The former vice president got his comeuppance on Fox News last Wednesday, producing a minor news story.
Dick Cheney and his daughter Liz had published an op-ed in the Wall Street Journal advocating renewed U.S. military involvement in Ira to prevent a seizure of power by the al-Qaeda spin-off ISIS (or ISIL) and opining, “Rarely has a U.S. president been so wrong about so much at the expense of so many.”
battle-weary soldiers get a mixed welcome back to the Inland Northwest
I think a description of the political space in which we live as a kind of twilight reality is not an exaggeration. Not only is a great deal of the news about the world we read and hear manipulated and even manufactured, but a great deal of genuine news is simply missing. People often do not know what is happening in the world, although they generally believe they do know after reading their newspapers or listening to news broadcasts.
Last November I wrote a piece entitled “Is a new revolution quietly brewing in France?” in which I described the struggle which was taking place between the French people and the Zionist plutocracy which has ruled France over the past decades (roughly since 1969) and today I am returning to this topic as events have rapidly accelerated and taken a sharp turn for the worse.
It’s been a bit of a gap week or two, since pining in with this sort of catharsis, but some of us schmucks have to make some really lousy money and attend to some really rotten job hunting in a time of pure delusion, all the while that white noise buzzing, the white static noise of the mush of NPR and mainstream mindlessness and the BS of labor stats and economists who deserve what the SEALs and Obama said what happened to Osama (right, US punk prez, directs US amped-up murder incorporated to shoot to kill, ask no questions later, I don’t need no stinking badge, and then burial at sea, hea
Cute, really, calling it, Surveillance Valley, that abomination of elitist, mostly Zionist, and certainly white male-dominated reverse Darwinism IT bootcamp, where the most hostile sub-species exists to shred all human agency. These are Ivy League/Stanford/Georgia Tech types, very strange, indeed, humans who are possessed of the most puerile of spirit, the most usury, psychologically defective, narcissistic, Oedipal hearts on earth, and they just keep that lie going. Silicon Valley my ass!
Curtains parted (dearly departed). Had expected The Nurse. Demand she explain about the Night Visitors, launch a “formal patient’s complaint.”
Saw Mother instead. Smoking the same cigarette. Her mortal last? Can take ‘it’ with you? Whatever ‘it’ is you love?
“Look at you, poor baby. You’re a mess.”
“The Condition,” I said.
Awake night suddenly not night four AM. Three figures bedside: Short Man; Tall Surly Man, aka “Mr. Personality;” Thin Woman. Long white lab coats aqua scrubs. Young.
“This is him. Here’s his chart,” Mr. Personality.
“Amazing,” Short Man.
“Freak me out,” Thin Woman.
“I’ve never heard of anyone born with The Condition. I thought it just happens. Toxic exposure or something like that. They see it in kids on the Enemy side,” Mr. Personality.
“Which Enemy? I forgot which Enemy of the Nation we’re out to get this week,” Short Man.
At last Plantman was led to the vault of The Accused. The walls and door were three feet thick, but the vault was air-conditioned, lest The Accused succumb before The City could legally VOID him. The Official punched the key-code and the door yawned open, revealing a cot, a toilet, and a small table which held The Accused’s beloved African Violet, “Rose.”
The night before he was Accused, The Not-Yet-Accused lay awake, troubled by thoughts. His Sunday night routine. The Wife slept soundly. The pills hadn’t worked— on him. Nor had the wine. He resorted to television. Disturbed. No program soothed. Until the twenty-four-hour Hunting and Fishing channel.
Three men in a boat. Large lake, peaceful. The men spoke softly, each phrase stretched loose by long, slow diphthongs of The Nation’s South. It was early morning, where they were. Foamy tongues of water lapped the boat-side. Seductively. Rhythmically.
