When humans talk about getting a “tongue lashing”, they generally mean to imply an unpleasant tirade tendered from one person to another for known or unknown reasons, (depending on whether the lashee is male or female of course and whether or not the lawn is mowed for the weekend, or some such). It is pointedly brought forward into poetry by Bob Dylan, who said,
“Look out kid – you don’t know what you did but you’re doin’ it again!”
But when we revolutionary katties talk about tongue lashing, we have a whole nuther meaning for the term. One of the first things we katties ever learn in life is the touch of our mothers’ tongues – no katty ever leapt through nights in alley-ways but first knew its mother’s tongue – which came upon it at the moment of birth. That is central to Kattydom. So we smart revolutionary katties know how to share our affections with each other (the way humans sometimes do and always should, agree?) by using our tongues to groom each other. It matters not one whit to we katties if humans cannot grok that simple fact of life. The video below says it all, and better than I can anyway.
Be that as it may, the entire truth when synthesized and concentrated into its quintessential etheric immanence boils down to this, to be added to one’s fishbowl…
Alias Opie On Elias Alias
They’re going to bust Elias. They’ve been watching us for years. They’ve monitored the call-in talk radio shows, secretly filmed events where he speaks or demonstrates, infiltrated the various liberty groups with whom he works, noted and pinged his pick-up truck, subscribed to his publications, looked into some background, assigned two permanent full-time monitors to interdict his messages on Internet forums, and probably have him listed and cross-referenced between more than thirty federal snoop agencies which answer to the Department of Homeland Security (DHS).
It would be a big deal to me personally if the FBI were to bust Elias because he and I are spiritually bonded like brothers in the revolution – best friends – and he is the guy who feeds little Black Alias and me. He keeps us in a place that is livable, in quasi-rural Montana, takes me for walks down by the railroad tracks, rides me down to the Jefferson River in his old pick-up truck, and feeds me warm fried chicken on the hood of his truck. He keeps me in three kinds of dry food, and has hooked me on gourmet katty-food, chunk turkey in water, tuna in water, and treats to boot. I’d starve to death if Elias were to be busted.
That’s one thing, but another thing is that I have let the fool steal into my heart, and I love him. He is the most obedient, graceful, sensitive friend I’ve ever had. He anticipates my every whim – most of the time, which below being perfect is yet exceptional for humans.
The FBI wouldn’t take me in, to be sure, for they’d never suspect that I was behind Elias’ revolutionizing, my being a katty, you know. Yes, I’m a katty. Orange and white longhair with pantaloons and a fluffy tail, and an elongated snout which makes me look very carnivorous. But I am the handsomest, fiercest hunter-katty in all of Willow Creek, Montana. My hunt logs show that I have always brought in a steady stream of small rodents, with some birds mixed in for good measure. I get the meeses from the large garden across the road or the fields down by the railroad tracks, and I can get an occasional tweety-bird from the apple tree or the plum tree on the north side of our house. That plum tree is right outside Elias’ kitchen window. Excuse me – I meant to say “my” kitchen window. I have come to appreciate the things humans do, and putting windows in their houses is a fine habit. I’m very busy enjoying my dominion, which the old guy pays for of course, leading an extraordinarily comfy katty life in Montana. The old fool makes it easy for me to love him.
I demand my moments with Elias daily, and everyone in Willow Creek knows that he walks me ‘n little Black Alias every evening, at about the vespers hour, before dusk, when the afternoon winds have fallen to teasing breezes and the tweety-birds are falling silent as they look for a safe place to sleep for the night. As I said, Elias and I are friends. Brothers in an unusual way. We talk, in in our own way. The old guy has learned to listen, has figured out how to get my meanings. He never picks me up without asking first – unless he’s exercising a mean-streak which humans all display at times. Although it is impossible for me to do anything wrong, he has mistakenly thought that I had done something wrong a time or two in the past, and at such times he invariably snatches me up with hands under my front shoulders so he can force me into his face to see the righteous wrath in his eyes, and he does not ask before picking me up at such times. And he will forcefully say things like – “Opie, dag-nabbit! I told you not to push that cup of coffee off the table!”
I have learned to hide my understanding of his meanings behind a facade of aloofness, or I can easily give the appearance of being distracted as I stare at him with disinterest in my eyes. He does as I ask, most times, and I seldom do as he asks. I’m the katty, he’s the human. I like that arrangement. So you can see that I would miss him with great anguish if they come for him. But they probably will, because the old fool constantly runs his mouth publicly. Times are getting tense in America, even here in Montana, and the Feds are copping an attitude against the grassroots middle-class American resistance to their desired national policy.
It is the primacy inherent to the center of life’s coil, in the flesh-born human body; in the flesh-borne human persona. The sequence might be spirit, soul, psyche, physical body, house of the entity known as the ‘id’ – the ‘id-entity’. It’s what all earthly governments call, “identity”. The basis of that of course is the state’s need to know for management purposes inherent in governmental infrastructure. “Your papers please” is but a necessary unpleasantry – it is the recognized rule-of-thumb in dictatorships, even in oligarchic dictatorships.
So Elias and I have been talking about such abstracts as “governance” and “freedom” and how the self may relate to both, depending if a self is a sovereign individual born with what the Framers called “unalienable rights” which no man-made government could ever properly take away. I was explaining to little Black Alias just the other day about Natural Law, and its relation in history to the Common Law, and how our country’s union was to function in “Government Law” (as in a Republic of Law) and only in ways which protected each individual person’s unalienable rights. That’s how Thomas Jefferson saw things, pretty much, I told her.
Why we katties in Willow Creek are into being revolutionaries has much to do with our observation that Old Elias is literally at risk to be picked up by the “authorities” for runnin’ his mouth on the danged Internet. It did not use to be that way in America, but since ‘they’ invented this so-called “war on terror” ‘they’ have set about to stiffle free speech anytime or anywhere they want to. An example of that was seen when Elias took me ‘n little Black Alias down to southern Nevada recently, where we saw where the idiot BLM had fenced off ” First Amendment Areas”, believe it or not.
And now we know that U.S. Senator Harry Reid, a Democrat from Nevada, has said that all who supported the Bundy family during the intense stand-off are “Terrorists”, which opens them up to every kind of government abuse including attack by government in all of its capabilities, from arresting them to sending in the troops and SWAT raids to outright killing them. As Elias well knows, the NDAA-2012 allegedly “gives” the authorization for the U.S. military to detain American citizens without warrant or charges. And now that everyone knows that the FBI is investigating what happened at the Bundy Ranch, the government may end up wishing to flex its muscles like it did at Waco, Texas. Who knows what power-mad political ‘leaders’ might do? I do not think I’m being paranoid – I think that the Fedgov of today’s governance is so defensive about keeping its power and control over the American people that they are actually attacking our Constitutionally protected rights. They can’t stand that the Cowboys won Round One at the Bunkerville Revolution, and they’re going to attack everyone connected to it by treating them as “Terrorists”.
Were that not so, the Fedgov would admit that the BLM brought out the guns first, and the Fedgov would have the FBI investigate every Federal agent who pointed guns at the Ranchers and bring them up on charges. That would be both Natural Law and Common Law justice in reality, because he who aggresses a non-aggressor is guilty by definition of initiating aggression – and in this case it was the BLM.
I really wish Elias would spend more time doing mental exercises with me and little Black Alias, instead of wading through all that jazz on the Internet. But he thinks he must read up on what seven billion humans are doing every day, and he wants to go over a zillion published details so he can repeat them in his own way, his own words, by drawing word trails which show or reveal the connections hiding behind seemingly unconnected things and matters. It’s true: the old guy is eccentric as all get-out.
That’s a human thing, and I’m grateful to Nature that we katties have a better telepathy, sharper instincts, a more sophisticated embrace on our senses, a devotion to our ancestors’ every life, and a plan of hope to move along gracefully and with honor into new lives to come. That’s certainly a “katty thing”, yes? But things go better for katties when their humans stay out of jail. I’m serious when I note that Old Elias is the guy who keeps opening those cans of tasty katty nibbles, or brings home a fried chicken breast. He and I both worry about what will become of me and little Black Alias and a lot of other Dumpster katties in Willow Creek if they do come for him and take him away to one of their cage clusters. I mean, like, we katties don’t truck in things like federal reserve notes, which is what Elias uses at present time to pay the rent each month so we have a home out of the weathers. Those frns are also what he uses to get our food, and that is hugely important to me in my old age.
Yes, I’m growing old of late, though I’m still the fiercest hunter kattie in all of Willow Creek, Montana. Elias says I’m spoiled, but I still bring him a meese almost every day, and in late May each year I bring him young gophers to boot. And I can still kick some katty-butt if a Tom Katty gets too rambunctious around me or my territory. But I will confess that it’s convenient that the old man brings me food all the time. I adopted him thirteen years ago come September, so I prolly am accustomed to a life of ease by now.
So if a sitting U.S. Senator says Elias is a “terrorist” for going down to Cliven and Carol Bundy’s ranch in southern Nevada and speaking up for the Constitution, and if the Federal government is using the Department of Homeland Security (DHS) to profile American citizens who believe in the Constitution as “terrorists” of one kind or another, and if the Justice Department has met with the Pentagon and the White House to consider sending in the U.S. Military against the cowboys at the Bundy Ranch, then I can see clearly why it’s proper for me to be concerned about my future comforts and dietary habits.
And that is the bottom line truth, so it is obvious that little Black Alias and I must take care to keep Old Elias out of the pokey. At present time, we’re facing the challenge but are uncertain how we might succeed with that. He is one complicated case, to be sure. We’ll keep you posted.