Catnapped!

What part of "Meow" don't you understand?

Leroy was a loveable five year old Blue Cat. He went missing one day, during those troubled times leading up to our inevitable rendezvous with destiny. 

Missing pussy cats are not as common in our time as they were during the time we now refer to as the great forgetting. The big difference between then and now is, nowadays we can pretty much scratch out malevolent intent as a potential reason for any pets disappearance.

As for Leroy, his owner had searched and searched, but alas her loveable feline was nowhere to be found... and there had been much 'hope' of finding him considering he had once been 'microchipped' by a vet. 

In the end he was 'FOUND!', but not because of some hi-tech control mechanism, but by some good ol' fashioned human kindness, courtesy of a nice family who had only lived a few blocks away. 

The family had taken Leroy in and had renamed him "Thomas", which was not such a strange name for a cat in those days,  considering many human children were being given names like Felix, Sylvester, Grover or sometimes even Bower.

An identity tag would often make it easier to identify the residence of any particular cat, but these methods of imposed control were idealistic considering there were often 'other factors' at play whenever a beloved pet would 'go missing'.

More often than not, if a cherished cat went missing, you would then see a photocopied 'Lost Kitty' poster stapled to a tree or taped or to a lamppost, usually with a picture of the aforementioned Kitty looking bright eyed, adorable and cute. But if you were to have looked closer, you also would have noticed that on most of these 'Lost' posters, the animal in question would also be wearing an identity collar.

Why did people feel a need to impose this undignified yoke upon their furry friends. This practice was a left-brained linear mindfuck in the extreme, based on the supposition that if someone found your pet, they would then call the number on the collar and return Paws or Boots back to it's rightful owner. 

What many of these people didn't take into consideration was that pets, animals, and cats in particular, are survivors, and have been for millions of years. They know where their loving and tender vittles come from, and if they were ever to disappear, it's safe to say it's certainly NOT because they simply "got lost"

Sometimes it was a case of having been taken by another family/person, who either wanted to keep the animal for themselves (either because they thought the animal was homeless, or because they were just plain selfish). A collar would have helped in the former case, but not in the latter. It also wouldn't have helped if the animal was trapped or dying or if it had been 'catnapped' by some teenage mutant deranged sicko.

Even if your pet had been taken in by a kind family, unless the animal was being forcibly kept indoors, it would always return of it's own accord if it preferred your company (and food) to that of the new family. Cats aren't in the habit of wandering too far away from their food source (a few blocks at most). They can at times be dumb, but they're certainly not stupid!

If a cat goes missing, there is also another reason it may have done so…which is that It simply found an owner it liked better than you. You may think you own your cat, but your cat has a very different view regarding it's personal sovereignty.

Possibilities for missing Kittties

-Cat has simply "lost it's way": This is not possible, unless your cat is old and has memory issues.

-Cat is trapped: Therefore a collar and microchip become useless.

-Cat has been run-over or has dropped dead of a kitty coronary: Once again, collar and microchip are pretty much useless

-Cat has been catnapped by a teenage mutant deranged sicko: Then, the collar and microchip are very much useless

-Cat has been catnapped by extortionist: The collar and microchip become USEFUL, but only to the catnapper, and only once a hand$ome 'reward' for Kitty's return has been posted!

The best way to keep a cat, or any pet, from going astray is lots of love, attention, and food. Any self-respecting feline is not going to pass up a good gig, and should it ever go missing, a collar or microchip just ain't gonna do you all that much good.

And to think, there was a time when some people were proposing mandatory identity cards and microchipping of human beings?!  Good thing we didn't go down that road!

Future CT   Village 5, Nova Avalon.   Year 17 P.T.E.

La Viande Rose

It's the end of another soft and subtle day here in Nova Avalon, and the children are out playing now well past sunset. 

Neighbours have congregated to discuss how to better engineer waste disposal, and a couple of corgi dogs are battling for possession of a severely chewed stick.

Dinner was to my liking, a nice cut of prime-rib with spinach, potatoes and carrots soaking in a thick beefy gravy; a big meal and a fine glass of homemade red wine after a hard day working in the fields.

There was a time though, not too long ago, when such a meal was simply not possible if one lived exclusively in an urban area.

Every morsel of food put into one's mouth, in those days, was brought to you courtesy of a GMO or some meat filler product (affectionately referred to in those days as 'pink slime').  I preferred to call it 'pink meat', or more poetically, La Viande Rose.

Synthetic food supplements during that time we now refer to as the great forgetting was both ubiquitous and inescapable. In those tragic days of yore, there were substitutes for sugar, and butter, coffee, and yes even meat.  These frankenfoods crept ever so stealthily into our food, until one day, products like corn syrup, trans-fats, and monosodium glutamate, had become food ingredient staples of dubious purpose.

"Dont Je connais la cause"

None of them were in and of themselves harmful, but when consumed in large quantities, along with one's nightly dosage of a mandatory fluoride supplement, these substances had a negative cumulative effect when ingested 24/7/365.

Like any slow poison, it's horrific effects were difficult at first to detect, but if one were to have stepped back and looked at the 'big picture', it had all become so much clearer and easier to see, especially from the perspective provided to us by our inevitable rendezvous with destiny.

Remember that sudden upsurge in 'peanut allergies' among the "Tyler/Dylan" generation? 

Paranoia had exacerbated a natural predisposition some children had against peanuts, and it got so bad that toward the end, children's day cares were banning not just peanuts, but even children who were allergic to peanuts. The parents of these pariahs pre-schoolers were heavily fined, and then ostracized to their own hermetically sealed peanut proof kiddy compounds of higher learning, a place where they became 'free' to eat 'La Viande Rose' and other chimeras of alimentary deception… just hold the Skippy peanut butter thank you very much!

The poor little Madisons, Brittneys, Courtneys, and Blakes had been removed from the greater body of humanity for fear of a legume. 

Sure the mid-east crisis was raging on, year after bloody year, the Mayans were turning up the apocalyptic heat, and the threat of bio-terrorism had nothing on the 'humble peanut'.

Would things have turned out differently, I wonder, had we not, at the very least had at our disposal that faithful and trusted food supplement 'La Viande Rose'?

Future CT   Village 5, Nova Avalon.   Year 17 P.T.E.

Cargo Cult Redux

Form without substance

Here at Nova Avalon, we've had to come up with a compassionate way of treating our fellow brothers and sisters who are simply incapable of adapting to life in this new reality.  

So we created a village of sorts, a community where these 'special ones' were free to indulge in they're liabilities and techno-addictions to their nano-hearts content, and without causing any threat to the rest of us who were in the process of becoming reacquainted with paradise.

Many of our 'special ones' couldn't have ever imagined a world where they were not fully web-wired, and wi-fied. They had suddenly had the proverbial 'techno-rug' pulled out from under their digital-toes, and the dramatic shift we had incurred in our relationship to technology was just simply too much for them to bear.

There were many though, even among the technologically vulnerable, who were simply beyond hope. For these 'special ones' we established a 'secure area' where they are now free to  construct their own 'technological devices' from assorted stones, twigs, branches and tree bark. 

If it wasn't so sad, I would laugh! To see these folks construct little wooden earpieces out of pine cones and then talk out loud to their fictitious cellular soul-mates, like they had been so used to doing during the time of the great forgetting, in the years leading up to our inevitable rendezvous with destiny, is something to behold!

Their constructions bring back memories of the cargo-cults of post World War Two Polynesia, as they try to replicate the form but not the substance of a technology that had once so dazzled and captured them. Who among us could hold back the laughter the day Joan devised something she called 'Facebark' a social media interface made out of carvings and etchings into birch tree-bark, hmmmmmm?!

Gordon once made himself a 42 inch 'flatscreen' out of wood he had carved from the stump of an old oak tree. His creation was so expertly made, and given his advanced carpentry skills, his pieces are considered head and shoulders above the rest in this 'special community' for their quality and craftsmanship. 

A self Portrait?

Last summer, his handcrafted DVD player, made from a highly polished soapstone, won him 'first prize' at the village arts and crafts fair, and his many talents often grant him privileges to visit outside the perimeter of his 'secure village'. He is often being invited 'over for dinner' by those who recognize his amazing talents, despite the fact that they also feel so very sorry for him. Remember, this is a guy who once made a wooden SUV equipped with a 'fifth wheel'! and it's that 'fifth wheel' design which has now gone on to become one of his personal trademarks.     

Cicely can still be seen in her eternal state of 'RTM' (Rapid Thumb Movement) 'texting' some mythical person(s) using the butt-end of some dried out piece of half eaten cattle corn. 

My friend Maurice has often been seen tapping gently on the side of a sea shell, perhaps trying to get the image he 'sees' on is 'i-Shell'  to shift from vertical to horizontal?  He's still tapping on that thing to this very day… and you know what???  He's still my friend!

Inventive folks these 'special ones', they hold a unique and cherished place in our hearts,  and it is our sworn and sacred duty to care for them until the very end of their days.

Future CT   Village 5, Nova Avalon.   Year 17 P.T.E.

The Ubiquitous Tylers, Dylans, Camerons and Codys

Who wants 'Pop'... Riley, Jayden???

As the decline of civilization imploded into it's final entropic footprint, it's demise was witnessed first hand, and courtesy of WI-FI,  by the likes of the ubiquitous Tylers, Dylans, Camerons and Codys.  

There were so many abominable names given to children toward the end, that the facade of our societies better mirrored a hollywood soap opera, than anything resembling a civilization forged by our noble ancestors. 

In that time of The Great Forgetting, we had made a terrible mistake; we had abandoned naming our children after our Fathers and Mothers, and loving Grandparents, all in the name of asserting our child's 'individuality'. 

A monstrous precedent had been set, of naming one's child with stylish, trendy, designer names which had little or no connection to our collective lineage or ancestry. Names like Brooke, Britney, Taylor, Harris, Blake, Bryce, Hunter and Madison, had become 'all the rage'. It was trendy to name one's child's first name with an arbitrary surname. Old names, like Abraham, Martin and John, Tom, Dick and Harry were simply not considered 'cool' or interesting enough in those forlorn days. 

Yet sadly, we had somehow forgotten that 'a name' was something more eternal, something which should ultimately transcend the superficial packaging of our corporeal bodies. However, during that wanton and woeful era, consumer culture was engaged in the rabid and diabolical process of reducing all aspects of the human experience to that of a commodity.

When these children finally matured into adulthood, this disconnect would consistently and persistently prove to be a formidable challenge for them, and this reality was especially disheartening for those whose first names were either Dwayne, Dakota, Dylan, or Dallas… but in the end, it was the Codys who had suffered the most.

It was my generation though, who were most culpable for having betrayed this sacred trust. We had become so detached from our roots, and fallen so 'in love' with immediate gratification culture and the sensationalist celebrity provided by superficial ego. The cult of personality encouraged us to forget the simple fact that one's name is a link to one's past, and a chance to pass the spiritual baton from one generation to the next.

We had also seen how this base mindset had metastasized in simpatico with the sudden rise of 'Tattoo-culture', yet media-culture had been such a powerfully invasive force by the end of the 20th, and beginning of the 21st century, that it became all too easy to lose sight of our primal imperative, and the responsibility we had to our ancestors.

Sometimes this 'name game' would venture into the realm of the absurd. I can remember watching a professional baseball game once, and seeing a player whose first name was 'Jhonny'???!  Yes, that's right, Jhonny…Weird, I know, but in the end, the joke was on him.

The belief was, that if a child was given an arbitrary or 'unique' name, let's say: 'Kayla', (or worse 'Keighlah' or even 'K'lagh') she would early in life begin to identify with her own 'uniqueness'. But actually, the opposite effect took place. Often, as the child matured into adulthood, it would begin to feel isolated and alienated from it's lineage, at times searching desperately for any ancestral connection or historical reference. 

Many of the young adults here in Nova Avalon have now since changed their first names to be in accordance with the souls of their forbearers. We now recognize, like those within more spiritually rooted cultures, that one's first name is a link to one's heritage, and a respect for those who had worked so hard, and sacrificed so much, to bring us a life of prosperity. And this was a fact made painfully apparent by our inevitable rendezvous with destiny.

Yes, trendy and ephemeral names came and went, yet even 'old' names like 'Adolf' had somehow managed to virtually vanish from planet Earth… not long after that very strange man had foolishly attempted to conquer and lay waste to continental Europe. Likewise, in our era, there are precious few Baraks, Osamas, Benjamins, and Mahmouds milling about... but then again, maybe those names have just simply fallen 'out of style'.

Future CT   Village 5, Nova Avalon.   Year 17 P.T.E.

Return From The Abyss (Journals 17-20)

          
                 Journal #17: Iran So Far Away

Journal #18: Bane Of Our Existence

Journal #19: Second City Syndrome

Journal #20: The Insubordinate Lone Wolf

Ring Around The Mediterranean

A tragic death occurred during your time period, and it had been so irresponsibly spun and politicized by opportunists pushing their nefarious political agendas. 

A US ambassador to Libya had been assassinated by an Al Qaeda zealot in response for an alleged religious blasphemy, or something like that.

The point was neither here nor there, and was altogether mostly missed among the major political figures of your time period. 

One famous female secretary of state had been appalled that such a horrific attack had taken place in a country which the US had helped so recently to free from tyranny. But why then, given this ungrateful reaction, would the US, a country sixteen trillions dollars in debt (and counting!), have then wasted more valuable human resources and money to help overthrow another wack-job dictator across the mediterranean in Syria?

All one had to do in those days was take a breath, step back, and ask how this tragedy had managed to occur in the first place. The answer was simple enough, the US had had a longtime history of having funded Muslim terrorists dating back to at least the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, and in Iran some 30 years or so earlier.

These terrorists had become perfect tools. They had been at best of times 'well armed allies' or 'freedom fighters', whenever given the task of fighting a 'common enemy', and 'incarnate demons' once they chose to then turn their attention back onto the US.

The sad truth was, that most major western governments were merely morally relativistic institutions which conformed it's policies to cater to the needs of it's own immediate economic interests, and the details of 'justification' were easily and skillfully spun within the media to pacify the millions of misinformed.

One major belief system which occupied and misguided the cerebral cortex of many humans during your era, was the belief that most major wars throughout history had been caused by 'Religion'. Yes, religious dogma had been used since time immemorial to act as a catalyst for violence, but this violence had always been carried out by lower caste militia men who were simply fighting for what they had 'believed' in at the time. 

These dunces hadn't stopped once to think how they were merely pawns on a geopolitical chessboard being manipulated to justify wars solely intended for the purposes of 'resource acquisition'. These utter fools were always told how morally monstrous their enemies were, and that one's culture or religious dignity had demanded some form of 'righteous revenge'…and that, we all know, was, is, and always will be 'Bullshit'!

Had we never come up against our inevitable rendezvous with destiny, I shutter to think how long and how far down the proverbial gutter this mental and spiritual sewage would have carried us… best not to think about it!

Future CT   Village 5, Nova Avalon.   Year 17 P.T.E.

The Insubordinate Lone Wolf

Subordinate begone!

There were far too many outsiders, drifters, and lost souls during that woeful era, in the years leading up to our inevitable rendezvous with destiny. 

Being an outsider in the first few decades of the 21st century was to have been cut off from the luscious fruits provided by communal acceptance. These oddballs were sentenced to drift through life as isolated beings, to feel cheated, and be denied in perpetuity. Our culture had been churning out greater numbers of these alienated canines, and the static charge amplified by their despair would manifest as a social malignancy, and often with alarming consequences.

This malignancy came to us pre-packaged and gift wrapped as the Lone Wolf, an outsider who simply wanted to 'belong', but for various reasons which I will discuss, was unable.

There were many different types of Lone Wolf in those days, but the two most noticeable were the Subordinates and Insubordinates. 

The one thing that any Lone Wolf really wanted, in the end, was 'social acceptance' within the larger human family. 

A Subordinate Lone Wolf, who had wanted to be accepted into the larger social group, would try almost anything to appease and accommodate the whims of the hierarchy, always hoping for that one chance to finally 'belong'. 

They were willing to sacrifice their sacred selves just to be part of the 'big picture'. They would alter their values and opinions, tastes and friendships, all for a chance to sit at the back of societies bus, or muscle their way into it's 'standing room only' section. 

The Subordinate Lone Wolf often had 'A list' and 'B list' friends, and sometimes even 'C list'. For these creatures 'who you were' (one's title, or status) was infinitely more important than 'what you were' (one's basic humanity).

The Insubordinate Lone Wolf was in many ways similar to the Subordinate. Like the Subordinate he also wanted to be part of the larger group, and to taste it's fruits and delicacies, but with one very important exception: never at the expense of debasing himself, or pandering to, nor appeasing, those who had the power to say: "Yeah, or Nay".

The Insubordinate Lone Wolf wanted to be accepted for who he was, for his unique perspective, values, ideas, and ultimately, for the simple fact that he, like everybody else, was a flesh and blood unique being. He was a being with hopes, dreams, fears, insecurities, and above all, multiple tiers and tears of laughter, highly concentrated and distilled within his very essence. 

Unlike the Subordinate Lone Wolf, The Insubordinate Lone Wolfe refused to ever submit, and assume an assigned place, and lowered status within the hierarchy. The Subordinate Lone Wolf however, would strategically position himself in the hopes that he may somehow be blessed enough to catch some spillover from those 'revelling at the top'. 

The Insubordinate Lone Wolf actually never wanted anyone else's charity, he always remained autonomous and self-sufficient. He held no animosity toward those 'revelling at the top', because in his opinion, they seemed to have a good thing going. Was it their fault that so many lesser men debased themselves believing this would keep them in their good graces? 

The Insubordinate Lone Wolf had a bone to pick with these lesser men though. Those running the collective tribal boys club which had been constructed by like minded individuals to hoard the elite's cornucopia of assorted table scraps all to themselves, then act as a wedge between the Insubordinate Lone Wolf and those at the top of the hierarchy; They were a truly despicable lot. 

In the world of acting, TV, and film. I remember having heard it said (among those who served at the labourer level) how those minor actors and small part role players were often the most unpleasant of folks, but rarely was it the 'Big Star'. The 'Big Star' was usually just too pleased with their careers, and so grateful for it in fact, that they would often make the effort to give back to those who had assisted in allowing for their rise to success. 

But it was the next level down, that appalling level of suck-ups and brown-nosers, comprised mostly from the ranks of that debased and depraved Subordinate Lone Wolf caste, which would act as a 'pack', to keep the Insubordinate Lone Wolf from taking his place in this world, and his sacred right to be accepted as an equal. Ultimately, the Insubordinate Lone Wolf had never 'sold out', and they wholly despised him for it!

I will never understand why so many people tolerated that dysfunctional paradigm for so long. We don't tolerate that kind of shit here at Nova Avalon. Here in the communities which dot the gentle slopes of Temperance Valley, when it comes to shit, we much prefer the real thing!

Future CT   Village 5, Nova Avalon   Year 17 P.T.E.

Second City Syndrome

It's difficult being number two

All comedy aside, I noticed distinctly how a country's second city would often turn out to be the most snobbish and unfriendly. 

Many people in Canada would often say this about Montreal in relation to Toronto. When visiting Australia, I remarked to my friend how unpleasant an experience I had had while visiting Melbourne. He asked me if It was because it reminded me of my own city, and I said, yes, that's precisely it. It seemed to me that second cities had an uncanny ability of developing a collective cultural inferiority complex, often manifesting in the form of an aloof and condescending demeanour, perhaps as a way of feeling more adequate in comparison to one's larger rival city. 

Both Sydney and Toronto were huge international cultural and financial capitols at their height. Yet their populations were noticeably more friendly than either of their smaller sisters Melbourne or Montreal. The same could probably have been said for Birmingham or Manchester in relation to London, England, although I never spent enough time in either city to notice whether or not this was true or not. 

I once knew a guy from Glasgow, Scotland, who was living in it's rival city of Edinburgh. One day he had attended an event where a hostess had asked him where he was from. He had made the ghastly mistake of having said... (gulp!)... 'Edinburgh'!  The woman scolded him and asked him to go away and rethink his answer to her pointed question. It was obvious to this woman, considering she too originated from Glasgow, that my friends thick accent should have been a badge of pride and honour for him, and not something to be dismissed under any circumstances.

I'm sure the Spaniards could have weighed in on the differences between Barcelona's largely Catalan majority, and the dreaded Castellanos living hundreds of kilometres away in their capitol Madrid, ditto for the Bavarians in Munich, and those Frankfurters, and Hamburgers living in the shadow of Germany's capitol city, Berlin.

France was different, as usual, it was hard to imagine how anyone living in either Marseille or Lyon could be as pathologically obnoxious as most Parisians were. Oh well, the small towns in France had always been a tourists safest bet anyway.

Happily, our inevitable rendezvous with destiny had managed to excise these kinds of dysfunctional insecurity complexes from the psyches of communities, and gladly we no longer have to suffer through those painful spiritual growing pains. 

Please excuse me now, a lady friend has beckoned, and is encouraging me to partake in some unique 'stretching' exercises she has devised for me.

Future CT   Village 5, Nova Avalon.   Year 17 P.T.E.

Bane Of Our Existence

Painting by Kathleen Moir Morris

We were all so shocked the night that masked and half-robed man walked into a Quebec election victory party and opened fire.  

Still, he managed to kill a man and seriously wound his best friend. His intention had been to assassinate Quebec's then newly elected Premier. but somehow 'fate' got in the way, and his gun jammed.

I remember how the shooter had been an english speaking individual in his 60's who sought to scapegoat and eradicate his perceived oppressor(s). This was too often the alarming effect our dysfunctional media-political system had on our weakest minds and souls.

These kooks would often 'snap', much like that nut had done in Norway the year before, due to an over-absorption of Idealist half-baked political rhetoric spun within media and government, all too often for their own selfish purposes.

Quebec had had a long history of terrorist, and government incompetence, both of which ironically acted as a blessing for us in the long run.

The tragedy surpassing all, was the horrible fact that a man had died that night, He had been a father and good human being. Fortunately for all of us, his longtime courageous friend, who also happened to be an 'anglophone', had been working alongside him when he was shot. He suffered a massive bullet wound in his hip, survived, and lived to pay homage to his great friend.

This testament of friendship was an shining example of how Quebecers were not simply the two-solitudes they had always been portrayed as being within the local media and on the political stage.

Had the madman been successful in his quest, and eliminated his target, the resulting polarization among extremists on both sides of Quebec's language spectrum, could have sent our land into a death spiral of renewed tribalist rage. 

Most English and French speaking Quebecers at that time, were far too integrated within families and friendships to be misguided by the paranoia of idealists operating within government and those on the periphery of society, and it was this mutual respect which always allowed for a great reconciliation of our collective and perceived differences.

Most of the 'Anglos' who didn't leave Quebec once their government began to impose stricter language laws whilst attempting to 'protect' the sanctity of the french language at the end of the 1970's, had ultimately conceded to the concerns many francophones had had, regarding the precarious nature and ultimate survival of their unique culture. In other words, accepting to live under government restrictions, regardless of how poorly thought out, was still preferable to serving 'a life sentence' living in 'B.F.' Ontario*.

note: The initials 'B.F.' represent a metaphoric suburban wasteland community I used to affectionately refer to in those days as 'Black Fly'.

Future CT   Village 5, Nova Avalon.   Year 17 P.T.E.

Iran So Far Away

An ancient land filled with splendour

Wasn't it the beginning of September 2012 when the country formerly known as Canada decided to close their Iranian embassy?   

There had been a lot of political rhetoric spinning it's way throughout the media in those days. 

The belief among the 'leaders' of many western nations at the time, was that the country then known as Iran, better known now as Persia, was this diabolical cancerous entity metastasizing within the very heart of the middle east. The reality was that the NATO armies were actually an invading virus from distant lands, fighting on behalf of corporate interests, who wished to transform the political landscape within the middle east to suit it's own economic needs. 

Given the fact that Iran had the world's fourth largest Oil reserves, it didn't take someone of very great intelligence to figure out that 'controlling' that particular country would be an absolute imperative for western interests. The global economy was being kept on life support with the aid of financial stimulants such as bottomless bailouts, QE 'whatever', and the lowering of interest rates to desperately low levels. 

In those days, the crucial price of Oil, the lifeblood of the world's economy, would only fall back either when economic forecasts looked bleak, or some financial crisis had inhibited demand. It was generally accepted among experts, that the price of Oil was, at that time, in an otherwise permanent state of incline (due to market speculation and the overall scarcity of once easily accessible petroleum). 

Projects were being proposed globally, off the coast of Brazil, in deep deep water, and up in the high Arctic, to pump as much valuable crude as possible in order to sustain our technologically advanced societies. (of course, all of that would later be rendered irrelevant by our inevitable rendezvous with destiny) 

Iran was the last country on the map not under total control of western financial and corporate interests, and the Wicked Witch of the West was determined to spin the truth on Iran in both the political arena and mainstream media, employing a similar paranoia used to justify the invasion of Iraq ten years earlier.

"I'll fix you my pretty!"

Even if the proposed attacks and subsequent invasion was unsuccessful (which would have been an absolute certainty) it would have at least assisted in obfuscating the true dire economic situation unravelling at the time in Europe, particularly among those too lazy or incapable of looking beyond their own immediate wants and needs.

We remember what the truth was though, that Iran had been a peaceful country just trying it's very best to preserve it's own cultural and tribal sovereignty despite the imperial leviathan which had built a large quantity of military bases around it's perimeter in neighbouring and otherwise 'economically conquered' countries. 

Although Iran was so far away, it couldn't get away!

Future CT   Village 5, Nova Avalon.   Year 17 P.T.E.

Soul Balance part 2

Drawing By Pierre Duranleau

The world in the first few decades of the twenty-first century was made up of many different types of people ranging in different levels of sensitivity. 

It developed, perhaps more so in our western culture, the manifestation of a personal sensitivity callous. A defence mechanism designed to protect the self and all of the Ego's obvious liabilities and vulnerabilities.

This self-imposed callous allowed many people to better function in that fast paced dog eat dog world we had created for ourselves. Being too sensitive, in the first few decades of the twenty-first century, was to get the short end of the stick, and to be bumped out of the race for want fulfillment.

Watch Video Here:

There was a price we paid for this lack of sensitivity though, and we paid dearly. We denied ourselves the full spectrum of the human emotional experience. 

In our bid to protect our self-interests, that callous 'tougher than nails' attitude may have shielded the self, yet left a loathsome path of destruction in it's wake, and that path manifested as the hurt feelings and ruined lives of those more sensitive than others.

Would we have functioned better as a species if we didn't care so much, if instead we decided to let everything roll off our backs? There was a definite advantage allotted for those who chose to adopt this philosophy, but was the price too high?

Akin to those who eat entirely spicy food, the act of ingesting most other foods can become a bland experience. But for those who are not accustomed to eating spicy food, the range of subtleties in taste and flavour can vary greatly, and as a result, they experience a much wider range of taste sensation. 

The same can be said of that sensationalist, adrenaline junkie culture. That tattoo-fest, reality-TV, Rap-o-matic, debt-based, monster truck consumption bonanza we called 'day to day living' was all about 'more' about outdoing what had already been done. It was about making the 'new' become the 'old'.

I'm not against pushing the boundaries, in fact I'm all for it. Going forward and in harmony with 'change' is a good thing, but not at the expense of subtlety and gentleness and care. 

One way we could have ensured that subtlety and gentleness and care, and those who had the courage to expose their inner vulnerabilities did not go the way of the american buffalo, was to have collectively acknowledged, and better recognized, the negative space. (or the wake left by the insatiable acquisition of our endless wants) 

All that destruction was facilitated by the irreverent callous attitudes we imposed upon ourselves and others for the sake of protecting what WAS the frightened child within us all.

Future CT   Village 5, Nova Avalon.   Year 17 P.T.E.

Return From The Abyss (Journals 13-16)

                 
    Journal #13: Revived Roman Empire

Journal #14: Karmic In Continents

Journal #15: Me, My Self, and Ego

Journal #16: 2012 Revisited

2012 Revisited

What were those Mayans smoking?

We were all so greatly relieved when the year 2012 finally came to an end. It was a weird year, as we somehow managed to avert the 'Mayan apocalypse' at the very last moment, unbeknownst to the greater part of humanity.

 2012 was actually a meme put forth by those trying to either promote or scapegoat 'Zionism' for their own nefarious political purposes. They blew their cover when they revealed their cocksureness by overseeing designs of the London 2012 Olympic logo and font, which, when one looked closely, was a skillfully designed logo spelling out the aforementioned word.

It's still unclear as to who actually was behind all this nonsense, but those occult arse-pics would stop at nothing to infect suggestible minds with absurd notions. It was all about numerology, or something like that, and somehow they tried to pin the whole thing on the Mayans… whatever!

I remember listening to a podcast in the first decade of the 21st century, where it's host and his guest got into a heated exchange. After the dust had settled, they both agreed that the '2012' meme held no real significance. All this seemed quite bizarre considering the host had written a book called '2012: The War For Souls'  and his guest's opus was entitled: '2012: The Return Of Quetzalcoatl'. Talk about having all your bases covered!?!

But the whole thing's in the past now, and considering what eventually did happen with regards to our inevitable rendezvous with destiny, the concept of '2012' has been demoted in status to that of 'bizarre cultural footnote', along with Y2K, Pet Rocks, and the Hula-Hoop.

The mantra of those in denial was: "It's just a coincidence"

As for us here at Nova Avalon, and those living in the other communities dotting the gentle slopes of Temperance Valley, we are mindful not to wind up our more suggestible individuals with complex and arcane mythology.

We now recognize there was much hidden from the general public due to systemic secrecy within governments and academia back in your era. Knowledge of the intimate connections between seemingly unrelated ancient cultures was withheld from you for political reasons (to serve an official narrative). The confusion created by this secrecy, manifested a minor hysteria within the ranks of the misinformed.

As for you folks reading my words in the 'year in question', you've still got a few more months remaining to endure all that disinformation nonsense, so at the very least 'enjoy the ride', and don't eat too many 'Mayan mushrooms'!

Future CT   Village 5, Nova Avalon.   Year 17 P.T.E.