Friday, February 13, 2015

EC 489 Hiermalgamated History
Change the World! Think It Through! Do not Vote! Remember:
What if they declared war and no one came? Don’t go.
© Eso A. B.
In Closing

My excursions in pareidolia in order to discover a believable history have not been error free—especially since upon entering its labyrinths, I failed to read the sign at the entrance. Only lately have I learned the words: “All who enter here will find history writ by the Empire of False Flags. Only Certainty can find you the way out.” Signed: “Certainty.”

Unlike Robinson Crusoe, I have not found me a Girl Friday, let alone one named Certainty. This is why while I am still in the labyrinth, I confess to not having found her. Even so, the matters that I have dwelt on are real enough and invite in-depth further investigations.

When I was nine years old, I once asked my godfather, who was a judge and son of Latvia’s first President (in other words, a man with credentials) if he could tell me who God was. His brief answer: “When you grow up, you will know”.

When in due time I did grow up, I was amazed how little ‘grownups’ actually knew, or cared about knowing, or knew what ‘knowing’ was about. Take, for example, the current Vice President of the United States of America Joe Biden, who recently lectured Europeans when they questioned the sanctions America was levelling against Russsia as  inappropriate and annoying ”. While I do not question that Joe Biden has travelled, I do question whether he has ever travelled other than a tourist. I rather identify with W.B Yeats and the intimate ways of  ‘Wandering Aengus,’ who upon catching a little silver trout that turned into a glimmering girl, though old with wandering, ran after her to: “…kiss her lips and take her hands”….

My reasons for writing 489 blogs (more if one counts the unnumbered stuff) has been to break the logjam of petrified ‘scientific’ thought at Strawberry Lane Bend, where the ever helpful Club of Eager Beaver Professors Emeritus sit on Ionian columns brought low, and not one of them blows the whistle, as is custom among retirees. Perhaps Eager Beavers have compromised the truth to such  an extent that their pensions are a lie unless they continue to lie.

I am grateful to the English poet Robert Graves, who was the first to lead me think that old myths (Oedipus Rex ) can be thought, rethought, and built upon by one imprisoned in our present, where old religious myths are excommunicated and replaced with false flags raised by the latest of empires where every citizen lives in fear of being a terrorist if he-she comes to realize that true history takes place in the wood cleared of the nightmare of government.

While I credit Graves for my turning from a mindset fascinated with (or scrambled by) surrealism to that of structured surrealism of mythology, I never quite let go of my surrealist predisposition, which is one reason why I discovered pareidolia  and the associations it enables, which indulgence I do not regret. I thank the American poet Robert Lowell for noticing a predisposition that (at the age of 23) I was yet blind to.

I also owe it to Lowell, a conscientious objector to war, for indirectly encouraging me, something of an introvert, to join the anti-nuke movement and become an activist. This later enabled me to recognize that conflict- or warmongering is for some a way to gain status, which takes false credit for heroism under circumstances where no danger is present, yet prepares the way for bloody wars through its longue duree effect. This is not only how histories, but cause and effect, too, often come to be  misperceived.

Given that our so-called history ought to be, in truth, called negahistory, and negahistory is a rubbish bag full of false flag events, which have lost their interest in actual events to the point of not being able to recall them, what we have before us today is the sight of a secular zombie religion in action.

Plato would have called the Industrial Age, aka modernity, a perfect movie and would have imagined it as a projection against the wall of the cave he dwelt in. I believe that Plato could tell his allegory so well, not because he was a citizen of Athens, but a citizen of a forest growing on a rocky hillside dotted with caves. Athens was then only tenth the size we now imagine it as being, which is why the oligarch who was building it found it convenient to imprison the freedom loving and democratic people of the wood, whom he enslaved to build his polis, in the caves outside the city.

This is how the myth about democracy having begun in Athens began. Real democracy can exist only in an environment of nature, and there is no better proof of it than the imprisoned democrats (among whom Plato may have been one) who dreamt of democracy, but in the process of dreaming forgot that it had existed only in the wood. This is why to this day we think of the true past as having been a Golden Age.

From time to time there appears a link that explains a view that (with the usual reservations) parallels mine. The following, I are worth viewing and listening to:
 George Washington's blog tells me as a 'conspiracy theorist'--at least for those who have read my blogs--

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