Remember, all ye uninitiated, to SUPPORT THE CURRENT THING. Don’t ask questions. Just FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEL.
Goodbye, Ukraine, hello abortion. That tired old ghost of a horse done beat to death, whose corpse farmer John is beating still. With Nietzsche’s Hammer, stolen with Occam’s Razor and Pascal’s Dice, on a meth-bender.
I am Pro-Life. We’ll get this out of the way now. I don’t care if it’s “lingering Judæo-Xtian influence,” I don’t care if it’s “male brain thinking.” However. Rather than address (((The Issue))) I’m going to look to another.
Where is the choice, really?
The opinionated whores we see interviewed: how many choices have they made? How many choices can they make before their bodies begin to fail and their choice is made for them?
Irrelevant. What is the choice? Is there one? Or is this about something else?
Abortion. Like every single goddamn surface level issue we face, the question is a false impressario. It isn’t about abortion. I mean, it is, and it isn’t. You go ahead and watch the “react” videos. Tell me these shrieking mental midgets are really, truly, honestly mad about slaughter-baby rights. Maybe they’re puppets and on some level they know a carcass on a string is all they’ll ever be, a dancing marionette with ZOG’s hand firmly up their puppet ass making their lips move.
My whole life I’ve become accustomed to the taste, the touch and feel of the word “no.” On the equal opposite, I’ve been denied the having of children. My wife has miscarried many times. You don’t forget the blood. Nature’s abortion, I’m told. We sought help. Insurance pays for abortions, but not the rehabilitation necessary to improve chances of conception. That’s a no. Could I have logged onto the World Wide Web and done Emo Band auditions? Sure.
But why, though?
You know why. My dignity. Something modernity seems to struggle with.
The question comes down to Right, and Wrong. Not right and left. Not lib and con. Not Nazi or Commie. None of it. Not even a question of what is right, or wrong. Remember:
QUID EST VERITAS.
A timely question. What indeed. Herein lies a problem. How many assholes with opinions investigate? How many own their answer? That was rhetorical. You already know. You know damn well.
The overwhelming bulk of folk you see, have given it nary a thought. Their “thinking” is merely puke. They puke up the slop they’re fed by their masters in the mask of a truth, a right or wrong. It remains that you can, with the image of power, make anyone think anything. Institutional power controls the conscience of the majority, who are unthinking animals. There’s your Veritas. Where nuance is not, my dear, you’ll find truth is also not.
Maybe I have friends. Maybe they’re undergoing IVF. Maybe the new laws will prevent them from completing cycles because there is the question of selecting which fertilised specimens are implanted. There is a eugenic question here because the “choice” is made. This will be defined as an abortion, which is another means of the Gubmint controlling who lives and dies. Then we have questions of euthanasia, of dieing with dignity. Then there is drugs. Then booze. Hell. Potato chips. It’s never been about life. Nothing you see on TV cares about that. There’s another Veritas. Abortion should be easy. But rather than allow for gut instinct, we have legislative morality. Cases of incest or likely death of the mother, reasonable questions, are currently glossed over.
The only victory is LIBERTY from federal imposition. Something to remember for Monday. Because inasmuch as you define success based on court cases, you’re still a slave. I cannot rejoice over the recent “victory” because it is arbitrary, and temporary, and impermanent. It is the Gubmint controlling an outcome, and circus seals clapping. Now jump for your fish bits, gorge on all that freedom and don’t forget to buy my subsidised Freedom Blazer model mobility scooter. How does the Gubmint control thought so effectively?
Everything is reduced to Pro or Anti. The why is as easy as anything. Such simplistic thinking necessitates reliance. The Gubmint presents as pandering, and the right constituents gobble it up like a whore about to go down on the same man who’s been feeding her a script to read to her mother who is disgusted by her Irish sunglasses.
There is an endless march of things to ask, about life, living, right and wrong. But it’s easy to glom onto that reductionist, reactionary trash. Nobody wants the responsibility of actually interacting with morality. Morality is a relationship; with God’s(s), Nature and Reality. By necessity it becomes interactive. You don’t preach to morality, you debate with and negotiate for morality. See my last blog entry.
If you parrot a line, your choice is made for you. That includes the line “of course a woman has the right to choose.” Define choice. Embrace responsibility. Conduct intelligently. Own your morality, if you don’t, ZOG does, and you earn what you reap, because you’ve sowed it.
Do this, we can build a better future. Know your feelings, but own your mind. They often speak two languages. Do you know them both? Tell me. I’ll be curious to hear from you.
Either way, I’m going back to my bench to see how long I can survive being under the Bar with a 2y/o poking me in my spleen.
Wassail, fellow thought criminals of the interwebs.