That Sinking Feeling
You might ask yourself: Why is it “important” that we spend thirty, forty, fifty billion dollars pounding sand down the rat hole that is post-Maidan Ukraine, grift central for the sketchy nexus of US politicians and their sponsors in the warcraft industry? Answer: Aside from one final magnificent payday, they are producing a grand opera of distraction to direct the American public’s attention from the sinking of our own ship-of-state in the waters of Babylon.
That giant wad of money, you understand, goes mainly to the likes of Lockheed Martin, General Dynamics, Raytheon, Textron, Boeing, et cetera, and a substantial portion re-circulates through the K-Street laundromat into the congressional campaign finance wishing well, while billions more get creamed off by Mr. Zelenskyy & Co. — providing self-reinforcing incentives to, how shall we say, blow more shit up on the global landscape.
It does not escape the attention, however, of some people on deck that the US ship is riding lower in the water each day, and listing at a distressing angle. Many other passengers have retreated to their staterooms, sick from the “vaccines” they were required to take to stay on-board for the voyage. Meanwhile water is streaming in below-decks, down in the stinking bilges, from many cracks in the hull. Nobody seems to know what to do, least of all the ship’s captain, who won’t come out of his quarters. (It’s whispered that he’s gone mad.) Is it time to lower the lifeboats?
In the hazy realm that is reality these days, those metaphorical cracks in our ship’s hull represent grave acts of negligence and even treasonous sabotage. Chatter over the Internet says our country, and other countries, are fixing to surrender their national sovereignty — that is, their ability to decide things for themselves — to the World Health Organization in anticipation of some as-yet-unnamed global emergency. Surrender, you say? By means of what? A vote in UN? A memo from the White House signed by the howling ghost known as “Joe Biden”? Surely not some procedure in Congresses and parliaments that would call for debate.
There is further suggestion that all this mischief is at the behest of larval would-be World Fuhrer Klaus Schwab. A more preposterous idea I have not heard in all my born days. And yet what else accounts in country after country for the bizarre super-coordination of insults to the world population such as mass lockdowns and mandated vaccination with genetic cocktails which, let’s face it, don’t look so goshdarn salubrious anymore. Rain-man and amateur immunologist Bill Gates is imputed somewhere in the mix. He’s been promising the world new-and-improved pandemic viruses. The last one was kind of a flop, like Windows 10X (code-name: Santorini). Uh, why is this man still at large?
And how, exactly, do the likes of WHO Director-General Dr. Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus, WEF founder and chief Professor Klaus Schwab, and world-beating do-good wizard Bill Gates propose to enforce their plans to seize leadership of the whole wide world in their hypothesized next crisis-to-come? Again, chatter on the Web suggests that the United Nations, these days a convocation of failed states and diseased backwaters, somehow marshals the developed nations’ armies against their own citizens. Sorry, but I just don’t see it. Are there three less charismatic characters in all world history than that above-named trio of human worms? What are they going to do to make Bill Gates look like a Leader-of-Men? Dress him in the raiment of a Napoleonic hussar: gold-frogged tunic, epaulets, leopard-skin cape, knee-high boots, and plumed bear-skin shako? Nigga, please….
Meanwhile, hardships-upon-hardships pile up at bewildering volume and speed in this-here federal consortium of states. No baby formula for you, non-aborted birthing persons of America! (And yet, what bureaucrat in which Deep State burrow organized a baby formula airlift to the Mexican border for the relief of foreign interlopers of the birthing persuasion?) Diesel fuel at $6.49-a-gallon, meaning pretty soon nobody will get anything (including more diesel fuel)… gasoline at $6, plus zero inventory of new cars (R.I.P. suburbia)… no parts for anything with broken parts… big holes in those supermarket shelves… fertilizer at ruinous prices… no water out west… after-effects of “vaccines” killing folks (including from the disease they were “vaccinated” against)… hordes of foreign nationals strolling across the southern border (not a few of them males of military age with perhaps not very wholesome intentions)… financial markets trending down and real estate vortexing… and the FBI / DOJ combo looking to bash down your door and stuff you in a dungeon with neither formal charges nor bail, in violation of the constitution that they now programmatically oppose.
What will avail in the face of these treacheries and hardships? Oppose. Refuse. Resist. This is getting personal. How many of you not fully entranced by media psy-ops are willing to just say “no, and no more”?
This blog is sponsored this week by Vaulted, an online mobile web app for investing in allocated and deliverable physical gold. To learn more visit:Kunstler.com/vaulted
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The Jeff Greenaway series of novellas. These rollicking, short books depict the misadventures of an eleven-year-old boy growing up in New York City in the early 1960s
A child is born…
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New York City at Halloween time, 1962, Count Zackuloff rules the airwaves
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At Ponsonby Hall, a prep school for screw-ups, things are far from all right.
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Something Strange is going on at Camp Timahoe in Lost Indian, Vermont, 1962
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