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Look at this Sick Bitch
Crackpot Mailbox: Lynn and James Discuss Geopolitical Vampirism
© 2018 James LaFond
Lynn Lockhart
Dec 21, 2018, 9:58 PM (14 hours ago)
Look at this Sick Bitch
Demanding more American blood
A Tweet by
Rukmini Callimachi
Join me on @allenwithchris at 8:20 PM to discuss the drawdown from Syria. A telling detail I confirmed today: a total of 4 U.S. soldiers died in the multi-year deployment in Syria in the campaign against ISIS. The battle itself was fought by the Kurds who lost around 10,000 troops.
12/21/18 7:05 PM
Lynn, bloodthirsty bitches are the root of many a war, which is the subject of my ongoing project, A Dread Grace, for which this article will serve as an example. Her last name she shares with the son of Aristotle, who Alexander had murdered during his Afghan campaign.
On the face of it this is a globalist, leftoid [that a nation does not have a moral burden to defend itself but to demand that a greater nation defend it] pitch for forever war, as the tweeter seems to point out the injustice that only 4 Americans died defending Kurdish territory and that 10,000 Kurds died.
A rational view of these numbers, if they are correct, can be taken two ways:
-1. infinitely more Americans have died defending Kurdistan than have Kurds died defending Americanistan.
-2. 10,000 Kurdish patriots died fighting the force for evil created by the U.S. State Department and 4 U.S. mercenaries died either facilitating or abating this bid for forever war, all 10,004 of these people having served their respective nations to the ultimate point.
It is obvious that "this sick bitch" is on the side of Forever War, seemingly an internationalist savage. But, perhaps she is a Kurd who simply wants more U.S. help for her doomed folk? In either case, there is something else here, the asymmetrical thirst of Geopolitical Vampirism, which is related to Civic Vampirism, the poor thirsting for the blood and munificence of the rich and the rich thirsting for the sweat and innocence [of raped children] of the poor.
I subscribe to the ancient belief in a metaphysical underpinning of reality, of swarming and feasting entities of evil, and aloof and damning forces for good [not our good but divine good], both of whom, God and Evil, Light and Dark, literally drink our tiny, suffering souls like a blue whale straining krill from the Ocean. And, like smaller fish in the metaphysic sea, many—most indeed—humans thirst for the suffering, submission or approval of others. If no approval is gotten they seek suffering and submission. Few people and virtually no women can enjoy the submission of others, so they revel in the suffering of other small temporal beings, suffering necessarily inflicted by agents of a greater power.
I am not immune to this. As a sorcerer I have no desire to dine on submission and a limited appetite for approval, but as a sorcerer, a woke devil, I feast on the suffering of the immediately strong—the downfall of police and other agents of submission, of enemies, of the tormented souls of the ebon demons who have sought to feast on me in the streets of my hometown, and I get it. My arcane taste for suffering is rarified and reflects Hemmingway's dictum on the hunting of men.
Most folk are not sorcerers or rulers, have no access to submission other than to bully children, limited prospects for approval and little ability to inflict suffering, thus the pecking order hen house hell of female places of business, so they remain famished outside the currents of power. Most people suffer daily from the tangible, palpable, extra-physical loss of power that tormented Augustus Caesar as he, in his old age, wandered the ever-emptier halls of power in Rome, banging his head against the walls and moaning into the uncaring shadows, "Quintilius Varus, give me back my legions!" [1]
The ancient Roman Imperators satiated the thirst of the mob for their downfall and looting by providing the suffering and death of heroic warrior slaves, of lions, tigers, bears and aurochs, feeding the chattering apes of Rome a feast of suffering of superior souls—a feast of great beasts and deadly men, and, for a while offered a feast of martyr souls, permitting the illiterate mob to marvel at the miseries of the high intellectual Christians of the elite class who had taken vows of poverty but remained tasty spirits full invigorating conviction. The common person loves nothing more than to witness the deconstruction of a greater, enlightened or ascendant spirit. This is why aboriginal societies put women in charge of torturing enemy warriors. This is also cartoonishly mimicked in the downfall of our false media greats, of Bill Cosby, Mel Gibson, Tiger Woods, etc.
When powerful enemies die we, as a society, wax orgasmic socially—the reported death of Osama Bin Laden having a cheery effect on tens of millions of Americans. However, the appetite of the weak meek nations—for these are social and therefore metaphysically registered organisms—is more omnivorous. The death and display of the corpse of a single American soldier—enemy of most of the world, oppressing agent of insatiable empire, is cause for as much jubilee in the small, fallow places of the world as the death of a head of state like the ruler of Libya, raped on film for our depraved American pleasure, bestows upon our bloated body hypocritic. Folk such as us, living in such an engorged polity, our collective spiritual belly filled with low nutrient chaff and sludge, suffer like the diabetic flesh body unable to properly obtain nourishment from its own food.
Lynn, this bitch might or might not be sick. But she is thirsty, famished for the blood of the powerful like more sympathetic deserts such as the lonely Mohave are thirsty for rain.
This is no superstition on my part, superstition being a fear of the supra-temporal, but rather an understanding that to the life giving life must be given and that just as the great require the suffering of toiling masses of meek, those meek require the suffering of the great, and when they have been starved of this, even the suffering of the divine. I place this urge equally behind the crucifixion of Jesus, the forsaking of the heathen gods of Europe and our willful current pollution of the planet which has served as our very real mother, best articulated in the slaying of Humbaba by Gilgamesh and Enkidu.
In the future, I suspect that the ultimate expression of this will follow two tracks:
-1. the Joe Rogan-Jordan Peterson desire for wilful evolution into gods, every human a philosopher, every philosopher a deity
-2. the mania of reptilian InfoTech masters to colonize planets as personal property and upload their consciousness into automated networks, Bezos going for Mars, for instance and then uploading his personality as a social media program.
Ultimately though, I hope that the real deities will reawaken and take terrible action. For I'd rather be a cinder under a jealous god's heel than a slave in a social media construct.
I suppose someone should be humming, "They're coming to take me away, haha!"
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