THE ALLEGED O GLOBO INTERVIEW WITH PROPHET STROKE DEMON CAPO MAGNATE MARCOLA FROM THE PPC (FIRST COMMAND OF THE CAPITAL) - BRAZIL
“Are you of the PCC?
More than this, I am a sign of these times. I am poor and invisible. You have never looked at me for decades and formerly it was easy to solve the problem of misery. The diagnosis was obvious; rural migration, unbalanced rent, few slums, discrete peripheries; the solution would never come up… What did they do?, nothing. Some time did the Federal Government reserve certain budget for us? We were news only in case of slums collapsed in the mountains or of romantic music about “beauty of those mountains at dawn”, things like that… Now we are rich with the multinational of the drug. And you are dying of fear. We are the late beginning of your social conscience. Did you see? I am a learned person. I read Dante Alighieri in prison…
But the solution would be…
Is there a solution? No solution, brother. Even the idea of a “solution” is a mistake. Did you see the size of those 560 slums in Rio? Did you go in helicopter over the periphery of Sao Paulo? A solution, how? A solution could only be with many millions of dollars spent in an organized way, with a ruler of high level, economic growth, revolution in education, general urbanization, and all should be under the direction of an “illustrious tyranny” that could jump over the secular bureaucratic paralysis and over the accomplice Legislative Power. Or do you believe that bloodsuckers ( sanguessugas ) are not going to act? I you get careless they are going to rob even the PCC. And over the Judicial Power that impedes punishments. It should there be a radical reformation of the penal procedure of the country, it should there be communication and intelligence between municipal, provincial and federal police (we make even “conference calls” among convicts…). And all this would cost billions of dollars and imply a deep psychosocial change in the political structure of the country. That is to say, it is impossible. There is no solution.
Don't you fear to die?
It is you who fear to die, not we. Or rather, here you cannot enter prison and kill me, but I can send people to kill you over there outside. We are men-bombs. There are one hundred thousand men-bombs. We are in the center of what is beyond solution. You are between good and evil and, in the middle, the boundary of death, the only boundary. We are already a new “species”; we are already bugs; we are different from you. Death is to you a Christian drama in a bed by heart attack. Dead is to us daily food, thrown to a common grave. Don't you intellectuals speak of class war, of being marginal or of being heroes? Then, it is we who arrive! Ha-ha, haw-haw!… I read a lot; I have read three thousand books; and I read Dante Alighieri, but my soldiers are strange anomalies in the distorted development of this country. No more proletarians or unhappy or exploited individuals. There is a third thing growing over there outside, cultivated in the mud, educated on the most absolute illiteracy, graduated in prisons, like a monster Alien hidden in corners of the city. A new language has emerged. Don't you listen at recordings made “with license” from justice? It is this. It is other lingo. It is in front of some kind of post-misery. It is that. This post-misery begets a new murderous culture assisted by technology, satellites, cellular telephones, Internet and modern weapons. It is shit with chips and megabytes. My commands are a mutation of the social species. They are mushrooms of a big dirty mistake.
What has changed in peripheries?
“Dough”. Now we have it. Do you think that he who has 40 million dollars, like Beira Mar, does not give orders? A prison becomes a hotel or an office if you have 40 million dollars available… What police will burn that gold-mine? Do you understand? We are a modern and wealthy company. If the official hesitates, he is fired and “put in the microwave oven”. You are the bankrupt state overpowered by incompetent people. We have agile management methods. You are slow and bureaucratic. We fight in our own field. You fight in a strange land. We do not fear death. You die of fear. We are well armed. You have caliber 38. We are at the attack. We are cruel and merciless. You have transformed us into “super-stars” of the crime. You are own clowns. We are assisted by the population of slums, for fear or for love. You are hated. You are regional, provincial. Our weapons and products come from outside and are “global”. We do not forget you; you are our “clients”. You forget us once violence produced by us is over.
But, what must we do?
I'll give you an idea, although it is against me. Catch the “lords of the white powder” (cocaine)! There are deputies, senators, generals, even former presidents of Paraguay in the traffic of cocaine and weapons. But, who is going to do so?, the army, with what money? They have no money even to feed recruits. The country is bankrupt sustaining a dead state with interest of 20 % a year, and Lula still increases public expenses by giving employment to forty thousand scoundrels. Shall the army fight the PCC? I am reading Klausewitz' “On War”. No perspective of success. We are like devouring ants hidden in corners. We have antitank missiles. If they bother, some Stinger shall go out: this will be the end of us… only with an atomic bomb on the slums. Did you think of it? A radioactive Ipanema?
You can get some success if you give up defending the “normality”. There is no normality. You need to make self-criticism of your own incompetence. But you have to be honest seriously as for moral. We all are in the center of what is beyond solution. The point is that we only live within it and you have no exit. You have only shit. And we are already working within it. You must understand me, brother: there is no solution. Do you know why?: because you neither understand the extension of the problem. As the divine Dante Alighieri wrote: “Lose every hope. We all are in hell”.
Sunday, 1 December 2013
Wednesday, 17 July 2013
Wednesday, 26 June 2013
Tuesday, 25 June 2013
We are told that the United Nations (UN) is an international organization that aims to facilitate co-operation through social progress, economic development, international security and international law. They promote themselves, and are outwardly promoted as a reputable body that deals with peace, security, development, human rights and humanitarian affairs. With this being the case it’s no surprise to see the UN at the forefront of all international conflict and instability, since these exact events give them the ideal atmosphere to promote themselves as bringers of all that I previously mentioned. Throughout history, authoritative figures have always tried to paint a perception of themselves in hopes of influencing and brainwashing the masses into a desired agenda.
By promoting themselves, I am referring to the UN’s use of mainstream media networks, like CNN. CNN is owned by Time Warner (1), which is owned by JP Morgan Chase and Company and Dodge & Cox Inc, to name a few (2). It also has a select group of direct holders, like Jeffrey L. Bewkes. Mr. Bewkes sits in the head office of Time Warner’s two towers built in 2001 -buildings purposely built to resemble the once standing World Trade Centers of New York City. Bewkes is also a member of The Council on Foreign Relations (CFR) (3),which is headed and funded by the Rothschild and Rockefeller families (4)(5). In fact a large majority of mainstream media network owners are all members of the CFR, as well as the trilateral commission. Another example of this is Richard D. Parsons. who served as Time Warner’s Chairman of the Board from May 2003 to January 2009. Currently Mr. Parsons is a member of the Board of Trustees and is a Senior Advisor to the Rockefeller Foundation(6). I could even go on to look at Frank J. Caufield, another major direct holder of Time Warner Corp, who is also a member of the CFR(7). Let me remind you again, that CNN is owned by Time Warner Corp, which is owned by a number of individuals and corporations that are run by a few families. These families hide behind the corporations they run, using the employees and politicians they hire to do their dirty work. Why we continue to hand our perception of what is happening on the planet to a select few who show no regard for the human race is beyond me. As a child, I did not understand how a human being could have such negative intentions, and create so much conflict through the use of trickery. To this day I still believe that a human being cannot do what these “governing bodies” and multinational corporations do. Whether or not it holds the same effect on you, I hope the connections above at least raise an eyebrow for you.
There is no need for me to point out the JP Morgan (major institutional holder of Time Warner)/ Rockefeller connections, which also played a big role in the creation of the Federal Reserve System in 1912. So what does all this have to do with the United Nations? Well, the same ones that own all of our mainstream media networks, also own, run and created the United Nations. The owners of the United Nations use their media networks to influence the perception of billions of people. Not many people know that our mainstream media networks are owned by less than 5 multinational corporations, and all of these corporations have ties to the Rothschild and Rockefeller families. If you dive in even further, all of the same corporations are directly related to suppressing clean energy technologies, like General Electric. You can find out more about free energy suppression here. More ties can be made in the food and medical industries as well. Our planet is owned by a small group of families and the corporations they run, this is no longer a secret, no longer a conspiracy theory. It’s becoming evident that these “people” do not have our best intentions at hand.
League of Nations/Treaty of Versailles
The forerunner to the United Nations, was the league of Nations. It was created under the treaty of versailles in 1919 (8)(14). Many believe the idea of the UN’s creation was due to the second world war, it wasn’t. A plan for global control through a well disguised body of peace started long before 1945. The League of Nations was an intergovernmental organization created at the Paris peace conference that ended the First World War. Development of international organizations due to conflict is a way of trickery. The UN was created in 1945 as a result of World War 2. Anytime there is global conflict, something is created out of that conflict, to give the illusion that whatever is created out of that conflict is a direct solution to that conflict. Have you ever thought that the ones who created the conflict, are doing so in order to propose the solution? What a scam that would be, wouldn’t it? What a trick, using and controlling our will. Handing our will over to those who look to take advantage of us, to those that are not in service to others, but to themselves. The League of Nations was created by the Rockefeller Family, they were responsible for funding the entire operation(9). At the same time, the International Labour Organization was developed, which is and was heavily funded by the Rockefeller and Rothschild families(10). It is clear that the Rockefeller and Rothschild families both created the United Nations, without them the development of this global organization would not be possible.
The Same Groups That Funded Nazi Germany Created The United Nations? Both Sides of the War Were Funded by the Same Group?
A key question we must ask ourselves when it comes to international global governing bodies is, who is in charge? Who is making the decisions? What connections can be made between the United Nations and the other major governing bodies of planet Earth? How often do we ask these questions? And how often do we make the connections? If the United Nations was created for peace and stability in conflicting War time, why would the same parties fund both sides of the war? Was it just for profit, or did they want to create War, to create government bodies that would control our entire planet? The United Nations has branched off into the World Health Organization, which has other branched within it like Codex Alimentarius and the Food and Drug Administration.
I’m talking about Paul M. Warburg, a German-born banker, who was an appointed member of the Federal Reserve System, on the board of governors(11). Isn’t the Federal Reserve a United States entity? He was heavily involved with the creation of the Federal Reserve, and his family was heavily involved with I.G Farben. I.G Farben was the largest chemical company in the world during its time, and one of the largest industrial booms next to the Rockefeller’s Standard Oil Company, and General Motors. I.G Farben was responsible for numerous war crimes, supplying the Nazis with weapons and even funding the Nazi party(12)(13). Why would the federal reserve system and the Rockefeller’s be involved with I.G Farben? Isn’t the federal reserve an American entity? Did they not fund the United States as well? Paul Warburg and his family were involved with the creation of the Federal Reserve, the Warburg family headed I.G Farben, a company that supported the Nazi movement. So what is going on here? There is a lot of evidence to show that both sides of World War II were funded by the same people, so I think a “fast one” has been pulled over our eyes. The Federal Reserve is still in tight with the Warburg family, as they have transformed themselves into several multinational corporations and financial institutions, like Warburg Pincus(15)(16).
It’s no secret that the Bush family also heavily profited from the war. Did you know that the Bush family also had members connected to the federal reserve, and that the Bush family is also very close to the Rockefeller family?(17). It’s not a secret that the presidency has always been connected to the Federal Reserve. Prescott Bush even worked for the Nazis, he worked with and profited from companies that were funding Hitler. With all of these connections, it is easy to see how the real founders of the United Nations (if you follow the money) were connected to many inhumane acts. So what makes you think it has stopped today? What if the United Nations give you the illusion of a peace making body, in order to drive chaos, fear, and to fulfill an agenda that started long before we were all born? How can the UN protect us against mining corporations for example, that commit atrocities all over the world, when the same ones who created the UN own all of the major mining corps, like the Rockefeller Hughes Corporation(18). I’ve provided sources for all of my claims, at the same time I like to leave a few out to inspire the readers to do some research. Feel free to look into the Bush connections yourself! Keep in mind, I’ve used only a few examples and connections in this article, there is a tremendous amount that you can make on your own if you are sparked to further your research.
Thursday, 20 June 2013
CHAOS NEVER DIED. Primordial uncarved block, sole worshipful monster, inert & spontaneous, more ultraviolet than any mythology (like the shadows before Babylon), the original undifferentiated oneness-of-being still radiates serene as the black pennants of Assassins, random & perpetually intoxicated.
Chaos comes before all principles of order & entropy, it's neither a god nor a maggot, its idiotic desires encompass & define every possible choreography, all meaningless aethers & phlogistons: its masks are crystallizations of its own facelessness, like clouds.
Everything in nature is perfectly real including consciousness, there's absolutely nothing to worry about. Not only have the chains of the Law been broken, they never existed; demons never guarded the stars, the Empire never got started, Eros never grew a beard.
No, listen, what happened was this: they lied to you, sold you ideas of good & evil, gave you distrust of your body & shame for your prophethood of chaos, invented words of disgust for your molecular love, mesmerized you with inattention, bored you with civilization & all its usurious emotions.
There is no becoming, no revolution, no struggle, no path; already you're the monarch of your own skin--your inviolable freedom waits to be completed only by the love of other monarchs: a politics of dream, urgent as the blueness of sky.
To shed all the illusory rights & hesitations of history demands the economy of some legendary Stone Age--shamans not priests, bards not lords, hunters not police, gatherers of paleolithic laziness, gentle as blood, going naked for a sign or painted as birds, poised on the wave of explicit presence, the clockless nowever.
Agents of chaos cast burning glances at anything or anyone capable of bearing witness to their condition, their fever of lux et voluptas. I am awake only in what I love & desire to the point of terror--everything else is just shrouded furniture, quotidian anaesthesia, shit-for-brains, sub-reptilian ennui of totalitarian regimes, banal censorship & useless pain.
Avatars of chaos act as spies, saboteurs, criminals of amour fou, neither selfless nor selfish, accessible as children, mannered as barbarians, chafed with obsessions, unemployed, sensually deranged, wolfangels, mirrors for contemplation, eyes like flowers, pirates of all signs & meanings.
Here we are crawling the cracks between walls of church state school & factory, all the paranoid monoliths. Cut off from the tribe by feral nostalgia we tunnel after lost words, imaginary bombs.
The last possible deed is that which defines perception itself, an invisible golden cord that connects us: illegal dancing in the courthouse corridors. If I were to kiss you here they'd call it an act of terrorism--so let's take our pistols to bed & wake up the city at midnight like drunken bandits celebrating with a fusillade, the message of the taste of chaos.
WEIRD DANCING IN ALL-NIGHT computer-banking lobbies. Unauthorized pyrotechnic displays. Land-art, earth-works as bizarre alien artifacts strewn in State Parks. Burglarize houses but instead of stealing, leave Poetic-Terrorist objects. Kidnap someone & make them happy. Pick someone at random & convince them they're the heir to an enormous, useless & amazing fortune--say 5000 square miles of Antarctica, or an aging circus elephant, or an orphanage in Bombay, or a collection of alchemical mss. Later they will come to realize that for a few moments they believed in something extraordinary, & will perhaps be driven as a result to seek out some more intense mode of existence.
Bolt up brass commemorative plaques in places (public or private) where you have experienced a revelation or had a particularly fulfilling sexual experience, etc.
Go naked for a sign.
Organize a strike in your school or workplace on the grounds that it does not satisfy your need for indolence & spiritual beauty.
Grafitti-art loaned some grace to ugly subways & rigid public momuments--PT-art can also be created for public places: poems scrawled in courthouse lavatories, small fetishes abandoned in parks & restaurants, xerox-art under windshield-wipers of parked cars, Big Character Slogans pasted on playground walls, anonymous letters mailed to random or chosen recipients (mail fraud), pirate radio transmissions, wet cement...
The audience reaction or aesthetic-shock produced by PT ought to be at least as strong as the emotion of terror-- powerful disgust, sexual arousal, superstitious awe, sudden intuitive breakthrough, dada-esque angst--no matter whether the PT is aimed at one person or many, no matter whether it is "signed" or anonymous, if it does not change someone's life (aside from the artist) it fails.
PT is an act in a Theater of Cruelty which has no stage, no rows of seats, no tickets & no walls. In order to work at all, PT must categorically be divorced from all conventional structures for art consumption (galleries, publications, media). Even the guerilla Situationist tactics of street theater are perhaps too well known & expected now.
An exquisite seduction carried out not only in the cause of mutual satisfaction but also as a conscious act in a deliberately beautiful life--may be the ultimate PT. The PTerrorist behaves like a confidence-trickster whose aim is not money but CHANGE.
Don't do PT for other artists, do it for people who will not realize (at least for a few moments) that what you have done is art. Avoid recognizable art-categories, avoid politics, don't stick around to argue, don't be sentimental; be ruthless, take risks, vandalize only what must be defaced, do something children will remember all their lives--but don't be spontaneous unless the PT Muse has possessed you.
Dress up. Leave a false name. Be legendary. The best PT is against the law, but don't get caught. Art as crime; crime as art.
AMOUR FOU IS NOT a Social Democracy, it is not a Parliament of Two. The minutes of its secret meetings deal with meanings too enormous but too precise for prose. Not this, not that--its Book of Emblems trembles in your hand.
Naturally it shits on schoolmasters & police, but it sneers at liberationists & ideologues as well--it is not a clean well-lit room. A topological charlatan laid out its corridors & abandoned parks, its ambush-decor of luminous black & membranous maniacal red.
Each of us owns half the map--like two renaissance potentates we define a new culture with our anathematized mingling of bodies, merging of liquids--the Imaginal seams of our City-state blur in our sweat.
Ontological anarchism never came back from its last fishing trip. So long as no one squeals to the FBI, CHAOS cares nothing for the future of civilization. Amour fou breeds only by accident--its primary goal is ingestion of the Galaxy. A conspiracy of transmutation.
Its only concern for the Family lies in the possibility of incest ("Grow your own!" "Every human a Pharoah!")--O most sincere of readers, my semblance, my brother/sister!--& in the masturbation of a child it finds concealed (like a japanese-paper-flower-pill) the image of the crumbling of the State.
Words belong to those who use them only till someone else steals them back. The Surrealists disgraced themselves by selling amour fou to the ghost-machine of Abstraction--they sought in their unconsciousness only power over others, & in this they followed de Sade (who wanted "freedom" only for grown-up whitemen to eviscerate women & children).
Amour fou is saturated with its own aesthetic, it fills itself to the borders of itself with the trajectories of its own gestures, it runs on angels' clocks, it is not a fit fate for commissars & shopkeepers. Its ego evaporates in the mutability of desire, its communal spirit withers in the selfishness of obsession.
Amour fou involves non-ordinary sexuality the way sorcery demands non-ordinary consciousness. The anglo-saxon post- Protestant world channels all its suppressed sensuality into advertising & splits itself into clashing mobs: hysterical prudes vs promiscuous clones & former-ex-singles. AF doesn't want to join anyone's army, it takes no part in the Gender Wars, it is bored by equal opportunity employment (in fact it refuses to work for a living), it doesn't complain, doesn't explain, never votes & never pays taxes.
AF would like to see every bastard ("lovechild") come to term & birthed--AF thrives on anti-entropic devices--AF loves to be molested by children--AF is better than prayer, better than sinsemilla--AF takes its own palmtrees & moon wherever it goes. AF admires tropicalismo, sabotage, break- dancing, Layla & Majnun, the smells of gunpowder & sperm.
AF is always illegal, whether it's disguised as a marriage or a boyscout troop--always drunk, whether on the wine of its own secretions or the smoke of its own polymorphous virtues. It is not the derangement of the senses but rather their apotheosis--not the result of freedom but rather its precondition. Lux et voluptas.
THE FULL MOON'S UNFATHOMABLE light-path--mid-May midnight in some State that starts with "I," so two-dimensional it can scarcely be said to possess any geography at all--the beams so urgent & tangible you must draw the shades in order to think in words.
No question of writing to Wild Children. They think in images--prose is for them a code not yet fully digested & ossified, just as for us never fully trusted.
You may write about them, so that others who have lost the silver chain may follow. Or write for them, making of STORY & EMBLEM a process of seduction into your own paleolithic memories, a barbaric enticement to liberty (chaos as CHAOS understands it).
For this otherworld species or "third sex," les enfants sauvages, fancy & Imagination are still undifferentiated. Unbridled PLAY: at one & the same time the source of our Art & of all the race's rarest eros.
To embrace disorder both as wellspring of style & voluptuous storehouse, a fundamental of our alien & occult civilization, our conspiratorial esthetic, our lunatic espionage--this is the action (let's face it) either of an artist of some sort, or of a ten- or thirteen-year-old.
Children whose clarified senses betray them into a brilliant sorcery of beautiful pleasure reflect something feral & smutty in the nature of reality itself: natural ontological anarchists, angels of chaos--their gestures & body odors broadcast around them a jungle of presence, a forest of prescience complete with snakes, ninja weapons, turtles, futuristic shamanism, incredible mess, piss, ghosts, sunlight, jerking off, birds' nests & eggs--gleeful aggression against the groan-ups of those Lower Planes so powerless to englobe either destructive epiphanies or creation in the form of antics fragile but sharp enough to slice moonlight.
And yet the denizens of these inferior jerkwater dimensions truly believe they control the destinies of Wild Children--& down here, such vicious beliefs actually sculpt most of the substance of happenstance.
The only ones who actually wish to share the mischievous destiny of those savage runaways or minor guerillas rather than dictate it, the only ones who can understand that cherishing & unleashing are the same act--these are mostly artists, anarchists, perverts, heretics, a band apart (as much from each other as from the world) or able to meet only as wild children might, locking gazes across a dinnertable while adults gibber from behind their masks.
Too young for Harley choppers--flunk-outs, break-dancers, scarcely pubescent poets of flat lost railroad towns--a million sparks falling from the skyrockets of Rimbaud & Mowgli--slender terrorists whose gaudy bombs are compacted of polymorphous love & the precious shards of popular culture--punk gunslingers dreaming of piercing their ears, animist bicyclists gliding in the pewter dusk through Welfare streets of accidental flowers--out-of-season gypsy skinny-dippers, smiling sideways-glancing thieves of power- totems, small change & panther-bladed knives--we sense them everywhere--we publish this offer to trade the corruption of our own lux et gaudium for their perfect gentle filth.
So get this: our realization, our liberation depends on theirs--not because we ape the Family, those "misers of love" who hold hostages for a banal future, nor the State which schools us all to sink beneath the event-horizon of a tedious "usefulness"--no--but because we & they, the wild ones, are images of each other, linked & bordered by that silver chain which defines the pale of sensuality, transgression & vision.
We share the same enemies & our means of triumphant escape are also the same: a delirious & obsessive play, powered by the spectral brilliance of the wolves & their children.
CONSTELLATIONS BY WHICH TO steer the barque of the soul. "If the moslem understood Islam he would become an idol- worshipper."--Mahmud Shabestari Eleggua, ugly opener of doors with a hook in his head & cowrie shells for eyes, black santeria cigar & glass of rum- -same as Ganesh, elephant-head fat boy of Beginnings who rides a mouse. The organ which senses the numinous atrophies with the senses. Those who cannot feel baraka cannot know the caress of the world.
Hermes Poimandres taught the animation of eidolons, the magic in-dwelling of icons by spirits--but those who cannot perform this rite on themselves & on the whole palpable fabric of material being will inherit only blues, rubbish, decay.
The pagan body becomes a Court of Angels who all perceive this place--this very grove--as paradise ("If there is a paradise, surely it is here!"--inscription on a Mughal garden gate)..
But ontological anarchism is too paleolithic for eschatology- -things are real, sorcery works, bush-spirits one with the Imagination, death an unpleasant vagueness--the plot of Ovid's Metamorphoses--an epic of mutability. The personal mythscape.
Paganism has not yet invented laws--only virtues. No priestcraft, no theology or metaphysics or morality--but a universal shamanism in which no one attains real humanity without a vision.
Food money sex sleep sun sand & sinsemilla--love truth peace freedom & justice. Beauty. Dionysus the drunk boy on a panther--rank adolescent sweat--Pan goatman slogs through the solid earth up to his waist as if it were the sea, his skin crusted with moss & lichen--Eros multiplies himself into a dozen pastoral naked Iowa farm boys with muddy feet & pond-scum on their thighs.
Raven, the potlatch trickster, sometimes a boy, old woman, bird who stole the Moon, pine needles floating on a pond, Heckle/Jeckle totempole-head, chorus-line of crows with silver eyes dancing on the woodpile--same as Semar the hunchback albino hermaphrodite shadow-puppet patron of the Javanese revolution.
Yemaya, bluestar sea-goddess & patroness of queers--same as Tara, bluegrey aspect of Kali, necklace of skulls, dancing on Shiva's stiff lingam, licking monsoon clouds with her yard-long tongue--same as Loro Kidul, jasper-green Javanese sea-goddess who bestows the power of invulnerability on sultans by tantrik intercourse in magic towers & caves.
>From one point of view ontological anarchism is extremely bare, stripped of all qualities & possessions, poor as CHAOS itself--but from another point of view it pullulates with baroqueness like the Fucking-Temples of Kathmandu or an alchemical emblem book--it sprawls on its divan eating loukoum & entertaining heretical notions, one hand inside its baggy trousers.
The hulls of its pirate ships are lacquered black, the lateen sails are red, black banners with the device of a winged hourglass.
A South China Sea of the mind, off a jungle-flat coast of palms, rotten gold temples to unknown bestiary gods, island after island, the breeze like wet yellow silk on naked skin, navigating by pantheistic stars, hierophany on hierophany, light upon light against the luminous & chaotic dark.
Friday, 26 April 2013
Wednesday, 17 April 2013
Sunday, 17 February 2013
INCENDIARY 1996 SAN JOSE MERCURY NEWS EXPOSÉ
LARGELY IGNORED BY ALL MAJOR NEWSPAPERS. THE WRITER WAS PUBLICLY RIDICULED, PERHAPS LEADING TO HIS SUICIDE IN 2004. HOWEVER MANY OF THE ASSERTIONS STILL HOLD TRUTH:
In order to fund Contra rebels fighting Nicaragua's socialist government, the CIA partnered with Colombian cartels to move drugs into Los Angeles, sending profits back to Central America.
Some assert that these connections still run strong today which is why 'El Chapo' Guzman, the World's most wanted man, runs free. Principally being an aid for the CIA.
Aug 22, 1996
Cocaine pipeline financed rebels
Evidence points to CIA knowing of high-volume drug network
by Gary WebbSan Jose Mercury News
Drug cash for the contras
Waged a losing war
CIA hampered probes
Raids a spectacular failure
Saturday, 16 February 2013
On-going project to document the new immigration wave in Sao Paulo. And to also question ways of documenting; objectivity aside...Please write to email@example.com to support
Sunday, 27 January 2013
Remembering times when I was waiting in a desert make-shift media whore town for the fate of 33 Chilean miners stuck hundreds of metres below the ground - I came upon this Kurt Douglas film from 1951.
A frustrated former big-city journalist now stuck working for an Albuquerque newspaper exploits a story about a man trapped in a cave to re-jump start his career, but the situation quickly escalates into an out-of-control circus.
Oh the parallels.
A frustrated former big-city journalist now stuck working for an Albuquerque newspaper exploits a story about a man trapped in a cave to re-jump start his career, but the situation quickly escalates into an out-of-control circus.
Oh the parallels.
Tuesday, 22 January 2013
Monday, 7 January 2013
Paul White started making ridiculous beats in a small room in the outskirts of South East London: Lewisham. Introverted he searched his own inner peace remastering his own versions of Jay Dilla. Being signed was of no importance, until it happened.
Sunday, 6 January 2013
Lithuanian filmmaker so called "godfather of American avant-garde cinema." ENJOY
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