|
|
"We've been going the wrong way — away from home, instead of toward it."
13th January 2012
"Hey! Don't blame me. I'm just the bus driver."
Sweat beads on his balding string haired pate revealed the tension of his task. He didn't dare take his eyes off the road.
Except that he couldn't see it.
The capacious windshield of this gargantuan metal box hurtling through the night was totally socked in by a grayish white foam that disappeared into a quivering point up ahead where the headlights dissolved into a treacherous and fluffy uncertainty.
The bus whined in a lower gear as the driver fingered the wheel like a concert violinist; his toes tapped the gas like a pirouetting ballerina as this spuming volcano of a vehicle tried to get a grip on the icy pavement.
Long nights on the road behind the wheel provide fertile opportunities for visual hallucinations, especially in snowstorms, so the driver was grappling with the Ziegfeld follies from outer space. Pink elephants were the least of it — it was the fangs in the flakes that bothered him most.
A nerd from down the aisle, perched near the front with a death grip on a chrome railing, cleared the frog in his throat and asked: "Is that fog or snow?"
"If I didn't know better, I'd say it's a combination of aluminum, Corexit, methane, and Cesium," the driver asserted dreamily, tranced out by the many miles. "But it's probably just ordinary turnpike soot we never notice".
"Good thing I know this road better than my own home because I've been on it a whole lot more," he added.
Somewhat frantic and dispirited from being roused from his fitful bus slumber, the bespectacled noodleslurper from the Bronx whined disparagingly, "Well, I HOPE you know what you're doing."
The driver, unruffled, responded tautly: "You SHOULD hope that! Your life depends on it."
This remark elicited a muffled cry of outrage from an older woman in the Holohoax contingent clustered in the left rear corner of the bus, which had been enthusiastically engaged in discussing Fred Leuchter's scientific proof that the Nazis never gassed any Jews during WW II.
"Why should anybody listen to anything you say? You don't even know where we're going!" the woman rasped contemptuously.
"We've already discussed this, ma'am," the driver articulated with clinical dispassion".
"We've been going the wrong way, all this time, thinking that the holy ones we've created in our minds would like the style of our tuxedos and the shininess of our medals when we told them how many enemies we had killed, and how many toys will still had piled up in the closets of one of our vacation homes".
"We've been going the wrong way, slaughtering everyone in our path because they had something we thought we wanted, only when we got it, it wasn't what we thought it was."
"We've been going the wrong way, defecating on nearby planets and staring at the invisible beginning of time without ever once realizing that immortality is the fetishized illusion of safety in a universe where nothing lives forever".
"Whoever the guy was who came up with the idea that ritual allegiance to an anthropomorphic projection would assure your immortality should be shot? But he wasn't, so now we have everybody believing that a great spirit with a long white beard controls every move we make, and is consulted regularly when we pick our lottery numbers".
"We've been going the wrong way, away from home, instead of toward it."
"All our lives we are taught to shoot for the stars, but somehow we get twisted into shooting at each other, always over things that when dispassionately dissected decades or centuries down the line prove to be a public relations hoax — a colossal moneymaking deceit — from the get-go. And always perpetrated by the same slick smiles of those who profess to be our leaders, our holy guides, who always turn out to be connected to the same murky bloodline".
"The other thing you ought to know, when we reach our destination and you make your connections to wherever you're going, is that the people you trusted in the place that you live . . . they're out to kill you, and I'll tell you why".
"The Jews have the world by the balls, and the concept of mercy is utterly foreign to them. They have devised our entire reality for the purposes of milking us in ways we still do not fully understand".
"Our entire frame of reference — from what our parents teach us to what society's jails for children known as schools force us to believe actually prevents us from acquiring the knowledge to realize we are deceived slaves shackled by abstract trends and prefabricated psychosocial rituals that assure we will be no threat to the pervs who designed the system."
"Home is where the heart is, so they teach you to hit the road so they can steal your home. Check out everything you learn in life. It's that simple. There was only one place we were ever meant to go. And that's home."
Unbeknownst to the passengers, the driver was a graduate of J.B. Campbell's slide control driving school, and without further adieu, he locked his right arm, planted a firm but measured stomp on the break pedal, and this mountain of steel began to reverse direction. The bus groaned and hissed, tilted severely, sending laptops and coffee flying everywhere.
Everybody screamed. Several bounced on their butts in the aisle.
The driver chuckled, focusing on the steering wheel with the intent of a lion pursuing a gazelle — the perfect 180 on the run, while blinded by zero visibility weather. Tires screeched as he pealed off in the direction from which they had come.
"Everybody OK?" the driver queried. "That was just the weight of your own false beliefs."
One especially aggravating castrating bitch near the front of the bus yowled in primal screaminess: "Now you've done it, you cur! We were headed straight to heaven and you've ruined our chances! All you had to do was follow the rules; we gave you the map!" she fulminated.
"Yes," the driver answered dryly. "I noticed the name Rothschild Pervert Publishing Co. on it. It came with the Christian Identity material.
"I didn't make this decision on my own. I took what you all told me and synthesized. This is the decision you wanted me to make."
The bespectacled nerd bugging the driver had been thrown into the front egress well and landed upside down crammed into the lowest step.
"I say, lovely maneuver, Skip," he chortled.
The passengers had no way of knowing what the bus driver — and only a very few of the passengers — knew, that right up ahead was a bottomless chasm filled with airborne poisons and falling bodies who all believed that truth was a candy they could eat to immunize themselves from all adversity, when in reality it is a process more like breathing that forever unfolds and reveals.
The driver turned to the nerd, his friend, and said: "How dumb do you have to be to know we couldn't keep going in the direction we were going?"
As the ruffled ensemble regathered itself into seats amid muffled imprecations, the driver informed them:
"Relax, settle in. The Peaceful and Wrathful Deities Truck Stop Pagoda is just up ahead and we can regather our thoughts there."
The snowstorm had slackened by the time they reached the truck stop, and as the passengers debarked from the Skylax Bus Lines deluxe motor coach, the Holohoax woman with the porcupine voice hissed at the driver:
"I'll never give up my faith, no matter where you take us or what you do to us!"
The driver guffawed politely: "You never have to give up your faith for anything, but you do have to understand how it has taken you to this exact point you're at right now. Otherwise, it's worth absolutely nothing." In a huff, she stormed into the vestibule of the Buddhist-themed hash house.
Max the vacuum cleaner guy from Oneonta tapped him on the elbow and asked: "What kind of bus IS this?"
"Metaphrand, standard group transport," the driver recited matter-of-factly.
After the monks slinging hash had rustled up vittles for everyone, the driver addressed the disheveled multitude.
"One of the passengers asked me why things are so dark and getting darker, every day, every place you turn. It is for this reason we are all on this bus in the first place. To escape the darkness".
"That's why we've been headed toward the light all this time, begging for the light, especially when it's darkest. I know it's counterintuitive, but the real light is concealed by the deepest darkness, and until you turn that on, you're doomed".
"But first I must tell you the story of the electric lightbulb. When it first turned on, something in our brains turned off".
"With each technological advance and breakthrough, our human physical abilities have been diminished to a corresponding degree. So many labor-saving inventions have turned us into dysfunctional funkiplegics in the natural world, unable to save ourselves from the crippling results of our abstractions should society collapse and no one ever answers their phone".
"This is why the Jew-created Skynet will soon overtake us, marching like the endless wave of buckets and brooms in Disney's sorceror's apprentice scene, filling the well of wonder so that it overflows and drowns us all."
"Now we have this crazy Japanese princess warning that 'three days of darkness' are coming. As far as I'm concerned, they're already here. And besides, 'three days of darkness' is just a Bilderberger metaphor for 'you are to be put to sleep.'"
"But let me tell you something about light. There are two kinds of light. This is really good news for us. You can't have one without the other, thank God. Oculists know that blind people who regain their sight late in life do not immediately have vision, until they activate from dormancy the light within their eyes and mind."
If you think you're being disconnected from God with all this palaver, remember this. The Sun, or God, sees the world through our eyes. Just imagine, throughout all the bleeding valleys of time, the messages we have sent.
This force must really love us, because considering our behavioral track record, it would have flicked us away like a bug on a windshield long before now
"We can't find happiness as unembedded consumers. No one feels comfortable without a family to love and a community to nourish, because both are such beneficial two-way streets, and more than any other things, essential to the healthy lives of its human inhabitants."
"And to all those who have been forced to do without mothers and fathers I would insist that you have that love even stronger to give to children of your own, and it will heal you of everything ever done wrong to you."
"We have things inside us that other people tell you you have to follow so-and-so in order to get the things you already possess. It is the greatest scam of all time, and we are not only the victims of it, we are also the purveyors of it."
"This is how J.P. Morgan could kill Tesla's Wardenclyffe experiment and totally change the future timeline of the 20th century, which filled the cemeteries with endless petrowars and poison petroproducts."
"Tesla offered to illuminate the world for free. What our leaders have retained of his teachings are death rays, maglev UFOs and electromagnetic pulse weapons."
"So we're not going to go to where they're trying to take us. We're going to go home and make a better world. Everybody back on the bus — now. Everybody."
The driver fired up the unlimited horsepower vehicle, whizzled the door shut, and rolled out onto the great highway of life.
Back at the Peaceful and Wrathful Deities truck stop pagoda, a little boy discovered that the driver had left his I-Pod on a bench, put the earpiece to his ear and listened to
this. As the bus pulled out, he understood why it had turned around.
But out on the open road, the driver slouched back, lit himself up a giant spliff, surveyed the still shellshocked passengers in his rearview mirror, and issued the orders.
"Whatever happens, remember this: Don't go toward the light. Go home and make your own light. When you can do that, then you will know which light is real."
As the bus rolled East, back they way they had come, the sky began to brighten and the clouds began to clear.
The recapitulation had begun.
When the Sun came out, the driver flipped down his shades and clicked on the microphone:
"Attention, beloved passengers. This is Skylax, your captain, owner, proprietor and (almost) sole operator of your transportation to the other side of the horror. I have come to take you home. To yourself, which is where you belong. The home that is yourself."
"In fact, the process is so easy, all I really have to do is give you the directions. You should be able to find your way home rather easily. It's not that big a deal."
"And as the designated driver of this deal, I can tell you this: no matter what kind of shit they throw at us, nothing is going to stop us from making this world the kind of place we'd be proud to show our friends."
"Be sure and put that in your metaphrand. It's a fleet requirement."
John Kaminski is a writer who lives on the Gulf Coast of Florida,
constantly trying to figure out why we are destroying ourselves, and
pinpointing a corrupt belief system as the engine of our demise.
Solely dependent on contributions from readers, please support his work by mail:
250 N. McCall Rd. #2,
Englewood
FL 34223
USA
back to previous page
|
|
