Thursday, March 15, 2018

The Anti-Feminist Review: A Review of Feminism

Vol. 1                                                                                 Mar. 2019

The Anti-Feminist Review

By Sir Francis Rake

Edited by Sir Michael H. Katzberg

With the full and very ample support of
The Loyal Schoolboard of Anti-Feminists­
The Last Vestiges of the Government of Canada
The Best of the British Royal Family
The United States of America Armed Forces Union
And Your Father
And His Buds From The Hall
But Not Any Nancies.
Well Maybe a Few
No Womyn-- Stay Out!

I am about to set forth an intellectual dialogue against the problems we have had with the dark stain on our times which this new cult of “Feminism” has brought to the earth. As such I refuse to use Feminist nonsense terms, and prefer the older terms of “man” and “mankind” over “humanity” and other depressing bullshit references that dick-less wonders who feel empowered by their lack of hu-”man”-ity want me to use. Also please learn to spell there is still the word “man” in “humanity” even if their is no humanity left in you... There will be no more gender neutral terms in my writing henceforward. I was once a feminist and am now redeemed.

On the occasion of the birth of the Christ of the early Romans, it is said in poorly kept up, and often sabotaged (on the admission of scribes) and banned christian holy book they now call “The Bible” , but its current text as such will be unknown in a future age. If I go out on a limb and say... well... it could be around in a hundred years, with some unwitting luck. That this Christ fellow was gifted at his birth with three manly items, fit for a King it has been stated therein, however questionable the source is. Although born in a manger, an inauspicious place to be born, even for a peasant who it sounds like was being hunted like a bastard to the King (King Herod the Roman King over Israel)... this impotent King of Kings, this rebel with a very righteous and revolting cause (as the Romans were to soon find out) did find as his gifts. Brought no less by three kings in the present version, although of course they could have been imposters was given three burial goods, instead of anything worthy of a King.1 Even a paltry King of Jews, who didn't even have the Leprosy on him they were looking for... perhaps to execute him because he was after the only decent job in the end. An unenviable position, nevertheless. If they had let him take it, but they didn't and so the story of the world, that resulted in this New World Order, and the debacle of Feminism has been on the outs with keeping it real ever since.

Those of us who were born in recent times have noticed that with the advent of a newer, stronger, more powerful feminism, that this time will not take your liqour... we have seen a downfall in the rights of man, while women have walked off with the cash. Often in my country they have taken children away, and have gone so far in popular media, and increasingly less popular religions gone on to say that the very right of a man to have a child does not exist. A woman should be owned as chatel, might be taking it too far. But at the very least it is about the time to let them all sleep on the couch for a few days and if they act like the dunces of the world we are supposed to worship... perhaps then the tool shed.

As it turns out in the end the Leper Messiah they were looking for was in another castle, anyways... but at least these charlatans, supposedly in the robes of Kings were not looking for anything proper. Or in any way carefully.

Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh as we have found do not do anyone who is living any good anyways. These are burial items, to contradict the village priest or the the praying praetor. I have earned my right to govern through blood, and the sword, and my own indomitable spirit. Not pacifism and peace... in this way we must turn away from the path of Christ himself. That path is death, and the path of a prophet is not for everyone, even we sages of the New Era of Mankind must decide how far it all goes... we have our place in the world, and we must stand up for it. In life as in literature. The pen may be mightier than the sword. But in combat I still prefer a sword. Or occasionally a gun, a gun can work wonders too.

In this way I would like to clear up, firstly the current problems with literature, and secondly the world, if I have the time for that. Not that anyone notices I have been taking out the trash since the age of three for the New World Order anyways. Democracy has its ups and downs and ins and outs, and I have taken advantage of many of these... howeve in my exploits and travels to allow others to exploit the world more savagely than I have, and perhaps in a wealthy and gilded way. Worthy of a King. And worthy of a man.

It can not be argued against the fact that all men should live as Kings. What we have argued about is how to get there, and what we do when we get there for so long, that when we have come to a time when all of us would refuse a bed of furs in favour for fine linens or perhaps sheer satin. Satin for those, who like to get kinky, and don't care about lengthy survival and things like permanance.

As such we have arrived on that destination finally, and without recourse to past ages, or their salvation. Or can we glean from the past, that which the future held to our ancestors? A sense for survival it seems was not enough, once slaves were banned all of europe seems to have gone mad, and attacked each other. The working civilized person it would seem, unlike the slave, seeks to live in a shorter world. The repititions we go under eventually wear us out, and while hours, and work weeks grow longer the reverse was true at the beginning.

Our day is one of evolution and revolution. And we seek out man himself to be our new christ. Yet we have Feminists stealing from us, robbing us, putting men in power to rags, and causing all men of my generation to lose hope, and to cease caring. The statistics are according to statistics Canada, 2004, that for every divorce one of those divorced goes insane, often permanently. That is a lot to rob a man of, a life worth living to the full... stripped from us by these filthy words that have brought us such destruction, these harlots of discord, the enemy of all that is good in the world: all that man can build.

It seems abour 350 years after Marcus Aurelius, the stoic philosopher, became the first Christian Emperor of the Roman Empire, having converted to Christianity around 88 AD, and brought much of his empire with him. The fur certainly flew then, and more when all slaves were freed, under Christ's banner. A mission, in visions I have heard, brought from his freeing of the slaves, and salvation and acceptance under John the Baptist. It was popular in their day for a new cult leader to sacrifice the new cultist. But John the Baptist, once an outsider saw the growth of his belief system and his fame in the life of this New Christ of the Jews. Many had come before and said they were he, but did not bear the manner and bearing of a King. As Christ saved this man who had been sent assassins by the Jews that had said they would support him if his group killed off the Romans, and spoke out against them. But in their meeting these men, you can imagine sought compromise, and shoke hands and broke bread together. After Jesus washed the feet of John the Baptist. A term often used to refer to homosexual acts of oral copulation, but in this instance, must be taken in full seriousness, to mean a physical act of reverence for the other. One might as well have washed the other, but in order to grow, Christ had to accept his humble pardon... in order for the faith to grow. And for Baptists to join with the Christians. Previously they had been a heretical sect associated with the cults of Dionysus, later deemed to be cannibals, but were anything but. Those that do not seek material worth, were often labeled cannibals in that time. If you are opposed to materialism as group... yes they will call you many things if they hate you. But none so hateful to themselves as what they follow that condemns them.

When the system of slavery fell... in fact slaves fell, and at the time rising as high as 200 slaves to every free man Rome fell, this much is true. Their system of production, which is so important in a materialist state, even for those of us who do not condone it.

We are told by women that men are “good” if they have value. And the only valuable man is a rich man. Then they set up a system of divorce that creates mad men. The problem with women is that they have a problem with men. And wish to marry and then divorce all... this awful modern witch hunter of men. I have no problem with women being woman. Why do they have a problem with a man being himself, a fully independent being until married for life. We are men, we love we live, we have problems, we find solutions as we may. And do not need this sabotage in our lives. I have no problem with them doing their own thing, as long as they respect that men are their superiors, and that men will always believe themselves superior to women. Women have had their day and have ruined it... and brought problems to our society. The type of problems Rome saw when slavery was banned. And it took years to fix a system that had entirely broken so far, as to enoble(2) and allow slaves to have more power than those free Romans that had allowed their freedom, and then send their fortunes destroyed. And having fallen from the greatness of a kind of elite, something of a middle upper class, approaching our current upper class... We all know none wish to have heirs or continue if their world has gone down the ladder, and the world they were born in was destroyed... for them.

Men become priests and do great things in this sort of situation. In this world we have all been divorced, and often had long term relationships where we never married, and found ourselves the benefactors of a union which bore no children, and no wealth. And as such when boring became a broken bond, in first nations called a dead circle... a gang with no hope of rebirth or renewal. No life, only death can be caused by this union. It is a curse for all those who follow it.

And the only thing worse can be taking a child from a man who wishes to be its Father, but one day in an act of ignorance, perhaps succumbing to a momentary madness, or a permanent one from the lack of a union, in which he provided well. And then told that women could provide and stripped to half the pay our parental father's would make to feed one whole family in the 70s... thus forced into starvation and deprecation, if he continues to work... what a madness this is to be divorced as a man.

We are tough as iron, and do not let our emotions show. And I feel that we have all been judged for this, and by this we should break bread, and wash each others feet. By the sacred bond of those divorced without reason, and forced into gangs without a serious need for them by women... and the need for more than one. We have been coerced into looking badly by a less serious world that treats women as the gold, and the men as the frankincense and myyrh.

Now perhaps my high IQ, has regaled you, and entertained you, and I hope inspired you. I will now get to the point, which is the thesis of my statement, however stated earlier perhaps you would think I am madder than I am now for challenging these view points that have become such a vile and villainous part of our autocracy of Democracy. Perhaps now the spot light has revealed hints of hurts and pain, and those you have seen hurt and harmed in your life?

It would be a wonder and a delight to hear your stories and your pains. And how and why feminists have hurt you, and what rights must be done to defeat this injustice that has come through the modern world since the 1920s and Women's right to vote. The whole idea of female emancipation has been taken too far again... this time we have different problems, and the whole wheel of injustice has been pushed too far. We need to go back and break it down, back to basic. Use the words you like, and empower the world you like. Don't hesitate to put down women who are unjustly mean to men. The word Woman can be broken down phonetically to Old English prefix “wom”-- or our word for“the womb” plus the suffix --“man”... at the time this would mean something more like the word “guy” is used today. Together womb + man.  Nothing in there that's bad about men or women, just another lie they use to defile a man's rights.

I will also add that the phoneme also known as the contraction for a possessive case: " 's " is short for "his" not "his or hers."  There was no problem with a female being called "Gwenyvere his rood", when they owned a cross.  If we were ever to be reasonable as feminists in the old days... well no one wanted to hear about that.

I would like to refer to the social landscape I have grown up in as a positive place that nurtured some of us rather than a social war zone that targeted all men, where none in the end could be free. And in which women had learned that to torture men with unfit models and social roles hurt them also, as a woman will never be friends with those former lovers she has divorced.... often many have killed themselves, or suffered horribly. And in the case where a woman left them because of the loss of one of their jobs, she created a vacuum in which he could not pay for child support. In the 1970s this was not an option, and a divorced man would earn more than a divorced woman. In the 1990s it became and increasing problem as weak men, and those taken advantage of were taught by an increasingly gyno-centric society to shirk their moral structure and avoid lifelong monogamous relationships -- which are our natural instinct – for more frivolous and eventually destructive proclivities of those wrapped up in a conscious or unconscious need for a destruction of men. A culture seen as “patriarchal” and over-bearing is in fact a good one for men, and happens to be a good one for women who can learn to compromise or go back to their barbarian roots.

A gang culture of wasted lives and relationships forced on us, went further than the tattoos and awfully over-done peircings, and name-calling, and ridiculously short hair styles did not fix any of that either... Merely a birth rate with more men has meant more victims on the meat market for an increasingly greed-obsessed and woman obsessed society. Death to Femenism. It is a new form of fascism that must be destroyed and wiped from the world.

If I ever hear about a culture that is so obsessed with the word “cunt” again. With the word “feminine” renaming the fucking tampon aisle to “feminine hygeine” to “feminine paper”. I don't want to hear about the stupid shit radio ads about your stinky pussy smegging everywhere every five minutes on the TV ever again, thank you. We have won a fight for men everywhere by getting these terrible advertisements off the air.

There will be no more gender neutral terms in my writing henceforward. I was once a feminist and am now redeemed. Please write to me your poems and writing of propagandha against this dark “fymenism” that has taken over the real urges and needs of our society. I wish to hear in writing how it has hurt you, and how freeing it is to just say “I am not a feminist”. “I wish to move forward in my life without hearing about this woman-obsessed cult that is obviously now hurting men.”

I think other men, and some women can be inspired by our words of social change. Activism is a big word, and I don't need you to swallow that all in one gulp. Just think change, and society and don't be afraid to speak out when you see what is stinking and point it out.

I would also like to hear what the Feminists think, consider their actions to be, and if they are willing to repent for ruining the lives of men everywhere? Do they admit full responsibility? And why they thought they could change everything that ever existed about men and women and their role in the world and get away scot free. Without any study... or any attempt at it.

<a target="_blank" href=""> Heraldry and Flourishes </a> | Free vector by <a target="_blank" href="">Vexels</a>
  1. 1(Matthew 2:11, The Bible: WEB, KJV, WEY, ASV, DBY, WBS, YLT, NAS, RSV, NIV) “They came into the house and saw the young child with Mary, his mother, and they fell down and worshiped him. Opening their treasures, they offered to him gifts: gold, frankincense, and myrrh.
  2. Enoble.  O.English, L.Latin.  1.To make noble.  2.To bring out the best in something or someone, or bring light to as a form of truth.

Saturday, January 14, 2017

Life Vs. Art

 When we have seen all there is to see, haven't we then we set ourselves up to see something else that is new and brilliant, and completely unforeseen? Down the old road we have walked before, many times we wonder why Death is so prominent in art, which by most manifests on artistic merit seems to be about the best things in life, and that which gives it meaning. Although it flies in the face of whims and fancies about the nature of beauty, Death is a part of life so can not be apart from life, I would surmise. And it retains its own merit, and sense of beauty, if mostly in contrast.

I'm not sure why I am so attracted to this subject, perhaps because of its emotional intensity, but over the past months many times I have found myself thinking on this issue many times. Why would someone hang themselves right before their exhibit was launch in a 1997 exhibit (that shall remain nameless until I find accurate sources), in Regina, Saskatchewan? The mood was dark, outside the inner room, there were excerpts from The Marquis De Sades journals blown up and still on display, yet in the next room all was dark and the rest of the show was off limits, and remained so until its close. The faint scent of death lingered in the air, and all was black if you peered beyond the barrier. The sign read “Staff Only” like a curse. I'm not saying this is more than just a rumour but I heard through the grapevine that it was. The artist in question had problems with life, stresses, mental illness even. Perhaps it was only about herself.

But there are areas in art, particularly in the field of photography when these stresses build up in the sense that Life has a certain intrinsic value but one must question how one views the importance of Art in the world. Every war photographer who was placed in Vietnam (or other later wars) with a unit, and I do mean everyone with a camera had to pick up a gun and defend themselves, and in doing so kill someone just to stay alive. It is an air and a poise to think one can be on the battlefield of war and not involved directly in it or its consequences. The question has come up over the years, over the virtues of this type of photography when a girl trapped under debris from a volcanic lahar drowned over 60 hours. The National Geographic field reporter was Frank Fournier, who took a series of photographs of Omayra Sánchez Garzón in 1985. The girl died, but the photograph gained much praise, and won several notable awards. This is the photo

Also the placement of two rotting sides of beef in the National Gallery in London behind glass, which I can not find references to, but is said to have occurred in the early 90s as a reference to Francis Bacon's work “Figure With Meat, 1954”. Bacon had recently died, in 1992, and his art sold for more than any other living artist at the time. This iconic work, perhaps because of its profound emotional effect on many, created many references and nods in art. It can be found here with some of his other works:

Among those that reference this material is Nine Inch Nails video for Closer. And the German art movement, among them Joel Peter-Witkin that inspired this inspiration also reminisces on Death and the goriest parts of living frequently.   Bacon's art also shows us, the viewer, something very dark is very revealing about our inner nature. It was the most controversial piece the gallery hosted in years, however, I would say it could be outdone by later generations. 

The question in the end is how much value does Art have? If it can save a thousand lives and enlighten the world to bring in the kind of change required to improve the plight of a group of people, can the price be more than that of life.

Hotly contested is the series of art pieces in... involving a dog being chained up in a gallery in Nicoragua. The exhibit by Guillermo Vargaz Jiménez was composed of a chained up dog that was by some reports allowed to starve to death while gallery visitors walked by. Most do not mention that 175 pieces of crack and one ounce of marijuana were allowed to burn in the exposition. Outside on the streets hundreds of dogs were starving all the time. There was no organization or agency to deal with them, and this exhibit showed the need. Was it an immoral thing to do? Was art really worth the life of a dog, a very slow animal... if you had explained its role in life would it understand? Isn't killing a dog synonymous with killing a young child? In North America we don't use dogs as food, outside of the Inuit and Eskimo peoples in the far north, and are generally disgusted by this art that one terrorist/artist found appealing enough for his most note-worthy installation.

More questions arise than answers here, also.   Death in art is not always intentional in the harsh Northern reaches of Canada either.  While taking pictures of a newlywed in her wedding dress, in part of a lake in 2012, the photographer, Louis Pagakis, was startled to see Maria Pantazopoulos go out into deeper waters, and have the young lady from Rawdon, Quebec (north of Montreal) drown in the heavy weight of her dress, despite his efforts to pull her out and save her. (Montreal Gazette 12.21.2012) Pagakis was floored. On his facebook page he writes that his favourite quote is: “We shall be students till death”. And sometimes of Death, it would seem.

I would say to every person, artist or not there is a certain wavering line that can not be crossed in terms of deeming death as art. This sort of questioning can not be avoided, yet remains a frightening prospect for the future based on previous lassé faire appraisals that we all know lead from upright to corrupt, good to bad, Monarchist Democracy to Communist sentiment. Under the past ideology it would be okay to walk into a gallery and for them to show footage of an artist killing themselves, or partaking in an act of murder. I would think that some guidelines should be drawn up for this sort of thing. Although over-generalizations are of no help to anyone, some thoughts on the moral correctness of this behaviour towards death, and whether the public really wants to be exposed to visions of death and murder need to be addressed.

In the end Life and Death are subjective in value to the beholder, yet placing too much worth in one can devalue the other, which are inexorably linked. But the value of one's own soul is in the beholder's hands. If you don't like ultra violent activities then don't support this sort of thing, and join with the 4 million who wrote in to oppose Guillermo Jiménez. Support your own world and your own life, by taking part in activities that expand your consciousness, and open your horizons to the world. If you do like the Gothic darker side of life, you are probably in the right place if you live on the prairies, and you should experience that topic in art more. Please don't go out and kill someone because you think it is art however. Then I would have to kill you.

Wednesday, November 16, 2016

90s Art Redefined About 17 Years Later

    The 90s were without a doubt the best decade anyone has ever seen in this ever-changing world. Gone were the ideals and the decade-long wars and the idealism that brought about wars, the world was shit, and we were going to confess this to it for as long as we lived, we would find our girlfriend, or boyfriend of the world, and wrap her in a Gothic veil of confessions and ply her with the goods of confectionaries, and confess that our love had not always been for that person. In a world filled with lies, and hate, we would find our perfect home against all that had come before, and our beautiful loser bodies would find each others' mate, our touches were the gold and chrome and yellow of real film, the digital age was upon us now, and we just weren't any good at it. But everything was new and golden and warm. And our parents would never find out about us. Like they never found out about my girl slitting her wrists the night before, and coming back after a day away she found me, and said, “It wasn't about you, it was about this world, it was about all this shit we worship, and this orgy person I used to know, but he slid, and he died of AIDS and a part of me always wished I'd marry him, and a part of me knew he was too good for me, or even Hollywood, and now he's dead. But I have you instead, and you can make me free and good and warm, and we can write letter's about a cannibal son we never had, and we can entertain the darker side of the psyche and drink warm wine together, and I will lace it with drugs you have never heard of and fuck my spouse he was always a dick. I have such a nice house alone with the ghosts why don't you move in, you'll fit right in.”

    Now 20 years later with the largesse and indolence of another generation, this time that is trying to care, I've already learned where that goes. When I look back at the art I don't see another world half of those here one earth have never seen, I see a day and then another day, waking up to a light sometimes you didn't want with half-open eyes it looks that much better. The days scorned so much, somehow add up together, and you miss those voids where for 5 years you wrote only music, and the only artistic product of those days, than whiny music some room mate rips off, and people can't imagine why you would laugh so hard when a woman does a sack dance to it. And you remember how much you wanted to care... and maybe now that it is gone. Now that it is so far away, with those eyes turned away, the idle dreams forgotten, the certainty of the pain remains, and you wonder, why you can not wander those hall ways again, speak words to those shadows of who we were. But life runs on, now all those people have children, and you have a hollow heart, a rack of trophies no one has ever heard of or will see, but cares more for than they will ever know.

    I have bought you a slurpee, sweet one. And I come to you to cover you in come when you awake you will know it was over. I hold a beer, even 24 for you downstairs, and I have not seen you in 17 years, won't you come and play. The world is forgetting its hollow wars again, its loose morals, are almost ready to say “Fuck all the consequences we will live -- so we will not die”, you tried not to bury the child of our immortals, only prison did. And you can summon us from the dead and talk to us, or being not fully a god, you can wander on and remember why we hurt, why we cared, why we had lost all hope, and you will remember why we loved in the 90s, and why we should still love that decadent, loserish, misbegotten decade with misty eyes, and bring our offerings and prayers.
I wonder at the statements I hear from fellow artists that the image should all look the same, that we should be trying to make all things photo-realistic. And I kind of want to smash the mirror on that one again, as I look back at the images, all of them mixed in with strange, but definitely hot porn, because our browsers would not let us easily decide where to store our art. This is a message time after time that I try not to make anything out of, but it is a seductive way to display a decade of decadence, and indolence that forget its own importance for the ideals of others. Maybe it just needed more of an ego to be perfect – and more porn.

    This world makes its judgments at 100%, or 110% all the time if you still care. I really don't give two shits myself. The name of the game has changed, and the art has slowly changed, my Gothic debaucheries I realize were mainstream art in the 90s... everyone said I should do more, but I did less, I think we all did less in the 90s. Trendy? No. Antisocial? Yes. But at the end of it it drove me made, insane with my own insurrection against not caring, and trying to piece the world together. I changed the Queen in England, and killed a bunch of Assassins and one guy who I think was a Russian spy, who lost like his life like his country recently lost Communism. I convinced no one to care, and in my mind it slipped away.

   What is broken about modern art?  Even the glossiness seems broken.  What is haunting about it?  Perhaps that a hundred artists try to work at the same Manga image when it would take them less time to work on a photo-realistic painting.  And you go to a traditional art class and they still want you to paint in a certain style, and critique you when it isn't that realistic, and when you realize that only 10% of the painting has to have a fine degree of detail it is a personal break-through and nothing more.  There is also something strange and snobbish about art galleries where fights break out.  But unreal in its strangeness instead of the salt of the earth elegance of the past century.  The shadow of a war is breaking out between traditional media artists and digital artists.  Perhaps there will be amusement there that we could benefit from, likely it will detract overall.  Can people just not say you can make art however you like, just don't copy when you steal your art?  And another thing I wonder about is how digital will detract from visual art, like it has gutted most forms of music.  But there is something  there because art isn't real until it gets printed.  Or will the war continue until digital art is hated because of the copyright slobs.  Or should we just axe copyright and pay artists directly when we buy something with their name on it?  Forget about stealing, its all stolen already, and there are 20 versions of Monet's sunflowers, and the best copies are better than the original we mus know, and if we don't we should dig a bit more.  

    The snake of art is beginning to eat its own tail, yet the immediacy and the intimacy of digital art, and many individual artists has improved as they have improved.  And how should I contemplate this, as a relevance as a loss? Like a James Bond who sits in alleyways trying not to sob and scream? Like a Rembrandt who sees all images inside his computer shifted, and can not find a world or a context for his own dreamings and forbearance? Or that one's mind was opened with such joy so many times that it broke. Opened to the learning of University, opened to the mystic realms of Occultism, opened to the heart of Philosophy, and moved by the maths, the sciences, becoming a master of Information Technology, and English Literature. The perfect Englishman who can make your dreams, and save a country from itself. If I lost myself as the cost to this all would I care? No I would not. Would they have to tell me they were generous, or help me see what love and life is and what a mystery? No you can only live within yourself, your one mind must unify it all somehow.

    Would anyone else in the world say that with the strike of midnight at the birth of the year 2000 all hope was lost? That an eternity of not caring, and useless indolence would become all the things you never wanted, or perhaps did. This world died sometimes, and our dark dreams were frozen. Certain things should be let loose that are with held. Like the witch-doctors of Science we sit and scold each other, for not being perfect in our art, our memory our words, our hope. Picasso says, “Draw 2 lines, make a mistake, then another line and a mistake, and then continue.” Art is about mistakes, like life. It is the analysis and the summation that matters, not what happened to you. That is who you are. Your soul is who you want to be. Life, like art becomes so self-reflective that eventually like the 90s we just don't have to care.

    At the end when they tell us to go to the gallery we should stare at the doorway, or the fire extinguisher and critique it. The greater art is that which frames the art, the indiscernible, the mad, what indiscretions it opens up to us. I would hope to find people in a gallery that do not care as much as I do with a passion. That want to, and have lost that hope in humanity that we had back then. Only in our acceptance of the world's madness and our intolerance of it is there hope. The artists cares, they truly, truly care, and they care too much. And right now there's something being stripped right out of it that I don't like anymore. Some antiquities are given too much relevance, a surge toward art being the sunset, and not the landscape of another world. A breaking of the humour and sarcasm of Dali, and the implementation of Hitler's post cards, and addendums by Jung renamed to be Freudian, and somehow with sycophantic reasoning all that we create is a psychology about ourselves that it never was. Don't poke holes in us artist because you care! Poke holes in yourself, poke your eye out, pretend that there are no pretensions, then you will begin to truly see.

Monday, October 10, 2016

Why Allowing P3s Into Our System Is Like Baring Your Ass For A Spartan With A Large Spear

   I voted against P3s when I moved back to Regina after living in Calgary for several months, but
not being able to afford a basement apartment in that city after all the hidden fees, extra taxes
and fraud allowed by business I came back, after quitting two jobs that did not pay me what they
told me they would. Later I would find out Brewsters, north on Shagannapi trail, Calgary did not eventually file their taxes correctly. And I was to find I could not afford my classes because they are allowed to remove student loans from your bank account without trial or any process, never mind due process.

    But when I came back in January 2001 it did not take 2 months for the phone company to disconnect my phone (as I was told it would by Calgary's main phone company which is not privatized but must provide service to those that are... for free thus slowing everything down). I did not have to pay for a 5 year drivers license that I must pay all at once. My car taxes insurance premiums never did go up to $2400 a year from around $300 because I was a young mail, and when you allow P3s into your system you allow them to change the law so that they can charge whatever they like if they feel a minority is at high risk to them. Never mind at that age many people want to start a family and can not afford a car and this endangers children. I have heard of 3 newborns dying solely because of the cold in Canada, and I am sure the statistics are staggering. But we don't care about that we are P3s! We can do what we like we don't care about anything! Unless it costs us money, and not only are we going to fuck you and your system up we now own your system and there is nothing you can do to change exactly how it works! 

    And that is just some of the specifics. Let me back off and say what I draw out of all of this, and some recent news that the Sask Party, who I will say I would never vote for, is blaming low government income and record high taxes for wanting to privatize one of the few phone companies that makes sense in this country. Of course those who have scammed Calgarians and other groups, waltz in here and spout their mouths off and try to make the scam look all pretty. But this is the proverbial horse you should look in the mouth of, before it is too late. Like it was for Calgary.
This is the central math that people are not aware of. When a group comes in and takes over, like the P3 that took over our water has, they no longer answer to the government, they no longer refund their income to the government, but pocket it. And then they will not upgrade infrastructure. And this is the part of the scam that really hurts because most naive voters, who are happy with a phone call telling them to vote “yes”... and not asking “hey isn't someone calling me to tell me how to vote illegal?” ends up going. They are not telling you to vote this way for your own good. It is because they are receiving kick backs and flat out bribes. Also that group that is not reducing your money, is making two people rich and those two people have no problem converting that money into bribes / extortion rackets / lawyers and lobbyists to fight the city.

    Add to this mess that comes in, not with one company but usually with more P3s, they will tell you that you can not change the law to make them pay to upgrade or fix, or even to use the infrastructure that they use. All changes, all upgrades made are now paid out of your taxes, the ones that are currently not being used except to reduce taxes in the rare case of upgrades.

    There are massive amounts of infrastructure upgrade needed, the old head of Regina City Water informed me before he quit his job due to me and others “constantly badgering him over bad water quality because the city refused to pay for the upgrades.” The old plant needs upgrades. Most of North Central and the older parts of the city, such as Cathedral and the Core need serious infrastructure upgrades, and the old work done in Hillsdale is rife with bad infrastructure done by shoddy contractors. A friend of mine, Steve McLellan found that the pipes leading into his home were made out of asphault wrapped in cardboard... something never approved by the city. And I hope this is not endemic of what that area looks like, but suspect it may be. 

    If the emergency “repairs” done to North Central last year, and then removed, are any sign of what is to come, what is to come is probably not good and I will be selling my home, and moving out of the country. Where this sort of thing and property values fluctuating between $80,000 and $700,000 for virtually the same thing are not an issue.

    So Sask Party, why would something that in the short term results in tax increases be used to lower taxes? If this is like your case of trying to find savings of $200M and only coming up with $2M, and are you just retarded or can you not pull out a calculator for 5 seconds and calculate what the cost of
your evil and Draconion measures will be on the electorate that hired you. If I hear about any more shoddy math, and name-calling over intellectual dialogue, and a systematically positive government ethics I will be calling to have your group dumped from parliament. I think you will be off the bill, and everyone's bill next election at the rate you are going. If you think that we will pay any of your bills from now into fortuity you are entirely wrong. And if you think further governments will stand for your ignorance and allow P3s to continue their dereliction and other evil actions uninhibited by the law, you are also wrong.

    The only option is that we get rid of P3s entirely and we bring in a required upgrade schedule. Every 50 or 80 years it needs a full overhaul in Regina and that should be implemented now, while only the old areas need upgrades. Although it is easy to go with a spend-thrift and go easy rate, giving the new areas a double vote in regards to changes because they are paying higher taxes, it is possible to miss the large picture in finding the reason for these high taxes already.

    I would also like my $50 a month back now that the Colleseum to Riderdom is built, and we are back to having a less than desirable team once again.

Wednesday, March 16, 2016

I am I who am I?  A dream, a possibility within a dream that is constantly confused and complicated by reality.  Before we are born are we told that there is a possibility we don't exist?  That there are rules one must abide by even if one does not want to.

A soul looking out from the beyond at every planet has time to choose a body, a dream, a destiny that it knows will be destroyed once it exits from the whole, full the mature digital soul.  It is perfect, yet unknown, everything at once, but nothing.  The everything in nothingness is us before we are the dream that commands that gets in line gets in cue to be born, is perhaps judged on its network within the probabilities of determinant reality, told what can be, who we are.  And the moment we are born each day we learn, grow become what we could only have imagined as a part of the infinite, the human soul, some call Chlerb, the human soul, the oversoul, God.

But what God exists, other than the root nature of man.  An ascetic can live the most pure life, judge not, yet make only the right and pure decisions.  Kill, because one has to to live.  Fight, because evil can not be beaten if it is not defeated, sometimes physically.  The purest soul might thus live far away from society in the mountains, yet find themselves driven to a sound body to derive a sound mind.
Yet how limited is life without the interaction driven by other souls?

Every Christian in the past has longed to be something other than human, yet found themselves voting, prejudged, every word they believed in taken out of context, and every truth ran over decade by decade at a time.

Every Muslim has held true to their faith, yet seen it destroyed by those that would sacrifice their fellow human beings for no other cause than faith.  A faith, like every faith tainted by the endless wars humanity finds itself stuck in.

Every pagan or Pagan, or ascetic and devoted follower of any religion has lived a virtuous life in their own faith, and been met by the scorn of lesser peoples with lesser minds.

Always an escape from the rules and structures of the world, in order to live a divine and pure life has been thwarted by the structure of our world, and the humanity of the humans in it.

There is a way past the carelessness of the Tora, of the Old Testament, of the Koran.  These are good rules for an old way of living.  But with the corruption of the world, we will soon seen it all over run by everything, by Moloch, by the Demon Greed made incarnate, by the endless corruption that is the pettiness of others driven by immorality, and inane compunctions for selfishness multiplied over and over by current social structures that have purported goodness, wealth, satiety and have provided myself and many others without that.

As one with an enlightened and visionary soul, I have lived a life beyond the norm, seen every extreme, and have been tempted by Greed, by The Alien Legion, by all we face in this world.  Yet, I have turned from it to decide my own fate by my own terms.  Often this has left me with less friends as there are many petty people who would love to take someone down and destroy the greatest, over their pettiness.  It is a demon in humans that wills one to all believe the same thing.  One should and must, as one is born in their hearts to know, be led by their own inner vision.

My heart sings.  My soul thrives.  I live on.  Yet I dream of a sentience beyond this, that others can ascend to my level of intellect and vision for the world.  Where all can love and be loved, and never be judged.  Where we can enter a virtual world where all illnesses are forgotten, where others bond, and form commun-ality and community.

VR (or Virtual Reality) Culture is coming fast, like a drug we will have to limit it each day.  But when it has arrived we will feel like we are limiting our interconnected-ness our full and total being, from living in a world and a structure where finances, where culture, all mean nothing.  A thought form a dream, a virtual world can be created in a second, whereas hearts can be broken in an instant on earth.

Thursday, January 22, 2015

The Hungering Boat of Gaming -- a Satire

Something funny that I wrote today, and thought I'd share.

The Hungering Boat of Gaming

The game is canceled,
Oh woe am I to have lost the boat
what long yon wondering shore have I traveled down
upon this road of hungering tortuous misery!

I had a bag of gems before me,
as in a dream but now all that I could stand upon
what heights to reach for 5d6 upon the heavenly shore
have been lost to me!

Oh marvel have I at the marvelous universe
as if we were superheroes destined for our roles to play.
But yet forget me not, it shall be a flower to pin
upon my breast with vessels of times that were not to be.

How many have fallen before the mighty sword
or rolled upon the floor, like dice
the head's of the gallant's bane?!
Yet betide such misery
the times are young, good Yoric
I shall place thee upon the shelf
along with my vestments and tapestries
the dice, the figurines, the books, the paper
and the Mountain Dew, the cheese to melt upon my tongue.

Yet, this day shall not beshrew all of misery,
I dream of heaven and its wide arms open wide
to all who have gamed before and ever will,
and all the mighty characters in times of yore.

Bold blue Bahumat belike a bitching Buddha
But do not strike me down!
Nay while life is just a blink in the cosmos,
The dice will roll again!
Though the game today is dead,
and I must lay my sword down by my side
to rest, too long, to lay astride the horse
that destiny may yet bestride it's comeuppance upon the course of day
to save all that has been made short of the file
and strike villainous fate and misery a fell blow lo!

Though next time we meet we shall play...
the game more planned shall win the day
Long live the Day of Game!

The cancelled game day will one day be but a memory
in a tome of old shrouded under dust behind lock
and key within an ancient crypt which too
shall meet the dust of tombs and kings,
never to rise again but in the mists
of poetry and the blink of the dice.

Marvel Superhero Universe we love you
and shall yet game upon thy dainty bits
and taste the feasting morsel;
suck out the marrow of the day again.

-- Zombie Mike

                                                                        Jan 22, 2015

Thursday, February 21, 2013

The Cheapening Of Oral Tradition

I have been thinking lately of all the wonderful stories that my grandparents would tell me as a child for bedtime stories, and at other times.  I miss these stories and legends.  I just saw Handsel and Gretel which reminded me of an old story I'd like to reprise that went like this...


What if the Christmas tale was as simple as:
Claus stood upon the rise, staff in hand, and asked the Gatekeeper, "May I pass?"
"No, but I can sell you a Christmas card for $5.99 will that do?"
And what if there were more legends and tales to tell, about Santa, and his role in bringing gifts to humankind.

The Cheapening of Oral Tradition

   (c) 2013

         Upon the stony rise the legendary warrior near met his match, such was the howling wind, and the banshee fury from the north whose chill touch virtually tore the life from his human skin.  Claus (pronounced: Clow +ss) was a warrior, and a man of legend.  And he was a man and a mission and would not let ice, nor sleet, nor snow stop his climb up the steep cliff.  Yet this was the only pass that led into the Vale of Winter's Night beyond for many many miles.
         He trode forward pushing his virtuous and virile face to the wind.  It had been Summer from the land he had come from.  In his hand the mighty staff of Sigdis, that the sage of his hamlet had leant him.  He had been young when he had started his path, beyond the rises of Krodor, near the beautiful Homlin's Vale.  It was indeed the most scenic place in all the lands of the One Kingdom. 
         At last he came upon the gate, and found a tale figure standing nearby.  Neither man nor woman, young nor old.  The large figure with spidery fingers stood, guarding the way to the warrior's fate.
   Before Claus could say a word the stranger figure spoke.  His voice boomed through the land in a deep bass, yet fingers of a wise humanity also echoed through its strange music.  "Who is it that comes."
         "It is I, Claus, warrior of Homlin Vale."
         "And why, should I let you pass, Claus?  I know all things so do not lie to me?"
         "Who are you then, that I should answer you?"
         "I am the guardian to this gate to the kingdom.  And if you don't answer truthfully I will see to it that you shall never face."
         Claus ran his fingers over the surface of his enchanted staff.  Brute force might teach this sappy spiderling a lesson, yet diplomacy, he had found was a sweeter brew to suckle on.
         Claus answered, "I am Claus, a warrior.  I have come because an ancient legend told me that I must face the Ice Queen in the land's past Kordor, past Kingdom of the Shade, I might find the Vale of Winter's Night, that leads to the lands beyond."
         "The legends do not speak of a battle."
         "'I wish that my lands must always remain winter,' The Good King, Weincelaus told me. "And thus he sent me force to destroy that fell Witch whose icy hands clutch my land in ice and snow, and all life is turned to death when her dark embrace falls upon my land."
         "Not all die.  Humans do not."
         "Yet we must suffer.  No seeds may be sown, the bitter winds make it almost impossible to travel, we must burn fires that harm our lungs.  And the cold is most unbearable we would all say."
         "And you think defeating her will stay this plague upon your lands?"
         "Yes it will, and by defeating her I will increase my lot, and win the hand of a fair maiden."
         "Yes, certainly a maiden will you fall for.  And how do you know I am not in league with those beyond."
         "Those beyond would not bar the icy pass that will suck the life out of most mortal men.  The path so far has been a battle.  I would expect all who enter might die, as only dark things leave the entrance."
            "It is not as cold in there as Canada, but it is quite cold.  And you speak sagely.  I keep things out.  But you I will let in, if only in time to be defeated."
         Even as the guardian moved to let him through the gate, Claus spat upon the ground,  "The orcish knaves that dogged my path, near Krondor did I slay them.  And the wolves have harangued me on the way.  Yet I have been led in day by the morning's light, and in night by the light of the moon.  So I have had my allies thus far.  I don't need you or your league of temperance."
         "No, the bottle will be your sage if you enter there.  But mayhap something good will come of your demise, and so I will let you through."
         "You are the strangest to think I would die without a fight."
         "I will not fight you, certainly."  There was a mild howl in the wind, and I took that for a chuckle.