Of Surprises Or Jews Be Not Proud…

I hate surprises.  I don’t know how to act.  Not that it is that easy to surprise me.  I dunno…I have always had a gearbox in my cranium somewhere that precludes most things unexpected.  A set of gears that constantly grinds out permutations of most given times and/or circumstances.
It whirs along silently all the time.  I had a few life-changing surprises at a young age…and that set the gears in motion.  They haven’t stopped. They are autonomous.
I said I don’t know how to act in the face of surprise.  That’s not entirely true.  I have done some acting in my day.  Even did a waaaaay off Broadway board-treading.  Was in a couple minor motion pictures.  With emphasis on “stink”.  But I studied the “art of pretense” enough to know a competent performance from a bad one.  So when I am supposed to be stupefied by the unexpected, and I know my motivation, I can usually give an acceptable performance.  I can even pen my own lines, milliseconds before.  And they are for the most part, believable.
But as I said, little surprises me.  I guess we have all climbed into that watercraft of late.  It’s a matter of sensitivity, I guess.  The more outrageous the events in the recent swirl around us, the less shock value these things have.  We have all become dulled to the unexpected, because we expect anything.  I think this is a plan…by someone.  But what do I know.  I wouldn’t be surprised if it was.  I also wouldn’t be amazed to learn that it isn’t.
I never understood that phrase “shock value”.  I suppose I just don’t understand what value, if any, that shock can have.  Unless of course you are talking about outside the theater.  The value of the shock of 9/11 is obvious now to most.  It had a true dollars and cents value.  By furthering the agenda of the minions of Rothschild, it also had geopolitical value.  But what of those shocked?  Can the concept of “value” be applied negatively?  You can pee your pants when you see some crazed maniac jump from the shadows and chainsaw a teenager in half…and I suppose that has value.  From that moment on, every time you see a man in a hockey-mask wielding such a lumber-jacking instrument in real life, you will be cautious.  As well you should be.  But I think that is just common sense…and I don’t think that is the intent of slasher flicks.
But I digress.  As a matter of fact this whole article is an exercise in digression…as are most of my rants.  I guess I don’t lend much legitimacy to the cause most of the time with these obs.  But that’s just me.



You English scholars out there will have to excuse my borrowing of the line from John Donne’s classic verse “Divine Sonnet X” ,for the title of this piece.
It just hit me that there is a parallel there.  With death and the ruling class of the judaic.
Maybe I’m nuts.  Maybe I don’t really get the sonnet.  The poet was known to bury confounding philosophies in layers of complexity which few could decipher.  But I took my meaning and brought it back to the house.  Unpacked it, and it sits on the mantle here.  If it is just a cheap knock-off of the original…I don’t mind.  It serves.

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;

For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow,

Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,

Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,

And soonest our best men with thee do go,

Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery.

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;

And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well

And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then?

One short sleep past, we wake eternally,

And death shall be no more Death, thou shalt die.

I have seen many dead humans.  Unfortunately, I have seen quite a few of them before their expressions have been modified to a more peaceful one by the funereal arts.  Doubly unfortunate is the fact that several of these people were family.  But what always impressed me about the countenance of these shells left behind is the final register of their emotion captured in their facial map.  It has always been my experience that along with many other hints of emotion…one that is universal…is surprise.  You can see it in a wide eyed and slack-muscled look of a resignation.  An OMG and “Oh, I get it” message written in the skin of the face.  
I know that there are many that will tell you that at the transition period between life and non-life, that a pre-planned DNA instruction in all of us, injects a chemical into our brain that makes us see a tunnel with light at the end.  And that this activity is a survival instruction to relax the mind and body in such an event that is life threatening.  That their are hundreds of thousands that experienced this “near-death” experience of heavenly light and peace, before they were resuscitated.  I’m told that this phenomenon can even be artificially reproduced by a drug commonly used by veterinarians to anesthetize animals.  I dunno.  Ipso facto…I would like to try it.  I’ll ask my vet if DHS will knock down my door while I partake, should he sell me a dose.
But anyway…it’s the “death” thing that Donne was talking about.  Personification.  An instant.  That which all man fears.  The poet explains that this demon is easily beaten because it is a construct of the fearful…the apprehensive feeling of what lies beyond this mortal coil.  Once he is conquered, the journey…be it oblivion or afterlife… can begin.
But what does this have to do with shock value, surprises in general and chainsaws?…you might well ask.
I dunno.
It just seems that it is very easy to demonize.  If you understand that there is a jewish mindset…”jewishness”…that when practiced in the real world, rankles the rest of us; that the talmudist philosophy of supremacy is at the bottom of most of the world’s most seemingly unsolvable problems…there is a danger of personifying this cult too much.  As the concept of death…that black-figured reaper of souls…is so horrifying and is in reality so easily conquered…so too can the spectre of world rule by the ashkanazi.  They, as death, have as much power in our minds as we give them.  No less…no more. We must be vigilant not to inflate their power over us.  As in the passing from this life to…whatever…the world’s problems can be set upon freely, once this hovering shroud of yiddish darkness is dispelled.
So yes, in my interpretation of the 16th century sonnet, I liken any fears that I would tend to have to that personification of death, and declare “..be not proud”, because you do not surprise me. Little does or ever will, until perhaps that final moment in the process of passing out of this world.  I wouldn’t be surprised…

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