I sequenced your arrival/ I sealed your fate/ I pushed the button and erased your master tape/
I crossed your great divide/ I stirred your ocean’s tide/ I called your bluff until I blew your
(Stipe, Mills, Buck, Berry)
We all must intuit that deep down it’s all barreling one step over the red line, and ten steps into the crazy crazy, when the NBC, ABC, and CBS headlines start to resemble outtakes from InfoWars. To whit: Republican Senators Demand Hearings On Boston Marathon Bombings, and What Did The FBI And CIA Know About Boston Bombing Suspects, And When Did They Know It? Despite being constantly delivered headlong into the internecine misinformation shadows of the world’s stage play, more and more of us are paying attention as the cracks are starting to show. Even now they roll out Assad and the specter of chemical weapons to take the heat and the spotlight off of Boston, as that alchemical façade crumbles.
Recall the fever dream of that fatuous pig Karl Rove, trotted out to further adorn the post-9/11 milieu in 2004: “We’re an empire now, and when we act, we create our own reality. And while you’re studying that reality – judiciously, as you will – we’ll act again, creating other new realities, which you can study too, and that’s how things will sort out. We’re history’s actors, and you, all of you, will be left to just study what we do.”
The pathological extremes inherent in that self-serving, vampyric proclamation fairly boggle the mind, but they also inform everything that’s happened in the worlds, both political and real, since. Obviously the trouble lies not with only the statement itself, but with the attitude of mega-entitlement fueling it. Namely, EVERYTHING can be rationalized because we’re SUPERIOR, and this leads us down to a slippery precipice where even the truth is subjective, and once the truth is subjective, the boat is no longer moored. And here we are today, still trying to suss out the names of the puppeteers, the handlers of Dealey Plaza, Gladio, the Phoenix Program, MK-Ultra, Mena, Iran/Contra, 9/11, and Boston, still trying to bring into sharper relief the fine print on the secret treaties. Nine years on, that Rove quote reads like a blueprint for the endless twilight in the puppet dance that’s become our lives. But if we can, to paraphrase Alan Moore, fashion ourselves into puppets that can see the strings, we can fare far better than the patsied Chechen Tsarnaev brothers, and turn the hunters (of mankind) into the hunted at last.
“It was from the artists and poets that the pertinent answers came, and I know that panic would have broken
loose had they been able to compare notes…” H.P.Lovecraft
If we assign the year 1992 as the full-on advent of the beginnings of the internet as mass communication tool, then it’s been a good two decades since we’ve been comparing notes, and I’m wondering where the panic is. Post-Waco, post-OKC, post-9/11 ad infinitum and yep, still waiting for the panic. That world that Lovecraft hopefully envisioned where a thesis of horror could birth an antithesis of response feels farther away than the Plains of Leng. Exactly how many of these situations do we need to absorb before we take to the streets with heads on pitchforks? The Boston events have only given us more kindling, and the info-ammo loaded into 4chan and a thousand others make the old Usenet chatrooms truly yesterday’s news. We’ve gone from “let them eat cake” to transparent governmental bloodlettings likely classified beyond anyone’s pay grade under the largest deception ever perpetrated on the American people: National Security. What a monumental joke, but I digress.
This needs to be posted here verbatim, in its entirety, such is the gravity of this line of questioning regarding the Boston events as posted by Dave Lindorff, who I immediately nominate for investigative journalist of, oh, I don’t know, the century. I might also point out that people like this are keeping what used to be true journalism and reporting alive in the vapid wastelands of Anderson Cooper, Scott Pelley, and Brian Williams, not to mention countless others populating rip-and-read land. This needs to be figuratively nailed to the church door in every state of the union, Martin Luther-style, with a really big hammer.
If you don’t get the chilliest, Parallax View-vibe from the above, I suggest you check your deepest-held intuition, because frankly, it’s either broken or you’ve willfully tuned it out. Something is incredibly, incredibly wrong here. And what’s more, the official lying doesn’t end there. Take a large breath, ‘cause this end of the pool gets DEEP…First we’re informed those crazy brothers have offed an M.I.T. officer; how do we know that for sure exactly? Maybe the cop got too close to seeing something he wasn’t supposed to. In any event, it’s page 1A from the old Tippit/Oswald playbook. On we go.
Then we’re told that, despite the FBI being in prior contact with both for either 3, 5, or more years, they need help from the public in identifying the 2 suspects. A blatant lie. And pay no attention to those black-and-khaki Craft dudes, there are 2 and only 2 suspects, got it? And that’s official.
From Jan.-Jul. 2012 the older brother visits Russia, there and back unmolested, meeting only with a mysterious “Misha,” (his handler?), again unmolested by either State Department, Russian security or intel, or the FBI. All this despite supposed flags going up everywhere due to his now-told “radical” status. (Another Oswald play.)
We have the younger brother on the day of in hats with 2 different numbers on them. Yet another Oswald call, this one the old doppelganger. What’s going on here?
First we have them robbing a 711, then not. Another official lie, perhaps painting them in an even more desperate, dangerous, on-the-run light.
We have from official sources the older brother run over by the younger; except that we now have an eyewitness absolutely refuting that lie and saying that they were on scene and that the cops ran over Tarmelan. This now makes lie number….oh I forget, let’s call it 37. For the hats.
Next we have the younger brother heavily armed and dangerous, on the run, fending off helicopters, SWAT teams, tanks, robots, wolves, drones, and cyborgs for 20 hours except, oops, he was actually unarmed. What? Yep, he was apprehended sporting zero firearms. Moving…right…along…
He was also mysteriously shot in the throat when taken into custody. Mysterious because it was self-inflicted only it couldn’t be because he didn’t have any guns. My head hurts now.
And by the way, where exactly is the smoking gun videotape evidence of the brothers dropping down those loaded backpacks and scurrying away all scoundrel-like pre-blast? Don’t you think we’d have seen those repeated, on a loop, ad nauseum, to infinity-mode if they had ever existed? You know, to keep us fixated and traumatized, like watching planes flying into towers for the 1000th time in 24 hours? It actually turns out there’s a very good reason we haven’t seen any. They don’t exist. Said non-existence possible because the brothers’ backpacks look nothing like the ones that actually blew up. As mentioned before by Lindorff, the exploders were dead-ringers for the Craft ones, right down to the reflective seal or hologram thingy.
Then we have the always important financial footprint. Where exactly did all this money come from? These two supposedly starving students were regularly seen driving around in new Mercedes and sporting $900 Louis Vuitton shoes according to their mechanic, who they hung with extensively. Maybe Dzhokhar got a wad when he became a U.S. citizen last September 11th. What?! Somebody’s got a wicked sense of humor I see.
And finally, the latest, we have their uncle, Ruslan Tsarni, the one the media fell head over heels in love with for calling them “losers,” married to daughter of former top CIA official Graham Fuller. Fuller spent 20 years as operations officer in Turkey, Saudi Arabia, Afghanistan, Yemen, Hong Kong, and Lebanon. In 1982 he was National Intelligence Officer for the Near East and South Asia, and in 1986 under Reagan he was Vice-Chairman of the National Intelligence Council with responsibility for “national level strategic forecasting.” Would that be Continuity of Government or devising air routes from Salvador to Arkansas I wonder?
If you’d like to delve into something a little more sinister, Fuller also made another list, one even more infamous. Sibel Edmonds was a Turkish translator-turned-whistleblower for the FBI, and became curious in the run-up to, and then totally convinced after the event of 9-11, that she had stumbled upon an insider-network of Deep State operatives, heavily into the financing end of that day, running ledgers that raced back through the years involving a latticework of arms, drugs, and children. She also evidently totally convinced Attorney General John Ashcroft, because he went to the Supreme Court to put her under gag order according to the State Secrets doctrine. Before he was able to she put up 21 photos on her website, calling it the State Secrets Privilege Gallery, all Deep State rogues she became aware of as subjects of FBI investigations during her time there; investigations into all sorts of treasonous activities involving duplicity and planning the 9-11 op. One of those photos, was of Graham Fuller.
Add in the fact that uncle Ruslan also has deep ties to both USAID and Haliburton, and the web draws ever tighter, especially when you consider that it’s also been leaked that when Tamerlan was in Russia those 6 months until July 2012, he attended a workshop sponsored by the CIA-cutout Jamestown Foundation, according to Izvestia. The Russian newspaper cites documents produced by the Counterintelligence Department Ministry of Internal Affairs of Georgia confirming that the NGO “Fund of the Caucasus” held workshops in summer 2012 which the older brother attended. The Jamestown Foundation was created by CIA director and all-around great human being William Casey, and Russian dissident Arkady Shevchenko. And so it goes.
I feel it only fitting to leave you for now with the words of another Graham, this one far more noble with the last name of Parker, an English 1970’s pub-rocker and proto-punk, bristling with savage foresight and ripped off in style and manner by more famous contemporaries like Costello, and Joes from Strummer to Jackson. It’s also only fitting that tonight marks Walpurgisnacht into Beltane. Stay safe everybody, because anything can happen.
Crimson autographs, is what we leave behind/ everywhere man set foot
War mongers laughing loud/ behind a painted face
Throwing tidbits to the crowd/ and blowing up the place
Hey Lord, don’t ask me questions, hey Lord don’t ask me questions please
Hey Lord, don’t ask me questions, hey Lord, ain’t no answer in me
Well I stand up for liberty but can’t liberate/ Pent-up agony, I see you take first place
Is it you or is it me? I never will understand
Well I see the thousands screaming, rushing for the cliffs
Just like lemmings into the sea, well well well well,
Who waves His mighty hand, and breaks the precious rules?
Well the same one must understand who wasted all these fools