It is so painfully obvious that the State plays off the races against one another in open and deliberate fashion, yet most folks fail to perceive this. If I ruled a multiracial nation I would do the same. That makes sense. But the rampant retardation of most of these slave citizens, black and white, is, I think, the real genius of the State, that hundreds of millions of minds have been inoculated against reality.

The enemy of humanity is not in Beijing, Moscow, Washington P.C. or even New York, but in every community and every living room. This enemy has two faces, the TV screen and the educational institution. I firmly believe that until society disintegrates to such a point that advertiser-supported audio-video broadcasts, major movie production and public schools and universities become unsustainable that Civilization in its most virulent Western form, will continue slithering along its slime-laced path, ever downward into deeper degeneracy and darker dysgenic dystopia.

In no time and place has the metaphor of god as shepherd and humanity as a flock of bleating sheep come more true than in the Postmodern United States of America, where no law need be passed by the high priests of the God of Things to frighten greater than 95% of sheeple into silence. In the more overtly collectivist hives of Europe, Canada and Down Sunder laws are in place to control speech. But in Sheep America, where dissident thought has been all but eradicated, where the vast majority of dissident thinkers must hide behind internet anonymity, where the frightened white sheeple of my family are even afraid to utter the words “black” or “African American” in the privacy of their house, where my description of the sacred martyr race of their national cult as “negro” or “dindu” causes people behind closed doors to slide down in shame as if hiding behind the arm of their easy chair from some all-seeing eye, what need is there for bars and shackles when each and every mind begs to be owned outright by its faceless masters?

Recently, while playing cards with the Sissy Rich, the most recent hosts of my taboo keyboard and dissident library, the wealthy young folk whom I serve as security guard and housekeeper, began speaking to some artificially intelligent device, asking such things as, “Alexa, play 90s progressive rock, please.”

Lo and behold the walls answered in the feminine affirmative and the County Crows began to sing and play.

Eventually, as my looks of shock and horror entertained my rarified landlords to the point where they thought to toy with me, the lady of the house said, “Go on Mister Jim, ask Alexa to do something?”

So, indulging my hosts and hoping to divert attention from my wretched hand of cards, I said, “Alexa, I am James LaFond. Am I on an NSA watch list?”

The house whom I now know as Alexa then answered in a womanishly stentorian voice, “Amazon Corporation takes the privacy of its customers seriously.”

…and the music died.