Destabilization politics, Bob Marley the CIA–“Chanting Down Babylon”: there are no “democracies” in the west, only police states, and black operations killing opposition

“The junk merchant doesn’t sell his product to the consumer, he sells the consumer to his product. He does not improve and simplify his merchandise. He degrades and simplifies the client.”

William Burroughs

I honestly hate the music of Bob Marley–not because its bad (its not), not because it’s redundant, and reminds me of era’s gone by where do-nothing, middle to upper class, pachoulli smelling stoned weirdo’s with dreadlocks (the most disgusting hair worm spectacle I have ever had to endure, excepting perhaps that one crazy barfly with the falling out weave, who…oh never mind…) talked endlessly about a world they were to stoned to appreciate fully, or ever would never accomplish; no, I hate Bob Marley’s music because it is emblamatic of failure–a reminder that you cannot win.

No sane person gots to fulfil da’ book.Won’t you hear me sing, these songs of Free Tools, cuz all I ever heard–redemption songs.….free and low cost technology with which you can fight gang stalkers, and get restraining orders or bring awsuits against them in court here, here, here, and here.

ROGS

But that doesn’t mean that one after another generation shouldn’t know the PURPOSE of the music–learn the lyrics over a bong hit of some Maui Wowie, Golden Goat, Grapefruit, Scoutbreath; Wedding Cake, or Lemon OG Haze –but study the geo-political forces that do in fact conspire to murder men like Bob Marley. And maybe, take fewer bong hits and crack some books once in awhile.

Related Story:

Whatever happened to investigation into the murdered Ferguson MO protesters–all heterosexual black men? Rolling Stone questions the deaths of six Ferguson activists such as Darren Seals, and Edward Crawford, all found under suspicious crcumstances, dead, with a single bullet in their heads, in burning cars and so on? Riiiight. The Bilderbergers and the uni-global mafia’s fear the Black Messiah more than they fear the story of Princess Diana, JFK’s assasination files, pork, human breath, and finger nail clippings cut out of order. Can the concept of the Black Messiah be co-opted back, and returned to black people–or is someone, somewhere murdering off potential candidates? More on that here. Image: ROBERT COHEN, St. Louis Dispatch

What are the politics of destabiliazation, and who deployss them?

That we need new Bob Marley’s to tell the same old story he told–but with new plot twists where he and others like him don’t lose–is imperative on democracies everywhere–to tell the truth of how democracy itself is a confabulation, designed to destroy actual freedom, and replace it with something else–consumerism.

And that story of confronting power from powerlessness, from using our own bodies the way we choose to use our own bodies–but maybe next time with a plan to actually WIN those battles waged upon us by the global elites can be won only when you put the bong down every third hit or so.

Yeah–it can never happen, because endemic, sytem designed “gang stalking.” The songs, the lyrics–even the beats and the chords written into the music that are pushed into mainstream are designed to keep you picking up the pipe (or the bottle, the needle) what have you–its all put before public relations “focus groups” to see how it affects the “public” before its released! The chords and chord progressions are studied down to the minutest fraction of a beat, to see what emotional effect music can produce in the listener.

And, so–yeah, right? Rap music is designed for–well, whatever loud obnoxious, race-displayed thing it is designed for, but as a tool of culture war, it has been effective. And that combined with the generally low level of initiative in potheads and other drug addicts–the elite have us fighting for the “power” to use drugs, rather than the ballots, the banks, and the bombs; much less the information that we have a right to know, such as WHO KILLED THE FERGUSON ACTIVISTS?

Or, Abe Dabela in Conecticut for that matter. Hell, the $125,000 reward money for information leading to the arrest of Abe Dabella’s killers would buy a LOT OF WEED, people. To the hackers in my crowd, his case is relatively easy to track down online, and he implicated the city of Redding harassing him, and firefighters and others stalking him–I imagine they all have names, addresses and so on, amirite?

Well–mind control via chord progression, and focus studies–Marley did none of that intentionally or mechanically–he wrote raw–he just did his thing. And that got lost somewhere in the commercialized pot industry, and all of those noxious dreadlock wearing Phish fans, pot dispensaries and other lost causes of the last decades that grew up around his lyrics. None of which brought that Black Messiah back to life I might add.

I suspect that the legalization of pot movement is exactly like the legalization of alcohol movement–just one more opportunity for “we the people” to band to gether and state out loud that we share a desire for coopted failure, disguised as submission to manufactured pop culture pressure, and vote for yet ANOTHER thing that will not actually give us freedom at all; yet another thing that will keep us stupid and too dull to resist. Yet another thing to chose from in the bi-polar world of dueling globalists, Horseshoe Theory shaped worldvews, and selling us their products and services.

Well–that doesn’t make the story any less important–and there are ways to do what he intended with his lyrics–but to do what, exactly? Yup…you can sit outside Bilderberg or Babylobn all day and night yelling through a bulhorn at walls with no ears, or….well, use your imagination what could happen of you should go dark one day, for example, and ghost the machine itself?.

Here’s a good read from High Times Magazine long after it became a commercial rag as opposed to something that seemed way more cool, once, publishing William Buroughs*, and co-opting counter culture in order to create industry, and “selling out to the man!”

What are the politics of destabilization? They begin by assaulting everything that makes you feel “stable” in your world–not a delusion at all:

Chanting Down Babylon: The CIA & The Death of Bob Marley

byAelie Câlin

February 4, 2011

Marley knew the drill – in Jamaica, at the height of his success, when music and politics were still one, before the fog of censorship rolled into the island, old wounds were opened by a wave of destabilization politics. Stories appeared in the local, regional and international press downsizing the achievements of the quasi-socialist Jamaican government under Prime Minister Michael Manley. In the late 1970s, the island was flooded with cheap guns, heroin, cocaine, right-wing propaganda, death squad rule and, as Grenada’s Prime Minister Maurice Bishop described it three years later, the CIA’s “pernicious attempts [to] wreck the economy.”

https://www.adweek.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/06/HighTimesFeb1990Cover.jpg
Image: AdWeek

“Destabilization,” Bishop told the emergent New Jewel Party, “is the name given the most recently developed method of controlling and exploiting the lives and resources of a country and its people by a bigger and more powerful country through bullying, intimidation and violence.”

In response to the fascistic machinations of the CIA, Marley wove his lyrics into a revolutionary crucifix to ward off the cloak-and-dagger “vampires” descending upon the island. June 1976: Then-Governor-General Florizel Glasspole placed Jamaica under martial law to stanch the bloody pre-election violence. Prime Minister Manley’s People’s National Party asked the Wailers to play at the Smile Jamaica concert in December. Despite the rising political mayhem, Marley agreed to perform.

In late November, a death squad slipped beneath the gates of Marley’s home on Hope Road in Kingston. As biographer Timothy White tells it, at about 9 PM, “the torpor of the quiet tropical night was interrupted by a queer noise that was not quite like a firecracker.” Marley was in the kitchen at the rear of the house eating a grapefruit when he heard the bursts of automatic gunfire. Don Taylor, Marley’s manager, had been talking to the musician when the bullets ripped through the back of his legs. The men were “peppering the house with a barrage of rifle and pistol fire, shattering windows and splintering plaster and woodwork on the first floor.” Rita Marley, trying to escape with her children and a reporter from the Jamaica Daily News, was shot by one of the men in the front yard. The bullet caught her in the head, lifting her off her feet as it burrowed between scalp and skull.

Meanwhile, a man with an automatic rifle had burst through the back door off the pantry, pushing past a fleeing Seeco Patterson, the Wailers’ percussionist, to aim beyond Don Taylor at Bob Marley. The gunman got off eight shots. One bullet struck a counter, another buried itself in the ceiling, and five tore into Taylor. He fell but remained conscious, with four bullets in his legs and one buried at the base of his spine. The last shot creased Marley’s breast below his heart and drilled deep into his arm.

The survival of the reggae singer and his entire entourage appeared to be the work of Rasta. “The firepower these guys apparently brought with them was immense,” Wailers publicist Jeff Walker recalls. “There were bullet holes everywhere. In the kitchen, the bathroom, the living room, floors, ceilings, doorways and outside.”

*William Burroughs has been dangled before the public as some sort of guru for many decades, yet he is just another part of the rot that has infested “intellectuals” in western nations–a total controlled asset, whose literature was merely made public in that era’s cooption of culture, and his writers bungalow is like a block away from an Orthodox church, in one of the biggest heroine dealing neighborhoods of Los Angeles.

While he was indeed a great writer, he was also as Marley was–fairly powerless to make any real changes–even acknowledging that fact in such of what he wrote–fart poems for just one example.

“Did I ever tell you about the man
who taught his asshole to talk?
His whole abdomen would move up and down,
you dig, farting out the words.

It was unlike anything I ever heard.

Bubbly, thick, stagnant sound.

A sound you could smell

Interestingly, though not presciently, Burroughs foresaged the era of AI replacing human beings as writers, via gadgets of all kinds “The study of thinking machines teaches us more about the brain than we can learn by introspective methods. Western man is externalizing himself in the form of gadgets.”

But a real comparison between that era’s writers would be Henry Miller v. Burroughs.

In Miller, we see a man intoxicated with the original drug–women, and–in his own words–from “Time, Love, beauty–what you will!” to “You can forgive a young cunt anything. A young cunt doesn’t have to have brains. They’re better without brains. But an old cunt, even if she’s brilliant, even if she’s the most charming woman in the world, nothing makes any difference. A young cunt is an investment; an old cunt is a dead loss. All they can do for you is buy you things. But that doesn’t put meat on their arms or juice between their legs.”

Fast forward one globalist century of war and the takeover of yet another country (the US)–and the destabilization of any form of western culture whatsoever, to the time when men like Miller were dying off, and their predilections changed from women and cunts to Burroughs adoration of farts, smack, and buttholes, and there you have it–the last century in a quip.

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