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Bloated Defense Budget

ye shall never remember the Empire’s by-product we call “bug-splat” (an actual Pentagon term for civilian casualties in the invasion of Iraq)

Until they become conscious they will never rebel, and until after they have rebelled they cannot become conscious.
In the long run, a hierarchical society was only possible on a basis of poverty and ignorance.
The object of waging a war is always to be in a better position in which to wage another war.

n George Orwell, 1984

This is the state of America now, forty-two days ago, four minutes ago, four years ago, four-squared, twenty-four, fifty-four years ago, it doesn’t matter, the mirror’s the same. These politicians are amazing in their vapidity, and the American people are a mix of PT Barnum marks, mean cusses wanting to kill the world, sentimental, full of the PR Edward Bernays’ lie, waiting for Norman Rockwell, John Wayne, some fools tin soldier theater feeding us about heroes’ bedtime stories.

You understand, some of us have been in those countries -- Guatemala, Salvador, Honduras -- where those American muscle heads led by their jar-head generals taught other jar-heads how to kill, how to foment murder and scare tactics and depopulation in farm and mountain country.

But, we have to see that absurdity of Trump -- draft dodger -- play with that even more insipid crew -- so-called (elite) media journalists (sic) -- in his address (joke) to the Congress.

How many Van Jones’ Democrats (this guy I met twice, and, the slick and snail trails coming from his mouth even in 2006 when he was pushing fake greenie things, yuk) applauded for the Navy SEAL bullshit Trump line, where even the trained assassin’s old man didn’t want to meet accused rapist-money launderer) Trump in Trumplandia at the airport where the son, Chief Petty Officer Owen, was brought back in coffin after a botched (sic) raid in Yemen. Hmm, so, this hyper-power attacks a country, and, hmm, with the so-called toughest hombres in the USA (excluding those undocumented tamale makers and roofers bronze glow Big Apple Boy is so frightened of) -- US Navy SEALS, and, lo and behold, the attackers get counter-attacked, and, the son of the nation and the hardware of the military industrialists get all shot up.

America, the land of infantiles, and they applauded, and the Democrats vote for Trump’s picks, and the so-called leftists see Trump attackers as all bundled up in one big fat happy category. Recall, many of us could not stand the words of Obama, or of Bush the Elder and Bush Junior. How about Reagan? And Clinton? How many of the thousands in all those administrations mouthed these gossamer spider webs of spun lies, all the lies of government, of the politics of the age, all those media in the mainstream cauterized from the brain stem down?

How many Iran hostages and Contra wars, bombing of orphanages in Vietnam, all the ecocide and plots against Castro, MOVE killings in Philly, US Murder Incorporated hits, all those economic gang rapes of countries, all those despotic dictators propped up, all those Edgar Hoovers and Joe McCarthy’s and Roy Cohn’s and Trump and Carnegie and Rockefeller and Westmoreland, Powell, Schwarzkopf, McNamara, Kissinger, all of them, and the presidents, in those choreographed teleprompter talks to the nation. Bring us the head of a dead soldier, and his wife, and the parents, Gold Star or Bloody Purple hearts. Bring us that clapping and then, this insipidness of “now he’s presidential.”

It speaks volumes the mainstream and metastasized press bends over to this slob Trump or the slick lying Obama or the Carousing Clinton or minor league W or the cold as stone Bush Sr., or Ray-gun . . . . This country’s nationalism and pro-military and pro-Anything in/by/from/for the USA mental illness, it is the reason we spend trillions on defense (sic -- offense), from arms to aircraft, from surveillance to digital data mining, giveaways to Israel and Saudi Arabia, every dime is in multiple conduits to the controllers, to the elites, the money changers, oh those chosen few, all that, in this country, where the Democrats applaud the lies of Trump, where they are afraid, truly the party of war-making and fearful knee-jerking. These suits and slacks people are some of the most bizarre species on earth. Clap-clap-clap like trained Sea World lobotomized aquatic mammals.

Politics of hate from both sides of the Republican-Democrat swine trough – gotta hate Russia (all Russians) or Iran (all Iranians) or North Korea (all N. Koreans). Sort of get it, uh – hate all Cubans because they support a revolution, even under the screws and blocks and embargoes of Uncle Sam. Pork barrel and complete superficiality, all tied to money making, moving money, cutting people off at the knees, and lining the pockets of the undeserving CEO after VP after Middle Manager after Hyper Investor. We watch these B-movie muck sessions on TV – really, presidents speaking and the little Hitler applause, all those stiff arms clapping like manic seals, the mammalian version, all the homilies of Make America Great, or, America has Always Been Great. All those latte liberals, and Tea Party prostitutes, all those people who know nothing, but deride everything and anything to do with justice -- social, human, environmental, economic, societal, artistic. This country is cruising for a bruising, with Russia, China, Philippines, Iran any one of the places on planet earth that doesn’t bow to American crap.

So, these people at that Trump event, they’re almost vapid in essence, rotting from inside and some are monsters, ratting out the good of the world, bombing children and the poor, this country of men and women never satisfied with the inner vacuous, so they quell fears by holding onto the outer -- possessions, self-importance, self-delusional consumerism, celebrity culture, jocks and mercenaries, the flag all wrapped up in hotdog intestines, slathered with Nine Mile Island yellow and catsup from the lab.

A new dawn each new TV season, each new blockbuster, each new model coming out of the car factories, new man and new woman made and remade, American style, refitted for the same endless ennui, the berserk brains, extra stimulation, smeared on the cortex like peanut butter, laced with SSRIs and Nutella, the happy squeeze of on-line shopping and Uber at every corner.

Martin Luther King, Jr. said it right more than 50 years ago: “It is a sad fact that because of comfort, complacency, a morbid fear of communism, and our proneness to adjust to injustice, the Western nations that initiated so much of the revolutionary spirit of the modern world have now become the arch antirevolutionaries. […] We still have a choice today: nonviolent coexistence or violent coannihilation. We must move past indecision to action. We must find new ways to speak for peace in Vietnam and justice throughout the developing world, a world that borders on our doors. If we do not act, we shall surely be dragged down the long, dark, and shameful corridors of time reserved for those who possess power without compassion, might without morality, and strength without sight.”

Where do we put this waste, the carcasses of democracy, the ghosts of fighters against the mining bosses, against the money changers, the banks, the renters, the CEOs who enjoy 600 times the yearly scratch than the average worker in her or his company? This waste is the only hope of crafting real truths, real histories, real narratives of the empire built on the skulls and femurs of First Nations, each new tribe’s children and women stacked like pyramids, craniums bleaching in the stench of whirling pollutants.

Pay the hedge funders a thousand a minute while teachers get less than a thousand at week, and the hard workers have no national day care, nothing to stave off bankruptcy, stave off the repo man, the sheriff’s and banks and creditors, so we are struggling while consuming the empty calories of food and fantasy and these lying pols and the biggest liar of them all, POTUS.

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The world goes better with Coca Cola and the blood of children -- drones or seals or Gatling guns or barrels of Agent Orange, the method of murder doesn’t matter. B-52s or rocket-launched grenades. The land is razed and the communities thrown into complete PTSD. Jihadists or rebels or contras or anyone just attempting to jettison the military and money. Any hope for peace without peace, monkeywrenching is now the word of terrorism experts, all those protests, street jams, anything in the public realm, these big boys with the digital big guns holstered on, sending endless codes into the ether, endless culling of lives and sending the monsters of money and surveillance into the towers of the headhunters.

You can read a million words today on the dysfunction and schizophrenia and cannibalism of capitalism, and read and read the commentators and pundits, all those Main Stream Media Minds (sic) making projections, telling us what we didn’t see in his address to congress. We can see and touch and breathe the reality of our pain, but the Capitalists, all those infection agents, they can reinterpret our rebellion, our pain, our suffering, our confusion, our hate and our own hopes-dreams-illusions into whatever the lies eating their souls dictate.

I have endless chatter against any rant, endless accusations of not understanding politics, understanding the power in and the power out, and not understanding how the cookie crumbles in this merciless American experiment. Cynicism apathy avoidance illiteracy dysfunction disorder disassociation depression, these doctors of our flagging communities and our falling families and sense of morality, well, there will be blood daily, by the tanker load.

Sadism is the heart of capitalism, the money flowing into the orifices of the perverted and warped, the signs of black plague in each good family’s heart, each neighborhood’s collective consciousness. Capitalism is the whip and the nettle, and each snap of it against the soul of a nation – children and family aspirations – is a lashed torso a million-fold, slathered with lemon juice and lye.

There is no honest pugilism in America, not a hair’s breadth of critical discourse, just low blows and kicks to the shin, head butts and elbow to the ribs, and big bites to the ears. This Capitalism, and the way it has coursed into the DNA of the White European, Whites in this Continent, into the leaders and royalty of the Oil Cartels, it’s just one hair’s breadth from pay off-hush-bribery money.

We are country of people wanting names, looking at politics as if it’s horse betting, taking in these people as if they are celebrities, and leaving celebrities alone in their own version of capitalism 201 – money makes monsters and monsters make money.

We are country of people wanting names, looking at politics as if it’s horse betting, taking in these people as if they are celebrities, and leaving celebrities alone in their own version of capitalism 201 – money makes monsters and monsters make money.

Idealism in this country is drawn and quartered at a young age, as humiliation is also the under-god of Capitalism, and the son of Satan is the goddess of consumerism . . . . Yet in some way, most Americans know this, but like heroin addicts, the pull and push and repulsion and immediate gratification, all of this is like tuberculosis of the spirit. Each purchase and trip around the mall is like a penetrating bloody cough, but the soul of Capitalism eats oil, and each vein running to Capitalism’s heart is a polymer and each synapse of Capitalism’s brain is turbo-charged by the digital signals of the merchandizers – the angels of this army of buyers and users are floating in the air like columns of coal dust hitting the white edge of the moon.

This semblance of rant is in the crosshairs of the arbiters of writing-editing-speaking-teaching-knowing, and what is acceptable now is more hyper-analysis of the generals and captains of industries good deeds or exceptionalism.

Ah two wings of the same bird of prey . . . from The Jungle, Upton Sinclair:

Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle is more than the set, Chicago’s once giant slaughtering and meatpacking industry, or the investigative journalism of exposing the horrid conditions of the US meat industry. The book is a plea for socialism, and in a way hardly ever shown today in this country, it was a look at suffering of the working class life under capitalism. Sinclair ends the book with the protagonist attending a rally of supporters of the American Socialist Party’s presidential candidate, modeled after the real Eugene Debs. Here the fictitious candidate described by Sinclair: “He was a man of electric presence, tall and gaunt, with a face worn think by struggle and suffering. The fury of outraged manhood gleamed in him – and the tears of suffering. When he spoke he paced the stage restlessly; he was lithe and eager, like a panther. He leaned over, reaching out for his audience; he pointed into their souls with an insistent finger. His voice was husky from much speaking, but the hall was still as death, and everyone heard him. He spoke the language of workingmen – he pointed them the way. He showed the two political parties as ‘two wings of the same bird of prey.’

We see this controlled opposition in America, in Britain, the world, really: From Gilad Atzmon, jazz saxophonist and author of, The Wandering Who?: A Study of Jewish Identity Politics, he looks at Zionist influence in American and European (and Canadian) politics and the global theater at large. His take on identify politics of Jews can be applied to the same identity politics of this new age where latte liberals and greenie-lite are beholding to their philanthropy (sic) grant paymasters, and where no amount of true inspection of the rot at the core of Wester Culture is capitalism and a controlling elite, oligarch and hyper-billionaires. Any criticism of Israel or some of the intersections of Jewish politics with capitalism and globalization gets one kicked to the curb as an antisemetic, but in reality we have so many light years to move ahead in seeing why we have the demons of capital putting the same money and energy into both parties, and in the case of the most recent election, both candidates. Here, Gilad from a 2013 Counterpunch article:

“In George Orwell’s 1984, it is perhaps Emmanuel Goldstein who is the pivotal character. Orwell’s Goldstein is a Jewish revolutionary, a fictional Leon Trotsky. He is depicted as the head of a mysterious anti-party organization called ‘The Brotherhood’ and is also the author of the most subversive revolutionary text (The Theory and Practice of Oligarchical Collectivism). Goldstein is the ‘dissenting voice’, the one who actually tells the truth. Yet, as we delve into Orwell’s text, we find out from Party’s ‘Inner Circle’ O’Brien that Goldstein was actually invented by Big Brother in a clear attempt to control the opposition and the possible boundaries of dissidence.

Orwell’s personal account of the Spanish Civil War ‘Homage to Catalonia’ clearly presaged the creation of Emmanuel Goldstein. It was what Orwell witnessed in Spain that, a decade later, matured into a profound understanding of dissent as a form of controlled opposition. My guess is that, by the late 1940’s, Orwell had understood the depth of intolerance, and tyrannical and conspiratorial tendencies that lay at the heart of ‘Big Brother-ish’ Left politics and praxis.

Surprisingly enough, an attempt to examine our contemporaneous controlled opposition within the Left and the Progressive reveal that it is far from being a conspiratorial. Like in the case of the Jewish Lobby, the so-called ‘opposition’ hardly attempts to disguise its ethno-centric tribal interests, spiritual and ideological orientation and affiliation.”

Confessional politics, the monsters of the old south, the vampires of the new West Coast, and the highfalutin Mafioso of the East Coast, we see this played out daily, on all the networks, on all the “heritage newspapers,” and in the throbbing veins of the progressives (sic) who hold the purple hearts and silver stars of our paid destruction force, mercenaries, above a million victims. We bomb, spray, drone, pollute, electrocute, incinerate, nuke, and contaminate the world for the shekel, for the greenback, as our veins and heart move oil from one vital organ to the next. The offal of the world is our propaganda, the sell-outs made every nanosecond, the sucker born every mega second, and the lies and duplicity and braying nationalism and red-white-blue-apple-pie great waves of grain fairytales that get rewrapped in new high-tech shrouds of the lying class that as a country we have now become.

Death is life, truth is lies, Trump is a Man, Americans are Saviors.

paul haeder