Tag Archives: Mormons

Thought you had problems then?

The unwavering disciples of the Prince of Darkness performed a Pink Mass over the grave of Catherine Idalette Johnston, the mother of Westboro Baptist Church founder Fred Phelps Jr.  Westboro has yet to officially comment on the eternal gaying of its leader’s dead mom, but the owner of the cemetery where the ceremony was performed has filed charges with the local police department.

http://www.vice.com/read/mississippi-police-want-to-arrest-the-satanists-who-turn-dead-people-gay

It’s a good thing Mrs. N. isn’t the “I told you so” kind of person.   It isn’t like Mrs. N. didn’t try to warn people when the Fundamentalist Christian scholars over at Liberty University started praying Gay people Straight.  Don’t you remember?  And, it isn’t like she didn’t warn you all about the shenanigans those Mormons get up to out in Salt Lake City with that Mormon Pumpernickel Choir of theirs.  Marrying their dead Mormon relatives to non-Mormon dead people so that they can get into Mormon Heaven (where ever the fuck that is).  Them and their magic underpants and all.

It was only a matter of time until someone put all this religious mumbo-jumbo together.  It was inevitable that Freedom of Religion, that ridiculous notion that America was supposedly founded upon, showed its true colors.  Sure, people of different religious allegiances and persuasions can be expected to hate and kill each other over actual, or, perceived insults, and unavoidable lapses in polite conduct… behavior… manners are all sure to end badly.  That kind of stuff is, more or less, a given.  But, as Mrs. N. knew all along… It was bound to get silly.

“Give them an inch and they will take a yard”  How many times have you heard that said.  Well!  THIS is exactly the kind of shit you get when you let more than one brand of CRAZY, more than one breed of dog, loose in the yard unsupervised.  This is the kind of misbehavior the deeply religious will get up to if you let them… and BOY do we let them!

It’s the same kind of baloney we get up to when we discuss kids.  How many times have you heard it?  “Oh, they are all special in their own way.”    Sure they are.  All special…

Now all this bullshitting each other in the name of Freedom and Liberty is really starting to take its toll on a persons ability to take ANYTHING seriously.   We are beginning to learn that the more times you say yes to crazy… the harder it gets to ever say no.  We are living the nightmare of our own design.  We are adrift, all alone, in our own little flimsy boats in a vast and rolling sea of bullshit.  Anything Goes… as it turns out, in the end, means everything goes.

For all any of you know, tomorrow morning, you could wake up to not only find yourself dead, but, Gay and Mormon TOO!

Don’t you dare say I didn’t warn you.

Kiss, kiss

Mrs. N.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Ghost Shirts (again?)

As usual the truth, or, reality if you prefer, turns out to be far more strange than anything you can make up in the way of fiction.

Anyone who reads this blog, or, knows me either personally, or, professionally understands how taken I am with attempting to understand what it means to be human.   How fascinated I am with the little “reality creation” projects that make up such a huge and vitally important part of our existence.   What you see pictured above are Mormon Temple Garments, known to us non-Mormons as “Magic Underpants”.  They are believed, by Mormons, to provide the wearer with spiritual protection and tales are told of Mormons who credit their temple garments with helping them survive car wrecks, fires, and natural disasters.  I have it on the highest authority that Mitt Romney would consider himself naked without them.

Now, here is what tickles the heck out of me this morning.   By the 1890s what was left of the Native American population was on its last leg.  The good Christian descendants of the God Fearing explorers who had lied, murdered and raped their way from coast to coast were about to finish, in the name of Jesus, the genocide begun moments after the first “decent white folks” laid eyes on the rich and so poorly defended real estate we know today as America.  As far as the Native Americans were concerned the writing was on the Tee-Pee and the jig was up.  Their way of life was over and they did what humans do when they realize their way of life is over.  They turned to magic!

A magical religious movement (excuse me for being redundant) arose among what was left of the Native American Tribes. Those who joined this movement were encouraged to believe that through magic and dancing the white man could be made to simply “go away” and that his bullets could be rendered harmless if warriors placed upon themselves magically protective “Ghost Shirts” and rode boldly into battle.  They were known as “Ghost Dancers”.   I bet I don’t have to tell you how well that turned out.

Here is the really funny part.  Can you guess where the Native Americans could possibly have gotten the crazy idea that magic clothing could protect them from harm?

You guessed it and historians and anthropologists specializing in that time period and location point almost unanimously to……. Mormon Magic Underpants!

So, where are we today?  The lies, murder and rape of the planet has continued and there is no end in sight to the damage more time will bring.  Whole nations, cultures and peoples now stand where the Native Americans once stood and like they did they long for someone, some power, to bring back the good times and the security and the power they once enjoyed.   Do they face this calamity with logic?  Do they say to themselves, “We are all in this together and, together, we can make a better and more equitable world”?

FUCK NO!

They choose to follow a man who wears magic fucking underpants and tells them stories of a magical future where lowering taxes produces more revenue and cutting spending on education produces more jobs.  I wondrous future where eliminating birth control produces less unwanted babies instead of more.  A magical land where we will ALL be rich if we can all just learn to blame the poor for anything that goes wrong….. And the minorities….. And the Chinese…… And the blacks…..  And the Government regulations…..

What’s left of that tribe once known as “The Middle Class” will soon learn what the Native Americans did.  Life on the Reservation ain’t all the Great White Father in Washington promised it would be.

Oh, and there ain’t know such thing as magic.

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Dreamlandings

I’m sitting in my orchid room facing south-east.  It is almost 12:00 noon on a rainy winter day and the temperature here on the eastern side of the Blue Ridge Mountains is 37.5 degrees.  We all here have been lead to believe that the temperature outside will peak today somewhere in the neighborhood of 45 degrees.  The rain is not expected to let up until late tonight.  Puddles reflecting a grey on grey sky are scattered all around the flower beads like broken mirrors on a blank slate.  The Solstice has come and gone leaving that blank slate pregnant as hell with new flowers for another new year.

I have 26 different orchids and most of them it seems are preparing to have sex right here in this room.  It’s a whore house.  Shameless displays of colorful anatomical features grown specifically to attract and confuse and amaze will soon be everywhere pumping perfume and calling to insects that will never hear, or smell, or see them.  No one has a date for this prom.  There is no one here but us voyeurs who make a fetish of this kind of thing.  You could say we like to watch.

In the last week I had the opportunity to read two interesting books.  “Steve Jobs” by Walter Isaacson and “Empire of the Summer Moon” by S.C. Gwynne.  The first was about Steve Jobs.  In 571 pages I learned that I don’t think I would have liked him at all.  I appreciate his art, but, I’m afraid that is as far as it goes.  The second book was about the rise and fall of the Comanches, the most powerful Indian tribe in American history.  The Comanches were artists at torturing people who were their enemies while Steve Jobs was somewhat of an artist at torturing friend and foe alike.  Steve Jobs figured out a way to tame and make computers friendly and useful to people almost to the point that they couldn’t live without them.  The Comanches figured out a way to tame the wild mustangs left behind by the Spanish Conquistadors and with them rule the South West.

Both books were very interesting and worth the time spent.  Steve Jobs was afraid to die, the Comanches not so much.  When a reporter asked Steve Jobs what kind of market research he did for his products Steve replied,  “Do you think Alexander Graham Bell did market research before he invented the telephone?”  Steve Jobs cried a lot.  I mean A LOT!  The Comanches expected to be tortured to death should they fail in battle so they always fought to the death.  Not a crybaby in a carload.

So, here I sit in my room full of oversexed dandelions, as usual, trying to make some kind of sense out of it all.  Failing of course because there is no sense to be made of this dog’s breakfast mix of so called facts and falderal we call existence.  The only game in town is “Connect-A-Dot”.  We are each, in our time and place, the only player.

Long after I have forgotten the things I learned about Steve Jobs I will remember how the Comanche broke wild horses.

They would lasso a horse around the neck and tighten and tighten the noose until the horse could be forced to the ground.  They would sit upon the terrified animal and restrict it’s ability to breathe until it, after much thrashing, would lose consciousness.  They would then undo the noose and the man who was to own the horse would begin to stroke its neck and blow air up its nose until it regained consciousness.  In a matter of minutes the animal could be mounted and rode away.

Could John the Baptist have been a Comanche?

According to Mitt Romney and his Mormon Church Jesus came to America after he was executed.  Who is to say Johnny didn’t come too?

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Homo Suggestibilis

THAT’S US BABY!

     We are the ape with the built in ability to “construct” a reality that best suits our needs at the time…  Evidence, proof, logic and other peoples opinions BE DAMNED!  All are totally irrelevant in the face of mankind’s innate suggestibility.  Culture is the medium by which suggestibility is channeled or directed down “acceptable” paths.   Directing suggestibility is the primary function of culture.

     Lets examine three American cities with regard to their culture and that local cultures ability to direct suggestibility and, as a result, what is considered real in that particular location.

In Salt Lake City, Utah, no one would be considered insane for believing that a magical person named Jesus visited America (after he was executed in what is now the Middle East) and spoke to the local inhabitants.  It would likewise not be considered odd for a person to believe that, after death, one would, if they conducted themselves appropriately while alive, spend eternity in the sky with their entire family by their side.  Furthermore, wearing underpants marked with secret signs and symbols would, in Salt Lake City, be considered a very wise move if one wanted to ward off demons and their influence.

In Boston it would not be considered insane to believe that the use of birth control would result in the user spending eternity in a place of torture and torment…unless said usage was appropriately confessed to a qualified celibate man sitting, in the dark, within a wooden box for the purpose of hearing such confessions.

In Lynchburg Virginia it is not considered insane to claim the earth to be but 6000 years old and our human ancestors to have ridden upon the backs of brontosauruses and stegosauruses.  It is further considered well within the realm of sanity to expect righteous people to disappear into the sky, leaving their dentures and eye glasses behind, at any moment.

     Since all three of these locations are within the boundaries of America and all three conflict rather wildly with each other…  what is a rational person to make of this?  Since the three examples given do not even begin to scratch the surface of the wildly conflicting paranormal belief systems that blanket and infect America we are want to ask…  How, and for how long can such bedlam be considered governable?

     “How many times have we heard people say they want to “find them self”or allude to the desire to be “true to themselves”?  Such talk is pure folly for all we can ever find is culture.  Each of us is destined to become culture because, as Homo Suggestibilis, we are not intended to escape.  Culture and its primary product, paranormal belief, is, or was, good for us.

     Culture is the vehicle of normal insanity and counter-intelligence.  It is the Central Bank, if you will, of “suggestion” that we draw from to transform chaos and terrifying truths into order and soothing untruths.  Culture manufactures the stupidity we desperately need and crave to function in this world.

     Culture is the “invention” of a creature in need of something to absorb the chaos and overwhelming mystery of the universe it finds itself imprisoned within.  As such, culture must be understood in the light and context of our fundamentally theological natures.  It is an invention of our paranormal belief imperative and entirely…. at its service.”

[As Christopher Dawson states]…  “While culture is an organized way of life, it is never conceived as a purely man-made order…  it is founded on a religious law of life, and this law in turn depends on non-human powers toward which man looks with hope and fear, powers which can be known in some fashion but which remain essentially mysterious, since they are superhuman and supernatural.”

     What, one must ask, can be the long term survival chances of such a creature in a world rapidly becoming overpopulated and running out of natural resources?  What…indeed?

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It takes a Hitler?

 

George Santayana once said:

“Progress, far from consisting in change, depends on retentiveness. Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”

I think that is mostly crap.  I think that there are only so many plays in the play book that work… and the coaches, spectators and players all know it.  Repeats are a given in the game of governing man.  ”Retentiveness”, never being 20/20, is always colored by the what ifs and the hope that Springs Eternal within the breast of every budding megalomaniac.

     Somewhere, out there in this vast and proud land of ours, you would be wise to realize, the “Candidates” are thinking and making their plans.

 I went to bed early last night, troubled in mind with the plight of America.  My nation and home to eight generations of my progenitors was unraveling and becoming as economically nonviable as it was culturally ungovernable.  As I drifted, uncomfortably, into a state of immobility and altered consciousness I was transported into a new and proudly different America.

     My vision was never entirely clear, but, the gist of the reality was that America had become an “Economo-Theocratic Totalitarian State.  There were pictures of what appeared to be Mitt Romney everywhere.  It wasn’t until later that I learned, in bits and pieces, how it all came to pass.  How information technology and Mass-Media, under the control of international Mormon financial trusts and armed with the science of social engineering tamed the cultural mutt that America had become.

     In the early fall of 2011, unemployment rates above 20% and China’s announcement that they would, henceforth, no longer be bankrolling America precipitated a financial collapse the government was helpless to contain.  In panic, mobs of gun toting citizens looted grocery stores and delivery trucks.  The streets of America hemorrhaged with the blood of its citizens.  Local authorities were helpless to restore order.  It was then that the earthquake hit San Francisco with the largest one day loss of life in modern history.

     It was a day that had been foretold.  One group and one group alone had prepared by stockpiling one years worth of foodstuffs for their extended families.  One group had planned and infiltrated the executive offices and Board Rooms of key media, energy, software, transportation and computer manufacturing corporations. David Neeleman,  CEO of JetBlue,  Stewart Nelson of Novell Technology,  James Peterson CEO, Microsemi Corp. (military components),  Kevin B. Rollins former CEO, Dell Computer,  Brent Scowcroft (former National Security Advisor),  L.E. Simmons, Chairman Oil States International (a leading provider of specialty products and services to oil and gas drilling and production companies throughout the world.)…

One group alone was prepared.  They had been preparing for decades.  They were The Mormons.

 Tales and stories of “The Dark Months” that followed the collapse of American Civilization were known to all.  The Holy Video of Jesus Christ, hand delivering the Golden Tablets with “New” Commandments for God’s Children on Earth to the Elder Counsel in Salt Lake City played continuously on television for weeks.  Miracles occurred daily and were extensively investigated and reported upon by Mormon controlled media outlets.  The day of the Church of Latter-Day Saints had come to pass.  America’s only home grown brand of Christianity,  with millions of youthful operatives called “Missionaries” already in the field, restored order by distributing food and proclaiming “The Beginning Times” .  Jesus had returned.  His return had signified a new beginning for mankind and a new dawn for America.   Millions, drunk on religion, flocked to the Mormon fold and were absorbed.  It was then that the Elders announced who God had chosen to lead His people to prosperity undreamed of and everlasting.

As in all dreams, this one was convoluted, twisted and didn’t always make sense.  I remember it now as flashes of insight and fragments of scenes I witnessed or took part in myself.  The burning of the beauty parlors and the open condemnation of all things judged to be unmanly or unwomanly.  The news reports that only Mormons escaped the Divine devastation of San Francisco unscathed.  Multitudes of humanity dressed alike.  Men in dark dress slacks, white shirts and dark ties.  Women in long skirts with long braids down their back and the reintroduction of plural marriage for corporate CEOs and Military commanders.

My head swam.  The endless parades of “Saints” (missionaries) and “Heros” (military personnel) and the incessant blaring of old Donny & Marie Osmond records from loud speakers made concentration impossible.  Everyone smiled.  Everyone went to church.  Everyone worked where the church assigned them and all were fed through the beneficence of The Church of Latter-Day Saints.  Not to be “of the Church” was not to partake of the “New Beginning”.  Not to be “of the Church” and its teachings and its leadership was to sabotage God’s plan.  Not to be “of the Church” was, sooner rather than later, not to be.

I remember running and running, with hot fear rising in my throat, from smiling pictures of Mitt Romney.  On every TV, on every billboard, on posters pasted to flat surfaces everywhere it was Mitt.. MITT… MITT!  I had just heard the stories of the camps where homosexuals, coffee & tea drinkers, unwed mothers and those found in possession of Grateful Dead records were being detained for re-education.

 My lungs were on fire.  I had just escaped a gang of identically dressed missionaries who had been tailing me all day.  I stood beneath a huge sign, on a hilltop outside Los Angeles.  With no memory of how I had begun, or why, I found myself drawing a black Hitler mustache on a poster of Mitt Romney affixed to one of the supports of the giant white letters that loomed above me.  It was at that moment that I felt my pants yanked down around my knees.  I heard the youthful voice proclaim…   “Just as we thought!  NO magic Mormon underpants!  AND COMMITTING BLASPHEMY!  We must bring him to the Elders of the Church immediately.  ”Mitt preserve us.”  Said the one and all others followed suit.  

As they dragged me down the mountain to a waiting Church van with red, white and blue lights blinking on top, I caught my first glimpse of the sign on the mountain from far enough away to make out its meaning.   

 It read  [HOLLYWOOD].  The once palatial homes that made up the neighborhood where the Church van was idling in wait had been looted and most had been burned.  The van door slammed.  I was told to pray.  

  I awoke in my own bed with my heart racing and in a cold sweat.  My hands were trembling.  There were black magic marker stains all over my fingers.

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