28 February 2010
Friday/March/05 2010 Filed in: Philosophy / World View
Stop Reading This Post Now!
If you haven't seen the PBS Frontline program, "The Warning," you should view it as soon as possible. I mean right now.
It tells the amazing and agonizing story of how, in the late 1990's, one woman stood tall against the Robber Barons of investment banking.
Brooksley Born, head of the Commodities Futures Trading Commission, went toe-to-toe with the White House, the Congress and the Fed in an epic battle.
She fought to let the world know that financial derivatives were a nuclear ticking timebomb stashed in the shadows of Wall Street boardrooms.
Her Cassandra-like call was a prophesy of the coming global financial disaster.
Ms. Born never blinked. But against a withering onslaught of attacks by such insider titans as Alan Greenspan, Robert Rubin, Lawrence Summers, Tim Geithner and a phalanx of richly-paid lobbyists, she was dismissed, discredited and ultimately swept aside.
In the ongoing aftermath of the Great Recession of 2008, it was more than clear that Ms. Born was right and Greenspan and his corporate cronies were wrong.
We should have listened to Brooksley Born then, but we didn't.
But in ten years will we be asking ourselves why we didn't listen to Nomi Prins?
If Brooksley Born was the voice-of-reason then, Nomi Prins carries her torch now.
She's a former Wall Street insider who understands the shell-game that has become -- and continues to be -- the biggest heist in human history.
To put the true cost of the Great Bailout in perspective, according to Ms. Prins, the total $14-trillion collapse of the economy (Yes $14-TRILLION) is three times the cost of all American wars going back to the 1776 Revolution.
From citizens to serfs
One of Ms. Prins' fears is that the large too-big-to-fail banks that have been gobbling up the smaller financial institutions may start to gorge on each other.
If that kind of one-left-standing-cage-match happens the ugly result could be one behemoth banking monopoly, subsidized by US taxpayers.
Take the time to view this YouTube clip.
In 24 minutes, Ms. Prins provides clear and frightening testimony of what has unfolded in Washington and on Wall Street over the last two years.
Brooksley Born and Nomi Prins have been smart enough -- and brave enough -- to sound the alarm.
Are we finally ready to listen?
Thursday/March/04 2010 Filed in: Philosophy / World View
A dark twisted voice from beyond...
When I was 12 years old, I got a Ouija board. It was from Parker Brothers, the same company that sells the Monopoly board game.
I first used it with my good friends -- and twins -- Terry and Jerry. In pairs, we took turns resting our fingers on the planchette. We asked the Ouija silly questions and watched the board spell out silly answers. It was fun.
Then things took a dark turn...
The answer to any question became a tirade of profanity and obscenity, but only when I was at the board with my fingers on the planchette. When Terry and Jerry worked the board, there were no outbursts.
The board told me, in that blizzard of curses, that it was the voice of a she-demon. It spelled out word-by-word and letter-by-letter that she would come to me that night when I was sleeping and stab me to death.
When we asked the name of the demon, the board spelled out Z-A-Z-A. Then the planchette moved to the word "Goodbye" at the bottom of the board.
I was shocked. But not because I thought we had broken through to the spirit world.
I was shocked that neither Terry nor Jerry would admit they had forced the planchette to spell out what it did. They were carrying the joke too far. I decided not to ever let the twins use my Ouija Board again.
A few weeks later I asked my friend Paul if he wanted to try out the board. I didn't tell him what had happened before and I don't know how he could have found out about it. He clearly must have though. Because Zaza returned, obscenities, death threats and all.
Just like Terry and Jerry, Paul refused to admit that he was pushing the planchette to spell out the evil messages.
The Ouija Board went in the closet after that. And it stayed there for four years.
At the age of 16 I pulled the board out again and tried it with my friend Cleveland. This would be my proof that Terry, Jerry and Paul had all lied to me about manipulating the board. Cleveland knew nothing about what had happened with the Ouija when I was 12 years old.
And yet, there she was.
The same vile threats, the same vile profanity the same demonic signature...ZAZA
Here's what. A Google search of "zaza ouija" produces 39,500 hits. A search of "zozo ouija" turns up another 18,500 hits.
No, I haven't read them all but every one of the dozens I reviewed recounted an obscenity-drenched threatening experience nearly identical to my own.
(A sampling of some of those experiences appends this post.)
Who -- or what -- is Zaza / Zozo?
Who the hell knows? Some believe it is the spirit of Lola Zaza, the daughter of Aleister Crowley.
Crowley was a practitioner of dark magic, called by some the most wicked man in the world.
Some connect Zaza with the Jewish goat-like demon, Azazel, and the original religious practice of scapegoating.
Scapegoating is the practice of singling out one child, employee or member of a group of peers for unmerited negative treatment or blame.
Never were Terry, Jerry, Paul or Cleveland the target of Zaza's wrath. Was I not singled out as the target for unmerited negative treatment?
It's all too easy to take assumptions too far and to pole-vault to outlandish conclusions about matters of the occult.
But something is going on here. And whatever it is, it isn't good.
If you have a Parker Brothers Ouija Board, or any other for that matter, I'd suggest that you remove it from your home as soon as possible.
Otherwise, you may be extending an invitation to someone -- or something -- that you'd rather not have come to call.
Did I mention that Parker Brothers company was founded in Salem, Massachusetts?
Google Zaza / Zozo (+ouija) and you'll find encounters like these:
My friend, Nicole, and I have also encountered evil spirits. One who goes by Zaza... After the first time we spoke to Zaza, Nicole had stayed the night. When we woke up, I had scratches on my chest, shoulders and face. I was so freaked out!
I was about 13 when it all happened. My sister Kristi, who was 17 at the time, bought a Ouija board to "play" with. We found out that our Ouija board's name was ZaZa.
But one day my Uncle Frankie told my step-dad that he needed to disburse of the board because I was the target for the gate for the spirit to get out. My step-dad took the board into the backyard and burned it. To this day (3-4 yrs later) there is still a burn mark in the backyard.
Zaza is also commonly found to be a spirit that comes to people through Ouija boards, but less benevolent, less powerful and probably just a spirit, not a real demon like Zozo. This Zozo comes to hundreds, if not thousands of people across the world. It is a scary subject, but one that needs to be told so people will recognize that this demon seeks to devour souls. It is very sexually disturbed, cunning, deceitful, reads minds, feeds off of fear, and prophesies death to those who ask.
The board almost always said it's name was ZaZa. On the first try it kept talking about die, die. satan and swirling in circles and 8's. My roommate said she felt weird and it wasn't right and she won't do it anymore. Fine by me.
During my experiences with Ouija boards one particular spirit always seemed compelled to make its presence known. Its name is ZOZO. Today I refuse to even pronounce its name as I believe the mere pronunciation of it can cause it to manifest itself.
Too many times to count, it has at first pretended to be a nice spirit, or pretend to be whomever I was trying to contact. But eventually it showed its true self, cussing me, threatening me and others present in the room. Once it actually cussed me using what looked like Latin or Hebrew, and using biblical terminology. I was genuinely fascinated and startled by how many times ZOZO showed up, even in many different states and many different Ouija boards. It always wound up being very nasty and commented freely about how it wanted to posses my girlfriends and take them to paradise. When asked where paradise was, it spelled H.E.L.L.
A few months ago I googled the word ZOZO. To my shock, many other people have also been contacted by a demon by the SAME NAME! I read about 20 similar stories and I am now convinced that this simply CANNOT be mere coincidence.
I read several stories about "Zozo," and now I know I am not just crazy. It all started with the (Ouija) board as well. It was the four of us (all girls). At first it was all for fun; we always thought the other one was moving it.... until Zozo. He was powerful. He seemed really nice at first, and at some points flirtatious.
One night I awoke suddenly to a chill or a draft in my room, and when I opened my eyes I saw a dark shadow of a figure. It was so dark, darker than any shade of black I have ever seen. It seemed to hover over me, and the whole time my mind was telling me "Zozo, Zozo." It was only a couple seconds, but it felt like eternity.
The next morning my sister woke up with a similar dream, except she had three long, deep scratches on the back of her shoulder. We stopped playing the board after that, but it has not stopped.It has been about nine years since that day, and if I could take it all back I would. He is always there, in our dreams, everywhere. You just feel him. I don't care if you believe me or not, but please don't ever play the board. It will haunt you.
Wednesday/March/03 2010 Filed in: Philosophy / World View
Our intentions were good.
After all, we were smarter than all those trust-busting commie-loving wimps of the mid-20th century.
Didn't free-market guru Milton Friedman say it all when he told us "the business of America is business?"
Business was the new religion, requiring no less faith and divine devotion as any other religion.
Pre-Depression President Coolidge said "the man who builds a factory builds a temple. The man who works there, worships there."
If that was true -- and how could it not be? -- the spire of the Temple of American Commerce should stand as a monument to modern capitalism, towering above all the rest.
Because if bigger was better, then certainly humungous must indeed be heavenly.
Dr. Frankenstein, I presume?
Only a Socialist wuss could not understand the self-healing, self-correcting dynamics of the laissez faire, dog-devour-dog marketplace.
So turning over the keys to the global financial Hummer to a disciple of super-uber-libertarian objectivist Ayn Rand seemed the perfect idea.
For that matter, didn't even Ayn Rand seem a little too soft in her devotion to the All-Mighty-Dollar as our Lord and Saviour?
She muddied up the principles of true capitalism with the too-touchy, too-feely ideas of virtue and value as ultimate measures of human worth.
What was up with that?
We didn't have time for that mushy, qualitative stuff. We were re-inventing Capitalism and we were giving it a new brain.
It was going to be new and improved. Bigger, better and badder than it had ever been before.
The Glass-Steagall Act of 1933 had stood as a barrier to the realization of the full potential of American Commerce for 66 years.
And while the world made ready for the celebration of a new millenium, liberating-lightning from the hands of Senators Gramm, Leach and Bliley shattered and scorched away the last constraints that kept our new Capitalist Creation in bondage.
For 9 glorious years, the Creation freely roamed the financial landscape.
And we trusted it to do the right thing.
It made billionaires out of millionaires, trillionaires out of billionaires.
And for all the poor schmucks who weren't clever enough to join the ranks of the savvy super-rich, the Creation provided a steady and almost unavoidable stream of quick-and-dirty, caveat emptor, no-doc indenturing credit.
Even if they weren't rich, even if they were tens of thousands of dollars in debt, those poor schmucks could could still strut about in rented peacock feathers and leased limousines.
Life was good. Damned good.
The new, re-engineered Capitalist Creation, devoid of heart and soul, and spared of Ayn Rand's pesky idea of virtue, was discovering its true manifest potential.
So we were all surprised in the fall of 2008 when the Creation threw us into the lake and watched us drown.
The Final Reel
All the money we had gathered to feed, clothe and shelter ourselves today and to keep us from devastation in the years ahead was vaporized within a twinkling.
And as we stood bleeding and broken in the smoldering wreckage of what had been our financial past, present and future, a man, THE man, stepped forward.
While we reeled in the shock and awe of the Creation's horrendous attack and twisted assault, its masterminding caretaker, its guiding guru gave us these words of comforting consolation and compassionate wisdom...