Reading the words of Felicity Arbuthnot and the culture of murder by decree, by political affirmation, through the international bodies of the dead, the UN, the leaders who eat babies at birth, with the flick of a pen, and with the stealth of billion-dollar bombers, or the guided propaganda or hand-to-hand instruction of the School of Murder, Inc., and she puts it right in the bullseye of a warped world of sick awards and accolades.
These people are ruthless, war criminals, thugs in any sense of the word. Clintons, Bushes, Carter, LBJ, any number of the tens of thousands who have served as pages or politicians. They are dishonest, flogged daily by their crypto-fascism-Christian-Jewish stain of the price of doing business in a world of seven billion people facing off now a century of continual emotional-economic-ecological-existential degradation and dystopia in a time of ever-awakening digital delusion.
Felicity of course points out the Hell of these people who win awards from Zionists like Speilberg or grand tricks from the Nobel Committee. Imagined heroes who are murderers and economic hit men and hit women. Heartless, insipid, wimps on the playground but lions in the courts, pure lions of the sucker born every second world of Capital and Capitulation. These great former high school debate club pukes, these private boys and girls schools attendees, these aspiring Ivy League matriculators, these global jet setters and IMF and World Bank multilingual winners, all of them, in their dark chambers of torture, they smile brightly for a warped world of media mental disorders. Can one imagine the rotten swill of lies and cultured compliance and clique and coding lives and insider trading and circles of power these people live in, and how surprised when the $75,000 commencement speech is protested against by a few loud students, and then they collapse and run scared? Can they imagine what really is behind the contempt for their very existences, these billionaires like Gates or the Hillary for 2016 or all the Council for Foreign Affairs members, all of them, Bank of England, Bank of Bangkok, Banks of Bonn-Boston.
I remember debating G. Gordon Liddy in El Paso, on one of his university junkets, and how the people, my brethern, dispelled my lack of decorum. I remember seeking an answer from Amazon’s Jeff Bezos, and the IT folk hissed at me. I remember asking George W. Bush Guv of Texas questions about rape and UT football, and how my journalist “friends” told me to can it. I remember Albright came to Eastern Washington University, and we are talking about a rural school, smallish, tuition hiked, programs cut, faculty gutted, and she landed what, $70,000 for a ride around Spokane and an hour of talk and a few private meetings. I also decried that, and, alas, decorum and well, “she didn’t do any actual killing and this is America and what else should we do but protect our interests at all costs and children dying isn’t our problem” were the prevailing debate points against my protestations of her appearance, of her fee, or her lies. I was on a list, of course, at EWU, and was not allowed (sic) to attend her “show.
You see, these people are devolved, the worst of the worst in terms of survival in nature, but, their rotten DNA and heady heads, well, and the capital prostitutes, all of that keeps them in skin and in the game. BIG Time. And, hmm, no call to arms here, but they need to be “taken out back and summarily . . . .” Well, you understand the gist without Homeland Security or Secret Service or FBI from dicking around here investigating us for inciting righteous violence. These people are top criminals, vetted by the mafias of madness, mafias of money. Dangerous people who do not engage in real debate, and who are emotionless. Bloodless. Grandmothers who turn the switch to kill others’ grandchildren. Switch or spigot or economic embargo or white phosphorus, whatever, these grandpas and dads and moms are ruthless.
You see, I am in intractable pain now as I write this. This is America’s medical system: I could have had a pizza-to-go from Venice delivered . . . Venice, Italia, that is . . . gluten-free and vegan with fair trade artichokes and soy-free dough delivered FASTER than the US of Assassins medical system can deliver a circa 1950s cortisone shot to my right hip. Really, the pathetic overpaid doctors and medical system here in the US of A, Washington state, have all these one percenter-CEO-Obama Care-For Profit caveats, so, while not possessing a Cadillac health care policy, I utilized my spouse’s health care plan which has put me through the proverbial ringer. They’d rather dose me up with addictive Oxi’s and Hydro’s (to use the Rush Limbaugh parlance), and they’d rather I go through hoop after hoop, just to get a pain reducing shot. MRI took two weeks of hell to get, and that was after phone call after phone call, and then another five days to read it and have an MD tell me I have a herniated disc.
This is the ground truth, people, the lies and failure of a society hooked on junk ideas, junk TV, junk history, junk-to-plug-up-our-asses-intestines-brains. Doctors raise their hands, live in their ever-narrowing silos, and just shrug saying “this is the way . . . this is the new wave of medicine: doctors don’t heal but jump through insurance hoops.” I find this attitude with planners in Portland or with educators at the K12 level or with any hundreds of leaders in hundreds of avocations and fields and disciplines and areas of commerce. People have given up, blaming everyone else but themselves! Collectively!
You know all the Don Quixote windmills, really, the ones that are real and needing immolation, for sure, and so talking about Picketty on Charlie Rose, or the Obama charm, or all those sycophants and players and Jeb-Bush-and-his-Brown-kids for president hangers on, well, complete distractions. This is the distracted generation, the distracting society, a world gone broken and focused on nothing, and we’re so tuned in and wired up to the most meaningless stuff of magical thinking.
Hours on TV and billions of blips on the WWW covering the Clippers’ owner, then and now, interview by that gay guy, and then all the rotting prognostication and analyses. Hours devoted to racists and One Percenters and dead-from-the-neck-up athletes. It’s truly bizarre, these millionaire CNN-CBS-Babara Walters types (gotta love 10 minutes on National Jewish Radio — NPR — covering this One Percenter Walters “retiring” — whew, vapidity) poking around, letting this pig, all those pigs, the torturers, the commander in chief, the rotten other side of the aisle Republicans, all the Pelosi’s and Feinstein’s, all of them OFF the hook with their timid, flighty, mainstream mush reporting (sic).
We should daily be spitting in their faces, throwing our treadless shoes at their limos, and standing down the entire bureaucracy of pain deliverers and judicial Mengeles.
Is it that difficult to call the doctor a spade, when he or she is just another cog, another highly paid and overly self-important cog, in a broken system they have helped perpetuate? Is it that difficult for abused Americans to finally just rail against these pigs, and to tune out and shut off, and, well, daily, converse with these folk, the One Percenters’ grand facilitators in the 19 percent?
Truly, the horror of collateral damage, dead Iraqi babies, surrendering soldiers suffocated and burned to death; medics hog-tied and head shot; journalists shelled and cut to death; and all the bombed, poisoned, strafed orphanages, all the rotten billion dollar seed money for the despots of our making, all the people dying, choking, starving, suffering, and, tortured, well, you think some of us in the 80 percent would be dedicated every nanosecond of our lives to fight the system.
So, screw this concept of exceptionalism, or foreign policy, or cold war, hot war. These people are CAPITALISTS, and there are many in the slipstream. As we know, Edward Snowden worked for several privateers, which according to plain facts, makes up 75 percent of the US of Assassin’s NSA budget. Contractors. For-profits. Private companies running our ruthless spying, snooping, droning ring of capitalist dealers!
Complicity anyone? Some schmuck working at General Dynamics on web pages? Some HR puke at Dell? Some engineer for GE or Monsanto? This is Capitalism – a systems failure, the syphilis of the white man’s world, re-engineered for collaborators, sell-outs, those in marginalized and minority (majority) communities who capitulate.
That’s the disease of Capitalism. Some Harvard fancy PhD squadron working on nano-drones, you know, the size of a dragonfly. Think hard about that. Drones as small as a quarter. What’s the point? What’s the net gain for humanity? These people, the PhDs and MBAs and Admin. Species, they are diseased, and see only the infantile, the magical, the single side of things. Do these stories ever run shudders down your spine, kind reader?
You need National Jewish Radio, AKA, NpR, or National Propaganda Radio, or National Pesticide=Petroleum=Privatizing Radio, you need that bastion of reckless Capitalism or Bust news outlet to tell us about what? Failing Pre-K systems in the USA? What the millennials are really about? Listen, kind folk, and you will hear the elite and the children of the elite and the east coast Zionist culture club of hipsterism, you will see they all have a bead on their whiteness, their stories, the music, the foodie in them, all the wasteland of middling literature and film, all of the angsty and really failure journalism. You need NPR to report on the ice cap story? Ya think it matters that some slick-sounding PhD interviewed by some whining Chosen One about the Antarctica melting and slipping into the sea breaks in between Donald Sterling/Magic Johnson story and the Market Place’s updates on a 16,000 Dow Jones and how the world of the elite are doing so well, so well?
Think about that drone story, all the spin offs, all the Internet of Things ideas, all of that, and put that tiny thing in your proverbial nutshell, and you might see the gleam in the eyes of the One Percent, and the Political Class and all the profiteers of war-medicine-energy-ag-pharma. It’s about what, r>g.
We just need Reverend Billy, to the one thousandth power. That is more important, his antics, all of it, then a thousand NGOs or non-profits, who as always ask permission and kettle their missions around CAPITALISM.
The Queen Bee - this time played by soprano Susannah Pryce – instructed us to take the fruits & vegetables pollinated by Honey Bees to the lab that wants to replace the bees with robots. The scientists of the Micro-Robotics lab were polite as 15 people covered with 5 inch bee dolls and bee-hive like wrappings on their heads, and of course accompanied by a televangelist shouting about extinction and sin, entered their quiet building. The beautiful pollinated watermelons and almonds and apples were arranged around the display case where the would-be bee replacements stood in the light, penny-size sticks with wings. The choir sang, the preacher prayed, and conversations ensued with the inquiring scientists and researchers who came out of the labs wondering what all the commotion was about. The radical bee-lovers left after about a half-hour. There were no arrests.
So, just another day in the Wired neighborhood, all that capital floating around, all those great ideas, and, damn, Amy Goodman does a two-part series on Edward Snowden’s Glenn Greenwald and his Polk and Pulitzer prizes.
But, look at this story, simple, but the implications, well, we are gnats in the dirty teeth of the Capitalists, whether they are industrialists, marketing Midases, IT and software gurus, media mavens, or all the other hucksters keeping all those plates spinning at the expense of ecology, enlightenment, equity, and economics of community. Read closely. This is a story about systems, about academics, about opportunities, about the cat let out of the bag, err, this time it’s number what? Which patents will finally do us in? Is this what we have evolved out of and into?
A team of Harvard scientists just announced a very exciting breakthrough, well summed up in the paper they just published in Science: “Controlled Flight of a Biologically Inspired, Insect-Scale Robot.” In other words, they built a tiny bug bot — the world’s tiniest, in fact — that can fly well. Its name is RoboBee.
“Wow wow wow!” is probably your first thought. “Wait a second, can that thing carry a camera,” should be your second. Because the answer is yes, eventually more advanced versions of the RoboBee could become the world’s tiniest drone. Its creators say they imagine these little guys will do all kinds of things, from monitoring environmental conditions to helping out with search and rescue missions.
“What a charitable little drone!” is what researchers want you to think. Because for all of the Earth-helping and lost child-saving revolutionary technology like this can do, there are probably twice as many military applications for them. Otherwise, why would DARPA be investing so much in micro robotics programs?
As early as 1992, everybody’s favorite source for funding futuristic research projects expressed interest in tiny bug bots. That year, DARPA hosted a workshop called “Future Technology-Driven Revolutions In Military Operations.” The resulting publication two years later said very clearly that the “development of insect-size flying and crawling systems capable of a wide variety of battlefield sensor missions” was identified as a “promising program area.”
Fast forward just a couple of years and DARPA started throwing real money at the idea. Some $35 million went into pursuing the development of so-called micro air vehicles (MAVs). At that point in time, the Pentagon (probably correctly) believed that some sort of remote-controlled fly-thing with a camera mount could work as a scout and save some soldiers’ lives. Things really spun out of control from that point on.
The military’s unmanned aerial vehicle AKA drone program has become a big deal. Since the turn of the century, the disparate branches of the military have all incorporated the use of drones for their own ends. The Army uses them to killing terrorists (and some civilians too) on the battlefield. The Navy’s now designing a super drone that can automatically take off and land on an aircraft carrier. The Air Force built its own “bumblebee-sized” drone nearly five years ago. They even made a video about how they could drop a swarm of these mini-drones, using “microsensors and microprocessor technology to navigate and track targets through complicated terrain, such as urban areas.”
DARPA, US taxpayers’ dinero, the implications of a dwindling human society, all those apps and ops and spin-offs. This is the sickness of our times, and the drool is us, heaving at the capital guilt, our own sputum, as we sit like lobotomized fools, watching Made-for-TV wars, passively watching Meaningless Made Meaningful Awards Shoved up Asses, waiting with baited breath the Billionaire Oprah’s Newest Role as God, listening to some OJ Simpson Plot in the legless runner’s murder show Made for Internet-TV lobotomy, waiting for blips out on the sea for the missing, waiting for the girl hostages to surface on the internet, wait-wait-waiting for the masters to mush us like the rabid and herniated dogs that we have been mocking for years, mushing into their Hell of Debt.
Believe me, Reverend Billy makes more sense today than a million idiots with a million books on why this and what that is that is killing us softyl, death by a million cuts . . . or pontifications on how we are all just taking it bent over with smirks on our faces, but not the WHY of it. Really, can you imagine if we taught the next generation that this protest theater, a la Rev. Billy, is where it’s absolutely AT . . . that this playfulness, this out there and Yes Men show, all the Ruckus Society fun, that doing that, protesting and punishing the elite, and their Eichmanns, anyway we can, that that truly is humanity . . . reality? Imagine if we just all did that street theater/street protest, and told the elite and the Starbucks prick and Intel and Zetabyte Nazis to shove this debt and job, and screw you and the drone you rode into town on?