Informant38

{I saw Limbaugh on whatever talk show that was, and I have to take back my lumping him in with Falwell and Ailes. he's all firm and pugilistic. hormonal chin and the testosterone especially flatlining his mouth. it's hard because I feel like I have a choice in the few minutes before bedtime-I could try to pin what's even scarier and more repugnant about him now, or I could continue to research Liu Fang, and keep downloading samples of her brilliant mastery.
no contest really, but I'm picking up a vibe from some of the little chipmunks, or whatever they are, they're feeling bruised.
they win, the bad guys win. that's that. work with what is. they win. the reason why it's bad that they win is there isn't room enough for all of us now. so they're gonna get rid of us. work with what is. I personally believe that the best among us are more directly connected to the center, to the heart of what is most beautiful about life, most beautiful about the existence of things in the universe; and that's what all this poison and death is about, they hate life, though like cowards always do, they love their own lives more than any other person or thing, even as they talk about protecting the innocent and all that schizoid imperative buncomb.
and I don't say that lightly, I think what makes their position evil ultimately isn't that they're going to eat our children, or that they already have eaten many of our children, but that they're going to eat all our children and then die themselves, most probably taking the last of animal life down with them.
work with what is. there is nothing in the world or the universe that puts truth above everything else. that's something people made up to make themselves feel better. so Limbaugh's a scammy little puke that carved a career out of contract-distorting reality for the overclass. so? the truth of that isn't changing anything, I mean knowing it or telling other people about it, even getting them to see it, unless you get enough of them, and then it's not about truth but the weight of numbers, which is what they have now.
use 'The Silence of The Lambs' as main metaphor. you're down in that pit, Buffalo Bill and his yappy friend are up above. it matters not at all that he's as creepy-crazy as it gets, that his little friend is oblivious to the weird evil that permeates the house.
you're in the pit.
either somebody busts in and gets you out, you get yourself out, or he skins you alive, and you suffer a while, horribly, then you're dead.
the truth, the moral truth, has nothing to do with any of it. right or wrong is only your internal conversation. you're not gonna talk to Bill about it are you? or the dog eh?
that little well-fed dog up there, barking and barking.}