012217 Insane Asylum Society by Victor
http://inteldinarchronicles.blogspot.com/2017/01/insane-asylum-society-by-victor-12217.html
102217 The Distraction of money by Harmony
http://inteldinarchronicles.blogspot.com/2017/01/the-distraction-of-money-by-harmony.html
102217 ‘video’ RV Humor: Hitler finds out the RV was delayed again
http://inteldinarchronicles.blogspot.com/2017/01/parody-hitler-finds-out-rv-was-delayed.html
102217 OK-Sovereignty seems Weird
http://inteldinarchronicles.blogspot.com/2017/01/ok-sovereignty-seems-weird-by-pine-cone.html
102217 Illusions making Fun of Insanity in a Mirror
My sister fell off the turnip truck, and this little piggy ran all the way home. Turnips still will make her crazy, and she forgets all about Love now, so we let her drive the truck, even though her crippled pickle sours fickle sickle. All the kids in our neighborhood can’t remember who their fathers are, and none of ‘em, even try to remember my sister on all their turnip birthday’s.
What difference does it make with any of it, when difference is all we get with Susan Time, and what about all of “It”, when death undead as “It” is all we get with Father time? It’s time to choose between Susan, or Losin ~~~ Time; so bye bye Susan no~love. Stop the clock; I wanna get off, and face the music without Susan tick tock.
“What difference does it make” is not a question, nor a choice of difference make. What fills my sister’s truck ‘turnips’ into what mombs fill all our diapers with, no matter what difference it all makes. Sista, oh sista, won’t you ever forgive us all, for so many pregnancies, and please little sister turnip, make it all forever go away.
Labor Days, go on, and on, through many suffering traumas, play loose in all the hay of continuing ridicule, as just more turnip days. What freedom does a turnip ‘sista’ really have except a slave of sex on one more “Fourth of July Boys” hot firecracker Holiday? October surprise, to scare the prenatal torture out of farm girls, just don’t cut the mustard, even with evil tricks, like more candy girls, just holding still.
On the way to our second turkey turnip Coca Cola colored human sacrifice Christmas Day, oh sista, do surely get excited dressing up for the boys again, just to stop long enough to remember committing genocide on Aboriginals, and then celebrate xenophobia, eating turkey mirrors of ourselves, and calling murder, “Thanksgiving”. Waking up sista with a loud bang “New Years” for drinking grey drool soup with starry eyed mid way night, mocks her dumbed down heart with ‘red’ again pretending lust is love, that keeps falling off the same truck again.
There is no room for sista in the next crazy ‘exorcism in reverse’ because all religions get together on Easter to wake up our celestial mind f*** even more, like what, first happened to my sister on her fateful turnip falling Holiday. All us kids bow down to sister’s, and brother’s day, but neither is either, any better, than just another Mother-worship celebrating children’s unreal bakery, Birthday fakery, eating cakery at us days. Memorial day is for the greys who mock us more than usual sacrifice this turnip truck fulla sista greys, because all we care about is another day off to picnic in our minds a while, more like turnip mirrors do when sister spreads her dancing scissor’s joy.
Poor as church mice on Holiday break, we all enter freedom for the grey’s special day again, while they lob off more of our bobble heads in continual War, that is nothing more than their polished human sacrifice “4th of July boys” population explosion. The whole year is fulla these traps, but sista always dresses up in her Sunday best, while mothers float around working for the greys, like on Halloween when witches feet don’t even hit the ground. And all this “Susan tick tock” year, all us brothers, still feel sorry for when little sister fell off the turnip truck day, when none of all this human s*** is really anyone’s fault.
None of us breeders are any different than little sista, but we all forgot, that nothing worth a s*** ever filled up our diapers, really, no matter what Holidays try to hide in Susan Time, because all we learn from all this is, that we “Don’t ever wanna make mama mad”, right little sista? Since everything is unreal, then, even little sista, and Mom-like ghost dad’s are all unreal, so the only thing missing in all this crap is the innocence of children, when Susan Time gets her hold on them. Time is for turnips; trucks are for turnips; falling is for all of us, just like my sister, before we all f***** her right into sista-hood fake Holidays, without any more innocence than the greys.
I keep writing my a** off to capture some illusive day, when enough shame leaves me, to make only innocence what I can say, but all the s*** in the World, that really takes the cake, makes it hard not to say, just so my innocence get’s more ridicule by hidden grey Blackmail ways. If that special day, ever comes when I can express what, really comes from an open heart, I bet I will already have flipped into Spirit again, because Spirit, still seems a better way to express innocence, without guilt from fear of what happened to all the sheilas, like after Susan Time fell off the ole turnip truck.
There is something, really wrong with Holidays, and it all seems as backwards as a few things we all worship in common, as if it remains a taboo warning from the greys, who still scare the hell outta us enough, to not ever seem to ‘truth or dare’ any real innocence. Eating cows in India rates right up there with Mother hoods, and how about divisiveness like fear, and guilt that dominates us all believing in company borders still worshiping Nationalism? Worshipping the p*** seems to rate at the top for both men, and women, so I can imagine apple pie is just thrown in to hide the loneliest cell division, just plain “Doing It”? What difference does it all make anyway, sista Susan; I mean really?
I tried on an experience of Susan Time by naming Mother Earth, “Father/Mother Earth”, like the sista’s do now with “Mother/Father God”, but it didn’t take long for me to erase this scary idea. Now we have “Mother Earth”, “Mother/Father God”, “Motherf*****” to mean it’s OK for mothers to f*** their children, Male Genocide, Mothers hiding behind children, fatherless “Mother/Father God” children, and a whole population worshipping the p***, while the greys, really own all our sorry a**ess.
Sista’s must, already have denied their Conscience, when they passed right through demonizing divisive gender evil agendas, so something grey must have already gotten imbedded into sheilas, and just the thought of this makes me, even more ashamed of our whole grey human race now. What an awful whack on the head it must have been for Susan, and I don’t, even want the image of what a grey has to stick in sheilas, so I will just end all this divisive bulls*** by holding the more user friendly memory of what Eric Cart*** pulled out of his metaphor, of my own little boy’s S**** Park.
“Mother Nature and the Virgin Mary 052107”
There is so much ‘word’ in one power, ‘fear’, and let’s not get confused. God is not a paradox, and didn’t create our Universe without going through us first. National Geographic shows us the true hubristic hunger of our devouring nature, and isn’t it a Mother? If I were a virgin, I wouldn’t want to be a Mother, and have my name attached to Nature.
If God is Love, and kindness, then we are not so good to overlook our mean nature, and blame all this on our Virgin Mother. My earthly parents were just like you, and I, and God created us through them. That’s simple, and they didn’t do such a good job. We need to give more credit to our Parents for our bodies, thank God for our Spirit, and give credit where it is due.
As long as we focus on death as a symbol of our fear, and misunderstanding, we will miss the great enduring message, that God is only Love, and kindness. We need to get honest, and take responsibility for our part, that co-creates in children, and Nature, and stop hiding our guilty nature under a Holy word like “Mother”. If I were a Mother, I would always feel guilty, that I wasn’t a Virgin, and I would believe, that I was ‘less than’. Then when I felt my killer resentment for codependent kids, I would deepen my belief “I’m Ok, because I’m just like Mother Nature.”
Old fashioned forgiveness is when we forgive someone who hurts us, and we play the Holy Victim in a pretentious reconciliation, but True Forgiveness is a higher level of realization, that the whole World is just a co-created illusion of Maya, and as we embrace what we see in others is in us, we forgive, that same thing mirroring in them. We have all been real killers in other lifetimes, and at least ‘thoughtful’ killers in this one, and it is in our devouring nature to think this way, to get rid of our own insane mirror problem triggers. We will never find True Forgiveness in any bodies of Nature, Mothers, or Virgins, because the nature of True Forgiveness is invisible Holy Spirit’s Nurturing Love over forgiveness bridge, to God’s kind will, and we don’t need to die to fear it.