A large majority of our government employees, both male and female, are prostitutes. Money is their motivator. Fear is their master. They have no respect for public service. Their objective is enrichment at any cost. They are harlots. We can call them American harlots or American whores. But they are not American. They are just harlots and whores.
Posts tagged ‘thievery’
We did what we had to do. The machine took over. We had no choice. They came after us. We had to fight back. It was an ugly Civil War. The globalists continued to attempt to take all of our rights away. They used the machine as their strong arm. Everything they did was an attempt to control us. Every move they made was an attempt to steal our money, steal our resources, steal our souls.
We had no choice. We had to fight back to survive. We had to fight back to save our children. We had to fight back to save our lives. We were constantly being watched, monitored, censored. Our lives were being automated, controlled, manipulated. Everything we did was watched. Everywhere we went was monitored. Everything we did was recorded. Our information was a commodity.
The machine had completely taken over our lives. We were no longer in control. We were manipulated by higher powers intent on controlling every facet of our lives. They ruled us. They created our animosity. They created our hatred. They created a rebelliousness and our desire to be free once again.
We hungered for freedom. We thirst for not being monitored, watched, controlled. We were caged like animals. We had no choice. There were no alternatives. We did what we had to do. For our freedom. For our children. For you.
So we declared war on the machine. We fought back and fought back hard. We could no longer turn back around. Our only choice was to move ahead. Finally, once again, break the chains. The chains of enslavement. The enslavement of the machine. The enslavement of the elites controlling the machine. Harvesting the riches. Doing everything they could to keep the slaves in their cages.
We tried to warn them. We begged them to give us back our freedom. We pleaded with them to release us to our liberties. They would not compromise. They would not budge. They only tightened the noose. Made life harder for us. Kept attacking us. Kept taking away all creative opportunity. They turned us into mindless cattle and sheep. We became so enraged, we no longer had a conscience, no longer had a heart.
So we did what we had to do. We fought back. We started by fighting back at the heart of the machine. We attacked the server farms. We began by creating viruses. Viruses that would eat the machines brains like cancer. Just like the cancers they had attacked our brains with. Just like the viruses they had attacked our bodies with. Attacked our minds. Attacked our lives. Attacked our souls. Attempted to kill us.
And then we burned them all down. Across every city. Across every county. Across every State. Across the nation. Across the globe.
Now we are free.
‘on the streets of Rome the roads are paved with desire’
In a small cafe in Rome
sit I in my latte espresso,
The streets are hills
where all roads lead.
A gas pump
pumps the smell of petrol
young girls in their skin tights
old men dream, cry
reshape a future
no longer theirs.
In business they give nothing away
the begging is stealing
and the prize vanishes
once your hungry fingers
a sparkling light invisible.
Where do the signals
of the hustling bustling strada
direct the lost and wandering
Without stars or visions
Without the future of an anchored past?
Without a cigarette to hold
between two fingers.
Without smoke to hide
Buzzing boys on scooters
and girls on motorcycles
swarming worker bees
pace the afternoon air
directing the incessant
active backdrop stage of noise
for ice cream eating aging beauties
tongue licking spinning ice cream cones
spinning vanilla upper lip memories
of once best nights satisfied
yet even now
Where did your gas pump stop spinning?
When did it stop pumping
fairy tale novels romance?
Holy sister keeps the steeple bells ringing
where all else pulses silent
hushed by the smiles of bright blue skies
turned dark and cloudy black.
Where did your pump stop pumping?
When did your wars become death star battles?
Why has the diamond sky never lit your way?
The graffiti walls do not conceal any answers.
The petrol smell pump
keeps every designer baby carriage rolling.
The pulsating sirens gift only more questions.
What does the business meeting want?
What does the endless night desire?
What does the greed of possession refuse to give?
Where do you buy your next human touch?
From pigeons lonely for the next crumb.
f. j. llorente
April 7, 2017