An Introduction from the author of KIN Notes,
a favorite Son --- a spudly Boddhi --- our "Common 'Tater:"
Meet the Retards
Wake up, sleepyheads,
See the light!
See your Daddy in a pole-cat fight!
With that (despised!) ditty, my Dad would stand at the door and awaken my brother and I
each schoolday morning.
Catfight indeed . . . poles of the opposites!
Wake up, sleepyheads!
Here I am these many decades later, my father decades dead, the days gone down in the
West, night settling like pneumonia on the American dream. Culture wars ravage the
land, especially the Ur-war of gender, and Daddy long ago lost the pole-cat fight.
The lawyers clean up all details
since Daddy had to fly
“End of the Innocence” (D. Henley)
The nation changed radically in the intervening years, very little for the better.
Some things persist, though. When I was a kid, about the worst thing another kid could
say to you was “You’re a retard!”
Remember that?
Oh, how the floppy does flip! Pretty quick here, the “retards” are gonna grab us by our
Nikes, turn us downside up, and SHAKE the Sleepy SHIT out of us.
As Jesus cleansed the temple and shoved the swine off the cliff. . . .
Those “retards” might bring Daddy back to ever-loving life. Watch them and see. It’ll be
carried on Cable, but not teevee. Heee-heeee!
That quintessential outsider, Jesus, was a Bullgoose Retardo hisself -- a holy nerd in the
first degree. Then he cracked his autistic egg, ventured into the Zoo, and ministered to
the shell-bound Sleeple.
Right to the scrambled end, the Nazarene never wearied of loving losers: he was always
playing the dogs. As he trudged the blighted roads of the Empire-That-Still-Is, gazing
upon the crucified, the broken, the betrayed and the lost, he was heard to bark:
I will overturn it!
He just didn’t say when.
Well, according to the “retards,” NOW is real close to when.
QIM Tunes, Tom Smith’s “facilitated communication” (FC) metalogue with five
institutionalized autistic men, will turn your ontology outside-in, rattle the change in your
frontal lobes, and put the Spirit back in spirituality -- where it has long languished beneath
pseudo-religious “leaders,” market-forcing merchants, power-besotted organizations, and
demagogues hawking “faith-based initiatives.”
Within five minutes of engaging Qim Tunes, I was the stunned recipient of not one, but
TWO, “impossible” synchronicities.
And no, it was not Mushroom-Tea-Evening.
Deny this, said Qim Tunes, checking its collective package and chuckling.
(Are documents allowed to do that?! I’m sure there’s a law prohibiting it -- we’ve got laws
against everything else.)
The Tunes is no comfy ride in the pews. There is no conventioneer-gladhanding. It
doesn’t tell us exactly what we want to hear, then pass the plate and pat our backs on the
way out the door.
Oh no, baybee! It is raw, savage mojo, a caustic elixir for our poisoned world and souls.
The faint of heart, the epistemologically smug, the haters, the Sleeple, the Professionally
Oppressed need not apply within. Let them crank up the volume on Oprah and Rush, on
Junior Bush and Slik Willy, and return to Mammon’s Hibernatorium.
These Tunes peg out the Weirdometer. If you don’t resonate with them, hey, you never
even saw the rabbit hole. You took Morpheus’ Blue Pill, and went back to believing . . .
well, whatever you need to believe, a satisfied slave of the Ma-tricks.
The Tunes self-validate, not merely through narrative authenticity, but through the
nimbus of mysterioso attending contact. They are an uncanny five-way mirror. Time and
space are no barrier. To look into them is to be ogled by a face both alien and human,
both impish and divine.
Qim Tunes synthesizes the codings of kabbalah, the poli-spiritual mission of the Koran
and Bible, the trans-dimensional questing of shamanism, the messianic authority of
Qumran, and the psycho-mythic range of Mysterium Coniunctionis. They are Tunes for
our times, an eschatological blast on the archangelic winsock trump, a pilgrimage to the
Father’s pure and purgative black-hole.
They’ll whack yer noggin with the jooled jujustick. But good.
The five participating “Boys” are a wrecking-crew of consensus assumptions and religious
certainties, demolishing cultural wisdom about the “mentally challenged” and mucho –
muy mucho -- mas.
The Prophecy Dire of Director Baldo
For example, a May 7, 2002, article in the Contra Costa Times entitled “Increase in Autism
Alarming” documents the skyrocketing numbers of autistic children showing up in
California schools, and in the culture at large.
In the hysteric fashion of our times, one Bob Baldo, Director of the Association of
Regional Center Agencies, bleats:
We are extremely concerned about what these numbers mean . . . this has the potential
to financially almost break the system . . . the human costs are absolutely profound. This
state can hardly afford to have this continue to go on . . . if there's a way to prevent this
from occurring, we need to find out awful fast.
Dear Director Baldo: it’s a bit late in the Game to be freeking about “human costs,”
hmm? Checked the homeless and prison stats recently?
But rest easy, O Baldo, you are going to “find out awful fast.”
The Director’s threat of “prevention” means bringing the full brunt of American Zero
Tolerance and genetic markering-out to bear on the little retardo slackers . . . just WHO
ARE these useless Drains on the System, who is this Fearsome Plague the Director warns
will carry a “profound human cost.”
(Oh well, at least he got the “profound human” part right!)
But perhaps this surge of “autistics” is expressly designed to “break the System,” afflict
the State, and discomfit the collective Directors Baldo? Perhaps no law or “cure” – short
of genetic genocide -- will “prevent autism from occurring”? Perhaps the explosion in
autism, or the explosion in awareness of autism, IS the cure for Director Baldo and his
increasingly god-like State?
Autism, like its cousin schizophrenia, manifests individually but is a collective response to
a collective crisis -- in particular, to spiritual sickness and planetary malady (Mal Lady).
Ultimately, autism will not be “managed,” by the State or anyone else. Despite Director
Baldo’s pronouncement of doom, the autism “boom” isn’t a step toward the precipice; it’s a
step away from collective suicide.
Autism is generally defined as a “disconnection” from conditioned social agendas, social
cuing, speech, and motor-sensory capacity. But in the psychotic and predatory culture of
America, children and adults who “disconnect” from collective madness are NOT suffering
pathology -- rather, they are cleansing themselves from the pathological environment in
which they exist, and simultaneously offering healing to that environment.
One seven-year-old, nonverbal autistic boy uses milk-baths for these purposes:
apparently, it’s an old technique!
His mom patiently waits for him to stop splattering and splashing. She’s not sure why he
does it, but trusts that his actions are neither random nor pointless.
Like a white blood cell, autism is an agent designed to attack and cure disease, at both
individual and collective levels. And like WBCs, autistics are often considered yucky,
smelly, messy and funny-looking.
Are autistics savants? Are they “God” or “just retards”? Are they God’s agents or foes?
Demons? Angels? All of the above?
Don’t ask me.
Like you, I just work on this funny farm. Listen to their Tunes and decide for yourself.
The authors of Qim Tunes are purposely fuzzy about theology, especially the
“organizational” role of these tuned fraternities. But they self-identify as “Yahweh” and,
absurd though it sounds, there is evidence in Qim Tunes to speculate a special – and
probably instructive – relationship to non-autistic folks extending to the Paleolithic.
At least to the Paleolithic.
So no more snickering about being “M.R.” Author William Henry -- although, sadly, a neo-
gynarchist -- offers this helpful hint:
The Cathars of Southern France, who swapped secrets with the Templars and the Irish,
called EA’s pillar of light AMOR or love, from the root MR, meaning ‘bright light’.
Fascinatingly, Meru (the root of Moriah and Mero-vingian) is the name for the central
pillar of Atlantis. The Greeks called the Atlanteans Meropes in honor of this pillar. MR is
the name of the oil/substance secreted by the Ark-Pillar.
The Qim Tunes Boys are the gnowing cloud, and eventually they will turn everybody’s
cards face-up. First we will hate them, like we do anyone communicating unpopular
information. Then we’ll laugh at them and their advocates. But eventually, as the
inevitability of their messages are grasped, as they level the playing field of our hearts, we
will . . . well, we will hate them a little less.
LOL!!
Progress!
For starters, they’re gonna take our scapegoats away from us, and we’re gonna whine
and bawl like the self-absorbed infants we are. They’re gonna resurrect western
masculinity from the pit of cultural Hades. Boy: we’ll really hate them for that! No more
worshipping Mommy! (Oh no! Waaaaah!)
Many folks – especially vested organizations -- won’t appreciate their expose of the
unholy alliance between neo-matriarchy and the self-appointed, transgenerational “elite.”
But autistics will reconcile the warring genders, thereby healing divided, suffering Creation
in a jubilee of wholeness.
Not perfection. Wholeness. Very, very different things.
Not bad for societal “millstones” and “idiots” that sometimes flop around in
wheelchairs, drool, and poop their pants, eh Director Baldo?!
In ancient Jewish tradition, codified in the Torah (Leviticus 25), every seventh year was a
Shemita, or fallow, year. Shemita is an extension of the Sabbath concept, which is the
“seventh day of rest” designed for physical, psychological, and spiritual regeneration.
The Sabbath is the day of atonement because it unites, and contains, everything within
itself – including the ur-duality of the sexes.
Similarly, every 50th year was a Yovel Year, set aside for Jubilee, a period expressly
mandated by God for overturning -- and thereby balancing -- secular and religious
society, and its attendant precepts. During Yovel the land itself was allowed to rest; all
financial, legal, social, and spiritual debts were annulled and forgiven; prisoners and
slaves were freed, and each person was permitted to return -- and was welcomed back --
to his or her “ancestral heritage.”
The concept and practice of Jubilee is merciful and wise, for it breaks cultural,
psychological, terran and spiritual inertia, and ensures that the wealth of the nations --
and of the Earth itself -- does not fall under domination of any particular person or group.
A hidden aspect of “Yahweh’s” insistence upon Sabbath, Shemita and Jubilee was (and
is) compassion for the suffering of the Earth itself, which -- despite the efforts of modern
humans to whip it into hyper-production -- needs rest, like any other entity. All the
organisms that “support man” need also their hours of calm, joy, and contentment, lest
the world be only an endless machine, a mathematized, Manufactured Hell.
Under Jubilee, the powerful cannot forever oppress the powerless. Fresh energy is
injected into stagnant systems, and hope rises, renewed.
Jewish Yom Kippur is the Day of Atonement. Tellingly, the priests of the “Millennial
Temple” described in Ezekiel and Isaiah all wear linen on this day -- indicating that they
are in a perpetual state of Yom Kippur.
Rudolph the Read-Nosed Rain Dear Meets VALIS Overmindus
Through Qim Tunes, our anti-heroes document the self-outing of an ancient brotherhood
of extraordinary power and understanding, shrouded for eons safely behind “autism,”
growing and learning beside us, tweaking and shepherding the human project.
The Tunes consist largely of questions from facilitator Tom Smith, and cryptic answers
from the five Doods. In part, “Qim” stands for “quotes I am” or “source.” These Boys
may be “leaders” of a hidden autistic network, communicating in various ways, including
telepathically.
Rudolf Steiner notes:
Brotherhood-Lodges evolve into Dhyanic Beings. These Beings are, as it were, a
collection of cells, forming one Spiritual Being. The brotherhood-Lodge of the Adepts will
guide as one Dhyanic Being. Here again is an enrichment of evolution. In the middle of
the Fourth Round lies a very important point. Human Spirits begin to unite into a
Brotherhood and to form a Dhyanic Being.
Rudy was a sharp dood. Philip K. Dick and Terence McKenna also were secret sharers,
kin to the hidden brotherhood. Dick’s mystical correspondence with the “alien” VALIS
(Vast Active Living Intelligence System) chimes with the cosmo-planetary sentience of
certain autistics. In his novel of the same name, Dick called VALIS a “spontaneous self-
monitoring neogentropic vortex” functioning as partial antidote for what Phil called “the
Empire that never ended,” whose most recent reincarnation he recognized in the Nixon
Administration -- and we likewise recognize in the transgenerational monarchies of
Reagan, Clinton, the burning Bushes, ad nauseum.
Like many Gnostic sectarians, ancient and modern, P.K. Dick saw the Earth as an
enormous “Black Iron Prison” ruled by archonic planetary Powers whose despotism was
exercised through systematic traumatization, propagandistic conditioning, and tyrannical
social management -- all secreted within the illusion of political self-determination,
“democracy,” and “progressivism.”
“Homeoplasmates” was the word Dick used to describe the liberative and semi-divine
“agents” of VALIS. He suggested that when Rome razed Jerusalem’s Second Temple in
70 B.C.E., time itself ceased. The “homeoplasmates” escaping execution dove
underground, resurfacing in 1945 (a rescencion of the Fallen-Host theme in Judeo-
Christian and apocryphal thought, with Ur-War between the genders recapitulated as
apocalyptic Endtime War.)
Through Qumran and other sources, Dick claimed that the “homeoplasmates” kickstarted
time again, as living water fell from the scroll-jars of Nag Hammadi.
P.K. Dick’s “God” -- like America’s throwaway “psychos” and autistic “retards” -- hides
amongst the detritus and banalities of life, and, as Dick writes, mimics “sticks and trees
and beer cans in gutters,” presuming “to be trash discarded, debris no longer needed.”
Not surprisingly, the wisest alchemists also called the Philosopher’s Stone “the
commonest of things, available in every street and marketplace.”
Autistic Jeffrey Powell, Jr., begins his superb prophetic poem “In Jupiter’s Realm
Waiting,” thus:
In light of hopeless voices changes can't be avoided,
I'm staying in the likeness of molten calm.
It's hot in the crater, but like stopped stone on the surfaces,
I'm hoping to master my knoll of Jupiter soon.
It is like the oldest godlike firths in the deepest recesses.
Great thunder rolling after the firestorm,
warning that the dragons still wait and watch.
But giving the dreamer hope that they will not find the opening
as long as the stony surface remains still.
Still with us, Director Baldo? :O)
P.K. Dick’s “deity” is not encountered by neocortical forays into celestial
rarification, nor in tour-de-forces of cosmic power, but in humble descent to
everyday living, the hour-to-hour struggle to remain a feeling, empathetic being, in
touch and love with Creation.
Bowmaster Erik Davis, writing on VALIS, updates the Gnostic cosmology and splits
the planetary tree:
The world is a prison not because of its materiality—which was the opinion of the
ancient Gnostics—but because of the hidden orders of power and control it houses:
the various corporate, political, and ideological archons herding us into increasingly
compelling synthetic worlds.
Not coincidentally, the late Terence McKenna – a Walking Novelty who was actually
early -- was the West’s chief explicator of synchronic teleology, the notion that not
all events are “determined” by replicable cause and effect -- as the scientific
method demands -- but rather are pulled, or attracted, by a numinous Cause located
in the future, magnetizing the past to its ultimate Source.
In the afterword to Philip Dick’s neo-gnostic compilation, In Pursuit of Valis:
Selections from the Exegesis, McKenna relates how one fateful day in 1971, the
yammering wound of the Logos passed from himself to Philip Dick -- even as
McKenna’s natal brother, Dennis, was facing down the void in Amazonia:
Unknown to me, a struggling, overweight SF writer, an idol of mine since my teens,
discovered the next day that his house had been broken into, his privacy violated
by the Other . . . the torch had been passed, in a weird way the most intense phase
of my episode of illumination/delusion ended right where Phil’s began.
This raises some questions:
Can we refer to a delusional system as a folie a' deux, if the deux participants have
never met and are practically speaking, unaware of each others’ existence?
Does the delusion of one visionary ecstatic validate the delusion of another? How
many deluded, or illuminated ecstatics does it take to make a reality? PKD proved
that it only takes one. But two is better.
Indeed, two is better -- it spreads out the paranoia! And the blame!
And as various groups of “adepts” have long known -- and these autistic Boys prove
-- a bunch is better than two!
Egoic, individuated consciousness is a necessary evil, an effective illusion of recent
vintage, originating in the Paleolithic via shamanic (i.e., autistic) spiritual
brotherhoods, as a defense and tactic of individuation against hive-mind female
hegemony (matriarchy). Human consciousness is not an isolate, nor a stranded
singularity. We are composite beings, at the microbiological and macro-spiritual
levels.
Troops: eets crowded out there, and in here.
McKenna raves on:
Phil wasn’t nuts. Phil was a vortex victim. Schizophrenia is not a psychological
disorder peculiar to human beings. Schizophrenia is not a disease at all but rather a
localized traveling discontinuity of the space-time matrix itself. . . [T]here is an idea
that wants to be born, it has wanted to be born for a very long time. And sometimes
that longing to be born settles on a person. For no damn good reason.
Then you’re "it," you become the cheese, and the cheese stands alone. You are
illuminated and maddened and lifted up by something great beyond all telling. It
wants to be told. It’s just that this idea is so damn big that it can’t be told, or rather
the whole of history is the telling of this idea, the stuttering rambling effort of the
sons and daughters of poor old Noah to tell this blinding, reality-shattering, bowel-
loosening truth. And Phil had a piece of the action, a major piece of the action.
He shore did – and man, do I relate.
But these autistic Boys are the action. They make Phil and Terence look like
newbies, plebes, virgins upon the wild, wide, waving Kosmik See.
Autistics and schizophrenics share a continuum, with the former acutely aware of
shadow/unconscious processes, and the latter largely unaware, in denial, or out-of-
control. Schizophrenia is a nigredo, a blackening process of individuation -- the
fast track preceding the cure, ashes work in the soul’s basement. Deep-autism
(what diagnosticians usually call “Kanner’s Syndrome”) is insanity’s end-result,
what Jung called the realized Self, what Jesus called the White Stone.
As McKenna put it: “Being is a solid state matrix and psychosis is the
redemptive process ne plus ultra.” Jesus sang harmony:
Those who seek should not stop seeking until they find. When they find, they will be
disturbed. When they are disturbed, they will marvel, and will reign over all.
(2, Gospel of Thomas, Scholars’ Translation)
This isn’t to suggest that the Qim Tunes Boys are crazy. It is to suggest,
however, that the rest of us, in varying degrees, are. Take a walk around the
neighborhood. Wanna argue the point?
[B]ooks will be given to the righteous and the wise to become a cause of joy and
uprightness and much wisdom. And to them shall the books be given, and they shall
believe in them and rejoice over them, and then shall all the righteous who have
learnt therefrom all the paths of uprightness be recompensed . . . [I]n those days the
Lord bade (them) to summon and testify to the children of earth concerning their
wisdom: Show (it) unto them; for ye are their guides, and a recompense over the
whole earth.
(1 Enoch 104, 12-13; 105, 1)
Hanging at the Crossroads
Evolving humanity, and evolving Earth, have arrived at quadrivium, our crossroads,
our four-way street. Spiritual revival, with concomitant physical transformation, is
necessary to pass the thresholds now before us. Tweaking the old System won’t
feed the bulldog. Monsters lead the masses. Earth is exhausted and begs for
Sabath, its final child.
Creation holds its breath, steps into the crucible.
In the Roman Empire -- where we languish still -- the quadrivium was the site of
many crucifixions, the better to instruct passing travelers in the subtleties of
“law.” Our nation, and our planet, is also being crucified within what Joyce called
“the nightmare of history.”
At present, we are plummeting full-tilt through the spirals of Hell, and the West --
with America whipping the black-mare team -- is leading the freefall. Babylon
revisited.
Therefore the initiators of spirituality -- and of masculinity itself -- are summoned
back, to remind us where manhood began, and even more importantly, why. When
the life of the Spirit is abandoned, when Brotherhood is outlawed, when maleness is
vilified and disenfranchised, when fathers are divided from children, cultures
plummet, regressing to gynarchic roots. The olde dragon Tiamat resurrects, and
rules again from the Sea of Chaos.
Over the past four decades, the West has fallen to waste, descending into mass
psychosis and recapitulating the ancient psycho-social conditions of matriarchy --
alternating ecstasy and horror. Like the unevolved primates they are,
transgenerational (non)elites have funded and abetted the oppression of American
men, using neo-matriarchy to crush opposition and dialogue. The imprisonment,
degradation, and neutering of masculinity ensures that American men will not --
cannot -- regain their spiritual heritage and bearings, and rise up in cultural revolt.
Therefore, the ancient initiators and conservators of spirituality have voluntarily
abandoned their hidey-holes, emerging to offer us their hands.
Like all authentic prophecy, Qim Tunes is a living document, in the full, chilling
sense of that phrase. It not only bends time and space, it makes a monkey of them.
As Tom Smith correctly notes, the “validation” is built-in, a quality shared with all
genuine spiritual texts from The Epic of Gilgamesh onward.
And to make all men see what is the fellowship of the mystery, which from the
beginning of the world hath been hid in God, who created all things by Jesus Christ:
To the intent that now unto the principalities and powers in heavenly places might
be known by the church the manifold wisdom of God
(Ephesians 3)
On my first few readings, I was amazed at the ability of the Boys to predict events
seven or eight years into the future, including my own involvement with the Tunes
and arcane aspects of my personal history.
But that’s tater-tots. The revelations contained in Qim Tunes stretch backward into
prehistory, and forward into the coming Kingdom of God. It’s concordances extend
from Qumran to The Urantia Book, from the verse of contemporary autistic prophets
like Jeffrey Powell, Jr., to the Venus of Lascaux, right down to the nub, the genesis
of religion and egoic consciousness in the Stone Age.
In many respects, Qim Tunes parallels the Dead Sea Scrolls. Both are chiefly
eschatological documents addressing not the ancient world, but modern times.
Both document sets concern the inclusion of outcasts/scapegoats, both were
transcribed within “Michaeline communities,” and both involve the destiny of the
Host/Primal Horde.
Perhaps the Tunes are part of the ur-tongue of Creation, the fabled Green
Language.
Author and comparative mythologist William Henry notes:
The Incas called the Bird Language the Court (Core) Language, because diplomats
used it. The Bird Language was used to conceal the hidden (core) meaning of
diplomatic communications from all but those initiates in the inner circle . . .
ancient alchemical texts and mystery teachings, like the diplomatic communications
of the Incas, are sealed to all but those who understand the Bird Language. To
outsiders these texts appear incomprehensible.
Most occult and magical texts (including sculpture, engravings, and petroglyphs),
although employing the Language of Nature, are coded to keep the “zoo animals”
out. Because words and knowledge are power, care is taken to keep the
“uninitiated,” well . . . uninitiated. This is less for the benefit of the “insiders” than
for the protection of the untrained. If that sounds “elitist,” well, it is.
Yet these five autistic men have specifically requested that their esoterica be diced
and fed to the Zoo (us). Elsewise, dear reader, rest assured: I wouldn’t have offered
these speculations, nor recommended the text to another soul.
The bulk of communication between and amongst autistic networks seems to occur
through “tunes” and “tones” -- from “below” and “above,” respectively. These are
hybrid musical and telepathic processes, possibly developed and individuated as
humanity’s first language arose from the collective soup of shared
(maternal/undifferentiated/edenic) consciousness. Male “shamans” (autistics) were
instrumental in advancing humanity from its initial Collective Mind, indivisible from
Nature, to group individuation, and later to egoic personalities. Modern deep-otties
sometimes remain more functional in the archaic Collective Mind mode of (un)
consciousness; the most advanced autistics shift amongst individual, group, and
collective states -- typically sacrificing many sensory/motor/normal functions in the
process.
Modern self-consciousness is so claustrophobic, leadership so corrupt, and
civilization so fractured and toxic, that only the outsiders, the throw-away Kleenex
Men, the “retards,” now know who we were, are, and can be. Their harrowing of
our little corner of Hell is a draught of cruel kindness to bring us around, like Elrond
calling Frodo back to light and life as Sauron’s war-machine hems Rivendell on
every side. Over our chests these Boys kneel, cup their hands, and breathe into
humanity new life, a second innocence.
. . . . And yet Director Baldo figgers they’re dead weight. Tax gobblers! Plagues!
Genetic pathologies!
The evidence I’ve seen suggests instead that “normal folks” are the geno-typical
blunders. Or maybe, as the Boys hint, we’re all somewhat “autistic,” and don’t
know it.
Yet.
But the Qim Tunes Boys didn’t surface for any sympathy concertos. They’re not
interested in patronizing attaboys. They’re here to call out the Tyrants, and to usher
in, Monty Pythonesque, Something Completely Different.
Necessity of survival demands novel alliances, third options, strange new
children. Long hidden, knights of the Queen now ride forth, bearing the First
Father’s crest. The Paraclete flock in a sphere, homing, homing.
Now the politician joins with the saint, the libertine with the ascetic, the
scapegoat with the hero, the fool with the king, the actor with the autistic. Eden
is burning, we are slipping into darkness, and Mr. and Ms. Baldo won’t save our
bacon. They can’t. And deep down, we all damn well know it.
But, But . . . What about the “Heartland”?
Yeah, I know, I know -- retards running the show. Whatta joke. It ain’t gonna
play in Lubbock.
Well, Lubbock is sick as a ptomained dog. Lubbock needs a long, cold meteor
shower, a tongue-lashing of iron, a flash-light endoscopy exposing its inner rot.
By the time these Boys get done, every accusing finger will be lowered, and the
burden will be spread evenly upon each back.
And Lubbock will be naked as a jaybird, just another fat sinner in the shade,
lucky to flee town with its snakeskin boots.
Right now our masters are selling us Total Information Networks, Homeland
Security, the necessity of torture, and Full Metal Lockdown -- while blathering
about how America is the “Land of the Free.”
C’mon, folks. Out-retard that.
We’ve been at the vengeance-game for a long time. Scholar J.J. Bachofen
refers to blood-compensation in the matriarchal period as talion.
The Soncino Zohar alludes to the need for the feminine to relinquish vengeance
in order to effect coniunctio:
In the prayer before the entrance of the Sabbath the Throne of Glory is prepared for
the Holy Heavenly King. And when the Sabbath arrives the Shekinah is in perfect
union with Him and is separated from the "other side", and all the potencies of
severe judgement are severed from Her, She being in closest union with the Holy
Light and crowned with many crowns by the Holy King, and all the principalities of
severity and all the lords of judgement flee from Her, and no other domination
reigns in any of the worlds, and her countenance is illumined by the supernal light,
and she is crowned here below by the Holy People, all of whom are invested with
new souls.
In the kabbalistic schema, which has many similarities with Gnosticism, the
“principalities of severity” and “lords of judgment” refer to the celestial hierarchies
upon the “left side” of the “world tree” (left being the side of “judgment,” and thus
of natural consequence carried out by “functionaries” fulfulling karmic law.)
In one passage in Qim Tunes, “Geof” reveals that the autistic Boys “record
necessary demons.” Elsewhere, Brent confirms that their work ultimately involves
reducing the number and influence of “necessary demons” in the world.
Few of us enjoy dwelling on these “negative” or natural-consequence aspects of
“god.” But without these balances, the planet could not function either materially
or spiritually. Human beings would stagnate. We’d all still be picking grubs out of
logs, and blowdarts out of one another’s butts.
Westerners, and especially American women, are addicted to vengeance. The
brilliant Swiss philologist, historian, and Professor of Roman Law, J.J. Bachofen, in
his regrettably abridged, unknown, and ignored Mutterrecht und Urreligion (Myth,
Religion and Mother Right), presages the modern MommyState:
[T]he origin not only of customs and laws, but also of cities, may be traced bacj to
Demeter. . . [T]here is no part of agricultural life that does not go back to Demeter,
that does not have its foundation in her maternal nature. The religious
consecration of motherhood is the foundation of this whole stage of life . . . at the
festival of Ceres neither father nor son might be named, lest the pure mystery of the
mother might be desecrated by any memory of masculinity, marriage, or father
right. All Demetrian ordinances bear the character of sanctitas. This sanctitas lies
in the inviolability of motherhood, in which the law has its foundation . . . .
[F]ar from precluding warlike bravery, matriarchy vastly encourages it. At all times
chivalry has gone hand in hand with the cult of the woman . . . Every change in the
relations between the sexes is attended by bloody events. One of the main causes
for the rapid triumph of the new [male, solar] god was the extreme Amazonian form
of the old matriarchy and the universal barbarism inseparable from t . . . [the]
sensualization of existence coincides everywhere with the dissolution of political
organization and the decline of political life.
[E]ach tribe has its tyrant. Since . . . there is . . . no such thing as individual
paternity, the whole tribe has only one father, the tyrant... the tyrant derives all his
rights from woman. [T]he justice based on duality must be the law of talion ...
retaliation and retribution are the entire content of such dualist justice . . . but
such justice never brings a solution . . . The justice conceived as duality is an
eternal, never-ending conflict. Murder begets murder and the demon of the race
rages down through the generations until all are destroyed.
[emphases added, excerpts nonconsecutive]
Bachofen, by the way, was no “patriarchal male chauvinist pig.” A lifelong mommy’
s boy, he considered females superior to males, especially in moral and spiritual
senses.
He was (and is) wrong, but his understanding of Neolithic and Paleolithic matriarchy
– which was mostly a psycho-social phenomenon, not a techno-social phenomenon
as in modern times – was astute.
Instead of a tyrant like Saddam Hussein, American matriarchy installs Presidents.
But the differences between, say, Saddam and George Bush (any George Bush!) is
effectively nil – both are gynarchic tyrants. Precisely as in the species’ matriarchal
foundations, the tyrannos that rules through the State encourage us by every
method, and at every opportunity, to seek “justice” through revenge. Our television
programs, movies, and general media also egg us on, appealing particularly to
women, confirming their “natural right” to retribution for offenses imagined or real.
But when individuals or governments seize the functions of karma, God’s will (or
natural law, if you wish) is thwarted, expressly dissed -- and both Earth and Heaven
are thrown into Chaos, into the old Abyss.
Like a Heavenly Hertz, these Boys of Karma now say: “Leave the judging to us.”
They -- not your local magistrate and jury, not Presidents and Congressmen and
Priests, and certainly not the collective will of women, the modern MommyState --
are the heart-readers of humanity.
Hegel was wrong. The State is not the “March of God on Earth,” especially in its
judicial and “correctional” aspects. God is the March of God on Earth – and he ain’t
dead, not quite yet.
Maybe it’s time someone told Miss America that. Don’t hold your breath waiting for
an Executive Order!
Indeed, the State has become the antithesis of God. It has become the devouring,
raging Goddess of our origins, Demeter gone psycho, Hera horribilus, as our
matriarchy deepens, our prisons boom, and masculinity becomes everywhere
demonized and criminalized.
I recall the few semesters I spent in a “Masters of Education” program at a major
American university. The curriculum was absurd -- loaded with circle-jerk, touchy-
feely puffery, which the feminist professors and female students lapped up. One
day we were all directed to write our most cherished quality on a card, hand it to
our neighbor, and gather in a circle to share (tee-hee!). When the cards were
revealed, fully 80 percent of the predominantly female class had written “honesty”
on their cards.
I almost fell over laughing! The very core of our neo-matriarchy is its dishonesty --
its absolute, flaming DENIAL of any and every aspect of reality not advancing its
agendas of “empowerment” -- and here the Girls had made it their summa
characteristic! (By the way, I wrote “courage” on my card.)
The masculine Revolution that must take place in the West, if civilization is to
survive, will be based on revelation. By this I don’t mean merely spiritual
disclosures -- although these will occur. But far more important are the personal
disclosures that the Revolution will bring. We will all then, literally, be wearing our
hearts on our sleeves, and the hypocrisy and deceit that defines the Mommy State --
and especially the self-serving unconsciousness that props up the gynocracy -- will
no longer be possible, either at individual or collective levels.
The Internet is a first-step towards that Truthtelling, a rend in the Lace Curtain.
Qim Tunes is a second step. The Urantia Book put it thus:
All the forces of evil and hosts of sin shall not prevail against this human fraternity
of the divine spirit. This fraternity is the rock on which the Kingdom of Heaven
within is built. (157.4)
This dynamic of disclosure obtains amongst the autistic Brotherhoods. While it is
possible, and even common, to retain “secrets” amongst these groups, it’s not
possible to maintain any important secrets. LOL!!
Social psychologists and “educators” have been fluttering about the “remarkable”
rise in autism over the past few decades. Well, snug up the seatbelts, buckos,
‘cause you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. We’re all about to get a personalized dose of
autisman.
Once their medicine is in the System, they who lie, die.
De-fanging Momus Reptilicus: Every Day is MayDay
In Vamps and Tramps, Hurricane Camille Paglia squinted at modern American
culture and squaked:
[M]asculinity is in crisis . . . maternal consciousness has become a psychotic system.
She means the MommyState. She means WomanChurch. She means the
Empowered Witch and her Toxic King, and she ain’t just woofin’.
Back to McKenna:
When my brother looked over the edge in the Amazon and felt the dizziness of
things unsaid in March of 1971, he came back with two words bursting from his lips,
"May Day! May Day!" -- the pilot’s call of emergency.
May Day is indeed the distress cry of the downward corkscrewing pilot -- and of the
overwhelmed psychonaut, staggering backward, shielding his face, jabbering
prophecy of the Foul Flood sliming the land.
Forty years of sewer water, of propaganda, poured out upon the nation.
But May Day also has an elder tradition. Way back when I was young, our
elementary school still celebrated it traditionally -- with girls dancing in spirals,
wrapping ribbons around trees.
The May Pole Dance is an ancient ritual, spanning cultures and eons. Bachofen,
Briffault, Frazer and Erich Neumann would have recognized its inner intent
immediately. The May Pole represents tree/cross of space-time upon which boys
and men were sacrificed in pre-patriarchal and pseudo-patriarchal social systems
(like ours).
May Day was the traditional day of “natural” forfeiture -- a bloodbath of maleness,
“owed” to the Earth Mother. The rites were intended to support and placate the
“bountiful and wrathful goddess” -- i.e., the dual aspects of collective femininity,
nurture and violence. Much later, modern Western cultures observed the day
highly sublimated, as an unconscious gesture of appreciation for that perennial
theme of masculinity -- sacrifice to, and for, the feminine.
It is grave error to imagine that ritual sacrifice has disappeared in our modern,
“rational” cultures of the West. But that is too long -- and dark -- a story to tell in
full here.
Dennis McKenna’s cry in 1971 of “May Day!” trumpeted that the oceanic primitivism
of the Paleolithic was again upon us, a chthonic deluge of Leviathan, Babylon
reborn, regression to blood-debt under Mother Right, when women were women,
and men were boys.
In the succeeding three decades, maleness and masculinity suffered a silent
holocaust, with the American and Western psyche backsliding to vengeful,
authoritarian, tyrannical neo-matriarchy.
May Day indeed! -- thirty years of feminist rage, entitlement and “empowerment,”
aided and abetted by weak, status-seeking, power-besotted male “leaders.”
Like Philip Dick’s contention that the Roman Empire never ended, America and
the West have proven that matriarchy simply puts on a new dress every few
centuries. WomanChurch never went out of style or power. Nor has the
feminine learned -- lo these gory millennia later -- that what is Best for Woman is
not always best for all.
In the end, it’s not even best for woman. There aren’t any lifeboats on this Ship,
and if it sinks, everybody goes down. Women and children included.
Such lessons are the function of spirituality. Penetrating Womanchurch is why
masculinity, individuated consciousness, paternity, and spirituo-religious
systems were invented.
By retards, no less!
Thirty years after Dennis McKenna’s 9-1-1 Mayday call, the Towers of the West
fell, destroyed not by crazed Muslims, but by the rot of our own collective greed,
laziness, and unrighteousness.
Meanwhile a dark queen of revenge, Tia Negrita, ascended the throne of the
Land of Liberty, backed by the self-righteous coercions of her State, conning us
with the eternal bleat: “It’s For the Children.”
Since femaleness suffuses the created world, the pure male is cast out. He has no
right to life.
Camille Paglia, Sexual Personae
That’s what’s written atop the May Pole – long before the Romans practiced
crucifixion.
Authentic maleness is always verboten in the Motherland . . . er, Homeland --
tossed out, starved, caged, raped, beaten, mocked, and executed en masse -- all
with proper certificates, tribunals, and signatures, to be sure.
Outcast from the matrifocal/matrilocal kinship lock the feminine held on
existence for eons, these autistic Boys figured out a long time ago that their
survival -- and the evolution of the species -- depended upon the invention and
maintenance of non-verbal networks, reliant upon secrecy and absolute trust.
They are the shamans whose mind-shaping chants rang around Paleolithic caves
and henge caverns, daubing ochre on walls, learning by trial-and-error the
pathways of the underworld, and the passage of the stars. They are the
innovators, architects, and guardians of civilization. They are the cherub staying
Abraham’s hand, dividers of Pharaoh’s blood-sea, flametongue of holy spirit,
paters in the desert -- the cloud that went, and goes still, before and behind
“Israel.”
They are the bolts crackling in the Father’s hand, and the shiver hidden in
melody.
In spiritus of brotherhood, they have recapitulated their ontogeny and our
phylogeny, cracked the cosmic egg again, and stepped out -- well, stumbled out
-- from the shadows of “idiocy” and mystical fraternity. And like all worthy
messengers, these Boys have the incorrect manners to tell us exactly what we
don’t want to hear.
These Boys blare what we deny: masculinity in the West is a corpse.
3 Isaiah prophesies succinctly:
As for my people, children are their oppressors, and women
rule over them. O my people, they which lead thee cause thee
to err, and destroy the way of thy paths. The LORD standeth up to plead, and
standeth to judge the people. The LORD will enter into judgment with the ancients
of his people, and the princes thereof.
Isaiah predicts a revolutionary revival of masculinity stemming directly from the
“LORD” -- a standing-up to our feminist nations, a speaking of truth to the people, a
judgment upon the oppressors and destroyers of masculinity.
“Princes,” to prophets like Daniel and Isaiah, meant the angelic Host, the Primal
Horde -- the sons of God, the “sovereigns over the nations,” as when the angel
speaks to Daniel about being delayed while “contending” with the “prince of the
Persian Kingdom” -- the Gnostic archons, the Pauline “principalities and powers”
acting behind the temporal throne of ancient Persia.
Freelance writer Alessandra Eakin, in a piece (amazingly!) published in the Atlanta
Constitution-Journal on 12/30/02, ends her tirade thus:
Simply put, women have run amok. Men are losing their ground as they
endure blatant abuse by women day after day, decade after decade. Men are
wonderful beings, worthy of much praise and appreciation. I am
ready for the Man Movement to begin. Somebody please, stop these
women before they ruin our lives. I need a man to save me from the
wreckage of stupid women.
Judging by the narrative in Qim Tunes, I think Alessandra’s prayer was heard.
Before she’d even offered it!
QIM Tunes amplifies the muffled cries of an embryonic and planetary Son,
struggling for air, for life, for voice, for a song of nativity. For forty years he has
been battling to survive in an increasingly totalitarian, matriarchal culture and
State, and has been suppressed and silenced by the alliance between right-wing
Money Boys and left-wing Feminists, who choke the song of liberty in his throat.
Thus again comes war to Heaven and Earth, and at stake is the direction and
character of the third millennium. At stake is the existence of the human soul.
There is nothing philosophical or abstract about this war. It’s as real as smothered
babies, polluted skies, prison rape, scapegoats, group entitlement, and folks leaping
from burning Towers.
It is Ur-War, the ancestor of all wars, and though many banners are gathering, it is
fought amidst the very bedrock of duality in human beings, the gender dyas. But as
Paglia and Eakin illustrate above, that does not mean a death-struggle between
women and men -- for many women march in the ranks of righteousness, and many
men serve the Beast.
The true “Axis of Evil” is in our own homeland and living rooms.
Over the past three decades, these forces have carefully consolidated power,
always under the unassailable covers of “security” and “protection” – flag,
children, or most recently, “the Homeland.”
The sinners in Zion are afraid; fearfulness hath surprised the hypocrites. Who
among us shall dwell with the devouring fire? who among us shall dwell with
everlasting burnings?
He that walketh righteously, and speaketh uprightly; he that despiseth the gain of
oppressions, that shaketh his hands from holding of bribes, that stoppeth his ears
from hearing of blood, and shutteth his eyes from seeing evil;
He shall dwell on high: his place of defence shall be the munitions of rocks: bread
shall be given him; his waters shall be sure.
Thine eyes shall see the king in his beauty: they shall behold the land that is very
far off.
Thine heart shall meditate terror. Where is the scribe? where is the receiver?
where is he that counted the towers?
Thou shalt not see a fierce people, a people of a deeper speech than thou canst
perceive; of a stammering tongue, that thou canst not understand.
Look upon Zion, the city of our solemnities: thine eyes shall see Jerusalem a quiet
habitation, a tabernacle that shall not be taken down; not one of the stakes thereof
shall ever be removed, neither shall any of the cords thereof be broken.
But there the glorious LORD will be unto us a place of broad rivers and streams;
wherein shall go no galley with oars, neither shall gallant ship pass thereby.
For the LORD is our judge, the LORD is our lawgiver, the LORD is our king; he will
save us.
Thy tacklings are loosed; they could not well strengthen their mast, they could not
spread the sail: then is the prey of a great spoil divided; the lame take the prey.
And the inhabitant shall not say, I am sick: the people that dwell therein shall be
forgiven their iniquity.
Isaiah 33, 14-24
When confronted by the powerful, rising spiritus of radical sixties males -- a New
Adam eyeing freedom across all fronts, and Nobody’s Boy No Mo’ – many men of the
“Greatest Generation” sold their own sons down the river.
Mancages boomed. Torture of prisoners, foreign or national, was given the wink-
and-nod. Manpiles of prisoners, presided over by gloating young women, appeared
on our television and computer screens. Masculinity was forced into a permanent,
second-class caste. American gutters and graveyards filled with males. Our
“leaders” delivered us into the hands of a raving, raging Witch, and thereby clung
to power, allowed to reign as front-men, toadies -- flying monkeys, half-human
palace guards.
These are the Powers that oppress us still, by iron fist and cage, by illegal law, by
jackboot and lie and billyclub. They captured the culture by appealing to what is
most regressive and demonic in us -- our thirst for security, wealth, comfort, and
vengeance: liberty and justice be damned.
They sold American women the fantasy of Perfect Protection, of Everlasting
Security, without even a shred of self-responsibility. And many American women,
acting upon their basest urges, under the self-deception of “liberation,” bought the
snake’s oil.
Now in our Egypt and our Babylon, in our last captivity under that Olde Dragon
Belial, deliverance arises from sources most unlikely -- from caged birds of kinship,
from warriors of the sacred heart, extending hope and redemption to us through the
outreach of Facilitated Communication.
Not that the War on Men is our only problem. But it is the problem that re-opened
the primal human wound. When that War ends, the wound will close, and heal.
The Backdoor to the Temple
Anyway, that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it until I hear different. Pitted against
the Powers of Earth and their overwhelming might is a ragtag band of drooling
retards in wheelchairs.
Yawn.
Suuuure, dude. Retards in wheelchairs are gonna save us!
Right. Uh, put down that crack pipe, and back away slowly.
Agreed. It looks like just another massacre of the innocent, another shuck on
Maggie’s Farm, another trip up Calvary Hill while the citizenry cheer Barabbas. It
has all the makings of a forty-point blowout, the kind of marked-card slaughter for
which history -- and lately, America -- are justifiably infamous.
We shall see.
Read on. Crank these Tunes up on your Inner Amp. Let them bounce around your
conscience a while.
Many will not hear them. Many can’t. But you just might.
And if you do -- then tell me I lie. I dare you.
We are already in Hell, folks. It’s what the ancients of the West -- those useless
“dead white males” -- called Tartarus. It’s the Realm of the Mothers, and the
primordial Ban-Shees are running the asylum, Nurse Ratched jangling the keys.
Terence McKenna was right: the prelude to transformation is collective psychosis.
And friends, we are living smack dab in the middle of Madtown.
Run for cover with Director Baldo – if you think you can.
Live in denial -- if you wish.
I’m throwing in with the retards.
