May The Farce Be With You
Every Expatriate of an Idiocracy is a dreamer.
The hidden hands of manipulation have been at it for centuries with no plans to stop. The dream of escaping their unfolding nightmares of problem-reaction-solution, and abandoning the farce of an Idiocracy is no less valid whether for Hemingway in 1921 or any disillusioned American man in the twenty-first century because every Expatriate is at his core a dreamer. He will insist otherwise with an air of outrage, but he is lying.
Historically all Empires decayed into tragedy.
This rise of an Idiocracy within an Empire of Lies dances into the twilight as if itโs winning, always winning, ending the historical run of tragedies with a monopoly on comedic acts of deprivation and demoralization that usher in the permanent farce.
The farce is a unique subgenre of comedy. It is represented as absurdity, exaggeration, nearly improbable, and unfathomable circumstances expressed through slapstick comedy that rises to a crescendoed climax:
Eight million illegals are invited across the U.S. border with Mexico in three years with the help of something called โBorder Controlโ and are given new phones, $5000 debit cards, and one-way plane tickets on major airlines to the city of their choice with Department of Homeland Security paperwork that assigns their first court date for 2029. The illegals are given their dedicated security lines at airports while citizens have to go through long lines, and are patted down and molested by regime foot soldiers in purple gloves with sub-90 IQs. Soon the illegals with slightly lower IQs, capable of speaking rudimentary English will be able to work as Police Officers in some states and cities, policing the behavior of the legal citizens who pay their salaries. Illegals now get free taxpayer citizen-subsidized healthcare in California.
The paralysis sets in slowly while witnessing a failing empire spinning off an axis at maximum velocity away from common sense. The triteness of pretending along with others that this isnโt happening nudges the Expatriate on a mission to seek out new frontiers free from madness and anguishโfree from the cultural insanity, the political insanity, and the social rot that nurtures despondency.
The quest is born.
The dreamer knows he cannot change others who are either barely literate or barely conscious, and incapable of even seeing the farce. So he must seek to change only himself, to end the paralysis and stasis borne of playing his role in the farce.
He starts with a different theatreโfresh surroundings.
At the risk of sounding elusive and general, or implying that this farce only recently manifested, let us embrace specifics from this century alone.
A Raytheon missile hits the Pentagon. Towers crumble in New York City in defiance of chemistry and physics. The right people know in advance what is coming and how to profit from the terrorโthe new label that will be applied to the phantasmagoric โevilโ gleaned from intel pigs at alphabet agencies working with behavioral psychologists.
The
Errant
Rendition
Reaffirms
Official
Reality
Blame is arranged for innocents. Stories are told. Narratives are sold and bought en masse. Accomplices in the form of dancing Israelis are questioned and released. They return to their apartheid ethnostate and make confessions on TV talk shows.
The Bin Laden family is given a first-class private air escort under FBI protection across the United States and back to Saudi Arabia while all other flights are grounded.
All the evidence from ground zero is hurried to a warehouse with military protection until it is loaded on ships and sent to China for disposal with not a single examination or investigation.
For the next decade, invasions that were planned and scheduled in the years before the century began, unfold inorganically, but Idiots of the Idiocracy canโt see it.
Innocent men in far-off lands are rounded up, stripped naked, and hung inverted like dirty laundry. Extraordinary rendition is lawyered into actionable policy at the Department of Justice for the cause of securing the homeland.
Idiots repeat the prepared mantras with ritualistic vigor: โYouโre either with us, or youโre with the terrorists!โ
The uniparty strokes its bloated patrons simultaneously with right and left hands.
Whenever its subjects now return to the Empire (aka โHomelandโ), they endure a humiliation ritual of security theatre before boarding a plane. At the gate, airline employees must go from passenger to passenger to engage in interrogation ceremonies, only suitable for subjects returning to their Idiocracy.
This ritual is done for no other destination.
Q: When did you pack your luggage?
A: Last night.
Q: Has anyone other than yourself been in possession of your checked luggage at any time since you packed it last night?
A: Yes.
Q: Yes? Someone other than you?
A: Well, there was this one guy who knocked on my hotel room door and asked to pack my suitcase for me, and said heโd return it in the morning.
Q: Did you know this man?
A: No. He gave me ten bitcoin and left his friend, Anastasia from Belarus to keep me company. This morning he returned with the suitcase and she left with him.
Q: What did he look like, did you get his name?
A: Yeah, uhhh, dark skin, Arab-looking. Called himself Muhammad. Handed me my packed suitcase with a combination lock, said โAllahu Akbarโ and left.
Q: And you checked this suitcase in this morning at the check-in counter before coming to the gate?
A: Woah. I really donโt like your accusatory tone young lady. If you think I did something wrong, youโd better come out and say it or Iโm going to call my lawyer.
None of the idiots ask why this theatrical dance is necessary only for their failing empire.
None of the idiots are curious about what their failing empire has done around the world, with their money, in their names, that such ridiculous rituals should be implemented overseas.
Today extraordinary prosecution of political enemies is lawyered into actionable policy at the Department of Justice, for the cause of destroying the nationโs institutions to save Democracy, which was always the tyranny of the majority of mad fools and never intended for the Constitutional Republic.
The Empireโs political enemies are rounded up for peaceful protests of stolen elections and sent to gulags in the District of Criminals where they may or may not even receive a trial, and have their Sixth Amendment rights violated after having their First, and Fourth Amendment rights violated.
If the Empireโs domestic enemies shop at Bass Pro, have purchased a Bible, or made any financial transactions with the terms MAGA or Trump, they are put on a terror watchlist.
To save the Consitution, it must first be destroyed.
To save anything revered it must first be eradicated, rewritten, reprogrammed, debauched: History, the constitution, elections, rule of law, justice, minds, families, children.
The rule of law becomes the rule of selective race law.
A white man, Daniel Penny put a homeless felon in a chokehold to stop him from attacking people on his NY train. The felon died but it wasnโt intentional homicide. Bail was set at $200,000 and his appeal was rejected.
A black man, Jordan Williams stabbed and killed a homeless man who had intervened to stop him from attacking people on his NY train. His bail was set at $0.00, and his homicide charges were dropped.
Parents who question school boards that want to defile their childrenโs minds or genitals are followed and surveilled. Christians have their doors smashed down by the Federal Bureau of Intimidation for daring to protest baby killing.
Protest is insurrection, not rebellion.
1776 Patriots Act: people rebel against their perpetrators, subjugators, as forced subjects. Liberty is won through rebellion, petition, organization, and finally war.
2001 The Patriot Act: Government creates nouns disguised as verbs to make the people think they're taking action to protect them from the very attacks they orchestrated while simply pilfering their liberties (and treasury) as their subjects distract themselves with frivolous preoccupations. Liberty is determined to be temporary privileges permitted by the Government, at war with citizens for whom the constitution no longer applies.
In a nation transformed into an Idiocracy, even the government plays a role in rebellion, which the FBI arranges as entrapment. In addition to domestic surveillance, political assassinations, and choreographed terror, the alphabet agencies now create the enemies the Empire needs to justify expanded budgets. Without fabricated threats, there would be no funding.
The fabricated threats can even be mentally ill teenagers.
The Empireโs teachers are charged with making sure that its young impressionable subjects never learn the truth about the Empire, its history, and its crimes so they grow up to be aspirational debt serfs who will feed the Empireโs coffers and devote their last remaining morsels of hope to one of two selected candidates every four years.
FDR was a hero in a wheelchair who won the war and thatโs all you need to know kids.
FDR didnโt confiscate gold and property from citizens. He never sacrificed thousands of sailors at Pearl Harbor, imprisoned tens of thousands of American citizens unlawfully, or firebombed a few million civilians with hundreds of cluster napalm bombs at Hamburg, Berlin, Dresden, Osaka, Nagoya, and Tokyo. Nope. It never happenedโฆin public education history books.
Winston Churchill was a hero too don't you know kids?
Pipers play the tune of those who pay.
Dr. Martin Luther King wasnโt a philandering adulterer plagiarist Marxist with ties to the Communist party who called for less capitalism and more socialism, plus reparations. Nope, heโs worthy of a holiday!
When will George Floyd Day be announced as the next federal holiday?
Never permit the debt serfs to start looking into other points of the Empireโs polished narratives, and other historically revered figures like Abraham Lincoln, Oliver Wendall Holmes, the Bush Family, Reagan, or the entire entertainment and media industries that program their perceptions of a completely fabricated reality.
They might learn some things that instigate the act of noticing and noticing must never be permitted because noticing is the first step toward rebellion.
The thought of rebellion must never cross the minds of the idiots who are plied with a plentitude of other distractions to keep them from noticing.
Itโs hard not to look upon such idiocy without revulsion and vulgarity, but there is no time for such feelings with so many distractions.
Thatโs the foundation upon which idiocracy thrives. Distraction. Always.
Distractions and vainglorious pleasures masquerading as โlibertiesโ hide the chains from the subjects.
In the post-modern dramas produced to distract the idiots, Patriotism is the MacGuffin. It is shown in the first act and chased until the climax, only to be revealed as less important than the protagonist first believed. It is a gray and muddy subjective term, to the despair of an idealist hero who must reject his idealism by the third act to keep zis salary.
In the farce, Patriotism is whatever the government says and all dramas today that are presented as dramas are simply farce.
In the satire, Idiocracy is a comedy. In the comedy, President Camacho has the wisdom to search for the most intelligent man to help solve the nationโs problems.
In the farce, Idiocracy is a documentary. In the documentary, Presidents are merely brainless sock puppets, some wearing diapers with dementia, others with massive egos who will never accept responsibility and can never do wrong (the worst trait for a leader after dementia), but none of them have any wisdom at all.
Five minutes of the dreamer living inside the Idiocracyโฆ (at 1:18 is the Good Citizenโs ringtone)
The satire is critical commentary meant to expose hypocrisy through clever underhanded stealth. It never takes the direct approach but slips outside toward a pincher maneuver from the flanks. Gradually, the two flanks merge, trapping the evidence, and exposing its vulnerable position.
An invisible curtain is pulled back and the audience sees pieces of truth, but since the truth is so improbable in an Empire of Lies, and the idiots so habituated to believing the lies, few people recognize it, and even those that do recognize the truth, still prefer the comforting lies instead, and so the satire becomes a farce.
Living in a farce the satirical headlines arrive just a few years months days hours before the official headlines. Differentiation becomes impossible for the idiots. Satire is dead. Long live satire!
One is either programmed to play along with the theatrics while telling themselves it will get better or habituated to slop up whatever is served at the government trough no matter how ridiculous, unfathomable, or absurd.
The dreamer is alone. He sees the truth is nowhere in sight and is shocked at witnessing the programmed adherents lining up at the government trough to inhale the official slop.
Back to the specifics of the farce.
Idiots are told to do their duty as Americans and go shopping.
The Empire loves devoted consumers. Apart from all the distractions that manifest from perpetual consumption, it requires that the Idiots must also be producers, and producers keep paying taxes to support the Empireโs existence, which is pure farce.
They are told to do their duty as Americans and buy a home with no money down and adjustable mortgage rates, fixed for a teaser period, but are destined for a sheriff posting a foreclosure sign at their door.
Consumption is Patriotic.
Silence and submission nurtured by distraction are Patriotic.
Enlisting to fight phantoms of the government's creation is Patriotic.
The sloganeering in a farce must be absurd. Everything must be an inversion of reality.
Duty is honor. Be honorable. Do your duty.
Diversity is our strength.
Equity is equality.
Inclusion is fairness and tolerance.
Severe intellectual and psychiatric disabilities are now โinclusive.โ
The farce can never get too farcical. It can never outdo its last performance.
In service to the Empire (assuming the Patriot survives foreign exploits of human sacrifice) the government will pay the Patriotโs college tuition to an institution that wouldn't ever hire them or recommend their hiring to any of its donors.
While the real Patriot is sent into exile in Russia.
See something, say something.
The weaponized fear and psychological terror are aimed at the Empireโs subjects who must not ask questions about the farce. Those who donโt are idiots, their faces stay feeding at the trough.
There are two ways of looking at the Empireโs subjects today and each informs the viewerโs nature, as either perpetually empathetic and hopeful or realistic.
idiots: people who prefer comfort and safety, distraction through consumption, and never question lies, power, media, or authority
victims: with empathy as victims of abuse who must be helped
At a certain point, even victims have agency, and the ability to make choices, and therefore changes.
One can only be a victim under certain circumstances, in the absence of certain information, for so long.
At what point do the Empireโs victims become idiots?
How much truth must come within earshot of even the least curious, least intelligent victim before he begins asking questions so that he doesnโt evolve into an idiot?
Though in this Empireโs farce, one must not suffer from average intelligence.
The American citizen is first and foremost a debt slave and servant of the Empire, and never permitted to be anything more than an idiot lest they seek to be labeled a domestic terrorist.
The nudging of debt slaves could span a comprehensive volume of examples, but the most scathing is thisโyou will pay your taxes from your labor (which in itself is unconstitutional) to support this farce or you will go to prison. Even if you depart your homeland, your homeland will follow you to collect your share taxes, even if it was earned overseas. If you no longer wish to be a citizen and abandon the farce you must still pay a fee of $2350 to remove the shackles.
Filing A Shiv Instead of Taxes
The beach, which used to be six packs, cigarettes, bonfire, frisbee, your dog running around and tunes cranked up, is now โput your cigarette out, pour the beer out in the sand, put your dog on a leash, turn the radio off, donโt throw the frisbee, and hereโs a thousand dollar fine.โ Does that sound better or worse to you?
The quest continues.
For knowledge, truth, and beauty, a viable lens to explore one's place in the world without being forced to accept the unacceptable.
Yes, the Expatriate is a dreamer, and some are even idiots too.
The dreamers search for normalcy and common sense but often end up swapping one farce for another.
They canโt help but scratch that deeply rooted desire to dispense with those chains, to embrace that optimism that in another physical location, exists the possibility to start anew, the opportunity to cleanse mind, body, and soul of all that madness left behind.
None of this is novel, or quaint.
Hemingway saw the madness of human descent from an ambulance in Italy. The Great War to end all wars could only end with more war.
The greatest writers of the Lost Generation were serious dreamers. They retreated to the Old CountryโFrance in Particular.
They traded the superficial and vain 'roaring twenties' back home for a continent still reeling from the pointless sacrifice of millions of European brothers, most of them maimed beyond belief.
When traveling Provence eight years ago I came upon a cenotaph in the middle of the sleepy village square of Rasteau with the names of the locals who were sacrificed for that Banker war etched into its stone body. There were less than thirty names but one family lost five sons. A French woman gave birth five times to sacrifice each son to bankers.
The official story is a familiar one when stripped bare to its naked essentials, often ignored by fickle historians bogged down in the diplomatic muck, in the arrangements of a pitiful assassination, and the delusions of syphilitic monarchs and their enormous egos.
When a government is dependent upon bankers for money, they and not the leaders of the government control the situation, since the hand that gives is above the hand that takes. Money has no motherland; financiers are without patriotism and without decency; their sole object is gain.
โ Napoleon Bonaparte
Bankers played both sides as they always do.
Young French, German, Austro-Hungarian, and Serbian brothers went to their slaughter. British, Russian, and Americans followed at various stages. The British were on the verge of a forced negotiated peace with the Prussians when the Bankers orchestrated the arrival of American souls for sacrifice by sacrificing many souls on the Lusitania first. Previously the American people were staunchly isolationist.
The British got their victory and the Bankers got the Balfour Declaration with the help of Lord Rothschild, and after one more engineered war and mass human sacrifice, they got their ethnostate.
For the experimental carnage of the first mass human sacrifice, nothing was off-limits. Nerve gas obliterated young men in the trenches. A bullet was more sensible and humane. Even a bayonet to the heart would have been more welcomed than suffocating to death, drowning in fluids and bile, as the body fought paralysis and motor dysfunction. Ruminating on one's slow physiological deterioration must have been a kind of hell no young Prussian or Frenchman envisaged when their local village church rang the call to service and sacrifice.
At some point in those trenches, during that inexplicable carnage where neither side gained or lost a meter of territory, and the stench of death, and bodies piling up across smokey cratered soils of no-mans-land, all of the young men, on both front lines must have realized that wars too are a farce.
Printing Widows
When a government is dependent upon bankers for money, they and not the leaders of the government control the situation, since the hand that gives is above the hand that takes. Money has no motherland; financiers are without patriotism and without decency; their sole object is gain.
When Hemingway returned to Illinois gimping on crutches, balancing life along that razorโs edge of prolific death and destruction on one side of the Atlantic and country club cocktails and talk of markets and money on the other he knew he had to escape.
Thereโs a plaque on a building where he first lived in Paris just past Rue Descartes where Rue Mouffetard begins its descent toward a pedestrian-only outdoor marketplace of spices, fish mongers, boulangers, artisans, and other working-class Parisians who are up and about preparing for the day hours before sunrise. This little corner of the 5th Arrondissement inspired Hemingway to write A Moveable Feast.
Down the same street, a few minutes stroll thereโs a plague on a building where James Joyce lived in Paris when he wrote Ulysses. According to Hemingway he and Joyce had many โdrunken nightsโ together around Paris.
Paris was cheap at the time. Not a whore, but inexpensive. Americans could have their way with her for modest sums. An average writer could live like a king for months by selling one short story to a literary journal back home.
On Rue Notre Dame Des Champs another bronze plaque adorns a building where Hemingway and his wife Hadley moved next. Around the corner at cafe La Closerie des Lilas, he wrote The Sun Also Rises, inspired by summer train journeys to Pamplona, and Burgette where he fly fished for brook trout.
Today the average American exchange student strolls past these and a hundred other bronze plaques paying homage to legendary authors without glancing up from their phones.
Not that it matters. A man like Hemingway would never get published today. Accusations of toxic masculinity and literature for โwhite menโ would derail dreams for this Expatriate in the twenty-first century. All the literary journals, agencies, and publishing houses polluted with indoctrinated graduates of the race Marxist, and identitarian cults would reject his work.
Seeing war up close as Hemingway did is not the same as watching consent for it manufactured on television. The latter is the fuel for the inferno of her successorโperformative war. The dream of escaping the unfolding nightmare of problem-reaction-solution, and abandoning the farce of an Idiocracy is no less valid whether for Hemingway in 1921 or any disillusioned American man in the twenty-first century because every Expatriate is at his core a dreamer. He will tell you otherwise, but he is lying.
There was once a sense of goodwill bestowed on Americans visiting Europe. Those checks have since bounced decade after decade, from the global carnage of a shameless Empire. There is now only shame in admitting one is from the Empire.
The Empireโs dissidents and holdouts will claim virtues of bravery and courage in refusing to abandon their homeland deluding themselves into fighting unwinnable battles, on Capitol grounds or via keyobard, while slandering their jet-set compatriots as passport bros.
Both are dreamers but only one may live another day to avoid the boot of police state tyranny stomping his dreams in infancy, over, and over, as in the action sci-fi film The Edge of Tomorrow. The days repeat without change, programmed for mimicry of obedient neighbors, and oblivious serfs.
Upon arrival in a new land, the dreamer with a shot at something new will pretend he doesn't want to talk about himself, that he is simply a tourist, taking his new locale for a test drive to decide if he wants to make a greater commitment to be lost and left alone amongst its inhabitants, or to endear himself through acclimation and flattery.
A smart Expatriate will not bother to learn the local language too well or he will soon discover through comprehending the conversations of strangers around him that he has gone to great lengths to surround himself with idiots of a different culture.
A wise Expatriate doesnโt want to flatter the locals too much, nor disparage his birth nation with all the justifications that left him with few sensible options, none of which included staying.
If heโs bothered to do his homework, he knows the deep programming of his new hosts, almost better than they know themselves.
Generations of Germans have been shamed into believing lies about their past so that they commit public seppuku before the world.
Japan would never do such a dishonorable thing to their people and culture though they are not without demographic calamities of their own making.
In Eastern Europe, the programming is still coded in U.S. State Department script. The pretty Polish girls all rush to ask the same question: But why would you leave America?
None of them know, even if you try to tell them they canโt understand.
Western Europeans and Scandinavians know better.
Of course you did. I'd get the hell out of there too.
Not that any of them arenโt serving as pathetic vassals to the Empire on war, and on immigration as they celebrate their demographic suicide, or silence the speech of those who object to that insanity as inciting ethnic hatred.
The open border and demographic suicide farces have been exported to every white European nation that one would be forgiven for suspecting that a grand conspiracy was at work, something resembling The Great Replacement, but if you dare mention it in the company of your new hosts as an Expatriate, accusations of racism and โnativismโ will soon follow.
Every nation within the Empireโs sphere of influence will eventually descend into its own farce. Only the Expatriate of the Empire, well versed in farce detection can see it up close, but all he can do is shake his head in disbelief as once great nations throw themselves into Enoch Powellโs prophetic funeral pyre.
The dreamer becomes a realist the instant he understands what the latter groups have done to their nations as he quietly tip-toes toward the door and closes it behind him, wanting to ask many questions, but knowing if he does he may awaken the slumbering masses catatoniclly observing their socio-cultural-national funeral pyres and be arrested for inciting ethnic hatred.
The dream starts anew.
The new place he chooses must be the one. It simply has to be the correct decision and damn if heโll stop at nothing to make it so.
Where In The World?
As Good Citizens look around objectively at the state of the world post-plandemic and begin to assess the next stages of globalist social engineering, one of many inevitable questions emerges, but perhaps none more important than: Where is the best place to live to counter or avoid the harsher aspects of their continued reset agenda?
To the dreamer, the journey carries all the promise of adventure, originating with the confidence of a man whose courage has spiked with that leap of going, of setting off, of running and doing the thing that so many only talk about doing while bent over brass bar rails slurring to barkeeps and any poor schmucks lingering about forced to listen.
Even that dreamer may be forced to stay behind and live the farce another year or two for finances, commitments to family, or happy accidents that will smother his new dreams in the crib.
To the dreamers who escape the farce, or simply exchange one farce in one land, for a similar farce in a new land, the new frontiers still hold promise, but the excuses of escaping the Empireโs ghosts are over.
There will be no more coping.
Distant laughter at all the absurdities and madness will not be heard by others living the farce, and those around will not comprehend it because they all laugh in a different language, at a different farce.
There will be no more blaming.
While the journey will be long and difficult and despite all those obstacles along the way that the dreamer will be quick to blame for any misfortunes, he must bear the courage to stand stoutly before a giant mirror to engage and appraise the only culprit requiring it.
Lest he be another idiot.
It's okay, it's alright, nothing's wrong
Tell Mr. Man with impossible plans to just leave me alone
In the place where I make no mistakes
In the place where I have what it takes
I'm never gonna know you now
But I'm gonna love you anyhow
I'm here today and expected to stay
On and on and on
I'm tired
I'm tired
Looking out on the substitute scene
Still going strong
XO, mom
The Good Citizen is now on Ko-Fi. Support more works like this with one-time or monthly donations.
Visit shop.thegoodcitizen.live
Donate
BTC: bc1qchkg507t0qtg27fuccgmrfnau9s3nk4kvgkwk0
LTC: LgQVM7su3dXPCpHLMsARzvVXmky1PMeDwY
XLM: GDC347O6EWCMP7N5ISSXYEL54Z7PNQZYNBQ7RVMJMFMAVT6HUNSVIP64
DASH: XtxYWFuUKPbz6eQbpQNP8As6Uxm968R9nu
XMR: 42ESfh5mdZ5f5vryjRjRzkEYWVnY7uGaaD
I was 18 in 1979. Even though it was bad enough and many hidden agendas were still unseen, that time was heads and shoulders better than today, In virtually every aspect that I can think of (except arguably technological in the form of the internet, etc). I watched it turn to shit and tried to warn others to the best of my meager ability.
Now, I am aghast at what has happened. Yet, I see no way out for me and mine.
Wow! That was your magnum opus, Good Citizen