3 wise men

Greetings,

According to the situation on ground zero in Egypt, A Committee of Wise Men has been appointed by the Director of Intelligence, the acting VP with dubious CIA rendition connections to feed the media stream and poor citizens a low fat diet using advanced bait and switch marketing techniques.

The DOI knows the wise men. They worked together at STATE SECURITY perfecting torture tools. Their budget was $1.5 billion a year from their US big brother. Read the fine print called maintain the status quo. Wear down the masses. Starve them out. Play the extremist fear card.

One wise man is from the Bureau of Shackles & Chains. One is Waiting for Godot. One writes propaganda lyrics for the daily melodrama, This Is Your Life With an 82-year old Senile Dictator.

Wash and rinse. Repeat.

Metta.

The Ministry of Fear

Greetings,

My job is to control the flow of disinformation here in Egypt. Let's be as clear as the day is long. In Egypt GROUND ZERO is a square. Mathematically this is impossible. A zero is a circle, a complete and comprehensive series of events colliding to express totality and unity and harmony in a community.

For 3,000 years give or take a pharaoh, our ministry developed highly scientific methods to restrict, control and in 99% of the cases eliminate people from expressing their opinion, views, frustrations, repressed anger, poverty and related daily abuses to their dignity and self respect. 

Using paid government thugs we harassed, intimatidated, threatened, imprisoned, tortured and often killed the traitors, running capitalistic dogs

(to borrow a phrase from 1.6 billion oppressed Chinese people who have no idea what's happening here because their government restricts media coverage fearing blowback and social unrest, can you imagine)

and devious illiterate yet courageous freedom loving Egyptian people to suit our purposes. We were in past tense very efficient. Everyone was afraid, even Winston Smith.

What was our purpose? To stay in control. To manipulate the system, create chaos, divide and conquer. To get rich. To redeem insurance policies against revolutionary poor marginalized common people for valuable prizes on game shows.

The emperor has no clothes. Now the shoe is not on the other foot. It is in the collective hands of the common people and they are waving it at the dictator, his cronies, his lackeys like me, yelling, Enough, Give us liberty or give us death.

The red emergency light in my steel reinforced bunker is flashing. I've gotta run, run, run. 

 

The People Speak

Greetings,

By now the people's domino revolution in Tunisia and Egypt and Yemen, and Jordan and Syria to a lesser extent, is flooding the air with images and words of Egyptians demanding their basic freedoms. A concept taken for granted in so many places where human rights and free elections follow a democratic path.

Democracy is a messy business. Or, as Gandhi said, "Democracy is a good idea."

Pundits crow about the rise and fall of an authoritarian PUPPET. How the U.S. has been giving him $1.5 Billion a year for 30 years to maintain their political edge. Buying off a dictator is expensive. Game Over.

Hosni the obscure relic is an old stubborn man. Desperate people do desperate things. They stall for time promising sham elections. They cut off the internet. They hope the army will save them. Wishful thinking Mr. Puppet. The people know better.

Straw men and their wives pack in a hurry. 19 private jets filled with Egyptian businessmen and their families left last week for Abu Dabble. Money talks and gets the hello out.  

His selected (VPP) Vicious Person Puppet, Sullyman, is well known for his manipulative diplomatic skills. What is less well know but becoming clear is how he was a CIA front man in the extraordinary rendition program where terror suspects and innocent civilians were flown to Egypt and other friendly countries and tortured. 

The revolutionary weather channel calls for millions of Egyptian citizens to gather and express their desire to say goodbye to Mr. Puppet every single day. Tick, tock.

As one man in Tahir Square said, "I would rather suffer from hunger than die of fear."

Metta.

Mr.Tuk Tuk

A metallic Cambodian loudspeaker spoke, Now here this, The tuk-tuk is leaving in five minutes, Departing for points unknown, A massive short celestial event known as YOUR LIFE will depart in five minutes. 

You are advised to assemble all the necessary documents, certified seals of approval, water, invisible guide books, sunscreen, funny money and so on...you will visit the Mind-At-Large on your short, fast, easy tour.

Bring your life with you, And a glossy greasy Laughing Planet guidebook with heavily creased pages. If you attempt to read while moving at the speed of light or 186,000 miles per second you will discover a new sense of perspective.

You may be surprised or traumatized depending on your perception to realize your experience at Angkor is not about seeing the temples. You will DO Angkor. Get the t-shirt. Check it off your list. Less is more.

Please conclude all private and group discussions, disagreements or arguments with your fellow travelers to ascertain your destination. Talking time is finished. 

The tuk-tuk driver has his helmet and vest. His vest has a green four-digit number. If he tries to bring you into Angkor without the vest he faces massive surprises. For starters he will lose his job and have to return to his small distant isolated village where he will plant rice and provoke white cows with socialist Marxist production tools to pull the plow through mud.

The biggest dream for many young Cambodian men is to become a tuk-tuk driver. If he loses his tuk-tuk job his family will starve to death. This is a common problem here. Death by starvation. If you survive you win. 

If he dies you will be held in escrow. (Old French; a scrap, a roll of parchment)

A tuk-tuk river driver has an easy job. An easy life. He drives you to a temple and crashes out. You feed him. He takes you back where you started. He makes $15-20 for the day. 

The average Cambodian’s daily wage is $2.03.

Not a single woman in Siem Reap is a tuk-tuk driver. There are 3-4 women tuk-tuk drivers in Phnom Penh. They are as rare as clean drinking water, sanitation, hospitals and schools. Women work in massage parlors, restaurants and guest houses. They are the guest and you are the house. 

Your house has many symbolic rooms: the basement is where your unconscious lives breaths-laughs and dances where it reveals inner vision. Clean all your rooms. Take out the garbage. Explore your diverse rooms. 

Don’t sweat the small stuff, it’s all small stuff. You are the housekeeper of perception, sensation, form, symbols and nothing.

A woman doesn't work as a tuk-tuk driver because: 

-it's too dangerous

-it's inappropriate

-it's foolish

-they lack the education, intelligence, drive, initiative

-they haven't broken free of deeply ingrained social and cultural stereotypes: a woman's place is in the home, producing offspring, taking care of kids and the elderly, washing, cleaning, and cooking

-their family will kill them with love and affection

Thirty years ago a Cambodian woman was lucky to finish 9th grade. She married and stayed at home. She produced children in assembly line operations with the highest quality control standards known to modern medicine and umbilical chords.

It will take another generation before women become tuk-tuk drivers. Tisk, tisk, tuk, tuk.

Your mother was appointed to have you.

Bye Bye Mr. Murbarak

Greetings,

The Egyptian people have spoken with one voice. People power. 

They speak and demonstrate and march and suffer and sacrifice and create a unified community demanding their basic human rights, an end to BIG BROTHER police state dictatorship, corruption and endless cycle of poverty. They finally had enough. 

The Egyptian dictator and their cronies pocketed all the money. Playing their game they manipulated countries to increase military money. They pretended to be open and democratic. They created a police state where FEAR ruled. They put 60 million Egyptians in jails. They tortured innocent citizens.  

Now they will run away dragging their pitiful lives and join the Tunisian dictator in Saudiville, a remote luxurious villa filled with slaves, swimming pools, palm trees and a short future in the long now. 

Metta.