Moveable Feast Cafe 2017/01/19 … Open Thread

The zionazis have quietly switched to full attack mode.

Dataminr terminates RT access to Twitter news discovery tool, gives no official reason

https://www.rt.com/news/374208-dataminr-rt-terminated-access/

“Dataminr, the Twitter-based news-breaking service that supports news agencies around the world, has denied RT service, with immediate effect.

The US digital start-up has yet to provide any official explanation behind the decision, but referred to a “review of how we work with government agencies” during a call in which RT was informed of the service denial.”

See also:

Facebook blocks RT from posting until after Trump inauguration

https://www.rt.com/news/374157-facebook-blocks-rt-content/

“RT has been blocked from posting content to its Facebook page. The ban, according to the Facebook bot, will last until Saturday 10:25pm Moscow time (2:25pm EST) and will extend across US president-elect Donald Trump’s inauguration.”

RT Needs Official Explanation of Reasons Behind Facebook Ban – Moscow

https://sputniknews.com/society/201701191049774534-rt-facebook-ban-zakharova/

“Earlier in the day, RT said that Facebook had blocked it from posting content on the platform until Sunday evening.

“It is necessary to wait until an official answer from the organizations that blocked the corresponding broadcast,” Zakharova said, calling the incident unacceptable.”

Question is this coordinated with the incoming trump regime, or something done without consulting them?

Usually when going to war, the aggressor shuts down communications connections to their own people from the “enemy”.

As for twitter and facebooks service to the israeloamerican security services, and therefore being integral in the zpc/nwo hierarchy, see:

Facebook, Google Refuse to Help Bundestag Inquiry Into NSA Activity in Germany

https://sputniknews.com/europe/201701191049773008-facebook-google-nsa/

“The special parliamentary committee was set up in March 2014 to examine the extent of the US agency’s surveillance activities revealed in documents published by Edward Snowden, former NSA employee, and the allegations that Germany’s intelligence agency, the BND, had helped the NSA spy on top political figures throughout Europe.

“The large US IT companies Microsoft, Apple, Google and Facebook refused jointly to answer to the German Parliamentary Committee investigating the NSA spying scandal through representatives… at an open hearing,” Christian Flisek, from the Social Democratic Party of Germany, said in a press release.”

The zpc/nwo doesn’t answer to the peons in the colonies.

You’re the Star of your own show
But not of stage or screen
The Five of number consciousness
Is the kind of state I mean
You’re getting up higher
In this home of her and him
With a Star rising over you
In the house of Bethlehem
A Star will lead you home
Or you’ll wash down the Jordan
And sink like a stone
A burned out Star
Is an old cold stone
A Five pointed Star
Is your head and hands outstretched
Reach for the stars when your heart feels wrecked
When your soul has grown
Your star is shown
Twinkle, twinkle, little star
I wonder what you are
I’m going to where you are
Driving in the sun god’s car
Look up, Love, to the North Star pole
She will guide you sure to your real life’s goal
And show you your true Love’s soul
You’re in the sacred circle ring of Starlight fire
The same true thing that gods desire
The world’s run by men with hearts of stone
Who can’t hear children cry or womem moan
They put their stock in things they own
They’re a million miles from home
People are dressing up for bars
And kissing up to stars
If they go whoring, you won’t
What they’re doing, you don’t
The starlets of stardom teach what not to do
I’m going higher and deeper to a room with a view
High overhead the stars are my bed
The hour is late
I wait by your gate
I come in to your star’s fire power
I come deeper to your sweet sleeper’s bower
Wherever you are, bright morning star
I’m coming to you, straight on and true
Star light, star bright
I’ll be tight with you tonight
Five Star, I came from afar to be where you are
You’re a symbol for us, the Star of consciousness
You’re a heart of energies burning bright
A spark of infinity’s warming light
Five is the sign of the humam figure
Five starlike projections point to what’s bigger
Number five, you’re alive, make us thrive
Star of day, show the way
Sign of life, be my wife
Sign of Joy, you are Love’s envoy

James Petras two days ago

Regime Change Comes Home: The CIA’s Overt Threats against Trump

Excerpt/Conclusion

“CIA Director John Brennan, architect of numerous ‘regime changes’ overseas had brought his skills home – against the President-elect. For the first time in US history, a CIA director openly charged a President or President-elect with betraying the country and threatened the incoming Chief Executive. He coldly warned Trump to ‘just make sure he understands that the implications and impacts (of Trump’s policies) on the United States could be profound…”

Clearly CIA Director Brennan has not only turned the CIA into a sinister, unaccountable power dictating policy to an elected US president, by taking on the tone of a Mafia Capo, he threatens the physical security of the incoming leader.

From a Scratch to Gangrene

The worst catastrophe that could fall on the United States would be a conspiracy of leftist and rightist politicos, the corporate mass media and the ‘progressive’ websites and pundits providing ideological cover for a CIA-orchestrated ‘regime change’.

Whatever the limitations of our electoral norms- and there are many – they are now being degraded and discarded in a march toward an elite coup, involving elements of the militarist empire and ‘in’telligence’ hierarchy.

Mass propaganda, a red-brown alliance, salacious gossip and accusations of treason (‘Trump, the Stooge of Moscow’) resemble the atmosphere leading to the rise of the Nazi state in Germany. A broad ‘coalition’ has joined hands with a most violent and murderous organization (the CIA) and imperial political leadership, which views overtures to peace to be high treason because it limits their drive for world power and a US dominated global political order.”

Despicable person if I ever saw one, and believe me I have seen a lot of them.

http://telemarksporten.no/Tegneserier/Brennan_Faces_of_Evil_resize.jpg

Article: http://petras.lahaine.org/?p=2124

Take Care
Kent

I have been debating with myself whetehr I should post this — it’s a bit long — a 15K file. I thought perhaps I should link to a dropbox with it but online storage is a bit messy and may not be permanent.

I hope, of course, that some will find it interesting and worth reading. It is like a short story, or perhaps poetry, but abstract and surreal, or maybe a ‘psychological drama’ dealing with the human condition, and especially in authoritarian cultures. It is also the last time I’ve written this sort of ‘literary’ material — some 22 years ago.

9/28/93
THE BOGLIE

ONE

The Boglie descended the stairs. All about him were the strange
artifacts and devices of Kieslor. It was a wide staircase – an
incredibly wide staircase, spreading away in many directions and
dimensions. Each step presented new worlds to the mystified Boglie,
only the strange and massive gray light being constant throughout all
steps and excursions.

At one time the Boglie was confused by the process wherein he stepped
down another layer and ended up higher than he had ever been before,
viewing vast horizons and vista in which all the things he had seen
before were laid open to his view. But these things no longer
concerned him. He had by now laid aside his yearning for a sense of
reason and order. He had struggled too long with little result, and
had finally tired of that game.

Now his attention was transfixed by a thing, new and strange and
difficult to focus his eyes upon. It moved so quickly. It bounced, it
heaved, it slithered in grand and undulating waves across the crests of
time. Inside, it had little blue and yellow and red and green circles
and dots and points of extreme brilliance and elongation. They were
really not circles, but spheres, but the Boglie could not see this and
only realized after some minutes of contemplating the implications and
extrapolations of the possibilities and likelihoods, of which he had
become, over time, excessively familiar.

“My, how pretty”, he thought, and almost said it aloud, but was afraid
he might be heard by one of the Hard Ones, and forced to explain and
defend his reaction. They (the Hard Ones) were always difficult as
they went about with their little hammers and tacks. If one were not
careful, one might get hit with a hammer and get a headache, or step on
a tack dropped carelessly on the muddy ground. But as soon as he had
thought his thought, the new, pretty thing had slithered away, and try
as he might, he could hardly remember or think about what it had seemed
to be or why he had liked it.

So many things were like that. Either they slithered or loped or crept
or bounced or waddled or sank or flew or ran or walked or danced or
spun away; but always away. Or he had gone away in one of those
interesting modes of locomotion, or some other mode of locomotion. Or
sometimes things just faded or he faded. Sometimes he would see
something else and glance at and when he looked back the first thing
was gone – nowhere to be seen no matter how hard he looked. Both ugly
and pretty things did that. He knew the first RULE: things never
change when one is staring at them. But if you took your eyes off it
for just a teeny, tiny moment, or glanced just a little bit to the
right or the left or up or down or even behind it they could vanish in
an instant, sometimes without even leaving a telltale puff of smoke,
which was the thing which annoyed him most.

The Boglie was tired now, and didn’t want to climb any more stairs for
a while. Either climbing up the stairs or climbing down the stairs or
even crawling or joggin across the broad and sparkling steps didn’t
appeal to him at the moment. So… So he sat down on the step where
he was, carefully brushing off the mud first, and waited.

He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for, or if he was waiting for
anything, or if he was just waiting. He thought to himself how nice it
to just wait for a while without waiting for something or to something
or by something. But he didn’t say it aloud, of course, ’cause a Hard
One might be lurking nearby and it would have all too difficult and
unpleasant to stand and make speeches and present papers and smile
gently while the Hard Ones tacked down all his papers and words and
every now and then try to hit his toes with their tapping hammers.

But even though he wasn’t waiting for anything, a big huge anything
came lumbering into view nevertheless, disturbing his wait. It wasn’t
very ugly and it would have been pretty if he had smiled at it but he
didn’t and it wasn’t – that is it was – ugly, that is, or was.

It had long orangy leaves and bumped up and unpleasantly and tied
itself together with red and yellow twine and broad leathery bands with
tiny silver buckles at the ends. It bounced up and down and up and
down and back and forth and up and down and that wouldn’t have been too
unpleasant by it self but it also burped and farted and threw long
sharp spears made of purple and green spongy wood and copper and he
didn’t like that at all. It was dually noted, like so many of those
wild and insincere screaming insects of the modern age, and he finally
yelled at it and made it go away.

It seemed for a moment like everything else went a way too but it was
just a short way away and a way came to get it back. He just sat
quietly for a moment and waited so as not to scare it away and they
waded all the way back to his wait which he was still enjoying. But
then a Sharpslitheringsliverer slithered up and slivered to him.

“What are your words?”, it slivered. “Everybody must have words – at
least one by the LAW.”

Sharpslitheringsliverers were always such a pain in ass! “What are
words – what are your words – what are your words????” They never
stopped and waited. Always they tried to sliver in and slither in and
ask incessantly “What are your words?”. It was no good to say you had
none because as soon as you said, you did. And even if you didn’t you
did because the Sharpslitheringsliverer pushed them insdie you (inside
you?) and made you say them if even only to yourself.

“I’m a Boglie.”

“But which Boglie and what’s a Boglie and what are are your words?”
asked/said the Sharpslitheringsliverer.

The Boglie trembled. He could feel it coming. He was going to ask. He
knew he was going to ask and then he would be the rightful prey of the
Hard Ones and they would come and try to tack his feet onto the muddy
stairway and and keep him there forever.

“What is your NAME?”, asked the Sharpslitheringsliverer.

AAAHHHRRRRGHHH!!!!

“What is your NAME?”, asked the Sharpslitheringsliverer. “Your NAME?”

Instantly, hundreds of Hard Ones clustered about him and as soon as he
silently thought to himself what his name was, they pounced upon and
tacked his feet tightly to the muddy stairway. Now he could only wait
or go exploring when he was able to sneak out at night when nobody was
looking, and could never bring back any pretty or ugly things with him
or they would be found on the stair and the Hard Ones would know he
had crept out the night before and tack his head and eyelids to the
muddy stair too.

The Boglie wept loudly as he was tacked to the stairs and the biggest
and ugliest Hard One smiled malevolently at him and said:
“We’ll come to OUR WORLD, Pedair”, and laughed.

TWO
The Boglie spent his nights sneaking and lurking in shadows, groggy and
eyes nearly closed, fatigued from the effort of breathing with his feet
tacked to the stair all the day while dodging the Zoomers which
constantly flitted about him and whistled in his ears. He was prey now
to all the uglies, and pretties as well, who ventured close and
curious. At last when the Sharpslitheringsliverers went off to supper
and the Hard Ones turned their heads to look at the Evening News, he
was able to silently slip away from that singular place where almost
everything was tacked down, leaving his feet behind for a bit.

It wasn’t as easy to climb the stairs now that his feet were off, and
he could only crawl about, and hardly fly at all, but still he managed
to roam far enough that one day he found the Eyes. Never had he found
before such wonderful and terrible things. They watched, and waited
far better than he had ever been able to wait. For a while they just
sat together and waited, then he moved away a bit and waited apart, and
finally the horror came – they watched. The watching was a dreadful
thing to do, largely because it couldn’t be helped. But it was
dreadful. The Boglie started in an oh so very small way that didn’t
seem to matter, just the way that all very small things that don’t
matter suddenly pounce and eat you and grind you up and spit you up all
discombobalated and itching. First he saw the Eyes were watching a
little blue line inching along a piece of bark, and then he watched the
little blue line which was now inching along the edge of a goblet, and
then he felt the Sucking Out begin. It was his belly where it began.
The little blue line began to get fatter and fatter and it was only
that it turned into a little blue banana shaped cookie like they used
to give out on Halloween that he realized that it had sucked it out of
his belly and he was trapped looking at it as crawled down into the
goblet and it wasn’t until it finally drowned in the red wine that he
knew he was so drunk that he had to throw up and as the bitter red wine
wine came out of his belly it was he that was sucked back in until it
was still him again.

He sat panting and shaking and holding his sore muscled belly. He
tried not to watch anymore and hold his belly in but the Eyes had it
and wouldn’t let go just yet. Everywhere they watched he had to watch
too. His thoughts started to tangle and knot and his belly again
flowed out onto the grits and the chips and the bright whirly stars and
bitter bugs, bitey bits, boodles and bags.

10/27/93
Sometimes Boglies bounce. Sometimes not.

It was the world inside and the world outside and it was hard to tell
the difference and the world out side also had a world inside and it
was hard to tell the difference. Sometimes the world outside was inside
and sometime the world inside was outside. Usually the world outside
was harder. Sometimes not.

Sudden noises started inside and then came from outside, but the Boglie
was always in the middle. Bang a loud noise appears from the outside
where it had already happened but inside it was still happening and
made the Boglie jump. Stabbed in the back. Shuddering. Long noises
that only had a sudden start, but went on and on almost forever,
finally dying into deep rumbles which accumulated and drowned out the
sparklies. Glass tinkly bells flying over dusky cribs in the evening.
Where is the Hard One who feeds. Screamy tinkly bells fly over the
crib. Here is the Hard One who feeds. Mostly it’s all ticky-tacked
down, but even tacks can’t live forever. Living in the tunnel.

10/28/93
A sudden venture onto the plain. The Boglie looked all around in a
full 940 degree circle, throwing his vision hundreds of miles into the
distance. He almost stepped off into the vastness and then he
remembered the place he had promised himself not to forget. He was
just on the verge of going there when he remembered he wasn’t on the
plain yet but was still tacked down in the world and he spun his head
around three or four times and woke up on the old bed in strange room,
remembering where he had been in another fifty years when his head
wasn’t tacked down any more.

He hated the silent music that was always in his ears. It was
so terrible because it was so quiet that he couldn’t turn it off
because there was nothing to turn off except it kept playing on all the
same, all the same, all the same, without even a click to keep the time
with. Tacks are not ticks — oh, no — they’re not, they’re really
not. Ticks made you think about them but tacks never permitted such a
thing.

The Boglie needed a pretty thing to distract him from the terror of
nothing so he thought and thought and when a pretty thing tried to run
by he quick as a wink pounced on it and dragged it back home in his
tattered cardboard box which he always carried around with in him, even
if he did usually forget that he did, but now he didn’t so he stuffed
it in, and tied it up with the string, and dragged it back home,
bouncing it along behind him.

When he got it home and shut the doors and shuttered the windows and
listened for a long time to make sure nobody else was around, he took
off the string and slowly opened the box. They crept out onto the
floor. The clicks, they crept out and sat by the door, waiting for
their instructions. And one by one, and all in a bunch, and a few at
time, and round in circles and along in rows he listened to the clickes
and almost forgot to think of how pretty the little clicks were. But
he didn’t, and long into the night he danced with the clicks and
remarked, very quietly to himself, how pretty they were.

Finally they all sat down while they all did it all again somewhere
else. Slowly and steadily they all sank down, and lived in the land of
the clicks where they were all very happy since all the other clicks
were there too. Also the taps were there, and even some bumps – BUT NO
TACKS!

One day the Boglie saw the strangest thing he had ever seen. It was
another Boglie but bigger. The Boglie but bigger was all around him,
and almost looked like him but wasn’t near so shiny and couldn’t bounce
and float. The Boglie but bigger looked at the Boglie and decided he
was the Boglie himself and then almost everywhere the Boglie went he
had to take the Boglie but bigger with him, and it was oh so hard to
bounce and float or get into the teeny tiny places or the great big
places and the Boglie but bigger was always afraid and wanted to go
home. After a while the Boglie found that if he gave the Boglie but
bigger some little toy to play with he could quietly sneak around
withoout being noticed, but as soon as he made an interesting discovery
and chortled the Boglie but bigger wanted to see it too and then he
became afraid and whined to go home. The poor Boglie didn’t like this
at all and tried to get rid of the Boglie but bigger until one day a
Hard One came around and the Boglie hid behind the Boglie but bigger
and the Hard One was so stupid that he tacked down the Boglie but
bigger and missed the Boglie entirely. That is when the Boglie started
to think about the Arrangement.

Very long post. As this is the MFC – will allow this one time. Mod

Trumps inauguration live

https://www.facebook.com/DailyMail/videos/1878869662172773/

Pardon me while I rant for a minute..

So in another thread, I shared a couple examples of “human rights to nowhere” against Canada’s Trudeau, who seems to be targeted for regime change. A central issue appears to be mineral rights in Africa, which I assume Canada must be gaining an advantage in through Eurasian relationships.

For the right side of the political spectrum, I glanced over the front page of The National Post today, and noticed an article on Trump and his desire to renegotiate NAFTA. The always reliable “sources” claim that by increasing NATO defense spending (something which the Defense Minister has repeatedly spoken against – “we contribute in other ways” he says, “and you’re trying to overthrow our country,” he might be thinking, I don’t know), and by adjusting Canada’s UN contributions in Africa (subtle), Canada could probably come to a deal with the US.

When does that “no gangsterism, no regime change” policy kick in?? Something funny is happening with Canada’s top military personnel too. The Chief of Defence Staff is on some mysterious, confidential trip to Europe somewhere on “military business”. The Vice Chief of Defence Staff was temporarily relieved of duties on Jan. 13th. Absolutely no info beyond that from anyone (except ” sources”) for days. Sources said the Vice-Chief is being investigated for leaking confidential information related to shipbuilding procurement or something of that nature. Now, I guess the RCMP has confirmed that an investigation is underway. Interesting how the accusation relates to military spending. Will this stop under Trump, or is this the “bad cop” to his “good cop” in trade negotiating??

Good witness is the dead witness…

“US airstrike kills over 100 Al-Qaeda militants in Syria – Pentagon ”
https://www.rt.com/news/374512-us-strike-qaeda-killed/