the specific written itinerary given to Barack Obama by the Bilderberg Group during the summer of 2008? Just how quickly did they intend to finish off their utter dismantling of what is left of the sovereignty, civility, and legal sanctity of the United States of America?
So look at me. Here I am – pretending to take a day off, and what am I doing? I’m writing about it again. My soul is in agony over what I sense coming. There seems to be no refuge anywhere, and no rest from the sense that I must try, at least try, to keep awakening other Americans to what I see coming. But today, my energy and will to do that is just gone. I feel empty.
What is the role of the man standing on the high hill who can see the great tsunami coming?
If he leaves the hilltop to warn the villagers, he may drown.
If he remains at his watch, to monitor the speed of it’s approach, the villagers will never know it is coming – and they will all drown.
So the man (in this case a woman) remains standing on the high hill, and he screams. And screams. And screams. All the while knowing that few will hear his screaming, fewer still will listen, and that millions are soon to drown. There is not really much that he can do, with the time that is left, but scream. He is yelling at everyone below to move to higher ground. They proceed with their day, and their routine duties, oblivious to the small, far away screaming sound.
Today I am hoarse from screaming. Today I am tired, and I look ten years older than I did yesterday. I have spent so many nights being sick with worry, that I am now simply numb. I no longer feel too terribly much about anything, just at this moment. Although you might not know it from this diary entry.