Canary in a Coalmine

You get so dizzy

even walking in

a straight line

They carried Carly the canary down into the mine. They were too afraid to go by themselves.

“fewer trees and wildflowers, fewer bees and butterflies and grasshoppers, fewer tree frogs and songbirds.”

A new study in the journal Science reports that nearly 3 billion North American birds have disappeared since 1970. That’s 29 percent of all birds on this continent. 

Fewer songbirds. Well, great job humanity. Right on. Everything you touch dies. Now, you’ve turned your toxic hand, risen to dilletante status — the dilettantes … who mingle in New York– to your own gene pool.

Let’s unleash the plague. The Rockefeller Foundation must be proud to be so ahead of schedule. Their depopulation plan that agenda with the mundane name (a fuck you to “the elites” isn’t big enough to encapsulate how the majority of “humanity” feels right now about the world “leaders” the jerk offs whose job – whose only fucking job – was to protect humanity). Humanity – that mess of what are we doing here hating each other, judging one another, wasting precious moments on things like accounting, nowhere near the reason we hear about from preachers and mullahs asking for our credit cards, hand over your wallet, the thugs all want the same thing, just in the name of different gods.

It’s been said and put into words that appear everywhere that mankind exists despite itself. Nowhere is that more self-evident than in the current clusterfuck at the crossroads of told you so from your favorite sanctimonious prepper/stock broker hiding out in New South Wales, the epidemiologically-correct oxygenated science addict who cannot commit -who can never commit-to an answer, everything is subject to more tests even though, as we’ve witnessed, those who do the testing are incompetent and unaccountable, go home every night with blood on their hands, and finally, the annointed politicians of the world, which includes the “vaccinated” jokers at white house briefings protruding from your EMF inducing devices, bobbleheads of meaninglessness, killing you softly. The crossroads of the “elite” hedging their bets on bear market explanations predicting a miasma of universal politick.

OH I feel so much better knowing the governors are on the task force and the USS SOLACE are drifting off-shore, running the regulations to decipher the order in which we die.

Which is why there isn’t a fuck you big enough for the assholes who brought us here.

Science : the form of testable explanations and  predictions about the universe.

That does not rely on tarot or zodiac signs but is almost as reliable.

Politics: back-formation from politicking, noun, from politics + -ING

Back door formation of sinister forces rarely resulting in anything good.

If we survive the storm, the cytokine kind, all the enemies of the earth should be sent to Mars.

The coming storm

excessive or uncontrolled levels of cytokines are released which then activate more immune cells, resulting in hyperinflammation


the problem is not suffering itself or oblivion itself but the depraved meaninglessness of these things, the absolutely inhuman nihilism of suffering.

—John Green

Which is why there are no words. Words are inadequate. The #AloneTogether hashtag is one of those cultural denominators that deeply disconnects, even as it pretends to connect us in some kind of collective slogan, in a walking dead premise where we binge watch the purge.

How can you just sit there?

And what? I know there’s an and coming.

Why is that?

Because with you, there always is.

Are you saying I’m distressingly polemic?

Indeed you are nothing on your own, you only exist in opposition to anything that is created. Any beauty in life you kill, suppressing joy with your every breath. You steal because you cannot make, incapable of care, playing games with air. Polluting invective, labeled outrage, delivering despair, we are done with this affair.

The Magnificent Ambersons, Tarkington’s 1918 novel that Welles would film so stunningly in 1942, was no sentimental tour but a simmering polemic against the forces of industry and greed that had befouled that world.

Salute thyself; see what thy soul doth wear.

-George Herbert

I thought I was mistaken

I thought I heard your words

Tell me how do I feel

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