Whoever is NOT with me is against me

Throughout time's flow you have the ability to spot moments of great importance when one individual was able to help another in such a small way at once it could be counted as being non-important & insignificant.

The same has held true for the obstacles of human advancement. These malignites have held back from giving what they could during the most impactful moment of necessity.

This is the balance of power.

'If ya ain't fer me, ya must be against me.'

This seems to be a bit of Americana folk wisdom but if you've ever read the 'Holy Bible' of the Christian faithful you will find this same sentiment intoned by the star of the New Testament, you guessed it: Jesus Christ

Before you start getting your hair in a whirl, I am not claiming any supernatural gifts nor scaling myself in any fashion to Him who was put to death more than two thousand years ago. Let me tell ya, I have been beset by all manner of insane, disgusting creature while wandering atop the planet. I have found that rich people (i.e. people of material status generated through the work of a slave class.)  Never give any thing of worth [other than a look down the nose] while the poor give beyond their means. Even if it means going without something they'd wish they could have.

The druglords and bandidos are in the pockets of major corporate mobsters so they are of very little use to bringing about any sort of substantial change. The greed of social castes is a level of Inferno that would be ultimately impossible to escape from without a complete mental pattern makeover.

This is the 3rd Earth Age we are living in. Could we get any closer to the Lake of Fire? To Plague? To Famine? To War? To Enviromental Collapse? The Aztecs call the 5th Sun 'The Final Sun' as do the Mayans but label it 'The Sun of Movement'

The transition has already begun. I pray you will find a guide worthy of your path.

pmpope1109

The Stink of Sordid Living - Part 1

The fan outside this window hums loudly until midnight
There's no sort of justifiable excuse for this
I believe the ones paying the bills
are connected to the King of Bangkok Restaurant
next door & down on the sidewalk
Seems quite wasteful or wasted either way

Either way

Are you made
feeling that you may get the worst
if you refuse to play the game
they want you to pay for
with your blood turned brown
dry and shitty
caked into the ridges of your identity
?

You can't measure it;
gauge it;
calculate it...

a group of ghetto gypsies have infested this living space
believe what you will about the Macaws of Jaipur
if their temple is empty
they wreck havoc on the cityscape
stealing from both the rich & the poor
without a shred of honor between their own thieves
trained by the welfare system;
the U$ army;
& suckled on some tragic gangster worship
pumping through their shackie sub-woofies

WORD to steeping scheme*sters
& others, who enjoy sticking their prob-
iscus into receded crevasse
for purpose of information retrieval (bang)
let your finger (re)flexation
L.E.D away from the emergency
spellcheck button
already
absorb this
off the list of pop-current-thing-a-majiggies

What could one hope for to turn out any better?
Bitter stories pimped through political bitches
there's robots for everything
there's stories of heartache & intrigue
there's manly men & peopley peoples
to hypocrites to judge the terminally sane
i'll attempt not to tread too lackadaisical
through los barrios misanthropic
but you'll have to stop me if you've heard this one before:
I was the one who made these concessions!
Ah-La-La-la-la-la-La
...to no avail...
the children expect they are given as common treats
ten for a dime
or everyone breaks
even lacking the pure, simple, organic contemplation
even their infringements are somehow reward enough

offered to the wind & the sun & the rain
to wear down the stone
for when it crumbles & breaks
there's no plan to consider the recycling

Will your embalmers set up trust funds for the mortific left hand?
Could your media connections save us from a full neural scan?
Or google all the graffitooed stats in the space station can?

 Man!

The monkeys of Jaipur are treated as kings
when they fall from the powerlines
they are rushed off the scene in monkey ambulances
to monkey hospitals
with monkey surgeons
all ready to go & highly paid
monkey removal drivers drop them ten miles
from the nearest temple town
yet they find their way back
lickety-split!

- * -

The sixth floor of the Hotel Monte Carlo (not the actual name) had remained insulated from the lower floors until 2009. Charles & Irene, the former managers, (actual names) had always taken credit for keeping it so.  They had remained vital in the composition of building tenants until the Patel Corporation made its' final bid during the Real Estate/Stock Market collapse engineered, in no small part  {if not in whole}, by the friends & accumulated interests of the beast non-affectionately referred to as 'Big Oil'.

The Patels found themselves with this Union Square property sitting on their plate as thick as a juicy, sacred tenderloin or a rack of barbecued lamb ribs. Now they became as feisty a Pakistani fighting cock puffing out their combs while refusing to hear any other crowing except their own.

- * -

The basic flaw in the worship of money is the gnawing voice inside the wallet, whispering through clenched teeth 'Money is infallible.'

- * -

Tonight, Monday morning, the 6th floor is fairly silent. A few construction noises rise echoingly from the lonely sidewalks of the worthless retail district. Televised groanings reverberate up through the air-shaft from the pathos of the late night cable offerings.

Up 'til this portion of the night no desperate girls have banged on the door across the hall requesting Darquel, the resident gypsy king, to give them their shoes or their baby's daddy's hoopties or whatever they left in the little studio with padlock & eyebolts -attached to the exterior door frame- to secure it from the rest of the residents who don't use extra protection. Darquel is a full blown headscrew from the deserty regions. He mainly surrounds himself with brutish looking gents who have known or plan on re-acquainting themselves with an institutional lifestyle at some undisclosed portion of their life's path.

They have something in common. They seem to all have drug and daddy issues. They also all seem to possess the physical composition of Manhattan street cart souvlakis. They are all square cubes of fried meat. They are skewered and spinning in place under the glow of a blood orange heating coil, powered continually via a bulky electrical generator hidden in the mystic murkiness of the souvlaki guy's cart.

- * -

pmp1109