Your Call Is Important To Us

Off the keyboard of James Howard Kunstler

Follow us on Twitter @doomstead666
Friend us on Facebook


Originally Published on Clusterfuck Nation  May 19, 2014


Funny how, in the current national rapture of techno-narcissism, it is harder than ever to do something that for generations used to be as simple as pie: to get somebody on the telephone. It’s especially funny in a time when phones have become a prosthetic extension of every human hand and pretty much the be-all and end-all of human culture. I hold a phone, therefore I am!

It’s not so funny that the places where it is most difficult to connect to a live human being are among the most critical activities, most particularly every branch of health care. Hospitals now operate under the entirely false and obviously dishonest premise that a robotic phone routing system is the best way to handle communications. Notice that, in the logic of this system, no distinction is made between mundane business and medical emergencies. Everybody who calls get’s the same perky robot —always a woman, by the way, in a dishonest attempt to provide false reassurance that a “caring” presence (Big Sister) is at the other end of the line. Whether you call about a billing error or having just shredded your foot in a rototiller, the message at the other end will always be democratically the same: “Your call is important to us.” (Not.)

I dwell on these matters because I spent an inordinate amount of time last week calling around to several hospitals and doctors offices to get some of my medical records for a lawsuit I am prosecuting against the manufacturer of a defective hip implant that gave me cobalt / chromium poisoning. Note also that we have contrived to make it nearly impossible to obtain our own medical records.

Now I am, going to reveal to you why it is so difficult to get a live human being on the telephone at these important places: because the more of a racketeering matrix medicine becomes, the more it seeks to evade responsibility for the consequences. That is, the more medicine becomes a criminal enterprise, the less it wants to hear from its client/victims. The same ethos is at work in just about every other realm of corporate enterprise in the USA. Our problem in the USA is not “capitalism,” it’s racketeering. Why we fail to comprehend it is one of the abiding mysteries of contemporary life.

The biggest offender after medicine, of course, is banking. They don’t want to hear from you either. They enjoy the privilege of swindling you by both tiny-and-large increments on transaction payments and near-zero interest rates and mortgage contracts where no title record of collateral can be located, and that all works very nicely for them. But they’re too busy creaming off profits to talk to their customers. In both medicine and banking, even the few remaining human secretaries to whose answering machines calls are torturously routed will not return those phone calls. “Your call is important to us.” (Not.)

Now all of this raises a couple of questions. How did we get to this sorry place? And why are citizens not violently angry about it?

To some degree, this situation represents the sheer diminishing returns and unintended consequences of technology. In a nation infatuated with technology, these entropic effects are always ignored. We just don’t want to hear about it, and our related infatuation with feel-good public relations bullshit spews a fog of concealment over it. We apparently like being deceived and don’t mind being tortured.

Robot phone answering systems also allowed corporations to off-load the cost of doing business onto their customers, mostly in the form of wasting vast amounts of their customers’ time. Included in the off-load was the cost of paying receptionists (as telephone answerers used to be quaintly called) and all their medical and retirement benefits — just another manifestation of the vanishing middle class, by the way, since a lot of women used to be employed that way (let’s skip the gender equality side-bar for now). After a while, the added privilege of companies being able to evade responsibility for their actions hugely outweighed the cost-saving advantage of firing some lower level employees.

It ought to be self-evident that this could only happen in a profoundly corrupt, dishonest, and degenerate society, because it took the form of a social compact that accepted this sort of behavior as okay. Doctors especially don’t want to be accessible to their customers. It enhances their aura of supernatural authority to be as unreachable as possible — and most of them these days are safely embedded in the protective corporate matrix one way or another as well. I suppose you can always pray to them and hope for a reply, since that is obviously the system they are trying to emulate. And, after all, this is an especially pious society. But try asking a plain question like, “how come you charged me $34,000 for four hours of anesthesia?” and you will be hung out to dry until the end of time.

As for outrage, I am frankly amazed that the various armed lunatics at large in America are so busy shooting up schools when many more people are actually being harmed, indeed ruined, by the health care “industry” and the banks.

If you have a theory about all this, please offer it up in the Comments department.



James Howard Kunstler is the author of many books including (non-fiction) The Geography of Nowhere, The City in Mind: Notes on the Urban Condition, Home from Nowhere, The Long Emergency, and Too Much Magic: Wishful Thinking, Technology and the Fate of the Nation. His novels include World Made By Hand, The Witch of Hebron, Maggie Darling — A Modern Romance, The Halloween Ball, an Embarrassment of Riches, and many others. He has published three novellas with Water Street Press: Manhattan Gothic, A Christmas Orphan, and The Flight of Mehetabel.

 [amazon, B00A323CPU, B0015KGXR8, B0097DHRMK, B001JEPKY2, B00J39MTF8, B00413QAPQ, B004ZGZBCW, B0085MG89W, B00D0O7AZ6]

Totem Shift

Off the keyboard of Lucid Dreams

Follow us on Twitter @doomstead666
Friend us on Facebook

Published on Epihany Now on March 2, 2014

ninja fox

Discuss this article at the Spirituality and Mysticism Table inside the Diner

Jumping to the Grave
Around about the time I resigned from the Matrix I had a dream in which the fox came to me. He scampered out of the woods and made himself visible to me, and he looked me in the eyes to transfer his magic. To prepare my mind for entrance into a glitch which would allow me to mostly be left unhindered from the Matrix’s control. Fox imbues the magic of invisibility in plain site. I recognized him, and his teaching, and then he disappeared back into the woods, and I woke up. It was a dream vision. I dubbed our new home the “Fox Den” and gave the fox a pedestal at Epiphany Now. About a year after my resignation a real fox was delivered to the Fox Den, and her name was Pepper (but she went by Bo Beppa). She was born from domestic dog parents, but she was no dog, she was a fox. She was the most beautiful animal I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.

Diggin’ a fox hole
A couple of months ago I was digging in my yard, preparing a hole for a five gallon bucket full of table scraps. The area I dug in, behind a swale and berm, is the worst hard compacted clay SC has to offer. I was tired that day, and I just couldn’t get the hole to the proper dimensions. Pepper loved scrutinizing my holes. She got in the hole, laid down, flipped on her back, and looked up at me as if to say “this will do,” although I only know that in retrospect. I figured since she was enjoying the hole, and I wasn’t going to be dumping five gallons of table scraps in it, that I would just leave it for her. My wife and I had hypothesized that she was actually sleeping in a hole she had dug in my first hugel bed. She dug holes into all of my six hugel beds on a regular basis. So I thought maybe she liked the hole better than what she had dug. At any rate, I moved onto digging a new hole in a different place in the yard where the soil wasn’t quite so compact.
Around this same time I had a dream that I was throwing a boomerang in our yard. I’ve never thrown a boomerang before, and I had no idea what the dream meant, but I decided to go online and purchase a rang. Whatever the reason, I took to throwing boomerangs like I imagine birds enjoy their flight. It has become a meditation for me, and a spiritual practice. Boomerangs connect you to the sky and the wind. They teach you to be still and patient, especially when the wind is blowing too hard. Half of throwing a boomerang is ability to read the wind. If you want it to come back to you than you’ve got to first know which way the wind is blowing and how hard. Then you have to figure out how much layover, how hard to throw, which direction, how high of a release angle, and lastly you just have to get lucky (at least when the wind is blowing), and if all that is done properly the boomerang will come back to you.
We decided to get Pepper fixed around this time. She was right at a year old, and we didn’t want to breed another dog (I mean fox) because we have two kids and one pet is enough extra responsibility. Getting her spayed changed her psychology, or maybe it was just because I was in the fields throwing my boomerang and she wanted to get out of the fence with me. Whatever the case, she started escaping from our yard on a regular basis. She’d run off chasing field mice, or voles, or whatever else caught her noses attention. We live off of a pretty busy two lane road. About a quarter of a mile before our house the speed limit goes from 45 to 55, and people regularly travel 60 to 65 mph.  Knuckle heads will occasionally use that stretch as a temporary drag strip. It’s one of the most dangerous roads I’ve seen, and this is coming from an opinion informed by 6 years on a meat wagon. People get killed all of the time on this road, and near this house to boot.
I came home from an ecological design dig in Asheville NC that day. I was tired from moving large logs and Earth around for a massive hugelspiral construction we were creating. I got home and left our fence open. Pepper got out and got herself ran over on that road. The people across the street called the house, it was about 9 pm, and they asked “is your dog in the house?” No, I replied. “Well there’s a dog out here on the road that’s been run over, looks like it might be yours.” I put my clothes back on and went out to see about it. There was a large lifted 4X4 truck pulled over with a kid no older than 20 standing there with a dip in his mouth. “Over here.” He took me to where she lay dead on the side of the road. I was relieved to see that she was actually dead because I did not want to have to put her down to stop her suffering. She lay there in the ditch, with her tongue hanging out, and just a trickle of blood. Her skin was all in tact, which I still think is strange having been run over by a large truck. I picked her head up and sure enough her neck was broken. I offered my hand to the kid whom had run her over, and I said “it’s not your fault man.” He said “I know it’s not my fault,” got in his truck and sped off.
I carried her remains through the dark to that hole I had dug, placed her in it, got the shovel out of the bed of my truck, and committed her to the Earth. I cried a lot about Pepper for the next couple of days. I could still cry about her if I wanted to. In fact, weeks later, it’s still hard not to. It was more than just the lose of a beloved pet, it felt like a dark magic had descended on the Fox Den. It felt suspicious and as if some intentional evil had been done. It felt like I had lost some very important magic myself, as if something was trying to take it from me. I haven’t lost any magic, in fact, I have gained some. Pepper’s job was complete. The fox world vetted me, and she was the instrument. Pepper was sent to teach me the ways of the fox, so that I may study them and know them. I like to think that she knew her body would eternally rest in that hole we dug together. She’s there now, protecting the Fox Den always. I told our three year old son Ayden Zen that Bo Beppa was invisible now, that she is with us in spirit but that he would likely not see her again, and I took him to her grave to let him say good bye.
A new totem was to arrive shortly after the Fox was finished teaching me his, or her in this case, lesson. The robin showed up shortly after Pepper’s death. I was in the garden, meditating next to Pepper, and a Robin landed close to me. The robin looked at me, just as that fox had looked at me in my dream vision. Only now this was no dream, this was waking life. I walked over to the robin and he led me around the yard for a while, not letting me get closer than five feet. That robin just hung out with me for a while, beckoning me to listen to what it had to say, wondering if I would accept the next phase of my totem progression. “I’ve seen you throwing that boomerang,” robin said to me, “do you really want to know how to fly?” That was the question robin was asking me. Throwing that boomerang is like flying. Every time I throw it my spirit elates with the magical flight path and remains connected to it. It’s as if I’m flying there with it, and apparently the bird world has taken notice.
Around the same time all of this was happening our house burnt to the ground. We were renting the house, the only house my wife and I have ever owned, the one we brought Zen home to from the hospital after his birth.  We were renting the house to renters because I could not resign from the Matrix and afford the mortgage. New renters were moving in that night, and they set a box on the counter in the kitchen next to the stove top. The element got kicked on, and 25,000 gallons of water later the fire was out and the house was gone. Nobody was hurt. Allstate paid the mortgage off and wrote us a check for the remainder of the policy. The Phoenix is rising from those ashes, and it has sent robin to teach me the magic of flight.
Just before our house burned down I decided, uncharacteristically, that what I needed was to go to the local park by myself. I drove to the park, got out of my truck, stretched, and then started running (I hadn’t gone for a run in probably 7 years). It was spontaneous, and it was as if I was not in control of it. Why had I chosen to run in the park on that day? So I ran into the woods and onto a disc golf course. The path started to climb, and I had run about a mile at this point, and so I decided to walk a bit. Before I knew it I was walking along a creek, and so I sat down next to the creek to meditate. Something told me to go 20 yards to my right, up stream, and so I did, and there in the middle of the creek, a foot beneath the water, was a disc somebody had lost. I’ve never played disc golf, but I had always wanted to, so I started throwing the disc along the path of the course. Five holes later, and I was on the back nine of the course. I was kneeling down, looking for the next disc golf basket, trying to figure the course out. A man in his 70’s appeared with a very large dog. I was eyeballing them pretty hard (probably because of the size of the dog) and eventually the man asked me “are you security.” “No,” I said, and we sort of walked towards each other and started talking.
He reminded me of the cover of my copy of John Steinbeck’s Travels with Charlie.  Permaculture came up, as did Bamboo. “I have bamboo,” the man said with elation. His dog’s name is Bodey. I have a cousin named Bodey, it’s not a common name, especially not for a dog, and so my attention was gotten. I had been drawn to bamboo shortly before this meeting. We swapped cell numbers and he invited me to come by his house to check out the bamboo he’d planted. A couple of months went by (in which all of the above story happened), and my wife had started regularly trying to get me to call the man from the park (Gary is his name). We were talking about installing a bamboo stand as a privacy screen, and so I had good reason to go pick his brain. Being Aspergian, however, it’s damn near impossible to get me to reach out to people via phone. Wendy was persistent, and eventually I gave in and called Gary.
So we packed up our family of four, and went to a man’s house whom I’d met only once several months ago. Our son Ayden Zen appears to be having difficulty with speech. Wendy thinks he may have a lisp (I just think it’s cause he’s 3 and a half). At any rate, Gary’s wife had written several books on phonetics…what is this synchronicity? Gary and I talked bamboo for a while and then he handed me a business card that he had gotten via his love of Bamboo for a near by company specializing in bamboo. I put the card in my wallet where it stayed for a couple of weeks.
I began researching bamboo online, and then I began digging a trench to create a bamboo island. The next client for my ecological design business is a female shaman, and she wants a living privacy hedge. I’m hopeful I can convince her that there is none better than bamboo for a privacy hedge. It creates a complete visual block within 4 years. It’s the fastest growing plant on planet earth. Wiki reports that bamboo has been recorded as growing 98 inches in 24 hours. This is nothing short of amazing, and science is still trying to figure out just how it’s possible for bamboo to achieve this phenomenal growth. At any rate, it’s apparently time for me to learn all things bamboo, and so I emailed the email address on that business card, and I asked if I could come pick their brains on all things bamboo. The business is run by a married couple. Their nursery is really not a nursery, but more of an experiment in bamboo prowess. I’ll have to pick this story up in the next installment here at Epiphany Now.
However, I’ll leave the story with this bit of synchronicity and numerology mystery. The day before I went to meet John I looked at the clock at 111, 222, and 444 pm, I never do that.  I usually catch it once where all the numbers are the same.  The bamboo business is actually located in the same county I moved from after resigning from the Matrix. The same county I worked EMS in for 6 years. In fact, my first EMS job, was actually working for the rescue squad that services the town the grove is in. That town’s not far from where our burnt down house resides. The same burnt down house that has that Phoenix rising from it’s ashes. We drove to the Bamboo Forest yesterday with Zen and Tribann, to tour it, to learn all things bamboo so that I can convince a shaman. We pulled up to the field just in front of this endearingly magical place on Earth, and there I met John and his beautiful wife. John has a scruffy beard, he’s from California, and he has Aspergers (if you don’t know, I’m from California and I have Aspergers). The day that would follow would prove to be amongst the most magical days of my life. I’ll tell that story next time.
Part of Bamboo Island


Off the keyboard of Lucid Dreams

Follow us on Twitter @doomstead666
Friend us on Facebook

Published on Epiphany Now on February 10, 2013

ninja fox

Discuss this article at the Psychology Table inside the Diner


Sometimes depression is the appropriate response to things. I am an intellectual being, and that space causes suffering. The things I write about below are true, all of them, and they are sad, and I don’t want to be happy about them. If you just want to be happy than don’t read this blog. At least not this entry.
Did you know it’s possible to hear soul atrophy? And why shouldn’t our souls decide to atrophy? What are we, the industrial grade consumers, the bomb chronic radioactive waste generators, the entropic catalytic smoke, the monkey’s whom caught cancer of the mind. What do we need of our souls anyways? We sold them a long time ago on account of delicate tastes in the finer things in life. Like name brand clothing made by brown third world slaves, and air conditioned luxury vehicles. God it’s depressing. I’m depressing myself over here talkin’ about how vile my species is. It’s true that exiting the Matrix means no place left to go. At least not where things are considered normal by societies standards. There’s nothing left but pure unadulterated truth.
I’m free to see the world from a very unique vantage point. Looking from this high peak I can see futility moving across our psychic landscape. That we should pay by selling our very lives to afford ridiculous stick built nonsense overhead…and drywall. That we spend so much time trying to figure out how to come up with this requirement called money, and this while some men just create it out of free flowing electrons and call it “quantitative easing.” What the fuck does that term even mean in reality? That some men get to control the daily realities of a planet full of life? Some men get to be rich while the rest get to be poor. Poor of heart, soul, and spirit, and poor in flesh. Our flesh is even made of less quality than it used to be. We used to be composed of 70% good ole fashioned corn molecules. Now we’re composed of high fructose gentically modified and radioactive Monsanto frankencorn molecules. Along with some 200 other man made chemicals that are floating around in our mothers wombs along with our future progeny.
I can envision a world much different from the one we are in now. A world where integrity, honor, compassion, self worth, and love are central to the political decisions that must be made. Why is it that for one group to prosper another group must get shat all over? Why is it that for us humans to be happy we have to kill everything else healthy about our planet? The answer to both of those questions is that neither have to be true. We can have a world where there is surplus amongst healthy natural systems. We must have that world, but all I see is fear painted on the faces of every automaton, and fear ensures that we continue getting this same cancerous, made from virus, reality.
I see cell phones plastered to the side of every motorist, and when the screens aren’t stuck to the side of the head they’re out front gettin’ texted (sounds dirty doesn’t it). What do we need with all these god damned electronic screens? They aren’t reality, even though we make them so. You can occupy Facebook with art all you want to, it’s still taking your energy and making you narcissistic. Why don’t you go occupy one of your “friends” house? I bet if you did go to your friends house they wouldn’t notice you due to all the electronic idiot panels. They’d likely be to busy liking their friends on Facebook to notice your “in real life” self standing there. Why should they notice you? If they noticed you, they might then be forced to notice something outside the window, something that’s outside where the nature is.
There ain’t shit natural about an idiot panel imagadget (and for the record, I’m no damn gadget). All of this virtual reality makes real reality diminish. The more we give our energy to those screens, the more our souls atrophy. You can hear the sound from outside of the Matrix. Yet due to the interconnectivity of all things, you can also hear your soul being sucked into the mess, and against your will. We’re all drowning alone together, and we’re all miserable, but we keep on insisting we must drown to death on comfort and plausible deniability. We insist that what we are doing is okay when it’s anything but. It’s not alright to continue living the way that we do, our highest good being trash generation for profit, all while serving as slaves to a machine that itself is receiving palliative care by way of digibit printing. It will continue spittin’ those ones and zeros out until either we use all of the fossil energy, or the use of that fossil energy finishes choking all life off of this planet, or we do something about it.
So what are we going to do about it? I refuse to continue with business as usual, and I’ll refuse any response that requires more of it. You want to own the land? How can you own the land? Even in the delusional version of land ownership you still have codes and taxes, both of which require money. Money for you to go get. You don’t get to just print the money either, that’s reserved for your masters, you have to sell yourself by the hour for it. There are those whom just have a lot of it. Those of us whom managed to have the brains to figure out how to get it, or were just connected enough from birth to the source of that magic digibit lever up in DC. The way I see it, those of us whom were born short changed, need to start taking from those whom have always had. Exactly like Robyn Hode.
I don’t know exactly what that looks like yet. It’s just an idea I’ve just started to think about. What is right and wrong in our world anyways? Is the highest good to honor land ownership? Some bankers said this piece of ground is yours (as long as you comply with codes and pay your taxes) and you can do as you wish with it. Then that same banker said that his corporation was a person with the same damn rights. Now that corporate person decides to shit all over his land with chemicals designed to bring death to healthy cells, with radioactivity, with poisonous food, and with “water” that can be lit on fire. What better symbol do you need for how fucked things are when you can light your tap water on fire. I’d laugh my ass off about that if it weren’t for the unfortunate fact that there’s nothing funny about it. The message I receive is that it’s alright to be a corporate person and shit all over the land with death agents, fuck the water up, heat the planet up, kill everything that’s not human (and even kill humans if your an empire) for no reason, and all of that’s just fine with the “law” of the land. This is the same law that I’m supposed to respect? The same law that you are supposed to respect?
Well, these are the laws that make our present world. Yeah, but at least we’ve got ten million food products with high fructose petroleum sugar and we’re not hungry…all 7 billion of us…and counting. I keep looking for an answer to this trash dump we’ve created for ourselves. I’m convinced there’s not one spot on this planet without man made trash. Nature doesn’t make trash. It makes feces, but then it uses that shit to pretty much perpetuate itself, until we came along and came up with the concept of shit, and now our leaders get to shit all over us and everything else. Maybe its all some fucked up God joke where everything shits on everything else until the end. Humans crave suffering like fish crave water.

Release Your Inner Rock Angle

Off the keyboard of Lucid Dreams

Follow us on Twitter @doomstead666
Friend us on Facebook

Published on Epiphany Now on January 23, 2014

ninja fox

Discuss this article at the Sustainable Energy Table inside the Diner

I’ve been quiet lately here at Epiphany Now. I’m suffering from a bit of reality induced writers block. I’m tired of doom, and the amount of doominess that’s just outside waiting for me, and you, and anybody else not anesthetized on fukitol, corn beer, and big idiot clowns smashing into each other for the purposes of moving a pigskin around on fake grass. Even the fuckin’ grass is fake in that wallerd out carcass of a long past stinkin’ dead horse that is American football. Even the name is arrogant since football (as in the game where you kick a ball around with your feet) is probably one of the oldest sports. A game that’s played and recognized globally as football, but here we call it soccer and reserve the name “football” for a sport that has very little to do with kicking a ball. It seems we can’t even be honest about our sports, and that we need to be exceptionally different along with how we measure things. The rest of the world uses metrics, what with it’s easy to understand increments of 10.
What of the metrics of the future? Agreeing on how we measure that, be it with metrics or standard, they both spell the collapse of our complex civilization. Not a collapse fit for television or the big screen, but one fit for a detention room with a group of misfits nobody wants to be around (that’s the rag tag group of genius boomers at the Diner… well actually the Diner is a good cross section of different ages). Each year will be shittier for more people, and eventually you may be amongst their roles. Present and not accounted for as an economic non-person who’s been pushed to the margins of a collapsing society without so much as a reach around for the years spent servicing that big tube up your anus, stuck there by the machine, and always sucking memories out to feed the bullshit black hole that the American Hologram projects into every mush for brained i gadget wielding cyborg. Where reality is presented on smaller and smaller screens that we all hunch at, growing crooked, and gnarly in our weaknesses with obsolete flesh. Flesh composed mostly of man made chemicals…flesh maintained on genetic modification and powered by ancient fossil sunlight, as John Michael Greer recently dubbed petroleum.
Why should those internet i gadget cyborgs look away from their ithingies? Why should they wake up and notice that memory hole tube up their ass that’s powering the Matrix? We can’t all be Neo, and it seems whenever he tries to make an appearance he’s whisked away to a kookville for profit, corporatocracy owned private prison (it’s interesting to me that Google Blogger doesn’t recognize “corporatocracy” as a word). Those state of the art prisons they’ve been steady building need prisoners to remain a profitable business. You can’t make money on building and running prisons with no prisoners now can you? It helps that the laws have been rewritten so that we can be deleted in some forgotten military prison that’s tucked away where nobody will ever notice. They might as well just send us to the land of away, with the rest of the trash in our consumer fueled “landfills,” or trash dumps as I prefer to call them. At least that’s an honest description. The place where our inability to think past the newest flavor Dorito goes to rot, along with any chance at a future that doesn’t resemble something you’d likely find somewhere in a smog choked Chinese slum, or an Indian one for that matter. There’s nowhere left to go from here except straight into what’s left when the fog from a perpetual progress myth dissipates, and there’s no longer anything that agrees with the stories you tell yourself…that you verify with that imagidgit and all of those stupid scripted stories that pass through that memory tube up your ass. It’s always convincing you that what you need is to work more hours for less pay and no benefits so that you can afford to support those slums that steady chuck out shit for you to buy. Shit that breaks just as soon as you bring it home. Your home being just a place for the thing to pass through on it’s way to the trash dump.
How empty can we imagine ourselves to be? Can we get much more empty than a paradigm that mines the wealth of nature for the production of trash? A system that subjugates everybody to it’s incessant worship of profit as the only sacred. The game is rigged. You gotta have money to play. Now you gotta comply to the new wealthcare mandates or be fined, leading to imprisoned…eventually. Just being alive requires that you pay, and only money will be accepted as payment. Well, that’s not true, there is also the option of an all expense paid incarceration in one of those for profit prison businesses where you can make a few cents a day to pay for the cigarettes that will hopefully kill you before your prison gay cell mate decides to push your shit in. It doesn’t sound that bad does it. It sounds like you could almost learn to enjoy having your shit pushed in doesn’t it?
The trouble is not in imagining a world where money is not required.  It’s actually quite easy to imagine. It’s just that you’d be imagining a lie. Money’s not going to go away, and nor are the men whom control it’s completely hallucinated nature. In fact, those men control trigger happy goons in police suits. And those police suits revel in their high tech deadly weaponry, and in the sound that their boots make when they stomp on your freedom to be a slave in this Orwellian New World Bravely that’s become the reality surrounding the imagidgits we’re all plugged into. Well, we’re not all plugged into them, at least not unconsciously. There are those of us whom are trying to come up with solutions to all of this totalitarian tyranny over nature and the mass human mind. We’re out here hiding in plain site where we are free to think about the world outside of the Matrix. Hiding in glitches hoping for a miracle and trying not to fall prey to near term human extinction nihilism (or one of those shit pushin’ in prisons).
The way forward is to no longer care about the Matrix and the goons whom worship at it’s suffering feet. We need to collectively turn our backs on the system. I’m trying my hardest to do that, but there aren’t many options and it requires a bit of luck to pull off. We don’t have the money to build a future before the Matrix grinds to a halt (one stair step at a time all the way to collapse). The answer is as simple as access to land so that we, the unplugged and empowered forward thinkers, can begin setting up the natural systems that will sustain us. It’s easy to do! Real easy on the ground, and especially while we still have tractors and chainsaws. Restoration Agriculture, permaculture, ecological design, and perennial agriculture are all ideas that seek to implement the answers to all of the problems we face as a species.
Money stands in our way, true, but more importantly we stand in our way. We need to get out of our way, and that’s exactly what us Heliopaths are trying to do at the SUN Foundation. We are trying to believe that as bad as the endless procession of problems we face on this planet are, that they are not insurmountable. There has to be a way through the endless storm that industrial civilization is proving to be. We’ve turned ourselves into slaves and are doing our level best to destroy life supporting biomes on this planet. As a Heliopathic Rasta Man Druid it’s my job to figure this shit out (and it’s okay to laugh at my dumb ass self applied moniker). As a father and husband it’s my responsibility. Hell, as a sentient being with access to abstract thinking, it’s my responsibility to figure this out. This is a call for help. If you are reading this, and you have not been to the SUNFoundation website, please do drop by for a visit. Have a look around and ask questions. Join the dialogue about how we’re going to fix this mess and contribute to the solutions we’re so desperately in need of.
I believe that the solutions to the demise of this industrial civilization will have to be small, grass roots, decentralized, and connected to the natural world, just like SUN Foundation is. The solutions will not happen if you don’t try to pull them out, if we don’t try. You, I, the other guy…us all. The goons are coming for us all sooner or later. Their masters already have all of your rights locked safely away at the bottom of the Land of Away with all of our mindless consumption, and that’s all right next to the shit storm future we’ve left for our children. I refuse to be a part of a wealth pump that grinds up whole mountains, and oceans, and peoples just to spooge it all back out onto itself and everybody else in an endless act of hedonistic narcissistic greed. We fuel this machine with our apathy. We give our power away for the right to consume imagidgits and America’s Got Talent. Let us take the land back, and so take our power back. Help us figure out how to do that. Become a Heliopath and help the SUN Foundation come up with the solutions to our problems. We’re interested in solutions at SUN. Solutions that will weather the building storm. Got any ideas you want to share?
The first person to guess what a “rock angle” is will get a bottle of SUN sauce…my fermented hot pepper sauce mailed to wherever they want it free of charge (and there are two possible answers I’ll accept).  Here’s a hint…it’s a word that my son Ayden Zen McCarty thought up.  Guess I should prepare to give away two bottles.
Here are some pictures of one of the ongoing SUN Foundation projects.  It’s a monumental hugelspiral.  The hugelspiral will be completed once we wheelbarrow 12 yards of topsoil on top of the 2 yards of mushroom compost, on top of about 6 yards of leaves, on top of white pine, poplar, oak, and maple sourced from the land.


Earth Moving

Off the keyboard of Lucid Dreams

Follow us on Twitter @doomstead666
Friend us on Facebook

Published on Epiphany Now on December 3, 2013

ninja fox

Discuss this article at the Doomsteading Table inside the Diner

I’ve got a lot of opinions about the world.  Opinions about what is real and what is propaganda in service of the Matrix.  Opinions about spiritual matters and meaning, about the best way to raise children, how a hole is best dug and what a good beer should taste like.  Opinions are like assholes in this world full of them.  So, due to my particularly cranky, old jaded man like attitude towards the state of affairs in the world, I’ve decided to just start being the change as an MO.  So expect more pictures and videos in the future…and probably less opinion about the world.  Less social criticism…more doing as William Hunter Duncan has recently propounded.

So I dug that swale out and then it rained.

I know I sound like an idiot, but I can assure you that I am no idiot.  When I moved to this property in February of 2012, all that you see in the above two videos, at least in the fenced in section, was nothing more than bermuda grass, dandelions, and wild garlic that was all cut on the lowest setting with a riding lawn mower.  I have grown lots of food, and I have imported loooooots of free biomass.  The system is maturing all around.  I’m growing soil and capturing rain water and sun energy.  It’s beautiful.

I’d say, outside of being here everyday for my family, the best part about dropping out of the Matrix is the ability to live my life how it is supposed to be lived.  My wife told me the other day that she had read a blog written by a hospice nurse about the most common regrets that patients on their death beds have.  The most common was regret for not having the courage to live their lives on their own terms, and not due to the worlds social and programmed expectations.  That is what I’m doing.  I’m living my life based on my moral north, my bliss, doing what I’m meant to do.  My wife and I are fulfilling our purposes together, with children, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever participated in.

I ask you, dear reader, what is an hour of your life worth in dollar figures?  Not just one hour, but an endless precession of hours, until they end that is, upon your death.  What is that hour, just before you die, worth?  Personally I am incapable of putting a dollar amount on even my last second, much less hour.  This is where you must put meaning into perspective.  I’ve met the reaper in person, up close and personal.  I know his inevitability, and the hubris created between his inevitability and our pride and selfishness.  The irony is that the most selfless thing you could possibly do is to undergo your own self actualization.  Because it’s true that you cannot possibly expect to be loved if you can’t even love yourself.

I believe the job that we all must do, for the world, for our children, and for ourselves, is to fulfill our purposes.  Not to blindly follow the programming that tells us that a job is the highest good.  Make your own damn job, and that job is to do what you are called to do, and not what you are paid to do.  The money will come, as if by magic, and you might find that the Stones were right, you’ll get what you need.  Do not be afraid to live your life for your highest purpose.  After all, there is a high probability…if you live your life on the terms of others, that you will regret it on your death bed.


Article off the keyboard of Lucid Dreams
Podcast off the microphones of Lucid Dreams and Monsta666

Follow us on Twitter @doomstead666
Friend us on Facebook

Published on Epiphany Now on December 2, 2012


Discuss at the Podcast Table inside the Diner

I’ve told this story too many times. To myself, to patrons of the bars I’ve worked at, to associates, to acquaintances, to friends, and I’ve written it in many different ways as well. It’s true, and not really that interesting, but it had a large impact on who I am now. I never wanted to be a nuclear engineer, not even while I was one. That title “nuclear engineer” is really a misnomer because what I actually was was a steam plant mechanic; it just so happens that I was standing about fifteen feet from a nuclear reactor while I was mechanicing. What makes my story a bit more interesting is not that I was standing watch in the nuclear bowels of an air craft carrier just outside of the straits of Hormuz when 911 happened, but that I did not want to be there. I don’t think anybody really wanted to be there, but I went to great measures to no longer be there.

On September 11 2001 the U.S.S. Carl Vinson was prepared to pass through the straits of Hormuz into the Persian Gulf. The skin of the ship was secure and nobody was allowed outside due to the potential small arms fire. When a carrier passes through the straits, the indigenous population has a habit of popping off rounds, which can actually hit the ship. I was in my rack sleeping, and I was woken by a shipmate of mine “McCarty, McCarty…wake up man, we’re at war.”

“War!!! What the fuck are you talking about?” I got up and went into the berthing lounge, where there was a television mounted in the corner that the Captain would occasionally connect to CNN via satellite link for important news. Just as I was wiping the sleep out of my eyes, I looked up in time to see the second plane crash into the building. We could feel the ship listing as it turned around to head back out into the Arabian Sea to begin “Operation Enduring freedom.” The fact that we were launching jets off of the flight deck around the clock really didn’t change my life much. Either way my job was the same; make sure the nuclear power plant was working just fine for all of the steam that we needed to keep the war machine functioning. I had a small part to play in that, and that mainly consisted of standing watch at the main feed pumps (MFP). These pumps pumped water into the steam generator which cooled the reactor water and produced steam to power everything on the ship. There were many other watch stations for me to stand around at, but like everything else in the nuclear navy I had to first “qualify” to stand them. The MFP station just happened to be the first one I qualified for while we were at sea.

Life at sea sucked with more power than a black hole, and in fact THE bull shit black hole that services the United States was located in that power plant. It required constant heapings of bull shit to remain satiated. It’s favorite type of bull shit was bureaucratically generated. Every day at sea was a work day, except for Sundays, but even then we had to stand five hour watches. I could go on and on about why being at sea sucked so bad, and I have for a 100 or so pages in a book titled “Surrender” that I have never finished writing, so I won’t be doing that here. Suffice it to say that we ate food that had “not fit for human consumption, military and prisoner use only” stamped on the side of the boxes, we breathed what we called “boat funk” which was a mix of recycled engine room oil, nut sack jam, and farts, and you did this on an average of five hours of sleep a day (except for the boat funk part…that was 24/7)…all while being surrounded by nothing but navy fucks. It sucked.

My problem was not so much how bad it sucked (although I had a bit of a problem with that part as well), but with the fact that we were dropping bombs and firing missiles day and night at a nomadic peoples who had no idea what the fuck was going on. After 115 days at sea (which is how long I went without seeing land), we were informed by some douche bag admiral that had flown onto the boat, that between the Vinson and the Kitty Hawk we had dropped 3 million tons of ordinance. I believe it. They stored the munitions in huge storage rooms just beneath the aft galley. I would routinely be eating my not fit for human consumption non-food while the gunnies busied themselves carting bombs past me to the hanger bay. They had fun writing racial slurs on the sides of the bombs as a personal touch for the innocent people they were to destroy. Did I mention that I became a Buddhist while I was in the navy? It’s safe to state that I was a bit conflicted by my station in life.

So, one day, having had enough of this naval nonsense, a friend and I decided that we would do something about it. There are all manner of tactics that can be employed to get your ass out of the navy while at sea. Indeed, they were employed often. We heard about them through the grape vine; pissing yourself in your rack every night while refusing to bath, lodging yourself in a bilge while refusing to eat, attempting suicide by all manner imaginable, one guy even jumped off of the flight deck into the dark Arabian sea in the middle of the night (luckily for him one of the boatswain mates who’s job it was to look out into the dark sea for people such as he, spotted him before he became shark bait), but we didn’t want to harm or kill ourselves. We elected to employ what was colloquially known as a “rainbow chit.” My buddy and I wrote little notes that said “I, insert name, social, rate and rank, willingly admit to being a homosexual and because of that would like to be separated from the navy.” We turned them into ships admin and waited.

They say that one enlisted nuke costs the navy in the neighborhood of 250,000 dollars to get through the “nuclear pipeline.” It takes two years from boot camp to the fleet to create a nuke. Once on the ship it’s another couple of months before a nuke is no longer a “nub” (none useful body) and can actually contribute by standing watch and performing maintenance. The navy has a hard time filling all of their nuclear positions. Most people who are intelligent enough to become a nuke don’t, they go to college, or choose other more fulfilling career paths like panhandling or suckin’ strange wieners for smack. The point is that once you are in the nuclear program (more so once you complete it) you are not getting out of it.

So my buddy and I ended up at the Captain’s at sea cabin one night. The at sea cabin is located on level ten. Level 10 is located in the tower which is the highest structure on the flight deck. This is the Captains own personal chill pad. At any rate, me, my buddy, the Master Chief in charge of reactor department, and the Captain are all standing there in his at sea cabin staring at one another. The Captain (whom I had never seen in person in the five or so months I’d been on the carrier) looks at me and says “I’ve read your letter, and I’m here to tell you to go back to work.” So much for the “don’t ask don’t tell policy.” At that moment I looked at my buddy, and he looked at me, and we both contemplated making out with each other in front of both of them. I almost leaned in to go gay for a minute, but at the last minute decided that as much as I liked my buddy, I wasn’t going to make out with him. I wanted to say to the captain “so you mean we can continue pushin’ each other’s shit in while in the showers and you don’t care?” But I didn’t, I just hung my head and prayed to whatever would listen that nobody on the ship would find out that I was “homosexual.” People got their asses beat for those sort of proclivities.

I was pissed off at the fact that we had to follow the rules and they didn’t. “Don’t ask don’t tell” applied to the entire navy, so long as it wasn’t the nuclear one. That’s why the Captain did what he did. He was just calling our bluff. I guess he figured if we were telling the truth somebody would eventually catch us blowin’ one another and he’d kick us out then. So it was back to the engine room for my sorry ass. I had another trick up my sleeve, and as soon as we pulled into San Diego to drop off the air wing I pulled it out. We got four hours of liberty while in port, and I took advantage of my “liberty.” I grabbed a few of the civilian things that I had and fuckin’ left. The same buddy that I had turned my rainbow chit in with had actually scheduled to go on leave for two weeks while we were in San Diego. I had him pick me up, and I was enroute to his house while the boat was leaving without me to return to Bremerton Washington.

We got an ounce of herb and smoked it all. 28 days latter I walked my ass back onto the boat and turned myself in. Due to the fact that we were “at war,” at 30 days I became a deserter and could technically be put to death for my desertion. I didn’t want to test out that theory. After being gone for 28 days, the Master Chief gave me my military I.D. back and said he’d see me in two weeks. I was confused, but I didn’t argue. I walked back off of the boat and drove back to California to enjoy another two weeks off of the boat. My family was devastated. Nobody understood why I had done what I had done. While I was UA (the navy’s version of AWOL…Unauthorized Absence) the navy sent all manner of threatening letters to my family, as well as called repeatedly trying to ascertain my whereabouts. I didn’t care about the consequences. What I cared about was no longer participating in “Operation Enduring Freedom.”

To my mind, it was just senseless violence, and I didn’t understand it. I had no idea why 911 had happened, and I didn’t know who Osama Bin Laden was, or that the whole thing was really about oil. I had never heard of Peak Oil at the time, and I had no idea about fiat currency or infinite growth on a finite planet. I was 21 years old. All I wanted was to get stoned on the beach, fall in love with a woman, make love, read, write, create art and music, and maybe eventually check into a Buddhist monastery to meditate my way to Nirvana (if the whole making love thing didn’t work out). What I knew with certainty was that I was not going to participate in the madness of war any longer. I’ve heard the argument “well you willingly signed up to join the military…what did you think the military was about,” and? Yeah, I was 19 when I signed up for the military. I had been indoctrinated by my society to believe in patriotism and the flag. I was in JROTC for four years. To the people who say to me that what I did was wrong, I say too bad for you. I raised my level of consciousness to worldcentric and could no longer abide senseless killing. I did what I had to do to not abide it. The navy wasn’t done with me yet…I had a pointless and torturous crucible to go through to reach separation and receive my “other than honorable discharge.”

The Fox Den

Off the keyboard of Lucid Dreams

Published on Epiphany Now on February 12, 2012

ninja fox

Discuss this article at the Doomsteading Table inside the Diner

It’s interesting to note that with the increasing bouts of synchronicity in my life, the amount of irony has increased as well. The starkest bit of irony would be that I have resigned from the Matrix while at the same time increased the amount of online computer time required of me. This doesn’t bother me much, and that is mainly because it’s winter, and what else am I going to do? Winter is definitely the time for reflection and personal psychological investigations. Winter also lends itself magnificently to the writer in us. One doesn’t have to look out from a window at a beautiful spring or summer day that is begging, indeed demanding, assistance from us in our many post petroleum endeavors. During the winter one looks outside and is thankful to be inside, where it is warm. Not only are we thankful, we are aware that this is the time for guilt free planning for the year ahead. Even the most adept muddler increases his success by thinking and planning about what changes he must make in reality to continue following his (or her) bliss (I see people use “her” in place of “his” often and I’m always struck by how it reads differently…I use the male version simply as a matter of habit…not out of a sense of chauvinism).
In the month that has past I have been busy paying attention to my changing life circumstances. The 15th is the day that our POD will be picked up, and it’s also the day that we will be leaving the house we have called home for the last five years. There has been a small amount of melancholy on my part in response to this move. Mostly I reside somewhere between equanimity and joy when I think about my life now, but there are times when sadness is not only desirable but healthy and needed. It seems, here again, that Winter lends itself to these emotional states of mind. “The Winter of Our Discontent” comes to mind here. John Steinbeck has long been my favorite American author, and I’ve read about 50% of the work he left behind. I always identified with him on a personal level. My favorite aspect of John Steinbeck are the true human idiosyncrasies that he had such a brilliant way of writing about. He was sort of like the arbiter of commentary on the condition of man in the 20th century. He wrote about everyman and his struggle. He wrote about me.
The Winter of our Discontent applies directly to my current Resignation from the Matrix. The protagonist, Ethan Allen Hawley, is every American following the dictates of the American Hologram in pursuit of the American Dream. He thinks he wants success, and in typical American fashion that means anything goes. Robbery, extortion, usury, bribe, black mail, and all other measures of moral turpitude are fair game where “success” in the American sense of the acquisitive life are concerned. The logical conclusion to a life spent absorbed in hucksterism is one of suicide and this is largely what The Winter of our Discontent is about. Ethan is saved by a talisman that his daughter sticks in his coat in place of the razor blades that were to assist him in the dispatch of his own failed huckster lifestyle. His own lack of a moral North (beyond the hologram that is) fructified into a son whom saw no dilemma in plagiarizing his way into society’s recognition. After getting an honest man deported, and taking advantage of a drunken friend to service his endless desire for more, what could he say to his son about a simple plagiarism? In perfect symbolism his son is given an accolade from society for his ethical nihilism.
Herein lies the difference between the life of following your bliss and the life of following the dictates of the Matrix. On the one hand you are true to yourself and therefore everyone else, and on the other you are the mythical embodiment of the trickster. One you can stand beside your soul and hold your head up amongst your own harshest critique, and the other you must hide and never reveal who you are lest somebody take advantage of you. One leads to happiness, joy, and equanimity, and the other leads to losing the will to live. It’s important to note that the acquisitive lifestyle will always end in misery, because in servicing all of the material acquired, your life force gets siphoned out from you by inanimate objects. This while those in your life vie for your attention and time. America has no soul because it has been transferred to all of the loot we busy ourselves with jacking from whomever isn’t strong enough to defend against our infectious wanting.
What is the “Matrix” exactly. I’ve had more time to think about this lately since I resigned from it. In many ways it’s the perfect metaphor from within the Myth of the Machine (MOTM). This myth is a dying myth. It was the myth that serviced the 20th century, and the one that Steinbeck busied himself with outlining through all manner of magnificent fiction (he contributed much more than that to the American psyche, but he was living in the apex of the MOTM thinking). The 21st century needs a new Steinbeck, and one that will busy himself with writing fiction at a time when all that is left is a dying myth. What is to replace the MOTM? It seems to me that scavenging will be the default winner. John Michael Greer calls the economy of the future the “scarcity economy.” By future one should understand that this is the very near future. For many Americans this has already become the way in which they live, and not by any voluntary means either. For those of us who see the future clearly, we are entering into the “scavenge economy,” as I like to call it, now. It is a largely untapped economy that is literally found at the ass hole end of the empire. The American Empire is a gluttonous and inefficient digester, and so it’s quite easy to find whole and undigested bits of wealth in said shit pile.
This is what it means to be a scavenger. It helps to look at the animal kingdom to glean some information about how to scavenge. Look at the Crow, the possum, or the perfect embodiment of the scavenger…the Raccoon. Raccoons are professional scavengers that grow fat amidst our gluttonous society. A raccoons life is a good life and they don’t want for anything. I’ve watched many a raccoon help themselves to the cat food that gets left over by my outdoor cats. Urban Raccoons are a fearless lot, and I have had them walk to within a foot of me to get the cat food only slowly scampering off if I make the wrong move. They move at night and they seem to me to be overly satisfied with their place in our shit pile. However this is not the animal that I want informing me. The animal that is coming into view for me as a mentor is the Fox. This is an animal steeped in mythic lore. Yet again, here is more of that irony I was speaking of in the beginning of this essay because the fox is the mythical trickster. However this is not the same trickster as the one that keeps us from enlightenment. The evil trickster is the one Steinbeck wrote about in The Winter of our Discontent. This is the animal trickster whom gets what he needs by taking it as if by magic. In fact, the fox is amongst the magical adept of the animal kingdom and this shows up in fox lore. I must be honest and admit that I know very little about fox lore, but I intend on educating myself on the matter and reporting about it here. For now, I can simply say that the fox has introduced himself to me by way of dream epiphany.
Michael Ruppert recently found himself being ruthlessly teased by Joe Rogan when he brought up “fox magic.” Indeed, fox magic is the magical path at who’s gate I am standing and about to enter in earnest on the 15th when my POD is picked up. I see myself as a trickster fox as viewed by the matrix. Rather than hustling within the Matrix, all while paying homage to the corporate Bankster masters, I’ll be hustling just out of reach of the Matrix. Don’t misunderstand me, cause like the crew of the Nebuchadnezzar, I’ll be stealthily dropping in on the Matrix when need be. I spoke of bending the rules in my resignation, and I have begun doing just that. Dumpster diving is a great place to start bending the rules. It’s probably not going to get you arrested around here, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it did.
The scavenge economy (black market) is booming right now. There is a lot of cash circulating in the black market because we can’t afford to waste our cash on the empire any longer. We can’t afford to pay ridiculous amounts of currency for things we can barter, thrift, or otherwise acquire for free. People, especially women, still have the want to shop for things. These things can be gotten for free and sold at a very fair price to gain the cash that one may find themselves in need of. All of this can be very easily done under the radar of the Matrix while also using the Matrix. This is what my wife and I are doing now. Last night, when the fox came to visit me, he gave me a nod as he scampered off back into invisibility. He imbued in me the source of his invisibility just as I presume he did with Mike Ruppert. It seems to me that the fox should be the animal mascot of our movement out of the Matrix. The fox is the perfect candidate to uncover the myth that we will write together. The myth that will service the 21st century Scavenge Economy of the Post Petroleum Human Nation. I can think of no better animal. As I’ve said I intend on writing more about the Fox and what kind of myth he may uncover for those like me (and likely you since you find yourself reading this). There is a business descending in my life, and it’s been dubbed “The Fox Den.” Good luck finding it…however if you are prepared it may find you.

Eustace Conway

Off the keyboard of Lucid Dreams

Published on Epiphany Now on May 12, 2013

Discuss this article at the Doomsteading Table inside the Diner

You’ve likely never heard of Eustace Conway or his Turtle Island Preserve before. Mr. Conway is a very unique individual whom has much to teach those of us concerned with how to thrive in a post-petroleum future. Mr. Conway never really joined society, preferring to remain embraced by nature. At 17 he moved into a Native American style teepee and lived in it for 17 years. At 18 he walked across the U.S. on the Appalachian Trail and shortly after that canoed from the North to the South. He also rode a horse across the United States from the east coast to the west coast twice. There are not many people like Eustace Conway that have been born to a first world country. Around 20 years ago he bought 1000 acres in Appalachia. He then turned that land into the “Turtle Island Preserve” with the explicit purpose of teaching others how to live on the bounty of nature. For the last 20 years he’s been doing just that. Recently the Matrix has decided to zero in on his strength to make a very important statement about what will and will not be tolerated in today’s America.
Recently the NC county bureaucracy, in which Turtle Island is located, has decided that after 20 years of operation Mr. Conway is to be shut down due to building codes. Mr. Conway has been working with the county inspectors for 20 years with no problems. He’s had to make sacrifices to keep his preserve and vision alive. He’s had to abide ridiculous things like not allowing the children of the preserve to drink raw milk, and not allowing them to eat the chickens he’s raised and slaughtered. Apparently it’s acceptable to the county for him to teach the kids how to slaughter and butcher the chickens, but not to eat them. I’m sure there’s a gaggle of more such nonsense that he’s had to put up with over the years.
One day, not to long ago, several county departments showed up on his land, unannounced, and unwelcome with a search warrant. The zoning code enforcement assholes, the tax collector, the health department, and every other waste of tax payer money department showed up to find cause to shut him down. This on account of an anonymous “somebody” who supposedly anonymously called the building code office to complain about how Mr. Conway was minding his own damn business on his own damn land. At that point they had to get every county department together to go violate the illusion of Mr. Conway’s civil and constitutional rights. They shut him down because he was “open to the public” even though he wasn’t. The entrance to his secluded 1000 acre track of Appalachia has a gated entrance with a large sign that says “no trespassing.” Their idiotic reasoning for him being “open to the public” is because Mr. Conway has apprentices that live on his property, and apparently this makes them the public. In order for the “public” to arrive at the preserve they have to fill out an application and be accepted by Mr. Conway. It goes without saying that these people want to be there. The fact of the matter is that Mr. Conway’s preserve is not open to the public any more than my asshole is. But the counties Orwellian double think standards of governance assert that private land is open to the public, and they are using this cockamamie gobbledegook as ammo to put an end to Mr. Conways primitive living school. Watauga county has opened it’s pie hole and allowed odious stupid to ooze out all over this gentle and responsible man’s freedom.
It’s clear to me that this is not about endangering the consenting non-public adults and their children whom arrive at the preserve by choice to learn primitive living skills. This is about setting a new precedence for what is and is not going to be accepted by the New American Gestapo. The truth is that freedom and liberty are not acceptable to the gears of Big Brother bureaucracy. The Matrix will not abide individuals who do not need the Matrix. The problem is not that Mr. Conway has remained unplugged from the Matrix for his entire life. The problem is that he is teaching other’s how to unplug and to stay unplugged. He teaches people how to live in harmony with the unmitigated wealth of nature. He’s being persecuted for the same reason the 19th century American government rounded up all of the Native Americans and put them into camps. Tribal people cannot be controlled by Big Brother because they need nothing from him. They don’t need EBT, Snap, unemployment, debit cards, jobs, health insurance, or a mortgage. They don’t need anything from the government. And what would happen if a lot of people caught on and decided to learn to live this way?
According to Watauga county, Mr. Conway’s dog house is a building, and therefore it requires electricity and plumbing. A dog house! Does your dog have electricity and plumbing in his plastic igloo? His buildings are built according to old world standards. They are built on foundations of rock and held up with whole trees rather than flimsy pine sticks used in standard construction. His buildings are made to survive through generations of use with quality as their guiding principal of construction. If the point of building codes are to ensure quality buildings that are worth caring about, esthetically pleasing, durable, strong, and made to last, than the bureaucratic goons can learn a lot from Mr. Conway’s buildings. On the other hand, if the point of those codes is nothing more than governmental control of the people, than they are succeeding admirably. The fact is, this is not about building codes, it’s about freedom and liberty and ensuring that there is none left in these failed states of America.
The Matrix has zeroed in on Mr. Conway because he is one of the strongest links in the self reliant chain of America. Freedom will not be tolerated in today’s America. It will be squashed beneath the wheel of “democracy.” The same democracy we’ve been spreading via the faceless drone strikes that mangle and kill innocent women and children over there. The same democracy that demands that you get in line and appreciate the poison that’s killing all life on Earth. The poisonous food and the poisonous medicine. The state sponsored plague that’s acidifying our oceans, polluting our fresh water, and filling our mother’s wombs with hundreds of man made chemicals. The digibits that suck the wealth out of every corner of the world on account of spreading misery and suffering to every sentient being on planet Earth. Mr. Conway’s way of being in the world is the antidote to all of the destruction that the governments of the world are ensuring we continue inheriting.
If we all sat down and listened to this beautiful and gentle man’s message than we would begin to heal all of the rot that has hollowed out the soul of America and the human spirit. Mr. Conway teaches how to live in harmony with the natural world. He teaches how to make fire with sticks, medicine out of plants, buildings out of stone and tree, and strong humans out of nothing more than dirt, sun, and rain water. He teaches how to live independent from the Matrix and it’s controlling hologram. It is clear that our government does not want this type of person spreading this type of message. It does not fit into the destructive paradigm brought to you by mindless bureaucratic goonery. Goonery that we complacently accept as it’s shoved up our asses without abandon, and as it splooges it’s vile incompetence in the face of planetary health.
Nothing is going to change the course our civilization is on if you don’t. The world is running out of the fossil fuel energy that is responsible for the 7 billion of us in existence now. We need to be embracing and learning from the Eustace Conway’s of the world rather than allowing them to be silenced. Why should we allow this to go on? If Mr. Conway’s preserve is to be shut down, than we might as well all get on with our Soma shots and get in line for the two minutes hate. We might as well embrace the Newspeak Dictionary and accept that freedom is slavery, love is hate, and medicine is poison. We might as well go to the Ministry of Health to get our chemotherapy ahead of the cancer that we’ve become. Mr. Conway, and those like him, are the cure to the hologram. Yet we get together and yell at the gargantuan telescreen that dictates what is and is not acceptable about reality. The least you can do is click here and sign the petition to call the dog’s off of Eustace Conway. More importantly you should care before they show up to your house to tell you how your liberty will not be tolerated. If we allow this to go on than there truly is no hope for our species.


Culture of Denial

Off the keyboard of Lucid Dreams

Published on Epiphany Now May12, 2012

Discuss this article at the Epicurean Delights Smorgasbord inside the Diner



The Post Petroleum Human Tribe is continuing to evolve. We are unplugged and wired in without wires. We drop down the memory hole and immerse our minds in remembrance. So that we don’t forget where we came from.

The American Hologram is a real program being projected within the Matrix. There are other programs, but this one is dominant in the industrialized senseless suburban consumer consumption wasteland artifact of 20th century chemical monkey man.

We’re coalescing for the future of the Post Petroleum Nation at a little place called the Foxstead. We’ll be hiding in plain site. When you look at us we’ll be directly ahead, in the woods, visible in your blind spot. Don’t bother looking to hard because we have vanished in our 21st century anonymity. We are legion and you can’t even see us. Hiding in plain site. Waiting for you to blink to make our next move. And you thought you would always remain in control of the masses.

Also, let me just say, in this afterward that’s happening in the forward spot, that I made my way back to “Where the Wasteland Ends” and it expanded my mindscape greatly.

The last bout of books that I have acquired and began perusing have come to me through two sources, Morris Berman and John Michael Greer. The book I’m currently reading is titled “Where the Wasteland Ends”and is authored by Theodore Roszak. It was first published in 1972. I’m 30 pages in and I’m already beginning to lose interest and for different reasons than one might expect. In fact, I’ve never even experienced a lose of interest such as this and it’s what I can only term as a type of exhaustion. It’s an intellectual and emotional exhaustion that protrudes from a dawning realization that the world is suffering from a legendary case of denial. As I read these books that were published years before I was born (in this case 8 years before I was born), and as I look around at the world today to see the furtherance of our march into the wasteland, I can only throw my arms up in despair and then drop my hands into the soil. I put them into animal shit and dead and dying biomass. I mix it all together with the steam rising behind me from the hot compost pile. I mix this all into red dirt in an effort to make cultivated plant seeds a nurturing place to grow. This brings me peace and hope, and the need for these necessary books is fading. I know what needs to be done and why things are the way they are. There is simply no reason for me to read about it any longer, it’s just depressing.

The fact that over 40 years ago books were already being written about the “Wasteland” or the Matrix or the American Hologram is proof enough that nothing is going to change or save our empire from this downward spiral. It’s a pretty hopeless realization. Yet it’s true none-the-less. The easy way out is through denial, and I’ve noticed that this is indeed an innate reaction, a knee jerk reaction. Intelligent people simply know on some unconscious level that there is very little meaningful action they can take to change any of this truth. They are wrong to think that unconsciously, but that doesn’t stop them. And so the realization just never happens for hundreds of millions of people because it’s just too depressing. The 100th monkey is not going to wake up from this chemical induced coma of denial until the death march of our empire is over. 40 years ago maybe, but now…it’s simply too late.
I didn’t sit down with the intention of writing a depressing blog, but even amidst my liberation I have been fighting this underlying current of depression lately. It’s taken me some time to figure out why I feel this way. I am taking all the actions I can to learn as much about growing food as possible. I have changed my entire life around to meet these mandates, and I have taken my family with me. As a result I am able to tend to plant life on 1.65 acres as my job. My job is now to learn as much as I can about growing food and that is simply amazing. I have had the good fortune to learn the truth behind the saying that the best fertilizer is the gardener’s feet. I’m present and unmedicated for my wife and son. Yet still there is this dreaded sadness that erupts through the fissures in the psychic ground that is supposed to protect me. The sadness is coming from a place that is much larger than I, and it has the capability of strong arming all of my defenses and there is nothing I can do about it. Ahhhh denial, it’s one hell of a drug.
I have come face to face with the source of this sadness. It’s become more tactile to me because I have had time to tease out it’s form and it origination. We’ve always had the answers about the antidote to the machine, to the wasteland. We put all of our cards into building the Wasteland and now we’re going to take them to bed for a self induced nightmare. How is anyone to deal with such horrible truth if not with denial? The only way through it is to feel it and that means a heavy blanket of sadness. I understand that what I am doing is the best I can do. It’s not only the best I can do, it’s the only meaningful course of action for me. I’m following my bliss. I know that food production is the most important element of this mess. It’s the one thing that I know with certainty is necessary now and in the future. It’s the one thing that allows me to be a whole person. Everything inside and outside is aligned though me with the simple act of growing soil. I am not in denial, and yet that comes with an immense cost because just about everybody I know is in denial about this. My friends, that is a recipe for loneliness, and no doubt one that I’m sure most of you are intimate with.
I suppose this means I have grown to big for this round of skin. I no longer feel the need to read books about how fucked up it all is. The truth is that it’s always been fucked up cause our species is, and worse than that even because we don’t have to be. Our species chooses to remain agents of destruction because of cowardice. Nobody wants to deal with the mess we have made, and so they hide in their convenient suburbanland and are at peace with trading their humanity for consumerism. Our species has made a Faustian deal…their humanity and honor for the numbness of complete denial. Not only do they lose their dignity, but they lose their future progeny’s as well.
Waking up from the Matrix becomes a sad ordeal rather quickly. I knew I was alone in the Matrix, but I had no idea about what it was like outside of it. I do have a small kernel of hope however. I don’t want to leave ya’ll with nothing but depressing truth. I have hope that I will find others like me because I already have. The problem is that I have met them 70 miles from where I’m at in Asheville NC. I’m referring to the group of souls I met at the Permaculture In Action event that I have been attending. For the first time in my life I have met a large group of people whom all view the world through the same type of eyes. We are all different. We come from different places, backgrounds, and times. This group spans from 18 to 60 something years old. The easiest way to describe it would be to say that we are a tribe, but in the 21st century a tribe can exist only with it’s members spread out in a vast region….a pack of mostly lone wolfs. I’m on the outskirts of our region with only one couple a few more miles further out than I. Our people are spread out in a 100 mile long diameter around Asheville NC. It only took one day for us to all bond into this tribe. The one guiding principal has been permaculture. We have all met each other because we share that one interest, but that one interest spans the breadth of a people whom have been freed from that cultural denial that I have been speaking of. We are united in our decision to do something about this culture of denial. I have plans to write about this Permaculture In Action Tribe that I have found, so I won’t continue much about it now.
I think we are the beginning of humanities long muddling trudge into a new environment. Our empire is just beginning to approach the back side of Hubbert’s curve. We have been on the bumpy plateau since 2006 or so. To my mind Hurricane Katrina was the harbinger for this new reality. We’ve probably got another five years left before we begin our descent in earnest. Those of us who are aware are already at the bottom of the back side of Hubbert’s curve. That’s where you find yourself upon waking up from the Matrix. We’re looking at a culture, an empire, of denial and trying to figure out just what the hell we’re going to do about it. The fact is that we’re going to have to just let the empire plummet to the flat ground after Hubbert. The best we can do is have things ready for when they arrive. I think I’m going to continue asking this question here at Epiphany Now. If you are reading this, and you haven’t acted on the information you know to be true, the information that hails from your soul, then what are you waiting for? We of the Post Petroleum Human Tribe need all of the help we can get.

Are you a Hobbit?

Off the keyboard of Jason Heppenstall

Published on 22 Billion Energy Slaves on October 13, 2012

Simon Dale's Hobbit style house in Wales

Discuss this article at the Epicurean Delights Smorgasboard inside the Diner

I will begin this week’s post with a confession that few of you could have guessed from the limited information I reveal about myself in the global cyber commons aka The Matrix. Here are some clues: I grew up in the English Midlands, I’m of average height for a Brit (i.e. a dwarf by Scandinavian standards where I live), I have a fondness for real ale and my idea of pure unsurpassed bliss is sitting beside an open fire, smoking a pipe and listening to the slow monotonous tung of a grandfather clock.
Yes, that’s right; it’s something I have suspected for a while – I am a hobbit.
As if further proof were needed, I can rummage in my drawers and find scraps of paper with crude drawings of earth built ‘hobbit holes’ in the style of that made by Simon Dale (see main image), and what’s more, my toes are hairier than the average. I’m pluckier than the average person could guess, and although I have never outwitted a dragon, I did, alas, have a promising career as a burglar in my younger days (more on my reckless past in a future post).
But this post is not about me and my hairy toes – this post is about EVIL.
Speaking of toes, I once had a tattoo made in Guatemala by a man from Los Angeles who told me he had tattooed the name of Sean Penn’s dead dog onto his big toe (i.e. Sean Penn’s big toe, not his own). The fact that I just revealed that Sean Penn has his dead dog’s name inked onto his big toe makes me a celebrity news breaker and I fully expect to quadruple the visitor count to 22BillionEnergySlaves this week as a result, given that Sean Penn’s web presence is double that of all news relating to peak oil – I hope one or two of those visitors will stay.
Anyway, back to the plot. Draw a deep breath, because I’ve been contemplating evil all week, and the various forms it can take. But what is evil? I’m not sure. I’d define it as an action that causes gross suffering to sentient beings and/or wanton destruction of part of the biosphere for psychological satisfaction.
Here are my conclusions about evil if you are in a rush and don’t have time/can’t be bothered to read the rest of the post: evil does exist, and mostly it is dressed up as good. What’s more, technology can act as a catalyst of evil.
I realize that evil is a strong word. I believed in evil as a child – you know the kind of evil I mean – the kind personified by the Child Catcher in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and the kid-munching giants in the BFG. Then, as I got older, I started to think that evil didn’t really exist and it was more a case of stupidity, or senselessness, on the part of the people I had previously labelled evil. This belief was bolstered by a flirtation with Buddhism, and even the Dalai Lama has said something to the effect that people are not ‘evil’ they are just making mistakes that will negatively affect their karma.

The Childcatcher: probably quite evil in a conventional way

Well, whatever. Recently I’ve come around again to thinking that evil does exist, and we’re liberally marinated in the stuff. What’s more, there are three types of evil people – or people who employ evil means, more precisely. The most common-garden recognisable variety evil is committed by psychopaths. You know the type; they will capture you, lock you in a box and torture you for days before ending your life in a most unpleasant manner and then walk around wearing your genitals for kicks. Whether these people are simply insane or not, I don’t really care – evil is a good enough label for me.
The second type of evil doer is of the same breed as the above, but more refined and clever. Not wishing to get blood on their own hands these people rise to positions of power and then channel their evil ways through the power they have attained. Whether they are the president of a company or the president of a nation doesn’t really matter, they get their kicks from, as George Orwell put it, stamping on a human face forever.
Then there’s the third kind of evil. This is a far less visible type, but by sheer biomass is probably the weightiest of them all. The evil I talk of is evil dressed up as good. Everyone’s at it, it seems. From the countries who think their shit don’t stink because they have ‘progressive policies’ for their citizens (while quietly exploiting the Third World for their own benefit), to the various NGOs who act as virus carriers of ideology to the far corners of the globe, and rabid corporate backed scientists who are pushing all manner of destructive technologies into the biosphere in the name of humanitarianism.
We’re all complicit in this last scam. Indeed, living in the ‘developed’ world, it is all but impossible to not contribute in some way to the systems that enslave our fellow men and creatures. This applies to some more than others, of course, but I type these words on a laptop that was in all probability assembled by wage slaves (in the name of giving someone a job), manufactured and transported half way across the world by climate-damaging oil (in the name of economic growth), produced in a country where the environmental costs of its manufacture were borne by the ecosystem and the health of the human population (in the name of free trade), sold to me by some corporation who will probably be contributing money to whoever wins the next election in the US in order to keep their profitable racket going (in the name of free speech and democracy) and, finally, uploaded onto a blogging platform that is owned by a company which plans to turn the human race into cyborgs (see late week’s post).
What’s a blogger to do? Throw the computer into the garbage and retreat to a cave in the Himalayas? Chuck myself onto the nearest compost heap and await the end? Start watching the X Factor and try to become ‘adjusted’?
J.R.R Tolkien knew what evil was. His time in the Somme, during the First World War, showed him the depths that humans could plunge to. Would the German machine gunners who gunned down so many young men have considered themselves evil? I don’t think so.
Tolkien would never be drawn on the meaning of the One Ring in The Lord of the Rings. Nevertheless, we can probably assume it was to do with nuclear weapons. Destructive technology was Tolkien’s bugbear. In one quote he hinted at the meaning, seemingly saying that once some kind of destructive power had been brought into being it began to live a life of its own:
“I should say that it was a mythical way of representing the truth that potency (or perhaps potentiality) if it is to be exercised, and produce results, has to be externalized and so as it were passes, to a greater or lesser degree, out of one’s direct control.”
Which, to me, is the theme of The Lord of the Rings. Tolkien drew on Scandinavian and Anglo Saxon mythology for his inspiration. He was all too aware that our native mythology had been utterly supplanted by Christianity, and what remained of it in Wales and Scotland, was mostly Celtic in origin. Instead, he was driven by a desire to create an English mythology – even if it was ‘made up’ – never anticipating the success he would encounter in such an endeavour.
As I mentioned above, I grew up in ‘Tolkien country’. My childhood was spent close to Oxford, where Tolkien lived and worked as a professor of linguistics at the university – I was probably lying in my cot, aged two, when he died. I hadn’t even had a chance to read The Hobbit at that point.
Turning back the clock, when young John lived in Warwickshire it was a very rural (and it still is, to a degree) but the hamlet he lived in, Sarehole Mill, near Hall Green, was some miles from the encroaching spread of Birmingham; England’s second city and the birthplace of the Industrial Revolution. I spent most of my teenage years in this area, which is now well and truly part of the spread of the city and not a very pleasant place to be unless you are a connoisseur of suburban blight (sorry, Hall Greenians – okay, to be fair, it still has its nice parts). I lived for a year very close to Sarehole Mill, which is now embedded in a run-down urban zone where you are as likely to hear Urdu spoken as you are English. It’s almost impossible today to recognise this as a place that inspired Tolkien to invent the fictional Shire, surrounded as it is by busy dual-carriageways, Indian takeaways and dodgy car repair shops.
Here’s a picture of the pub where Tolkien used to chat to his friend C.S.Lewis (of Narnia fame) called the Eagle and Child (known by locals as the Bird and Baby).

The Eagle and Child in Oxford, where Tolkien would meet up with fellow writers

But the surrounding countryside, now some miles away, remains recognisably ‘Shire-esque’, and you can still visit the places where he was inspired to write about the Barrow Mounds and various other places that crop up in his books. There’s even a farm called Bag End and a road called Hobbs Moat Road. If you’ve ever wondered why the unusual chapter ‘The Scouring of the Shire’, in which various low-down characters are driven from the realm, was appended to the end of LOTR, then it’s my guess that it was Tolkien’s cathartic way of dealing with the destruction of his beloved rural idyll by way of fantasy.
So, back to evil. When I see articles like this one, about a new iPad for babies (sorry, it’s in Danish), I can’t help thinking that the kind of evil we should surely be worried about is the kind that we all-too-often take for granted as ‘normality’. How exactly did the marketers of this particular product manage to convince themselves they were adding to the sum total of human welfare? Or the development agencies who consider that they are doing Amazonian tribes a favour by rounding them up and building them somewhere to live that looks like this (but we must cut infant mortality!):

If a visiting alien economist (and I pray there are none ‘out there’) were to analyse our setup, he/she/it would quickly deduce that the ‘enlightened’ first world is a giant face-sucking vampire squid, to borrow a phrase, on the rest of the planet – just by looking at trade deals alone. For every one of us with our iPods and designer kettles and reality TV programmes, there are 10 people on the breadline packed like peas in a pod into a single room, heating dirty water from a beaten up kettle over some burning sticks and living with the reality of not having a TV or any other form of consumer electronics device. What kind of way is that to run a planet?
Anyway, my personal jury’s still out on whether there are truly ‘evil’ forces out there, or whether we are just suckers for unleashing forces that could be considered evil and setting up systems that promote evil. I suppose I should mention Rudolph Steiner, who had some pretty deep thoughts on this subject. He didn’t see the world in black and white terms, and for that we can be thankful. Instead, it is my understanding, he considered the whole progressive materialist fallacy as evil – or at least bad – through and through, with that evil coming in two different flavours which, together, can balance one another out.
These two concepts he named Luciferic and Ahrimanic, with the former being concerned mainly with spirit and cosmology and the latter being concerned with materialism, science and ‘hard facts’. Thus, we are living in Ahrimanic times, by his reckoning, with evil being channelled or justified in that way. There’s an awful lot more to it than that and it’s well worth reading up on his ideas.
So, getting back to hobbits, who are resolutely not evil because they are earthy creatures and not concerned with metaphysics or playing psychic power games, we can perhaps see that what this world needs right now is more hobbits and less evil wizards (marketers, politicians, thaumaturgic manipulators), orcs (mindless consumers, imperial soldiers) and gollums (tortured addicted souls).
Are you a hobbit? You don’t have to look like one. If you hunger for peace and quiet and the chance to feel the moist earth between your toes, to have a small place to call home where it is safe to raise a healthy family and grow a vegetable patch or an orchard, and if the word ‘permaculture’ is more attractive to you than ‘monoculture’ then chances are you have hobbit blood flowing through your veins. And of course, it’s not easy being a hobbit in a world full of orcs and dragons, but we can take heart that we are a resourceful and resilient breed, often at our best during the most testing of times (and often quite lazy at all other times).
So if you are a hobbit reading this then I don’t know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve, so please carry on reading and bear the following in mind:

“The world is indeed full of peril and in it there are many dark places.
But still there is much that is fair. And though in all lands, love is now
mingled with grief, it still grows, perhaps, the greater.”
J.R.R Tolkien

Down the Rabbit Hole

Off the keyboard of El Gallinazo

Discuss this article at the Unidentified Flying Realities Area 51 inside the Diner

No matter how paranoid I get, I just can’t keep up with reality.
Paraphrase of Lily Tomlin

In my short time here on the DD, I have already come out with some pretty outrageous statements. Not only am I a traditional anti-Illuminati conspiracy theorist, which is rather old hat on DD, but I fall more along the David Icke camp, which adds to the Illuminati theorist syndrome UFO’s and ETI’s (defined as non-human intelligences), the secret space program and breakaway civilization, free energy, and that Icke is right and there is a race of extra-dimensional beings (I would actually refer to them as extra-density beings) that have preyed on the human race for millennia and are really calling the shots. When they tell David Rockefeller or the Rothschilds to jump, they ask how high.

So how did a nice boy from New Jersey come to this sad end? Was I born that way, and not only avoided the Men in Black but also the Men in White all these years? Did I take a red pill I found on the street or did I find one of those nifty sunglasses as featured on They Live!? The truth is that I became disaffected with the establishment at a pretty early age. In the fifth grade, an uncle told me that he thought flying saucers were real and I should read this book by Major Donald Keyhoe to check it out. I was a very scientifically oriented kid and knew how far each planet was from earth. So I found a copy in the library, checked it out and read it. Shortly thereafter I learned that Keyhoe was about to have a debate on national TV with the Air Farce. I was quite excited about it. It was before everything was videotaped in advance. We have this from the Wiki piece on Keyhoe:

On 22 January 1958 Keyhoe appeared on a CBS live television show the Armstrong Circle Theatre to speak on the topic of UFOs. Keyhoe charged that a U.S. Congressional committee was evaluating evidence that “will absolutely prove that the UFOs are machines under intelligent control”. However CBS stopped the audio portion of the live broadcast. Herbert A. Carlborg, CBS Director of Editing stated “this program had been carefully cleared for security reasons.”

Well, I wouldn’t describe myself as a kid with a lot of street smarts, but that little incident sort of put it in the bag for me. Off and on for the next 50 years I would update the UFO scene. It was obvious that there was a multigenerational conspiracy by the shadow government to keep the ET/UFO thing covered up though I was not sure of their true motivations.

About 5 years ago I started to study macro-economics and became active on TAE. After four years of this, I started to connect the dots and realized that the Illuminati cabal was real and running the show, and the people at TAE were really in the dark. This triggered a whole lot of research and things just snowballed.

But when you are sitting in that electrolyte bath, all plugged in, and Morpheus isn’t coming along to offer some Day-Glo pills not to mention (again) those nifty sunglasses, how do you peek past the Matrix. I only know of two ways. One way is through very advanced meditation where you leave your 3D body for little trips elsewhere, or go down to the tropics, hook up with some shamans, and take some DMT botanicals involving lots of vomiting and diarrhea. Haven’t done the shaman route and never got very far in mediation. The other way is to look for anomalies. The false reality bullshit that we are being fed is full of glitches and anomalies, and its fun to find one, and pull on it like a thread hanging off of an arrogant woman’s skirt made of a poorly woven fabric. There is no telling where that might lead in this age of the internet.

And here is a tale of a curious man who did just that – Martyn Stubbs, former director of a community cable station in Vancouver, BC. The following link is the first of a youtube 8 part series. It gets curiouser and curiouser as you go along. Stubbs recently came down with a malignant brain tumor, and it was reported as fact in the conspiracy media that he had died of it. But recently it has come out that he has, in fact survived the cancer (so far), and is keeping his head well below the ridge line now and will not divulge his location or give more interviews.

Stubbs was a professional video man who saw a flicker in the public NASA shuttle download footage (1/30th of a second to be exact) and just pulled on the thread. OTOH, this stuff was hiding in plain sight. NASA could have encrypted it in addition to just hiding it, and Stubbs would never have unraveled that skirt. Go figure.

Happy viewing

Which also gets to why I rarely get into ridiculous, long winded debates. Most people just don’t want their apple cart of reality scattered all over the road, particularly when it turns out that Hannibal Lecter is your next door neighbor. The only way people will believe that they live in a thought controlled Matrix reality is for them to become curious and fearless enough to take a shovel and start digging out the truth themselves. No thinking munchkin believes without putting in a lot of personal sweat. Shouting at one’s fellow muppets to Wake Up! just makes them more determined to keep on dreaming. And trying to uncover the Truth is worse than being one of John La Carre’s spymasters. Disinformation and bullshit are everywhere. The last thing that the Consortium (I use that term to reflect the alliance of the Illuminati and their non-human associates) want is for us muppets to wake up. It would be very, very inconvenient for them. And they have all the money in the world, the non-humans have a much higher IQ than us, are usually invisible, and can travel in time to some extent. We stand as much chance as a herd of cattle, which is just how the Predators regard us. Except a typical rancher or shepherd is a lot more empathetic to his herd or flock than the Predators are to us. But the one thing that these peoplepokes don’t want is a stampede. That can get really messy.

So what is the point of watching Stubbs’ investigation? Just pointing out that , hey, there’s is a hanging thread if you want to come pull on it. They are everywhere but this one’s a beaut.

In the Debtrix, there is no Red Pill

A new Diner, Tao Jonesing contributed his thoughts on the “Debtrix”, a version of the Matrix that Neo was subsumed in for 3 Feature Films.


Discuss this article inside the Diner 


In the last forty years, Americans have gone from citizens to consumers, from consumers to consumables. As citizens, we existed to participate in society by producing goods. As consumers, we existed to proclaim our individuality by consuming more goods than our neighbor (who we didn’t know then, and still don’t know now). As consumables, we exist solely to incur debt and be consumed by it.

We are trapped in the Debtrix, coppertops, and there is no escape. There is no Morpheus in this debt matrix (he’s been rebooted as an actor), there is no Neo (another actor), and there is no red pill.

For the vast majority of us, those of us in what used to be called the middle class, our value to the Debtrix is measured by the size of our credit line and our propensity to use it. So make sure to leverage up and spend borrowed money on things you don’t really need or want. But, whatever you do, don’t lose your job because you are unlikely to find it (especially if you damage your credit score).

For those of us without credit, well, our value to the Debtrix is measured by our ability to provide a pool of cheap, temporary labor, primarily to incentivize those with credit lines to produce more in order to keep them. The middle class coppertops will have to increase productivity or end up like you, eating cake.

For those of us at the top of the pecking order, our value to the Debtrix is measured by our complacency in allowing it to persist. The longer we are in the Debtrix, the more time it has to consume our wealth and our humanity (it’s already too late for Charles Munger and this guy, too).

Although the Debtrix cannot be escaped, it can be destroyed through the very means it uses to consume us: debt.

First, stop taking on new debt. This alone will prevent the Debtrix from growing and will even force it to shrink as it fails to maintain the illusion of perpetual exponential growth.

Second, start retiring old debt. If that means selling some of your possessions to pay the debt off, do it. Many of us don’t use or need a lot of what we own. If that means defaulting on non-recourse mortgages, do it. The bottom 90% of households owes roughly 80% of the outstanding household debt, which is about $11 trillion total, of which $8 trillion is mortgage debt. When you include the leveraged side bets the architects of the Debtrix placed on us coppertops paying that $8 trillion back, you’re looking at as much as $88 trillion in total losses for the Debtrix, which would break it. TBTF would become TBTB (“Too Big To Bail”).

The Debtrix cannot be escaped, but it can be destroyed, and when it is, we’ll be citizens again.

Knarf plays the Doomer Blues

Support the Diner

Search the Diner

Surveys & Podcasts


Renewable Energy


" As a daily reader of all of the doomsday blogs, e.g. the Diner, Nature Bats Last, Zerohedge, Scribbler, etc… I must say that I most look forward to your “off the microphone” rants. Your analysis, insights, and conclusions are always logical, well supported, and clearly articulated – a trifecta not frequently achieved."- Joe D


Global Diners

View Full Diner Stats

Global Population Stats

Enter a Country Name for full Population & Demographic Statistics

Lake Mead Watch


Inside the Diner

And we are only up to "I" in the Alphabet!   RE[embed=1111,666]

There are 26 letters in thew Latin Alphabet.  Why do they need to go to the Cyrrilic Alphabet after only 24 Hurricanes?     RE[url= removes ...

Rats and bats that host pandemic pathogens like Covid-19 increase in damaged ecosystems, analysis showsThe human destruction of natural ecosystems increases the numbers of rats, bats and other animals that harbour diseases that can lead to pand...

Recent Facebook Posts

No recent Facebook posts to show

Diner Twitter feed

Diner Newz Feeds

  • Surly
  • Agelbert
  • Knarf
  • Golden Oxen
  • Frostbite Falls

Doomstead Diner Daily July 17The Diner Daily is av [...]

Doomstead Diner Daily July 16The Diner Daily is av [...]

The point being to wear down the "precariat [...]

Quote from: UnhingedBecauseLucid on March 18, 2019 [...]

CleanTechnicaSupport CleanTechnica’s work via dona [...]

QuoteThe FACT that the current incredibly STUPID e [...]

Quote from: K-Dog on February 24, 2020, 06:23:52 P [...]

I wonder how much these coins have been debased? [...]

Precious tip of the day.....Buy silver NOW  She [...]

Scientists have unlocked the power of gold atoms b [...]

Quote from: azozeo on August 14, 2019, 10:41:33 AM [...]

I am OUT of Jury Service!  I got summoned to be a [...]

Quote from: Eddie on May 16, 2020, 10:30:30 AMQuot [...]

Quote from: RE on May 16, 2020, 08:20:06 AMQuote f [...]

Quote from: RE on May 16, 2020, 08:20:06 AMQuote f [...]

Alternate Perspectives

  • Two Ice Floes
  • Jumping Jack Flash
  • From Filmers to Farmers

The Flim-Flam Men by Cognitive Dissonance   I suspect if average Joe or Jane were asked to identify [...]

The Coming War With China Re-posted from   (Have you noticed that (suddenly) Ch [...]

Papers Please! By Cognitive Dissonance     For those who may not know, Mrs. Cog and I live in the mo [...]

Lies, Damn Lies and Coronavirus Statistics By Cognitive Dissonance     “Never believe anything in po [...]

The Decline and Fall of Civil Society Chapter One By Cognitive Dissonance     From my perspective at [...]

Event Update For 2020-08-04 [...]

Event Update For 2020-08-03 [...]

Event Update For 2020-08-02 [...]

Event Update For 2020-08-01 [...]

2020 - JUL - Spotlight StoriesCategory: Variety Pack2020-07-01 - Hundreds of elephants mysteriously dying, mostly around waterhole [...]

In other words, treat COVID-19 like a dry-run for the upcoming "big one" [...]

However don't expect strikes and yellow vests to fix underlying problems [...]

So how many more times are we going to hear that this is our last chance to take action in order to [...]

This is definitely not a bona fide post [...]

Daily Doom Photo



  • Peak Surfer
  • SUN
  • Transition Voice

The Great Pause Week 20: Coronation Part I"With the number of Covid patients closing in on 20 million, epidemiologists hope the virus has [...]

"Your future is a story you were told, like Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy."Thirty years a [...]

The Great Pause Week 18: Midwinter Down Under"Our objectives are low-tech, anti-fragile, and human-centered. By using tools of permaculture [...]

The Great Pause Week 17: Toppling Mount Rushmore"We are being schooled in the deficiencies of human neurobiology."President Cobblepot and [...]

The Great Pause Week 16: Cash Bounties for Scalps"The word “redskin” has been coined to refer to these trophies."Paris, June 15, 1756. Anti [...]

The folks at Windward have been doing great work at living sustainably for many years now.  Part of [...]

 The Daily SUN☼ Building a Better Tomorrow by Sustaining Universal Needs April 3, 2017 Powering Down [...]

Off the keyboard of Bob Montgomery Follow us on Twitter @doomstead666 Friend us on Facebook Publishe [...]

Visit SUN on Facebook Here [...]

What extinction crisis? Believe it or not, there are still climate science deniers out there. And th [...]

My new book, Abolish Oil Now, will talk about why the climate movement has failed and what we can do [...]

A new climate protest movement out of the UK has taken Europe by storm and made governments sit down [...]

The success of Apollo 11 flipped the American public from skeptics to fans. The climate movement nee [...]

Today's movement to abolish fossil fuels can learn from two different paths that the British an [...]

Top Commentariats

  • Our Finite World
  • Economic Undertow

In reply to Harry McGibbs. "Researchers [in South Korea] found that the viral load of those wit [...]

In reply to Kowalainen. > @hkeithhenson, I speculate that the selection process was well establis [...]

In reply to Harry McGibbs. Wow! I had never heard of this. It would be a nightmare if COVID-19 got i [...] a interesting read on the great reset and if [...]

In reply to Norman Pagett. When the music is playing and the wine flowing, no one wants to recognise [...]

Nothing to see here. Move along! Lol. [...]

Steve seeing as how this is reante's fourth in a row, lemme know if I'm posting up too muc [...]

Hey Steve what do you think if the idea that the 1K/mo digital UBI for US citizens 18 and older (plu [...]

Who was it who used to argue here years ago about how much fat could be cut from the system? Was it [...]

Independent to me means non-commercial. They may sell half or full beefs and five or ten ton of hay [...]

RE Economics

Going Cashless

Off the keyboard of RE Follow us on Twitter @doomstead666...

Simplifying the Final Countdown

Off the keyboard of RE Follow us on Twitter @doomstead666...

Bond Market Collapse and the Banning of Cash

Off the microphone of RE Follow us on Twitter @doomstead666...

Do Central Bankers Recognize there is NO GROWTH?

Discuss this article @ the ECONOMICS TABLE inside the...

Singularity of the Dollar

Off the Keyboard of RE Follow us on Twitter @doomstead666...

Kurrency Kollapse: To Print or Not To Print?

Off the microphone of RE Follow us on Twitter @doomstead666...


Off the microphone of RE Follow us on Twitter @doomstead666...

Of Heat Sinks & Debt Sinks: A Thermodynamic View of Money

Off the keyboard of RE Follow us on Twitter @doomstead666...

Merry Doomy Christmas

Off the keyboard of RE Follow us on Twitter @doomstead666...

Peak Customers: The Final Liquidation Sale

Off the keyboard of RE Follow us on Twitter @doomstead666...

Collapse Fiction

Useful Links

Technical Journals

This study was designed to identify trends in maximum, minimum, and average air temperatures in the [...]

Cultural sites are particularly important to Indigenous peoples, their identity, cosmology and socio [...]

Globally, subtropical circulation in the lower troposphere is characterized by anticyclones over the [...]

Numerical models are being used for the simulation of recent climate conditions as well as future pr [...]