November spawned a monster
“For
every moment of triumph, for every instance of beauty, many souls
must be trampled.”
―
Hunter
S. Thompson
Nixon was the true cold warrior. The Dulles brothers and their slack jawed sycophants were confident that Dick was just the right type of pliant weasel to inhabit the seat of American executive power. One has to suppose that the accursed progeny of Mrs. Dulles’ womb had not yet fully comprehended the power of the television camera. Dick Nixon, with his over large pores and deformed proboscis, was a face made for radio. I am loathe to contemplate that grinning meat puppet before today’s high definition cameras. For whatever he lacked in luster Dick more than made up for it in enthusiasm. Despite his known paranoia he could be counted upon to be a team player; a willing errand boy to the post war’s burgeoning intelligence apparatus. They meant to deliver him, like Jesus, wrapped in the flag for swaddling clothes into the manger of the Oval Office in January of 1961. Only that didn’t happen…
JFK was not a god. He was no knight in shining armor. He was Ivy League, not working class Irish Catholic Boston. Jack Kennedy was cut more from the cloth of Lace Curtain Irish, and his old man was dirty as sin. There are other blemishes which, though discreetly suppressed in his era, would be politically fatal in today’s climate. We all know these things about the man. They can not be denied. Another truth that can not be denied is that the man was a change agent, coming at a critical crossroads in our history where a change agent was direly needed.
In the days before Ike puttered away in his golf cart to that final back nine he warned America about the Military-Industrial Complex. Our post war general staff was populated to a rather large degree by veterans of the big one, WWII. The sunset years of those careers began to collide with the dawn of the defense and intel gravy train. The underwriters of this enterprise preferred Dick Nixon in the executive office. Life was easier to have that seat occupied by a submissive toady, who could be relied upon to roll on his back and beg for their affection at the snap of their fingers. That would have been easier, but it wasn’t necessary. There’s always a work around.
If Ike was so bold as to make such public pronouncements in calling out the nature of this beast before the world, one has to wonder what private counsel he may have shared with Kennedy prior to passing the torch. If Kennedy did not enter the office with an innate distrust of the Pentagon and CIA, he certainly learned it fast. Though he may have been an unknown quantity to this establishment, he possessed a pedigree that conventional wisdom of the day suggested would make him malleable to their designs. They underestimated the man and only got one bite at that apple with the Bay of Pigs fiasco. By the time Kennedy’s first year in office drew to a close CIA Director Allen Dulles and Deputy Director Charles Cabell had been removed from their posts. The battle lines were drawn. Kennedy was going to chart a new paradigm and the Pentagon and the CIA were both on notice. And there was J. Edgar, America’s own Lavrenty Beria, behind the scenes. Watching, listening, occasionally stirring the pot while drying his delicate panties, wearing a feather boa and modest pumps. God save the Queen.
Kennedy bucked the tide. He signaled that he was going to take out the CIA. He started at the top, but he had no idea how far he actually needed to go. He demonstrated he was serious with the public castration of Dulles. The old guard within the defense establishment could smell this ill wind and they weren’t going to suffer the same fate. The work around went into motion.
In 1963 it was still relatively easy to kill a man if he got in the way, even if that man was the President of these United States. It was easy to forge a false narrative; easy to co-opt an obedient, lap dog media to carry your water. No 24/7 news cycle, no alternative media, no internet. Complete control of practically every media outlet available to the general public. Why they could have staged one of Pat Nixon’s infamous cocktail parties, complete with the sacrificial goat, right there in the middle of Dealey Plaza, and still the media would have dutifully reported that there were three shots fired by a lone gunman, Lee Harvey Oswald, from the Texas Schoolbook Depository. Period, end of story, and a pox on your house if you even attempt to say otherwise.
In 1964, in the months following the assassination, it was still possible to throw a twenty-six volume heap of hot steaming dung on the plate of the nation and declare it to be the gospel truth. The Warren Commission, like nearly all Washington commissions, was mere theater. It was not a credible investigative body; it was a blatant whitewash perpetrated by Allen Dulles, aided and abetted in varying degrees by the other commission members, and fully co-signed by that self loathing mouth breather over at the FBI. In America at that time no one dared challenge the orthodoxy of the Warren Report, including a number of Dealey Plaza eyewitnesses. The premature mortality rate of these people rivals that of former associates and colleagues of the Clintons. All opposition to the official narrative was to be silenced by any means necessary. Anyone who should wander too close to the truth would be visited by black suited thugs from the FBI to intimidate, or media outlets would openly conspire to discredit the offending party.
Some of you may recall these things. If you lived during those times you know that these things are true. And if you happen to be among the fortunate few in this category, then you must see that what has happened in this country over the past three years is a colorized re-run of 1961-1963. Now, in 2021 we are reliving the vile season that was 1964.
In 2016 the heirs of the security state were expecting their Nixon in the person of a candidate with much larger balls, Hillary Clinton. Instead they got an even larger set in the person of Donald Trump. In 2017 Donald Trump entered office with two strikes against him, the first of which was that he lacked the proper pedigree. This was a Caddyshack presidency, with Trump as Dangerfield’s Al Czervik crashing the staid, stick-up-their-ass Bushwood Country Club. The second was that, like Kennedy, he boldly proclaimed his intent to begin taking apart the system. “Drain the swamp” was the mantra for the voters. For the vermin that inhabit every corner of Washington this message was clear enough, if not in the same polished rhetoric as JFK’s. In 2017 they rebooted the work around.
They knew they’d never get that mulligan for the botched Kennedy assassination. They succeeded in killing the man, true enough, but the operation was botched. That’s why you had Jack Ruby walk unchallenged into a garage full of police officers that Saturday morning and shoot Oswald dead before a live television audience. The chances of successfully replicating this effort on Trump, in the glare of the 21st century lens was not feasible, so they went at another way. And another. And another… and despite the wailing jackal class constantly reminding us “Orange Man Bad!”, nothing worked. The man’s popular support only grew. Oh! What to do?
This assassination was committed not with bullets, but with ballots. Millions of them. False ballots, false machines, false local election officials. Everything about the 2020 election, and all that has followed, has been a falsehood. Just like the Warren Report. And just like the Warren Report nearly every living soul on the planet knows that it is all complete and utter bull shit. The networks still chatter on with the official narrative, convinced that anyone is actually still listening. They are no longer relevant in today’s landscape. Like Chairman Xi’s little bitch on a leash the legacy networks are dinosaurs; decrepit relics that still resemble something vaguely humanoid, but are empty, soulless husks. The real action is in social media. Paired together they make the two headed monster that is the state’s proxy, de facto Ministries of Propaganda and Censorship.
The security state is going global. This is not a new thing. This beast has remained, lurking in the shadows since that dark day in November 1963. It has been content to mostly drool in a stupor, intoxicated on drug money, oil and blood. Like a fat, bloated tick embedded on the ass of the nation they just keep on sucking. It is only when one treads too close, like Kennedy and Trump dared to do, that this beast bares it’s fangs. This beast can not survive if it is separated from it’s host. It knows it and so did Kennedy, and now so does the nation. What they did to Kennedy was a warning shot. What they have done to Trump is more. They have been flushed out and they’re not content with Trump’s scalp. Now they are coming for you.
Too many still refuse to acknowledge the truth, much less say it. This ends one of two ways. Either we meekly accept this jagged suppository being shoved up our ass, or we start dragging these mother fuckers out into the streets and lighting them on fire. Yes, we’d all like for this to be an orderly process, but we are not the ones who have perverted the process. They’ve thrown out the rule book and declared war upon the people. The legal process is dead. It will get you nowhere. This ends when you can hear and feel the crunch of your enemy’s crushed and charred bones beneath your feet.
