Smoking Mirrors | A Critique of Pure Metaphysics (grin).

Dog Poet Transmitting…….

A long time ago, a psychiatrist gave the opinion that I was a ‘chronic’ Schizophrenic; meaning- incurable. My response was that most people have a fenced in mind and that the fence is the parameter of the self defined real; but has the self been defined as real? Sometimes a part of the fence gets broken and you can flow out. Of course something else can also flow in.
In the material world and most especially in the Kali Yuga, it can be a good thing to have a fenced in mind. Alternatively, consider what sorts of creatures are kept behind fences. Consider the fate of livestock. If your karma is good, you are unlikely to be mistreated. If it is bad, do the math. In either case, the killing floor awaits. Many human beings live in a manner not unlike livestock. They embrace the controls placed on them and the security they think they are getting but the same fate awaits them, there is no security against Death, except that one has found the one who has mastered Death and made them a friend. Such conditions exist on both good and evil planes. As the Bible says, “Behold, I shew you a mystery; We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump: for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed.”

via Smoking Mirrors | A Critique of Pure Metaphysics (grin).


Les Visible Blog | More than Forty Miles of Bad Highway Running out of Road.

Dog Poet Transmitting…….

Probably should have written a few books instead of all those blog posts. Probably should record some of those half dozen albums; thought about it. Thought about it but here are some of the things that happened on the way to having got the earlier works done.

Let’s start with the music. I’m in Philadelphia with the Guru Bawa Fellowship and someone I know from there is in the hospital with a fellow named Tone Smith. He worked for Gamble and Huff, who did the Philadelphia Sound. He told him about me and the next thing I knew I was in a house with The Platters. They were launching a comeback and I was writing songs for them. It felt great. I thought this could go some. I mean, Gamble and Huff? Exactly.

Then somehow Bernard Stollmann came into the picture, with his lovely Canadian Wife Flavia,l who was a hired witch performance artist for some Hockey team. Bernard had a brother who is connected to Colombia Records. So Bernard heard about visible and somebody got us to go up to New York City and we were next in Columbia Studios in New Yawk Shitty, where James Taylor had just been in and name after name was given unto us by the people that worked there. Bernard was more interested in my co-writer David Mowry, now an aged and disgruntled blues man with no creative chops and me who was the songwriter with less chops at the times and still, probably, but without who we wouldn’t have been there.

via Les Visible Blog | More than Forty Miles of Bad Highway Running out of Road.

Smoking Mirrors | The Times They Seem… Electrify me Lord!

Dog Poet Transmitting…….

I keep trying to make sense out of the venal lies that surround the prevarication zone, where you wind up being left alone… waiting for something with some integrity to arrive but you are left kissing a Zombie Apocalypse Retard in a thirsty mountain slide. There’s always the passion that fakes it in on the available false notes, thinking you will buy into the insubstantial, in hope of the usual BS with MS, jerking and twerking while the spine goes numb. I have no desire to mock those suffering from such things. I am merely calling attention to the cynical indifference of those working it to their own benefit. And they do… oh my they do

To say that something is wrong with this world and going wronger is an understatement. There is a force at work that seeks to destroy the family unit and that force, courtesy of Mr. Apocalypse, those responsible are turning on themselves because evil destroys itself.

via Smoking Mirrors | The Times They Seem… Electrify me Lord!

Smoking Mirrors | The Burning of the Library of Alexandria, Hypatia and the Tarot

Dog Poet Transmitting…….

Wow! Just…wow!!! What are the odds that this would happen shortly after the way they treated me and I told them that misfortune was going to rain down on them?

Bankruptcy of Gilbert Hospital, Florence Hospital at Anthem
Source: azcentral

Talk about stunned. I’m not going to say if, or whatever may be said. I’m going to thank the Lord with no qualifications or presumptions; mainly because I thank the Lord all the time and I am also going to thank the Lord for all the wonderful readers and friends who support the work here; the work we all do in concert, the inner work and the outer work.

via Smoking Mirrors | The Burning of the Library of Alexandria, Hypatia and the Tarot

Smoking Mirrors | Flooding the Heart of this Empty House that Echos the Statements of Invisible Voices.

Dog Poet Transmitting…….

Where there’s smoke there’s mirrors. At least that is the case here. Our job is to hold mirrors up to the smoke, at which time, the smoke will self autopsy, as it fades away to reveal the sky and the traffic of clouds across it; keeping in mind that clouds may well be another form of smoke (?).

Yesterday we wrote a post at Visible Origami, titled; “To Reside Eternally in The Adytum; the House not Built with Hands”. An Adytum is defined as the innermost sanctuary of a Greek temple. Visible could probably be described as somewhat Neoplatonic; principally because of this maxim- “the Absolute has its center everywhere but its circumference nowhere.” That seems to ring in harmony with the mind of the writer of this blog. The only potential deviance from that would be found in what visible has to say about anything proffered as the be all end all or part all of anything- “ah… sure… maybe, maybe not, it’s hard to say; no! Wait! It is impossible to say” That I believe sums him up.

via Smoking Mirrors | Flooding the Heart of this Empty House that Echos the Statements of Invisible Voices.

Smoking Mirrors | The Riddle of the Sphincter. Here in the Desert of Promise, Hard by the Oasis of The Tranquil Mind.

Dog Poet Transmitting…….

It’s a fine very late Spring morning, here in the desert of Promise, hard by the Oasis of The Tranquil Mind. Holographic camels invisibly suckle at the teats of irony. The voices in the wind are harmonizing with the sympathetic strings of an awakening world. We certainly hope that this becomes like unto a tsunami of choral flowers of a desert in bloom, given that it rained a couple of days ago and in no time at all a floral display is the amazing reaction. We can only hope that this becomes viral and that the atmosphere is filled with a Zika-like mosquitoes, who gives love and takes nothing back …because that automatically races from pole to pole like falling dominoes. We have seen far too much of this in our time. The Huffington Post is one of the darkest propaganda zones on the planet.

The Satanists are running roughshod through the fabricated media. They are going nova about caged children sleeping on concrete floors with Mylar space blankets for warmth. Strangely enough I couldn’t find any photos of this. They tell us that mean old Mr. American Government is separating parents from their children; or was it children from their parents? The deal is that the immigrants purposely engage in efforts to have their children taken in and then work from that angle to piggy back themselves in as well. I’ve nothing against aiding people in need at whatever opportunity presents itself as I walk my prodigal way back home but… just like the dysfunctional sex movement and the destruction of the Ukraine and the genocide of the Palestinians, the story they are telling is not the same as the story they are redacting.

via Smoking Mirrors | The Riddle of the Sphincter. Here in the Desert of Promise, Hard by the Oasis of The Tranquil Mind.

Smoking Mirrors | The World and Ourselves. That which we Cannot Yet Remember and the Sweetness and Wonder of Mother Kali.

Dog Poet Transmitting…….

May the eternal Ineffable, rock you forever in the sweet cradle of his deathless and enduring Love!!!

Everywhere you look, Mr. Apocalypse is walking around in his black cape, lace up Doc Martens and with the cobra headed walking stick. The cobra has those glittering ruby eyes and it hisses every time the metal toe cap touches the pavement of the highway to everywhere. He’s got plastic skinned Kardashians. They got rhinoplasty and hippoplasty. They got Big Apple worms in a serpentine spiral around a rotten core. They got “what is this?” They got “we want more.” They got the Jenner queen of Babylon and the Babylon Whore. They got the weasel in the willows and hyena fewmet smores. They got the nameless, anonymous, darkness at noon and old man scratch, the vampire toothed buffoon, with “one day Alice straight to the moon!” He’s got all of it and wants none of it but he’s going to put the spotlight on it at center stage and launder their suits while they’re still in them. You know what this is about because you’ve been here before.

via Smoking Mirrors | The World and Ourselves. That which we Cannot Yet Remember and the Sweetness and Wonder of Mother Kali.