When the Jabber comes for you
What will you do?
This is in honour of all the old folks mistreated in nursing homes. There's a good chance they don't feel as bad about their deaths as we do, and those responsible have to live with themselves.
But, first of all: God Bless Bob Marley, wherever he is.
I'm feeling angry most of the time these days. It's exhausting, but, in some ways, I kind of like it. Fear of "Covid" has worked its magic so well that it seems the whole world has gone mad, and yet I don't fear it for myself at all; I'm just angry that I'm stuck at home all the time except to buy food, and a bit freaked out at the clear indications that mad men (and women) are attempting to over-power and control the entire population of the world -- and that the fraidy cats are trying to pretend it's not happening at all. No, it's a "pandemic" don't you know. How do we know? Because the government tells us so. And the government wouldn't lie, would it?
You know, the government that can't get elected without big corporations behind them, and oligarchs guiding their every step. To the murdered old people, they pay lip service. To the newly-unemployed they insult their dignity by offering them welfare. To the small business owners they'd use bulldozers if they could, but if they can keep the lockdowns going long enough, they won't need to. To the confused children -- I mean, where are the souls of the people who turn a blind eye to the screwing up of a whole generation of children!
Big, corporate, international biz; that's where it's at for the soulless among us. That's why the love of money is traditionally warned against as pure evil. It's not the money itself; it's the avarice; it's the drooling greed.
I may be old, but there's nothing wrong with my eyesight nor my hearing, and I have a good brain and great immune system, and what I'm seeing and hearing is definitely not music. I'm told all the time that I don't look my age. Nor do those cheery people in the above image. Old people are not all wrinkly and smelly as young people complain they are.
(Jeez, I've smelled young people's sox; haven't we all?)
You can see it in the eyes of the faithfully masked -- some may even wear that filthy thing to bed -- their disgust at people brave enough to disobey the un-Constitutional lockdown rules, and to gather in (formerly) public parks to demand their legitimate rights.
In the past, the flu has come every year, attacking already run-down or sick people. But the human immune system ramps itself up so well that each year the flu has to alter its strategy. It doesn't rename itself -- people rename it -- corporate/government-financed "scientists" who want to be seen to be "progressing" in health protection, while some more independent or just very brave experts tell it like it is -- though they are shouted down by the corporate media.
But it's still the flu, and it's still only deathly dangerous to people already sick with something else. And it doesn't matter what you call it, it's going to keep doing the same thing, whether you wear a mask or hide in your basement and/or develop a compulsive hand washing disorder.
To most people, let me say: The flu doesn't want you - no matter what name they give it! You're not easy pickings; mostly old people with heart, lung, liver, etc., conditions are what it feeds on, and sadly, on some already frail newborns.
It may well be nature's way of "culling the herd", but Nature doesn't kill in huge enough quantities for Malthusians like Gates, et al.
Everybody knows this from experience, and that's why the vaccine lovers made sure to rename it and pretend it was something different, something malignant, something to fear like God Almighty when He's on a rampage, because it's literally their way of making money. They give a little in order to take a lot.
My god, people: when they come right out and say there's an over-population problem, doesn't that make you wonder about the magical vaccine -- that isn't a vaccine at all, but a DNA changer?
The Gates of Hell was proud to announce that [link updated Feb. 24] Himself, though the corporate media keep prating on about how it isn't true.
But who cares what I think? I'm a useless eater myself; way past prime; there are those who want me and others in my non-category, to hurry up and die and thereby help "reduce the surface population" (a la Scrooge). Yeah, I'm "Non-category" because the Boomer crowd began in 1944 and I came into the world earlier than that. I feel special, not having a category. I'm just me and I'm nobody's fool.
If need be, I'm ready to die, but it seems I'm too healthy, even in a time of "Covid". Sure, it's getting more difficult to remember what I just now decided to do next; sure my stiff fingers too often cause me to drop things; sure my knees ache like crazy and make me want to cry -- but dammit, I'm still here, and I'm going to have to make the best of that predicament! Just like a lot of other pre-Boomers -- if the corporate "health" and "food" professions doesn't get at you first with its synthetic potions and food poisoned by chemicals.
If there's a God, He/She didn't intend for society to kill itself in a vain attempt to stay alive. And where's the respect for the Mother Nature that we once revered and relied upon?
Rich and powerful does not equal SANE. That should be embroidered on a pillow!
I watched an old movie recently: Moonstruck (1979). One of the lines in it was, "No matter what you're gonna do you gonna die, just like everybody else!". IMDB
I may not get this other line right because it's from memory, but when the heroine finds herself in love with her fiance's brother, she feels terribly guilty about it, but the brother says something like: "You're born to mess up your life, you fall in love with the wrong people, and then you die."
No matter what we think we accomplish in this life,we're going to be reduced to dust just like everybody else, rich or poor. So we need to have a little respect for the natural process.
Cue Billie Holiday "Why was I Born?" Why am I living, she asks. What have I got? What am I given? And then she admits, "I'm a poor fool, but what can I do?" And concludes with "Why was I born ... To love you".
It would be pretty horrible if we had to live as long as we still love somebody. Even love has to die.
And now Billie's dead. Well, actually, it's Eleanora Fagan who's dead; Billie (sometimes also called "Lady Day") lives on in her recordings, though she never received any awards until after Eleanora passed away. That's how irrational people can be; they give people awards after they're dead; they honour lives in paid-for obituaries when maybe they should have shown more appreciation and respect when the person could have benefited from it.
That's pretty much the way it goes, give or take a few variations, no matter the generation gap. Actually, since I'm so old that I don't appear on the generation chart, the real world must have begun in 1944 (or 1946, depending on which chart you look at). So, maybe I'm not even here. Maybe I just think I'm here. Cue the Twilight Zone: doo doo doo doo, doo doo doo doo ...
Millennials, I'm told, coined the term "dirt nap" (apparently Millennials lack sophistication), and suggested that it's what the older, more useless people ought to take, and which the Online Slang Dictionary says is "Almost certainly a poetic reference to the dirt that surrounds a grave."
Poetic? It doesn't even rhyme! But still, I'm practising for it; a little nap here; a little nap there. Itta adda up, as Father Guido Sarducci might say.
Do I not seem to be taking life seriously enough? Well, I didn't invent all the many jokes about dying -- er, sorry -- dirt naps.
Then there's Shirley MacLaine in Post Cards from the Edge singing "Good times and bum times, I've seen 'em all, and, my dear, I'm still here". And she still is. She's older than dirt, a few years older than even I. She was a fighter -- when things didn't go the way she thought they should, she sued the pants off the offenders.
The pharm companies would be sued too, if they hadn't been indemnified, protected from law suits. That right there should make you hesitant about what they're selling.
Edge was a great movie. The ending was perfect: Meryl Streep, playing the daughter closes the show with: "I'm Checking Out of This Heartbreak Hotel. Where tear drops ain't soakin' the floor."
And after Streep's first beloved (in real life) died she said, "I didn't get over it. I don't want to get over it." And she had every right not to get over it. Probably not even after marrying another man and having his children. She experienced the Grim Reaper as something of deep value, just as we all do eventually. Nobody should want to get over that.
When asked where she draws consolation in the face of aging and death, Streep responded: "Consolation? I'm not sure I have it." Good answer. She accepted her life as it was and still is.
Youth is all about "new" and "shiny" and "cool". But All Hail to the "boomers" who youth wishes would take a "dirt nap". But, no worries, they will ... eventually, and so will we all. And only a tiny percentage of the napping will have been felled by "Covid"; the rest most likely from "medical" intervention. The very lucky ones will be allowed to just live until they die.
I'm planning to be lucky, but sometimes you have to make your own luck. What will you do when the Jabber comes for you?
Remember the Jabberwocky?
The Jabberwocky is alive and living in a mansion. He turns his own good into evil, and fools himself and his worshippers into thinking it's good. When his minions come for me, I plan not to be at home. I'd sooner take a "dirt nap" than invite his sort in.
Image from Redditt
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When the Jabber Comes for You -- What will you do?
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