Z-anon-sensei Speaks #95
“But we groomed him from the beginning by surrounding him with a man who is now his Attorney General…” Ishmael Reed
Z-anon-sensei says ^darkpower is not a single, unified entity. At times, ^darkpower is governed a single strong leader under which it gains immense influence. At other times, it fractures, weakens, disintegrates and ultimately fails. By its very nature, ^darkpower gathers together individuals and groups who have their own agendas and are willing to use any means to achieve them. ^darkpower often splinters into factions, which, again by the very nature of its beasts, will undermine each other, again, by any means available— (“from arson to treason and beyond” is a popular toast in drunken ^darkpower revelries such as the Bohemia Grove gatherings)— those means including but not limited to subterfuge, sabotage, publicity stunts, poison pills, rude language, magical spells ointments amulets and so forth, with several ellipses representing methods that must never be spoken aloud, so that the ^darkpower contract was fairly open-ended, when it came down to it. Some few people joined entirely of their own accord; more often pressure, influence, bribes, or outright threats, blackmail, and, of course, physical force were used to get new members to prick their fingers and sign on the bottom line. Such recruitment methods are not intended to instill loyalty, exactly. That isn’t necessary. The goals of ^darkpower are such that betraying ^darkpower to gain power actually serves the goals of ^darkpower in the long run, as does any act of cruelty, evil, and heartlessness. Weird, huh? Every act of murder and mayhem, even within the ranks of ^darkpower itself, only strengthens the ultimate source from which ^darkpower emerges. And the phrase so common in fictions these days— “by any means necessary”— is a ^mythmeme implanted by evil ^poetwizards to spread the philosophy of ^darkpower. But that fractiousness inside ^darkpower can also interrupt and weaken the effectiveness of its actions. Betrayal is its Achilles heal.
Z-anon-sensei says ^risingtide suffers from the opposite problem. And the opposite strength.
Meanwhile, back in the WhoreHouse, Pretendident Thump is getting his morning exercise by rolling around on an enormous pile of US currency. Thump is most easily controlled by money, and ^darkpower makes sure he’s getting it. Other leverage is available if that fails, but at this point, no need for threat of jail of worse. He isn’t hard to keep in line just by giving him plenty of cash. The money keeps flowing in, via his property holdings which he rents at exorbitant prices to donors and others seeking access, or just straight up to government agencies and contractors whenever he can. His family businesses are all cut in to government contracts and lucrative overseas contacts. He has a copy of Harry Truman’s famous quote on his desk, but it’s misspelled and reads, “The Bucks Stop Here.” Thump loves money more than anything else in the world. He has a room in the basement of the WhoreHouse where he literally rolls in piles of money, just like old Scrooge McDuck, the bills freshly printed and coins freshly minted in Philadelphia and sent unused in semi-truckloads for his personal pleasure. His “exercise room” he calls it, and sometimes has SS bring the young girls there instead of the OffalOffice for his once a week rituals. But today he is down there alone, celebrating the vaccine deal, when his cell phone rings— it’s Rufus, so he takes it, and sets up a meet after lunch. The Ghoulie tells him he has news from Rager Stain, and it would be best to go over some new developments in person. Ghoulie has a way with Thump, and he always has access.
So, when the feds don’t show, the protests stay peaceful. Cause equals effect. Go figure. Xenon lost all her stream viewers by 10:30, ‘cause there just wasn’t any action happening. No ^goonies, no state troopers, just speeches and dancing and drums all night. It was some party! A victory celebration, truly. Xenon had the best time, despite the persistent background smell of months worth of tear gas soaking the dirt of the park, and the occasional worrisome thought that the celebration was premature. Forget all that and just dance! And Xenon did. She didn’t even run into Mick, though she saw him across the park at one point, talking to a heavy-set, rough-looking looking dude in an orange, ripped up tee-shirt. Probably trying to score some more junk. Douche! She didn’t see him again the rest of the night.