The Debates Don’t Matter Because This Election Is a Sham (Gonzo and Conjure ’16)

What I’m watching isn’t some slip-shod idiot having his ass handed to him by a career politician. No, that would leave too many variables, too many chances for deviations from the plan. The scandalous and most disastrous subjects for the American establishment, by ignorance or collusion, had been buried in the middle of a fake competition where the opponent had been hand-selected two months before his candidacy.

We all knew it was all a sham, a lie, but it was never quite as horridly naked as it was here, the fine and intricate webbing of illusion so masterful you almost wanted to applaud. The realization that I was watching an orchestrated play, a drama for the American people to digest and interpret so they can understand the official narrative made me break into a cold sweat. The moderators, supposedly seekers of the truth and watchdogs for the American people were instead acting as guardians in service of the State, denying everything the whole world knew to be true. Every false statement a first year journalism major might have questioned sailed through the air with no response from the moderators. No questions about massive voter fraud, the rigging of the primaries, or explicit US-led terror campaigns would be put to the aging dinosaur aiming for the Drone Crown.

What we were watching was nothing more than an infomercial for the next 4 years of American Imperial ambitions. I came to understand, instantaneously and on a cellular level, the American public lived behind an iron curtain and I felt like I had just seen a small child be hit by a car.

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered through clenched teeth and a tone of panic, “I just want it to be over now.”

As some bullshit question rose from the audience if Trump could be “devoted to all the American people” the walls began to close in. Confused, frightened, flashes of human history and generations brought along by piper after piper churned my stomach with such disgust I almost vomited all over my living room.

As much as I rebelled lightning bolts of laughter began to posess me. The entire election was nothing more than an attempt to run interference for Hillary. From the clown she selected as her “opponent,” to the timed release of every Trump scandal to coincide with damaging data breaches, to debate “moderators” ensuring nothing drifted too far from the official narrative, it was all as fake as any tv drama. All make-believe, all pretend. I watched in knuckle-gripping revulsion as the these “journalists” moderating the debate now asked if Trump’s late-night tweets showed a lack of discipline.

Let me repeat that for you: The moderators said nothing when Russia was labeled a pack of war criminals who “weren’t interested in ISIS” but would not rest until the candidates took a stance on tweets being sent out at 3am.

The psychic horror had reached Lovecraftian levels, the simulacrum so uncanny I felt a physical need to flee to some far off cabin with enough booze, guns, and wormwood to hex or shoot anything from whatever dimension these foul creatures lived in. I became physically ill and begged my wife to turn off the tv. The last blasphemous bolt from the devil-box was an asinine investigation into what each candidate “liked” about one another. I believe it was then that I finally lost it.

Foul winds haunt the sky and the American public is sniffing a poisonous mixture brewed in the bowls of hell and brought on by an aging empire too stubborn to release the planet it’s been keeping hostage. Behold, the Lizard Queen cometh with clouds and every eye shall see her as she and her handlers desire. The killer of children and DNC staffers will be lauded as a peacemaker and uniter while pet idiots dance to tunes from pipes they can’t even see. The American people sleep easily tonight, content in their illusions that history marches forward in some vague liberal hope for “progress” while the Air Force drills dropping nukes on Russia. They applaud notions of “good” and “right” just as easily as they do “humanitarian intervention,” “regime change,” and “moderate rebel,” neither repenting of the murders, nor of the sorceries, nor of the thefts done in their name.

The show will go on uninterrupted, the River of Truth not just polluted but pimped out as a public toilet for the bloodthirsty boa constrictors above us. Hillary will take the Drone Throne and make war upon the East and not a single vote will stop that. So much torment and sorrow have her cattle given her yet she saith in her heart, I sit a queen, and am no widow, and shall see no sorrow. The fearful and ignorant, the abominable, the murderers, warmongers and idolaters, shall have all played their part in a game whose outcome was years in the making. The air is thick and rife with implications, a psychic stench that worries the heart and boils the mind. I would say the election is over but it never really began in the first place.

As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten: let the guilty repent and the zealous take up the Hyena skin, small and great; we can only hope they shall destroy them which destroy the earth. Selah.


Dr. Bones

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Dr. Bones

Dr. Bones is a conjurer, card-reader and egoist-communist who believes “true individuality can only flourish when the means of existence are shared by all." A Florida native and Hoodoo practitioner, he summons pure vitriol, straight narrative, and sorcerous wisdom into a potent blend of poltergasmic politics and gonzo journalism. He lives with his loving wife, a herd of cats, and a house full of spirits.

His writing can be found at Gods & RadicalsDisinfo, and Greed Media. He can be reached at The Conjure House and through Facebook.

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