Tag Archives: Ehrean

Travels in Oz Part III

The bus past Pine Gap on the way out of Alice Springs, the station is run by the C.I.A the NSA and the NRO. About one thousand people work here within the confines on a full-time and part-time basis. Pine Gap station is part of the Echelon program, which is a surveillance operation, one of the “Five Eyes”. The Echelon program was formed in the 1960’s to monitor military and diplomatic communications of the Soviet Union during the farcical “Cold War”. The facility then upgraded to a broader range “global surveillance”. From my window I could see the white “radomes”, which are radars hidden within a domes. The domes are meant to protect the radar antennas. The fiberglass radomes looked like large white mushrooms sprouting up in the flat red desert landscape, they looked like an abstract art installation, they looked farcical, like a landscape folly – and that is what they are – a landscape folly. That is the secret of Pine Gap – it’s a joke, actually there is nothing inside the domes that works, they are just for show.

Now let me quote something, and show how the truth is often hidden in plain sight, as the old saying goes:

“A global network of electronic spy stations that can eavesdrop on telephones, faxes and computers. It can track even bank accounts. This information is stored in Echelon computers, which can keep millions of records on individuals. Officially, however, Echelon doesn’t exist.” – The Guardian Newspaper

Yes, that is correct, Echelon doesn’t exist, and everybody who has anything to do with Pine Gap knows that it does not exist. Those one thousand people who work there do nothing, they just maintain the propaganda and clean up the place. They guard nothing!!!! They just look after empty fiberglass white mushroom-like things. There is no such thing as “spy satellites”, they don’t exist… Other than farcical propaganda, Pine Gap is utterly meaningless, it is a fraud, a fantasia… But it is a fraud that has paid quite well for many decades.

The bus driver finished his spiel with, “and nobody knows what really goes on in there”. I mumbled under my breath, “Nothing goes on in there.”

The next stop was Lake Amadeus. The lake still retains its Germanic name, because German-Australians were the first to sight it. There were no aboriginals in this area before white man explored it. Lake Amadeus is a dry salt crust. The “discoverer” was said to be an Englishman named Ernest Giles, in 1872, however Gile’s benefactor was Baron Ferdinand von Mueller, the lake is said to be named after a Spanish king, but, of course none of this makes any sense, unless Germanic history has been transferred to Spain at some stage.

After a few more adventures I finally arrived at the base of Ayers Rock, the name of which has been aboriginalized to “Uluru”. The whites themselves did this to attempt to prove that they were not the first explorers of this area but it was the aboriginals that were. The “aboriginals” of this area now are not full “aboriginals”, they are mixed race, in fact, in many cases they are now more white than black, so extensive has the interbreeding been between “aboriginals” and white men, but any mixed breed, of course only acknowledges the black ancestry and not the white, even if they are now more white than black. There are “aboriginals” in Australia now that could easily be mistaken for being whites, however they call themselves “black”… It’s very strange, but the primary motivator is that they get given more money if they call themselves black and have some black ancestry, nobody give a shit about the white ancestry in Australia, that does not pay…Being “aboriginal” seems to have a pecuniary motivation, and the pecuniary motivation to be black is provided for by the whites… When I was young, the mixed-race “aboriginals” were given money and jobs by the white Australian government, they were treated like royalty, given scholarships, fawned upon, patronized, awarded, and named The traditional owners of Australia. Aboriginals always had more than us poor white kids, who were looked upon as second class citizens, this was the predominate prejudice in the poor public schools where I was educated.

I had hired a bike to ride around the base of Ayers Rock. This mountainous monolithic form raises up from a base that is completely flat, one can ride a bike right up to the point where the rock, incredibly, just rises vertically out of the ground! There is no elevation to the surrounding area running up to the base of the giant rock! This is truly astounding… At the very base of the rock was just a sand bed, not even small rocks or a build up of “millions of years” of falling stones, sediment and rocks, nothing, just flat sand, then leaping vertical hard rock! But this is sandstone…It struck me as a petroform, but alien… I felt engrossed by the thing… Another man approached the rock, he could not stop laughing, manically, “Ha ha ha, looooook, it’s acute, the angle is acute, ha, ha.”…. Parts of the rock face were acute angles rising from a completely flat base, but there were no loose rocks or boulders about… The face of the rock was smooth, the fissures and cracks were sparsely located, what a strange form! It was beguiling, I felt like laughing myself at this impossible geo-structure…What the fucking hell is this thing! I have read about the “geology” of the area and “scientific” descriptions of the formation of Ayers Rock, and they are a joke. Many men who have come here to the centre of Australia on some pilgrimage to see the “dead heart” to see this wonder, know very well that nobody has any idea how this thing got here or what it actually is.

The Rock’s skin was scaly, flakey in parts, yet no sedimentary build up at the perimeter of the base… I continued my journey, on a bike! Riding around the base. One can do a full circuit of the base of Ayers Rock on a bike. I stopped at a shallow cave, it appeared to be unnatural, a strange expression from this giant mineral being, I had no explanation for it, an information board attempted to explain it in “scientific” terms, it made no sense, the thing was fucking inexplicable! I felt its alien presence, as if it was like that movie “Close Encounters of a Third Kind”, but this was real, right in the middle of Australia, the Ozzie Externsteine! This thing even sucks in moisture and then expires it, it drinks water! There was a small puddle of stagnant black water, a water hole, in a little oasis, shaded by ghostly gum trees, apparently this is where the “indigenous custodians” of the land got their drinking water from…LOL… There is no way any group of people could survive here… Not enough water, and nothing to eat, “bush tucker” is a fraud, nobody can survive very long eating what is available in the outback, especially not the centre of Australia – but as the white folks say – “the aborigines have lived here for 40,000 years, they are the world’s oldest culture.” What bunch of camel shit! Talking of camels, they reckon there are 1 million wild camels in the outback, that’s a lie, camels can’t survive out here, there are no wild camels, just like there are no wild horses! This is all a show, they even pretend to round-up wild camels and cull them, bullshit, they are all domesticated and bred by humans, sure some get lost and wander out into the desert, and there they die, fast. It’s a show, das ist nur Schau, all this “wild nature” stuff, a fucking show! They make it up and pretend, the truth is very, very different. How can I explain that? It’s these thoughts that come into my head; a heavy, heavy burden, perhaps it would be easier to let it all go, stop the pain…

Further on I came to some “aboriginal rock art”, the information board stated that it was painted by Paddy Uluru in the 1950’s. The paintings have been touched up several times since, as they would have to in order to make them visible, given the erosion effects on rock formations, of course any geologist or artist would know this, yet they all claim falsely that rock art is very old and the work of “ancient”, “primitive cultures”.. All “ancient rock art” is 20th century abstract expressionism, which is unskilled type of artwork, minus the discipline of perspective. If it is not 20th Century, at most it is 19th Century. It’s not very old. Yet the White folks will claim alongside their Black mating partners that this art is “40,000 years old”, against all reason and logic. It’s a fraud in other words.

I circumvented the site, and came to the place where one can climb up the Totemic Rock. What the hell is this thing, I thought to myself, it’s like some old alien being, sentient, living elder thing of the desert, incomprehensible… It was hot, over 40 degrees Celsius. It’s dangerous to climb this rock at any time, dozens of people have died climbing it. I began the accent. Up an iron chain, holding on to the chain and pulling myself up, the first 50 meters were draining, it was much hotter on the blasted surface of the rock, no shade, the sun beat down on me like a hammer, I took out my water bottle and had a swig, the water was hot! It was so hot that I was dry, no sweat on my skin, the hot air was sucking the moisture out of the pores of my skin…I continued on, it was 4pm in the afternoon, the hottest time of the day, it seemed like a foolhardy decision, but I pressed on, this time only 10 meters before stopping and resting, I kept on like this until I was resting for longer than climbing, it felt like it was about 50 degrees now… Another climber was coming down, he looked half my age, he looked utterly exhausted… I was about half way up… I turned and looked down the steep face, yes, one could easily pass out from heat exhaustion and just roll off the face of the rock, and die. What a stupid way to die, I thought to myself. I looked out into the direction of the Olga’s, the only other visible rock formation rising out of the dead flat lands… The Olga’s had a feminine shape, it must be the wife of this mineralized being I was scrambling up, his wife was over there, where he could still see her. It was like a Revelation, some powerful psychic thought-transference, from this old being of the desert, just designed to trip me out some more! “Oh that is my wife over there, you see her.” What the fucking hell is this thing? I kept climbing… Starting to fatigue…Some calculations in my head, and it seemed that I could make it to the top, but getting down was an unknown venture. There was a definite risk here. I could have done it if it was early morning, or dusk, but this was the worst time to climb, it was seriously hot… I sat down, clinging to the chain, alone, upon this inexplicable blasted red rock. I have trekked and climbed in mountain ranges all over the world, in the Himalayas, in the Andes, the Carpathians, many places, but I have never been on such a weird rock as this…I started to climb back down.

Ayers Rock

The Olgas

 


Torch Bearers Of The Void

By Eckhart Tolle: The Power of Now

One night not long after my twenty-ninth birthday, I woke up in the early hours with a feeling of absolute dread. I had woken up with such a feeling many times before, but this time it was more intense than it had ever been. The silence of the night, the vague outlines of the furniture in the dark room, the distant noise of a passing train – everything felt so alien, so hostile, and so utterly meaningless that it created in me a
deep loathing of the world. The most loathsome thing of all, however, was my own existence. What was the point in continuing to live with this burden of misery? Why carry on with this continuous struggle? I could feel that a deep longing for annihilation, for nonexistence, was now becoming much stronger than the instinctive desire to continue to live.

“I cannot live with myself any longer.” This was the thought that kept repeating itself in my mind. Then suddenly I became aware of what a peculiar thought it was. `Am I one or two? If I cannot live with myself, there must be two of me: the `I’ and the `self’ that `I’ cannot live with.” “Maybe,” I thought, “only one of them is real.” I was so stunned by this strange realization that my mind stopped. I was fully conscious, but there were no more thoughts. Then I felt drawn into what seemed like a vortex of energy. It was a slow movement at first and then accelerated. I was gripped by an intense fear, and my body started to shake. I heard the words “resist nothing,” as if spoken inside my chest. I could feel myself being sucked into a void. It felt as if the void was inside myself rather than outside. Suddenly, there was no more fear, and I let myself fall into that void. I have no recollection of what happened after that.

I was awakened by the chirping of a bird outside the window. I had never heard such a sound before. My eyes were still closed, and I saw the image of a precious diamond. Yes, if a diamond could make a sound, this is what it would be like. I opened my eyes. The first light of dawn was filtering through the curtains. Without any thought, I felt, I knew, that there is infinitely more to light than we realize. That soft luminosity filtering through the curtains was love itself. Tears came into my eyes. I got up and walked around the room. I recognized the room, and yet I knew that I had never truly seen it before. Everything was fresh and pristine, as if it had just come into existence. I picked up things, a pencil, an empty bottle, marveling at the beauty and aliveness of it all.

That day I walked around the city in utter amazement at the miracle of life on earth, as if I had just been born into this world. For the next five months, I lived in a state of uninterrupted deep peace and bliss. After that, it diminished somewhat in intensity, or perhaps it just seemed to because it became my natural state. I could still function in the world, although I realized that nothing I ever did could possibly add anything to what I already had.

I knew, of course, that something profoundly significant had happened to me, but I didn’t understand it at all. It wasn’t until several years later, after I had read spiritual texts and spent time with spiritual teachers, that I realized that what everybody was looking for had already happened to me. I understood that the intense pressure of suffering that night must have forced my consciousness to withdraw from its identification with the unhappy and deeply fearful self, which is ultimately a fiction of the mind. This withdrawal must have been so complete that this false, suffering self immediately collapsed, just as if a plug had been pulled out of an inflatable toy. What was left then was my true nature as the ever-present I am: consciousness in its pure state prior to identification with form. Later I also learned to go into that inner timeless and deathless realm that I had originally perceived as a void and remain fully conscious. I dwelt in states of such indescribable bliss and sacredness that even the original experience I just described pales in comparison. A time came when, for a while, I was left with nothing on the physical plane. I had no relationships, no job, no home, no socially defined identity. I spent almost two years sitting on park benches in a state of the most intense joy.


Rosenberg takes an afternoon nap.

I used to believe that the Nuremberg Trials were real! I did not know that it was just a hoax, and a movie with B grade actors from Moscow… Look at Alfred Rosenberg here, looking like he is having an afternoon nap! Looks like he is even smiling for the camera, which he should because it is a faint knowing smile for those in on the joke… And now I am in on the joke! LOL… Nice one German, nice one, cant’ beat that German sense of humour… Rosenberg…LOL…Looks like a serene little Buddha… When a man is hung, and recently someone I know hung himself with bike chain and the result is ugly. I mean when a man is hung there is a reason why the executioner would put a hood over the head. When a man is hung to death, especially with the method used in the Nuremberg Movies, a man’s head almost explodes! The blood capillaries burst, the face becomes horribly contorted and grossly swollen to such a degree that it becomes unrecognizable, which is one of the reasons why, men were hung in the first place by the neck, because not only is it very painful but it is horribly disfiguring for the corpse. But old actor Rosenberg, from the colonial outposts of Germany, from backwater hicksville towns like Tallinn, Riga, and Moscow, I mean that is funny in itself, Rosenberg arrives in Germany from Moscow at the height of WWI…. Yea, right, he should have been apprehended and hung as soon as he crossed the border into Germany! Rosenberg would never have even been allowed entry into Germany, if Germany was in anyway serious about its his-stories, but it is not serious, it is joking and we can all laugh along now. How wonderful to be in on this little joke too, but, I would have preferred it IF SOMEONE HAD OF FUCKING TOLD ME FUCKING EARLIER!!!!!! Just kidding, I am not angry, I am just writing that as a bit of hyperbole for literary effect… Just like old Actor Rosenberg did….Literary effects…But did he even write anything, I mean his writing is not very good for starters… But he was just a hick from dumbsville nowhereland, not like he was from the Prussian Aristocracy or educated in a great University in Germany or something… A “Russian educated emigrant”! LOL…. Oh, too funny….The poor guy could hardly speak German, what’s he going to do, get a real job or something….It’s funny… But is it funny? Is it or isn’t it? Time for old actor Rosenberg to take a little nap, he is very tired after a long day acting, good night little old Rosenberg, sweet dreams… I could go on and on about how fake Rosenberg is…. But I have things to do, like real work…


Joris-Karl Huysmans on Women

One of the best discourses on the women I have ever read is by Joris-Karl Huysmans in the book “Against Nature”. Here is someone who understands women very well. As I recently discussed with Torch Bearer Gregory, women are mere inert, amoral, indifferent, receptacles for the male spark of the Geist, and they are entirely gender fluid and malleable (male-able). Women are sequential hermaphrodites, they contain both male and female characteristics and can become either as we are now seeing more and more. With such the “illusion” of women is fast disappearing, and we are more able to see how there is no such thing as a woman…A woman is merely a soul that has been plasmically shaped into a form (usually ugly), the woman itself has no soul. A woman is a prostitute, but the way in which the woman conducts her prostitution has changed, and she is now more deceptive then she ever was before, and is still changing, but a woman is nothing other than a prostitute for all time, and usually an ugly one at that, the Demiuge always uses beauty with an extreme economy. A woman who practices openly as a prostitute is simply more true to her nature than one who is clandestine about her prostitution, all women are by nature – prostitutes, thereby representing an economic bargain which one enters into. Any man who disagrees with this is ignorant when it comes to the female of this human species. Also of note is the relationship between women and alcohol and tobacco… There is no doubt that women are the prime advertisement of these drugs. Other than procreation of human folly and advertising, women serve no other function. Women have progressed from licenced and open prostitution to off-licence or un-licensed prostitution, but their drugs of choice in illusionary persuasion are still the same, wherever you find women practicing their arts you will find drugs too, mostly alcohol. Women have learnt how to tailor and cater their illusions progressively, but the illusions are needed to cover for an inferior product of femininity, which is nothing more than a cheap trick reminiscent of a bill-of-goods sold by the Demiurge. The pimp of these women, has progressed also, once it was more individualized, but then, from the 19th Century onwards, it became nationalized, so the State Government became the Pimp, pimping out women and extorting money out of the unwary men who unfortunately fell into their traps of children or marriage. In exchange for the Pimp role played by national Governments the Government got the lion’s share of the alcohol tab (replacing the Madame of the House). The National Government is a Madame of a Whore house!!!! What is Nationalism then? LOL….

“He remembered having glimpsed, through half-open doors and windows inadequately screened by curtains or panes of coloured glass, women who walked with dragging gait and out-thrust head, the way geese do; others who lounged around on benches, roughening their elbows on the marble table-tops as they brooded, head in hands, humming softly; yet others who were wriggling about in front of mirrors, patting with their fingertips at their hair-pieces spruced up by coiffeur; and then there were still others who were extracting, from purses with broken catches, handfuls of coins and small change which they stacked methodically into small piles. Most of these women had coarse features, husky voices, flabby jowls and painted eyes, and every one of them, like automata who were all being wound up at the same time by the same key, proffered the same invitations in the same tone of voice and, smiling in the same way, uttered the same bizarre remarks, the same outlandish reflections.

Now that he was able to conjure up, in memory, a bird’s-eye view of that mass of bars and streets, Des Esseintes found that association of ideas were forming in his mind and that he was reaching a conclusion. He understood the significance of those cafes which reflected the mood of an entire generation, and from them he deduced the synthesis of that period. And Indeed the symptoms were clear and unmistakable; the brothels were disappearing, and as soon as one of them closed, a low-class bar would open. This diminution of licenced prostitution in favour of secret love affairs was obviously a consequence of the incomprehensible illusions of men in matters relating to carnal love. Monstrous though the idea might appear, the low-class bar satisfied an ideal.Although the utilitarian tendencies passed on by heredity, and fostered by the precocious disrespect and unremitting brutalities of the schools, had made present-day youth singularly ill-mannered as well as singularly matter-of-fact and cold, they had none the less preserved, deep in their hearts, a romantic blossom from earlier times, an ancient ideal of musty, vague attachment. But nowadays, when tormented by their physical urges, the young could not bring themselves to go in, enjoy, pay, and leave; they saw this as a kind of beastiality, like the rutting of a dog who without preamble covers a bitch; besides, vanity fled those brothels unsatisfied, finding in them no semblance of resistance, nor pretense of victory, nor hoped-for preference, nor even any liberality on the part of the vendor. The wooing of a barmaid, by contrast, spared every susceptibility of love, every delicacy of sentiment. There were competitors for a barmaid’s favours, and those to whom she consented to grant assignation (in return for generous payment) sincerely imagined they had triumphed over a rival, been granted a great honour, an exceptional favour. However, these girls working in bars were as stupid, as self-seeking, as base, and as self-indulgent as the women who worked in brothels. Like the prostitutes, they drank without being thirsty, laughed without being amused, went into raptures over the caresses of a common labourer, maligned one another, and scrapped with one another without the slightest provocation; in spite of that, the youth of Paris had never yet observed that, as regards beauty of form, skill of technique, and desirable attire, barmaids were chiefly inferior to women cooped up in the luxurious salons of brothels.

‘My God’, thought Des Esseintes, ‘what fools these fellows are who hang around bars!’

Quite apart from their idiotic illusions, they even manage to forget the risks associated with damaged or dubious merchandise, to no longer take into account the money spent on a lot of drinks the landlady charges for in advance, or the time wasted in waiting for goods whose delivery is deferred so as to enhance their value, or the endless shilly-shallying used to prompt and to promote the sport of tipping!

This inane sentimentalism, combined with fierce practicality, epitomized the dominant thinking of the century; those same individuals who would have blinded their neighbour for the sake of ten sous lost all rationality, all their shrewdness when confronted by those shifty tavern girls who harassed them without mercy and extorted money from them without remission. Business enterprises laboured and families swindled one another in the name of commerce, so that their money could be filched by their sons; they in turn let themselves be cheated by these women who, in the final analysis, were robbed of everything by their fancy men. Throughout the whole of Paris, from east to west, from north to south, there existed an uninterrupted sequence of frauds, a pile-up of organized thefts each of which occasioned the next; and all this because, instead of customers being satisfied on the spot, they were persuaded to exercise their patience, they were kept waiting. Essentially, the sum total of human wisdom consisted in dragging things out, in saying ‘no’ then, eventually ‘yes’ for the most effective way of controlling the younger generation was by putting them off.

‘Ah, if only that was true of one’s stomach’, sighed Des Esseintes, racked by a cramp which brought his straying thoughts sharply back to Fontenay.”


Paracelsus In Excelsis

Paracelsus In Excelsus,

By Ezra Pound

 

Being no longer human, why should I

Pretend humanity or don the frail attire?

Men have I known and men, but never one

Was grown so free an essence, or become

So simply element as what I am.

The mist goes from the mirror and I see.

Behold! The world of forms is swept beneath –

Turmoil grown visible beneath our peace,

And we that are grown formless, rise above –

Fluids intangible that have been men,

We seem as statues round whose high-risen base

Some overflowing river is run mad,

In us alone the element of calm.


We Are the Dispossessed

We Are the Dispossessed, By Kamerad Kristof

We are the Dispossessed,
We are the Dispossessed –
the hated native sons cut off,
the Poltergeist SS;
We are the Dispossessed,
We are the Dispossessed –
the Loyal Sentries of the Blood,
the Faithful Fallen of the Reich,
now ghosts, Our names are spat upon,
Our legacies are mud;
We are the Dispossessed,
We are the Dispossessed –
the last remaining Torch Lights
in this sunken Age of Lead;
We have no land, We have no Folk,
We have no clan, We have no friend,
no-where on earth remains for us
to even lay Our Dead.

Man against Time