Tuesday, October 5, 2010

To a Ghost-writer

I’m getting a transmission...
Here it comes.
Dude.  Dost thou fancy thyself a lyricist?  Do not so.
Lyricism is God-given.
Your bogus book riles the ire of Powers and Thrones whom you seek to distance from their Faithful.  Are you prepared for the reaping of what you have sown?  Are you aware of who knows what you own?
As typical of your kind, you hide behind fronts, fakes, facades and sobriquets.  Pen-names, pseudonyms and other people who front your holdings.  Even your legal names you change frequently enough.  You hide behind women who get called CEO’s that would never quiz you on your Dante and couldn’t quiz you on much else.  It has the same effect of installing certain “leaders” in parliaments and white houses.  Doesn’t it... 
The ones who could think for themselves, got picked off like deer or had bombs thrown under their coaches.  Oh how you hate a Catholic.  They have the prettiest churches don’t they...  Nothing your ilk could ever design or build.  You lollipop guild. 
How do you like my ellipses?  Indeed, if not for ellipses, that load you wrote would lighten up considerably.  But one must use ellipses when taking that much text... out of context. 
The telling wall for what you wrote is how you did it with immunity.  Impunity.  Anybody else would be dragged into court for libel.  This is how we know that you are cranking decoys and damage-control for trillionaires.  Ones to whom most governments are abject whores.  Governments who are aware of your text and turn a blind eye to it.  Just part of the campaign.  The silent war against Jesus Christ.  You idiots dare.
Here is a goodly fare.  This nameless hack fancies himself a word-smith.  But your kind cannot make art.  Remember?  Access denied.  You don’t have permission to make art.  Glaringly it is how we know you.  The stamp upon you.
As for Joe McMoneagle, that’s just to let you people know that you are not the man in charge.  Nor looming large.  Watch you sixes.  All three of them.