He'll Take Your Heart And You Must Pay The Price

 I never think much about eyes, not much like in the way that our cultural and/or pseudo-psychiatry guardians do anyway with their seeming ability to discern what is being conveyed by the eyes of various folk, - that they can tell from just how the eyes are set etc all and everything about them.

The MK-Ultra victim, for example, will have eyes lost of all life and hope. Devoid of concepts, they are unresponsive to stimuli and nary a blink will they give were, say, a loud explosion to go off nearby. The eyes will show no sign that they're peering into the here and now. Then these paragons of virtue, those who usually hog up Newsnight Review and Loose Women, attribute a history to these people, how their eyes came to be like that, and they invent histories for them, - The MK-Ultra victim, her granddaddy pissing in her face and slapping her about as a child. The Man Who Lost A Wife Too Soon, they say, 'oh yes, of course! You could tell by his eyes that'd happened,' like these TV People don't regard the eyes as seeing organs, more as scrying pools to be gazed into and surmised over as to their phantasmagorical provenance.

Then they talk about a different kind of empty eyes, the empty eyes of the psychopath. This empty wasn't cruelly put there by fate or circumstance. These people have actually eaten their own joy (or whatever it is these TV people say exist in the eyes of The Happy Person). The psychopath has picked away at this enjoyably, like its a massive ball of scab, he has eaten his own humanity – and it is all indicated by 'the eyes'.....TV Pundits Make Me Sick!

But it were eyes today that were on my mind as I have noticed something strange about my left eye in the shape of these fat, thick white floaters. It were that I'd put this strangeness down to ghosts and orbs in the past; that I'd a special power that allowed me to witness dimensions close to this one, that my ken were set like a radio between stations, able to make out both clearly, but one fainter than the other. It was that I even witnessed the dreaded Shadow Beings, creatures composed of shadow that flit round the peripherals of this world. And while I think these are common things witnessed by all who look (properly), the orbs and ghosts I am now believing to think are actually cataracts.

So today I went down to the Cathedral Eye Clinic for an appointment to get to the bottom of things. And it turns out noting is wrong at all that a few eye drops and vitamin pills wouldn't put right. The optician was a right eccentric. He'd this feathery white beard and a big puff of white curly hair that he'd got all tied back. The back of his head looked like a cauliflower, and he jittered about giggling and rubbing his hands together looking like something from out of those Wheel Of Time books, like he should've been wearing chain mail with an axe across his back riding a fuckin Pegasus.

 - But Doctor, - I said.

 - I'm not a doctor, - he said more haughtily than most would.

 - Right, but – why am I getting these things floating round my eye, eh? I think there's something the matter!

 - Ha!Haaaa! That reminds me: What'd good ol' Spike Milligan want on his headstone??? That's right: I told you I was sick...That's right! - The oddball's eyes took on a gleam then. I was watching the eyes, watching the eyes, cognisant of the potential wisdom of the TV People. His eyes were full of mirth and good humour if anything. He looked more an more like the type of man who, in his spare time, would sit cross-legged on a barren rock somewhere out in the country, dressed in a toga, spouting platitudes via the medium of haiku, a terror and a wonder to passing hikers.

 Then I asked him, - But what can I do about these floating orbs of light? What?!

 It was then the mirth and humanity left the eyes, replaced by the dreaded EMPTY...- If you are going to ask me a stupid question you can expect to receive a clever answer! Eh? Eh??

 My face dropped. I was suddenly stunned by his switch. The eyes were not empty now, but held a kindling contempt.

He impatiently told me to get up and ushered me out to the reception, where the pretty blonde from earlier that'd signed me in had been replaced by a midget lady. The eye drops the oddball had administered at the start of the session to make my pupils dilate were making me squint. My vision was now truly blurred and I couldn't tell if the midget was a midget or if my depth of field were fucked. But then when she dropped her pen under the table she shimmied to the edge of her seat, hang-dropped off, then walked right under there without even stooping. So I stopped squinting as I believed she might think I were somehow mocking her and when she climbed back up in front of me and took my details I stood there my eyes wide open, big as an owl's, nodding and nodding and never blinking. Its all in the eyes, looks given and looks received.....Windows to the soul, though I like to keep my blinds down and my curtains drawn.......

 

I Said To Myself: Is That All There Is To Love?

When I told Kimba what awaited her at the hands of Mistress she sat there staring at me for the longest time. Her expression was one of bewildered horror – her eyes and breathing stilled and the blood drained from her face. She ceased like a just dead person – that dissociated leaden expression passing over her yellow faketan face like a snowstorm over a tropical beach – but all the time my mind is blank of emotion or thought, and I could have been sitting there 6 million years and I wouldn’t have noticed even the rising and falling of empires outside my kitchen window so guilty did I feel.

She made the first move. She went to the kitchen cupboard and got out a plastic butter knife, like what you get in café’s, and with blind manic passion tried to slit her wrists with it.
- What’re you doin’? – I said. – You’re not gonna slit your wrists with those! Anyway, you’re meant to do it up and down not from sided to side. –
She changed her cutting action to up and down then, and I stood watching her for a minute or two, safe in the knowledge she would do no harm save for lift a miniscule layer of skin off, and when I got bored I snatched it off her and threw it at her cat, Boke.
- I’d prefer to be dead, Danny! – She screamed. – Dead! Do you hear me?! –
Her earlier catatonia had given way to an epileptic frenzy and she swung all round the room and I was sure I saw sparks jump of her too. Suddenly she stopped when she started complaining of spots in front of her eyes then let rip again stomping round and round the table, her arms: angled at the wrists and leading from there too – bolting out in all directions looking like she were a marionette being operated by Michael J Fox, or like a blind person driven lunatic trying to catch a fly by only hearing alone…

It ended up I had to put this tune on the turntable - one her paedophile foster carers used to play for her when she went 'Over The Rainbow’...-

And a video of Joanna as Dorothy (interesting lines then Somewhere Over the Rainbow is sung; Leona Lewis [on X-Factor, Britain's current American Idol-type] and others have been made to sing this particular MK song also [going over the rainbow = dissociation; to escape the horrific traumas they 'go over the rainbow'/dissociate from it]), American Idol is likely full of potential MK'd candidates ready for a life under total corporate control once they "win".

to lull her into a sense of dissociation again – when she said:
- I have a plan. These are the reasons Mistress has us acting out this sick fantasy for her - she said pointing at her spherical middle with our babies inside, - and the only reason we’re going to be part of her sick fantasy is so we can keep our heads above water financially for what? three months tops? Nah! We gotta outsick her, Danny Pongo. And I got the plan to end all plans! –
- That’s why I love ya’ bitch, - I said, lying…

Go Away Jesus - A Castrato Stole Your Crown

News from Reuben is that Roseanne Barr
is claiming on her blog that Joe Jackson
was an MK Ultra operative.

Here is what she says:

joe jackson is an mk ultra operative
who's abuse of his own children was used to profit the CIA's programs that follow and study the effects of child abuse on the young, and how their minds can be controlled to such an extent, and with such abuse, that they can be forced to develop talent. jesus said 'the truth will confound you in that day'.
joe jackson is a child abuser, and catherine looked the other way while he beat their kids and tortured michael mentally. keep them both away from michael's kids.

The half-mainstream Capitol Hill Blue now says that Jackson might have been castrated. I mentioned this in Fact #2 a couple of weeks ago.

I read in the paper today that one news commentator covering his rinzzle tinsel memorial service said ‘he was very much alive until he died.’ Or words to that effect.

Then there’s Ireland, thinking of introducing blasphemy laws. The Bunreacht na hEireann (Irish Constitution) says that with any change to the law there has to be a referendum. And surely voters will see the folly of trying to outlaw that ever-present instinctual verbal response when met with something a little out of the ordinary. I would be having flashbacks to when my granny would scold me for taking Jesus’ name in vain. Will this be considered worthy of prosecution? Hitting your thumb with a hammer or hearing on the death of a distant relative and feigning sadness: ‘Oh God...’ How will they police it? There is a hefty fine of 25,000 euro for anyone ‘causing a motivated group to be “outraged”’ 25,000 euros is loads. I have a feeling those spunky old priests will be roped in to do the Gardi’s dirty work for them. The priests, I can see, will act as sort of Stasi spies – the ears of the state, warmed through the grill during confession, they’ll take note of all the terrible indiscretions of their flock, the soft affronts to God. The priests rubbing their fat little tobacco stained hands together and waddling off to drop a dime on his fellow man. Nah, though, I don’t think it would be that bad to begin with. But then you have to remember the old priests are above the common man. They are God’s representatives on earth, propping up the papacy and meeting the bills on the line rental – direct line to St Peter. I hear the Pope on the eve of the G8 Summit says there needs to be global governance. Maybe all that mind control in the Hitler Youth about world domination and the Aryan Race has unspooled all over the inside of his mind. I can see behind those cold opal eyes a former pin up boy of the Aryan Race. But maybe Pope Benedict isn’t such an oddball after all. Russian president Dmitry Medvedev held up a representation of the new world legal tender at the recent G8 summit. Canadian Prime Minister, Stephen Harper, says there needs to be a one world government. They’re all coming out from behind the curtain now.