GENOCIDAL KITSCH (COVID EDITION)

Photograph by Sam Sherratt

“For a considerable length of time, the normality of the normal world is the most efficient protection against disclosure of totalitarian mass crimes. ‘Normal men don’t know that everything is possible,’ [David Rousset, The Other Kingdom, 1947] — Hannah Arendt, The Origins of Totalitarianism (1951)

“The word ‘kitsch’ entered the English language from German (kitsch, meaning gaudy trash, from the dialect word kitschen, to smear or coat). It was much used by art critics in the thirties to distinguish avant garde values from sentimental ‘picture postcard’ art of the woodlands-in-autumn or kittens-in-baskets variety. Sunsets over the sea, that kind of thing.

In his great novel of ideas, The Unbearable Lightness of Being (1984), Milan Kundera takes the word and expands its horizons to include not just taste in art but world-view or cultural attitude. He defines it, in a metaphorical sense, as ‘the absolute denial of shit’.

“The fact that until recently the word ‘shit’ appeared in print as s— has nothing to do with moral considerations. You can’t claim that shit is immoral, after all! The objection to shit is a metaphysical one. The daily defecation session is daily proof of the unacceptability of Creation. … The aesthetic ideal of the categorical agreement with being is a world in which shit is denied and everyone acts as though it did not exist. This aesthetic ideal is called kitsch. … Kitsch is the absolute denial of shit, in both the literal and the figurative senses of the word; kitsch excludes everything from its purview which is essentially unacceptable in human existence.” (Part 6: The Grand March)

In Kundera’s usage, ‘kitsch’ becomes a worldview which denies the unacceptable by simply acting as if it did not exist. In fact every outlook or movement is liable to devolve into a kitsch version of itself: romantic kitsch, patriotic kitsch, religious kitsch, communist kitsch, and so on. In totalitarian kitsch, the ‘shit’ is dissenting thought, and the gulag becomes the septic tank of the totalitarian system. In bourgeois kitsch, shit consists of sexuality, social unorthodoxy, status-lowering behaviour, dress, language or occupation, certain political ideas, and death.

As well as actual shit, naturally.

As a small child I sensed the familial constriction of kitsch. I wondered, for instance, why the grown-ups mowed the lawn. It seemed to me, to paraphrase Kundera, a denial of grass. As soon as I was old enough, I embraced bohemian values. Not only Velvet Underground and The Doors, Nico and Patti Smith, but Chatterton, Keats and Baudelaire, de Quincy and Shelley, Messiaen and Bartok, Salvador Dali and David Gascoyne, all showed me something beyond the flimsy paper walls of bourgeois kitsch. They hinted at the sublime.

I didn’t discover Kundera until I was in my thirties, and his musings gave me a new way to think about what I’d been trying to define all my life: what it is that has so bothered me, and made me so difficult. It is Kitsch — kitsches of all kinds — that induced this alienation. Anglican kitsch, bourgeois kitsch, Christmas kitsch, married-with-children kitsch, Guardian-reading, New-Labour kitsch, educational kitsch, globalist kitsch, New Age, positive-thinking kitsch. Human beings produce kitsch as continuously as they produce shit.

Now, even with church and marriage and child-rearing and The Guardian and my international school career all in the past, I feel it more than ever. There are so many things I can’t discuss with members of my family, or even most of my old friends.

Certain realities we may never speak of.

And there are new kinds of shit, giving rise to a new kinds of kitsch.”

I wrote the above five years ago.  It was a way of introducing the topic of atmospheric geo-engineering, stratospheric particle injection — it has many names. The colloquial term is chemtrails. 

I’d been observing the phenomenon for a number of years, was aware of some of the research that had been done. But the essay wasn’t about the atmospheric phenomenon so much as the social one — the impossibility of getting anyone I knew to discuss something so important; of getting anyone to look up. More than any other topic I’d tackled in my writing — and it’s hard not to talk about something you’re actively researching — this one caused problems with people. It was regarded as the most far-out of all conspiracy theories, absurd on its face, impossible prima facie. You just couldn’t talk about it. 

Curiosity has been forestalled. It’s as if people sense, unconsciously, the presence of a lethal text, written huge across the sky. So I confined my thoughts to these pages: here on this big island in the Andaman Sea, I learned to keep the sky to myself. Even with friends, visiting me here in Phuket. A beautiful day. Not a cloud in the sky — not a real one, anyway. Just smeared chemtrails, blending into the light aerosol haze that’s been whitening our skies for years now. Not enough to spoil the day, just taking the edge off the intense sun, so why even mention it? I didn’t. My friends are younger than me, smart, educated, and creative. But still there are things you can’t mention without spoiling the mood. We can talk about sex and shit, and drugs and shit, and films and books and families and relationships and shit… But mention chemtrails? Forget it. That’s a ‘conspiracy theory’. Kitsch has not gone away. After all these years, I still haven’t found a way through its smothering, mothering embrace.

Kitsch is the determination to control the conversation. Kitsch will decide the rules. Kitsch will determine what is to be discussed.

Or rather what is not. It’s as if anything important is now considered indecent. It’s weird. And weird is the right word. I feel our destiny in these silences: the kitsch that is killing us.

I called the piece Genocidal Kitsch. A better word might be democidal, since ‘genocidal’ suggests the destruction of a particular race, and this is about everybody, as far as I know. ‘Democide’ means the mass killing of populations by their own governments. In the twentieth century democide accounted for more deaths than war. Statistically you are far more likely to be killed by your own government than someone else’s; as in the iatrogenic holocaust which is just beginning.

It’s not a thought that ever penetrates the thick hedge of covid kitsch that has sprung up around the sleeping population. What could be more kitsch than standing on the street banging pots and clapping for a socialised health system at the very moment it turns into a simulation of itself, the perfect example of the Baudrillardian dictum: ’Everything is metamorphosed into its opposite to perpetuate itself in its expurgated form.’

I tried to warn them, as I was obliged to — once, twice — but it was no good, leading only to farcical tantrums and emotional smokescreens, through which I could hardly insert a word of sense. As the deaths and damage started racking up on public reporting systems I tried again, rounding up some of the emerging facts and summarising the warnings of highly credentialed doctors and scientists, but it was already too late — my brother and sister-in-law were among the first in line for the injections — they probably camped out overnight, knowing them — and they and my nephews were helping out at vaccination centres, completely committed, my brother spouting propaganda talking-points verbatim. Neither of my teenage nephews had been injected at that point, as far as I know; I dread to think what has happened since. The first wave of deaths included a rash of young athletes collapsing and in many cases dying — over a hundred FIFA-registered soccer players had died. Almost every time I watch a football match there’s a medical emergency in the stands that stops the game for a few minutes — spectators having heart attacks. No one ever asks the obvious question — well, one commentator did, the ex-footballer Trevor Sinclair, but the producers instantly cut away. We now know that the risk of myocarditis post-vaccination is multiplied by a factor of 133. That’s a 13,300% increase. Meanwhile mainstream media outlets carry laughable stories in which ‘scientists’ suggest the spate of heart attacks is being caused by climate change, or post-pandemic stress, or the clocks going forward. I wish my nephews — one a climber, one a footballer — had someone to protect them. I’m not even allowed their contact details, and I highly doubt that my brother or sister discussed with them the information I’d shared. That’s not how things work in the land of kitsch. 

So is this how it’s going to go down? Looks like it. The heart-attacks are a short-term effect — the medium and long-term are looking extremely ominous. Professor Bhakdi’s warning, issued repeatedly in states of growing exasperation, appears to be coming true: the autopsies conducted by the pathologist Arne Buckhardt in Germany found lesions characteristic of immune enhancement — the killer lymphocytes attacking all the cells throughout the body which have been tricked into producing the spike protein — in every organ, including the lymph nodes, and especially the endothelium (the lining of blood vessels and organs), in all but one of the seventeen bodies he dissected. All of these people had died suddenly of unknown causes; none of the deaths had been assumed to be connected to the vaccine; but Buckhardt’s results strongly suggest that Bhakdi had correctly described the auto-immune process that would take hold and destroy the bodies of the injected from the inside out.

There’s also an explosion of soft tissue cancers being reported by a number of concerned doctors, and the aggressive return of cancers in remission; and, of course, the progressive destruction of the immune system, leading to vaccine-acquired immune deficiency syndrome (VAIDS), which in turn will lead to deaths from all kinds of apparently unrelated causes, not least the reactivation of the dormant infections we all carry, such as herpes — and as Bhakdi points out, in Thailand 99% of the population carries the TB virus in dormant state. The vaccine slow-kill is already in progress, but the deaths will appear to be from many different causes, and the confusion will allow the psychological cover-up to be maintained — even as all-cause mortality soars, hitting 140% against the previous year’s totals, according to the CEO of One America insurance company. Other companies are also recording unprecedented increases. To put such figures in context, actuaries assume that a two-hundred-year disaster would increase mortality by around 10%. A 40% increase is a thirteen-sigma event in probability. It doesn’t happen for no reason, and it is happening.

At the same time, the truth is actually coming out — much of it already has, unknown to the inhabitants of the land of kitsch. As I write, Pfizer is being torn apart by the forced release of confidential and highly incriminating documents. If intent is provable, the corporations involved will lose their precious immunity. The clinical trial data, the release of which Pfizer’s captured FDA sought to delay for seventy-five years — is now reaching the public, or the tiny proportion of it capable of facing up to the facts, and it’s horrifying. Of approximately 42,000 adverse reactions to the product in clinical trials, 1,291 resulted in death in the first three months. We cannot calculate the rate of adverse reactions, however, because the number of doses given is still redacted. That suggests the ratio is not in the product’s favour. The document CUMULATIVE ANALYSIS OF POST-AUTHORIZATION ADVERSE EVENT REPORTS has attracted some attention, not least because of the nine-page list of adverse events of special interest, which takes a full hour for a text-to-voice app to read out. And yet of the thousand or more items, you don’t even have to read past the very first one to realise how serious this could be: ‘1p36 deletion syndrome’. So much for the injections not altering human DNA: it can delete it, with dire consequences.

And that’s just the first release of documents. No attention is being paid to these revelations, with the whole of the corporate media switching instantaneously into flag-waving, face-painting wartime kitsch. The Ukraine war came at exactly the right time to distract the public from what has been done to them. It would have been impossible to continue the vaccine-drive against the background of this data coming out.

Estimates of how many people will eventually die from the gene-based injections, even if no more were to be given, are almost impossible to make. We have to bear in mind the research into the toxicity of different ‘lots’ or batches of vaccines conducted by the Enigma group of researchers and given a stamp of approval by Dr Mike Yeadon, ex-Pfizer VP and CSO. This research shows that we are not looking at a consistent product — the Emergency Use Authorisation enables such variation — rather, about 5% of the lots appear to be responsible for about 90% of the adverse reactions. About one lot in twenty (a lot is usually around a million doses) was found to be causing up to five thousand adverse events, as opposed to a handful or a few hundred in the other nineteen. Production processes are very tightly controlled in the pharmaceutical industry, and such variation in toxicity is too extreme be explained, says Yeadon, by accidental factors or trace contaminations, and is prima facie evidence of intent — as is the fact that the timelines reveal the four companies producing genetic vaccines apparently taking it in turns to unleash the more toxic batches, these being spaced out in time as if to allow for baseline normalisation as well as technical analysis of the results. Yeadon’s opinion is that this behaviour is not inconsistent with a co-ordinated lethal dose range-finding exercise to establish an acceptable kill-rate, which can conceivably avoid arousing public concern long enough for war, supply chain breakdowns, hyperinflation, cyber-attacks and, who knows, perhaps Pandemic #2 as Bill Gates likes to call it, to create such chaos that the past will never be addressed, and the vaccine fiasco is subsumed in a wave of even greater disasters. The reckless actions of the corporations suggest their faith in a whole range of Dei Ex Machina to materialise. 

If I or any of my fellow spirits harbour secret hopes that our normie families, bless their hearts, will ever allow themselves to be schooled by reality to the point of realising that we were right all along about this, forget it; I don’t think it’ll ever happen; it’s not the way the world works. Nothing exists outside the Sleeping Beauty’s castle of kitsch. Kitsch is the death of imagination, the death of conscience, the death-in-life I’ve seen and always feared more than anything. It’s like that Roman Catholic priest said, livestreaming urgently as he walked home through the deserted streets of Rome after midnight mass, nearly two years ago it must be now, signing off with ‘just don’t pretend it’s not happening.’ And that, I believe, is important spiritual advice. 

The authorities will make it as easy as possible to do so, and reinforce the cognitive and psychological fences between the ‘normisphere’ and the reality-based community, which threaten to become real in the form of concentration camp — sorry, quarantine facility — barbed wire. In the more extreme outposts of the Covidian empire, Canada, New Zealand, Australia, and parts of Europe, that totalitarian nightmare came frighteningly close to becoming reality. But totalitarianism comes from below as much as above, and the normies will collaborate in the achievement of a suffocating silence. The insuperable instinct of kitsch will team up with authoritarianism to ensure a disaster of millennial  proportions does not occasion any awkward conversations over the dinner table, as families purge themselves of their extremists and conspiracy theorists. The masks, it’s clear, were only ever of ritual significance; our very own Rite to Remain Silent. 

Meanwhile, the stratospheric aerosol ‘injection’ programme continues, the massive distribution of metals, nano-tech and pseudo-biology, its ultimate aims, I suspect, identical with those of the ground-level mass injection programme.

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NIH.gov: “1p36 deletion syndrome is a chromosome disorder that typically causes severe intellectual disability. Most affected individuals do not speak, or speak only a few words. They may have temper tantrums, bite themselves, or exhibit other behavior problems. Most have structural abnormalities of the brain, and seizures occur in more than half of individuals with this disorder. Affected individuals usually have weak muscle tone (hypotonia) and swallowing difficulties (dysphagia). Other features include a small head that is unusually short and wide; vision and hearing problems; abnormalities of the skeleton, heart, gastrointestinal system, kidneys, or genitalia; and distinctive facial features. 1p36 deletion syndrome is caused by a deletion of genetic material from a specific region in the short (p) arm of chromosome 1. Most cases are not inherited; only about 20% of the cases of people with 1p36 deletion syndrome inherit the chromosome with a deleted segment from an unaffected parent. In these cases, the parent carries a balanced translocation, in which no genetic material is gained or lost. [1] There is no cure for this syndrome. Treatment depends on the symptoms, and may include rehabilitation/educational programs, anti-epileptic medication, and standard treatment for heart, kidney, eye, hearing or bone problems.[2] (Last updated: 4/18/2016)

One thought on “GENOCIDAL KITSCH (COVID EDITION)

  1. I once knew a trainee doctor who lived in a block of flats in a very kitch elite suburb. A young woman who lived opposite Belinda often provided her with entertaining tales of a drama fuelled life which had eventually become unbearable. She tried to commit suicide using a cheese grater on her arms while she was terribly drunk . Obviously it didn’t work but it caused great hilarity with the young doctor. This is also an effect of kitch, it disconnects people from compassion from reaching out at last even connection to others. Trivialising and superficial as you say, it is lethal.

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