Apocalypse Tonight: Third Temple Pilots



Is that supposed to look like an apron?


I don't know, do we owe folks like Hal Lindsey and Harold Camping an apology?

I mean, we have a situation in which a game-show host is actually President, high-ranking Catholic clergy are cavorting with mind-controlled degenerates celebrities dressed as Scarlet Women under the watchful gaze of an alien demon, and now the Third Temple US Embassy has been moved so as to straddle the border between the divided halves of Jerusalem.

Oh, plus the whole event was expedited by a scion of the family that owns the notorious 666 Fifth Ave building.

I mean, remember the days when we saw all these self-anointed prophets as hucksters and lunatics instead of insightful analysts with an unfortunate tendency to jump before the snap?

Good times.







Today, during the opening of the Embassy (and Israel's 70th birthday), protests (or riots, depending on who you ask) by Gazans were met with the IDF's patented insanely-disproportionate overreaction, leading to the deaths of 55 58 Palestinians and hundreds more injured. 

Turkey and South Africa soon pulled their own ambassadors, which was probably not as effective a protest as they might have intended, given their own impeachable human-rights records these days.



Even so, the optics were so awful on this that even The New York Times took notice, but only probably since they intend to use all this against Trump.

Fox News then accused the Times of "vicious anti-Israel bias." CIANN has predictably buried the story and MSNBC seems to be interested solely for its Trump-bashing value. Even so, the story was pushed down their homepage so they could continue to pimp the Russia hoax.

You can set your watch to this stuff.

Twittards were ranting on about Pence (who seems to genuinely scare the Left, in contrast to Trump, who they only pretend to fear) and some Fundie preacher chosen to speak at the ceremony, desperately straining to make believe he had somehow ordered the massacre.

Because taking shots at Baptist ministers is always easy, fun, and absolutely consequence-free.



Well, plus c'est la m�me chose, right? Business as usual.

You see, the reason I'm writing about this is not only because of the crystal-clear Apocalyptic implications of all this, it's because of this coin minted by some private group hailing Trump as the new Cyrus.

Or Koresh, in the Hebrew. Speaking of massacres.


Because as fate would have it, not only do we have the kitsch-value of Trump overshadowing the genuinely-heroic (if not actually superhuman) Cyrus the Great we also have that strangely-familiar symbology for Leo (including the Sickle in the form of a scimitar) and Lyra (in its Eagle version).

I mean, I already pegged the Embassy as the de facto Third Temple but seeing these old friends from the Heavens is too much. 

In case you forget, this is basically Regulus and Vega. And if you really want to be clever you could argue that Trump is occulting Cyrus.




Don't forget the British penny, which by a sheer glitch in the probability continuum, encodes the same asterisms.

Gee, think there's a hidden meaning there or something?



It's possible, if not probable, that the Persian Imperial flag encodes the same combination in the form of the Griffin. As some of you may remember the Griffin stands at the gates of the Luxor Las Vegas. As well as the Buddhist temple in which Monty Python-reject Boris Johnson recited Kipling's Road to Mandalay. 

Speaking of massacres.



In any event, the Third Temple US Embassy was designed by the Israeli architects Amir Mann and Ami Shinar. Some of you might remember that Shinar is the Hebrew spelling of Sumer and that the Bible was all about the Shinar at a time when archaeologists had no idea such a place actually existed. 

Yeah, old Babylon had some bitchin' libraries. I hear you could get some good ideas for stories there.

And is it just me or do those three random slashes in the wall of the Temple Embassy look like they represent the number three? 

Maybe it's pareidolia.



Speaking of Sumer and Apocalypse, Iraq's skies turned ruddy during a recent sandstorm. Timing is kind of interesting sometimes, don't you think?



And in case you're wondering why there hasn't been a jihad (or even a fatwa) declared against Israel over the massacre it's probably because the Saudis and the Israels are BFFs now, joined at the hip with the Syria demolition project. 

Also because everyone's all looking the other way while the Sauds smash Yemen to fuck.

"If the world knows, they'll stop the war." God, it breaks your heart.



Speaking of timing being everything, there's also this wave of anti-Christian massacres in Indonesia ("inspired" by ISIS, reportedly) and the allegedly new-but-actually-not-new murder-suicide theory being floated about the Muslim pilot of the disappeared MH370.

Well, anyway. Life is weird like that sometimes.


I'm old. I'm so old that I remember not only when Breakfast in America was released but I remember when a local Boston station played Crime of the Century in its entirety. Sure I was just a wee wane at the time, but hey, it made an impression. 

Anyway, I'm sure a lot of you know about the 9/11 syncs with the record cover. It might be why they redesigned for this recent-ish picture-disk re-release.



If so, back to the drawing board, folks. Maybe grapefruit juice would work better, too.



Speaking of album cover symbolism, yesterday was also the 36th anniversary of the Clash's Top 10 album Combat Rock (sic), which included classics like "Know Your Rights" (more relevant than ever), "Should I Stay or Should I Go?," "Rock the Casbah," and "Straight to Hell." It also included a lot of somnolent filler that packs all the punk-rockin' firepower of a baby's burp. 

But hey, I loved it when I was a stoner. Sounded great on headphones- very cinematic. The vinyl that is. The CD masters are atrocious. Plus, there's the whole Allen Ginsberg thing, but whatever.


Anyhow, I couldn't help but notice that our Joe is doing the old one-eye trick, which must be the earliest example of that in a pop context I can think of at the moment, though I'm sure the Beatles or someone like that flashed it at some point or other.

The Clash were a great myth to get lost in. Only problem is that they were straight out of a Dave McGowan nightmare. 

Strummer's father was a proper spy, Mick Jones' dad was Special Branch, Paul Simonon's dad was a "Communist" who seemed to vanish from the family's life at odd times (cough, M16, cough) and Topper Headon was well-known for his sweet tooth. If you get my meaning.



Anyhow, even if Combat Rock was the sound of The Clash desperately trying to get played on American Top 40 radio so they could pay off their record company and all their various dope dealers, they went back-to-basics on the 1982 tour. They even put on a legendary series of concerts at New York's Pier 84, rockin' the Big Apple in the pouring rain (it rained pretty much every day that summer).

So this story caught my attention- a concert venue called Pier 17 (of course) opening up in the Seaport, speaking of Trans-Mithras and One World Religion Tower.

And since everything everywhere has to be ritualistic all the time now, a fellow named "Jon Batiste" is playing the first show there. I hope he doesn't lose his head over the honor.


Speaking of Masonic Manhattan, David Rockefeller's estate auctioned off his considerable art collection. And speaking of sweet teeth, it happens that the big prize of the day was a Pablo Picasso portrait of a very young girl, au naturel. Because of course it was.



It seems ol' Rocky was a bit gaga over the painting, which probably explains a lot. Might explain the past 60 years or so, even. 

Allegedly.

Hey, anchovies rot from the head, or so I've been told.



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