Xmas carol wiggly: A history of their world in [no] time | Episode #3: Don’t be klutzy, don’t get in_ducated, be esooterikally animated

A trilby stuffed with Martian chop marked dollars,

a [Martian] pterodactyl with a passion for a [Martian] hallucinogenic plant,

space-strolling maceship exciting and inciting xenodinos to make a move and come to Earth,

pterosaliva in Elon Mush’s favourite tumbler,

et caetera.

Xmas Carol ‘Wiggy’ Wiggly (CAW) is the nonsensical histoire maker of personages such as God Nzambi, Bill–Hook Gates of the Shitty, Elon Mush, Pterodactylus novus var. martianus, Lycioplesium martianum (synonymous with Latua venenata var. rubra), Baracca Handsome O–Bomb, Mark Hayloft Klutzberg. This is what CAW does—he produces personae for a monumental story to be memorised by ignorant younglings attending inculcation institutions, places where children are in_ducated. The very most of these ignoramuses will assuredly, and irredeemably, remain such for their entire lives. They will never use their minds to ameliorate themselves. They will always be zumbis.

Is Mars a place where we can land?

Have dinosaurs ever walked our Earth?

Can space be travelled through as is by us?

Only in the exooteric, or inept, mind.

That which lies outside of me is ἐξώτερος (exooteros). I may then happen to lay hold of the exooteros and get it into me, upon which it comes to be ἐσώτερος (esooteros). Exooteros is the exterior. Esooteros is the interior. Exoo is the out. Esoo is the in.

One should always tend to interiorise along the conceptualising road. If a human does not interiorise, then no concept can ever be created, and the human in such condition is destined to be overcome.

Follow Elon Mush, and your mind will always be mush and milk. Ex_crementitious thickness. You should try to in_crement instead.

Follow Mark Hayloft Klutzberg, and you will be clotty. No way to be better than you now are.

If you interiorise, you won’t believe in Mars being landed on by us.

If you interiorise, you won’t believe in dinosaurs ever walking our Earth.

If you interiorise, you won’t believe in space being travelled through as is by us.

DON’T BE KLUTZY. DON’T GET IN_DUCATED. BE ESOOTERIKALLY ANIMATED.

C’est Carnaval ? C’est Carnaval !

Le carnaval c’est la joie : c’est l’allegria !
Les masques sont échangés,
Les traits révélés ou accentués.

A carnaval point de victimes, 
Bonne humeur et dérision sont les armes du bouffon.

Mardi gras terminé,
La comédie n’est pas du passé.
Elle est partout,
Reste à l’observer.

Pour l’oeil inattentif tout semble normal,
Mais la duperie règne. C’est un festival.

Prenez garde, ce sera votre fête, 
Si vous n’êtes pas au courant de la fête.

Nulle présomption !
Surtout pour ceux qui n’utilisent pas de définitions.

Allez-vous en les automates !
Des traditions et pas de simples répétitions !

Allez-vous en ! Allez-vous en !
Ce sont les bouffons qu’il nous faut : 
Un peu de légèreté et de la réflexion.

Entrez dans la ronde, c’est carnaval !


 (poésie d'émilie_ConScience)

Xmas carol wiggly: A history of their world in [no] time | Episode #2: Whimwham space in outer mace

‘It must have been the soggy rudder fitted to Elon’s Martian-minded wheelchair-shaped smuggler ship. Sure as the mushy stool I’ve been coming to terms with in sequel to my inextinguishable passion for the plum tree’ says Ordre Royal de Victoria Supreme Commander Baracca Handsome O–Bomb. ‘The carcass must have crashed and left Elon strolling in disheartening search of his dearest treasured astronoughts fore and aft. Once the thought got through his thick head that they were nowhere to be found, his roaming hit the skids as fast as the feigned craft and ordnance we the People billionise him for. And there you have him.’–

‘I’m sure, Baracca Handsome. You can’t help running roughshod over him, can you! But we have to discount your hypothesis to the full. It is He—The Honourable Commander-in-Chief Flying Fleet & Fleeting Ground Forces Elon Mush. And he was not on the Moon Smuggler Rooster—MOONROO. Much as he could remind you of your mushy evacuation, in certain his vitaminised water was laced with Martian demise bloom. Lycioplesii martiani flos—this we do vouch upon our commendable experts. The experts never blunder nor fudge, do they! One of our Pterodactylus novus var. martianus holotypes from our excavation sites in Belligerence Town, Senatical Avenue, Mars, fled and followed through the path recognisers sprinkled along by WHIMWHAM ZERO-ENGINE FIN-EQUIPPED SPACEWORTHY SPECTACULOUS LITTLE POUCET, OUT-AND-OUTER ELON’S LATEST BREATHTAKING MINDBOGGLING MILKY WHEY IMPLORATION MANUFACTURE, ON A MAIDEN VOYAGE AD LIBITUM IN OUTER MACE. We have now apprehended that whilst conveniencing the voyager out and out, the path recognisers may nonetheless inflame our xenodinos’ desire to go and visit in the Earth.’ The pterodactyl was part and parcel of the Superlative DOD Plan—in extenso Diddly-Squat Obliviscence Dementia Plan—a robust egalitarian intent to make history into a deadpan humoured matter. The strikingly paleontologist-witted fowl mentioned—Pterodactylus novus var. martianus—is unutterably crazy for the bloom produced by the Latua venenata var. rubra, a variety of L. venenata secretly cultivated in the presidential lawn on Mars. Politpreneur Academia Squadron Leader [plus the previously stated insignia] Mark Hayloft Klutzberg had deduced the Pt. nov. var. martianus being involved by detecting [via the greatly reliable experts of course] gross traces of the pterosaliva in Elon’s favourite tumbler—the one serving his vitaminic purpose.