The Apology Tourists

The Kennedy-Trump alliance proves it's still the Plague Election (but with a twist).

This article records my immediate reactions to the newly minted strategic alliance between RFK Jr. and Donald Trump and the events leading up to it. I’ve since had more thoughts, but I wanted to get these out before the page flips yet again, and that rascally red dot escapes my claws.

Anyway, what follows is about as “normie” a political take as you’re likely to get from this haunted old alley cat. Enjoy.

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As you know, I don’t typically write about politics.

That’s especially the case with all those BREAKING NEWS machinations that the pundit class covers so breathlessly. The pace of these pseudo-events strikes me as a distraction in itself, and probably an intentional one. Like the cat who chases the laser dot, no single coordinate can be grasped, and tracing the motion path just leads to another illusion.

That doesn’t mean we can’t tease true signals from the noise. The trick is to not just read between the lines, but to seek out explanations that account for the hard problem of consciousness and other epistemic boundaries.

For instance: we can’t actually know what’s going on in the minds of various political players and their minions, including those who are public-facing. “By their fruits” we will know them, sure, sure. But the yard in which we now collect our fruit-data has become almost entirely mediated, virtual, contradictory, and untrustworthy by default. The lies and illusions are slathered on so thick, evaluating a given truth claim has once more become largely a matter of instinct, tempered by hard earned wisdom and faith in God. In other words: welcome back to what used to be called “reality” by everyone who wasn’t a wizard in a tower.

That doesn’t mean we throw all observational data out the window. We should instead treat it like those pre-written portions of a Mad Libs page, into which we’re meant to plug in a variety of plausible story solutions. The more solutions that work without turning the story into nonsense, the more accurate our data probably was (and the more it can be repurposed for future predictions of twists and turns).

Consider the story of the newly minted Trump-Kennedy entente. In its gaptoothed, Mad Libs form, it could be sensibly completed using a number of different narrative strategies. We could see it as a psychodrama between two prodigal sons of empire, who nurse longstanding grudges and hidden wounds; as the populist avatars of a Turchinian realignment, uniting to defeat a common foe; as the inevitable completion of an American mythic saga, bookended by Deep State assassins.

All of these observations can be accurate without damaging the story structure. What is obviously true is that many powerful players are not pleased with this new narrative twist, which can be neatly summarized in the following jillion-word picture:

Robert F. Kennedy Jr., left, and former President Donald J. Trump at a Trump campaign rally in Glendale, Ariz., on Friday. (Credit: Evan Vucci/Associated Press)

Are we living in an American fairy tale?

Given the events of the past summer, it would make sense to scan the background for Tall Paul and his Blue Ox.

But let’s catch our breath. Despite this picture’s aura and glow, the output is still extremely noisy. There remain hard lines we can’t cross, black boxes we can’t pry open using our normal range of senses. In fact, the only thing we can say without a shadow of a doubt is this:

Something Happened.

Something moved. And not just the red dot, this time.

To recognize that Something Happened doesn’t require any particular theory of What or Why. You don’t even need to see these guys as heroes, or even as decent men. For all we know, they could both be blood-drinking Reptoids, waging a secret factional war for who gets to rule the monkey-bugman plantation. As I mentioned in response to

Daniel D

’s recent piece, a rising counter-elite doesn’t necessarily mean they are the “good guys.” Bad guys fight other bad guys, as we know.

Or, short of space monsters and faction wars, there’s the always the eternal fallback play: we could dismiss one or both men as “controlled opposition” — puppets dancing on a public stage, with their esoteric puppeteers concealed from view.

I myself have called out various puppet plays and mind games as I see them. But the problem I’ve always had with using “controlled oppo” as our default theory is that it is definitionally unfalsifiable. The mind isn’t just poorly mapped territory. It’s an invisible, self-writing volume, containing infinite, uncharted worlds within its quantum-encrypted pages.

Even if some spooky Deep State warlock thinks he’s cracked or hacked the cipher, there’s always the chance that he hasn’t, because his target was secretly immune, or because his spell was later undone without his knowledge. That shadowlands is filled with paranoid maniacs for a reason. It’s the same reason they still go for old reliables like honeypots and extortion rackets, MKUltra and neural implants be damned.

In fact, they especially know there’s never such a thing as 100% confidence when it comes to a mind's secret contents, dwelling as they do in an underworld of double, triple and God knows how many -uple agents. You might call this knowledge the closest a spy will ever come to a Divine truth.

Because of this truth, this impregnable final wall of consciousness, we can eliminate controlled opposition from our analysis. While it could easily fill the blanks in this story, it could also fill the blanks in literally any story, and therefore its usefulness is extremely limited. And the underlying “Something Happened” data structure would remain intact regardless, because so far all regime feedback points in one direction:

This photo isn’t supposed to exist.

It wasn’t fully predicted. It was a shock, the sound of shattered glass at a funeral. As we speak, there are rooms filled with political operatives who are shouting and screaming about this photo, tearing at their hair and clothes, perhaps even praying to various eldritch horrors for deliverance. These men and women would CTRL-Z it from the linear timeline if they could, along with a few other unfortunate pictures and sounds.

“O Mighty Abholos, Devourer of the Mists! Deliver us from memetic genocide!” (Credit: Evan Vucci / AP Photos)

Speaking of media that shouldn’t exist, Kennedy recently gave a speech. Some regime dissidents are even calling it The Speech; a rallying cry towards a post-neoliberal, post-neocon epoch in American politics.

Short of this lofty praise, other listeners will note the speech’s popularity at the very least marks a hard shift in the Overton Window, particularly when it comes to subjects like electoral malfeasance, regulatory capture, our adulterated food supply, and the menace of our predatory pharmaceuticals industry and captured health bureaucracies.

Unfortunately, those who tuned in on CNN were instead treated to inane interruptions from the channel’s palace guard hosts (in which they rethemed “Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs” and other schoolyard name-calling as “analysis”). In a way, these sorts of antics are more important than anything Kennedy had to say. This is signal being clarified by the addition of noise, stochastic resonance in action.

Anyway, after watching and listening to it all, my main takeaways were as follows:

• If Kennedy is secretly a Reptoid, he’s wearing one of the most finely crafted skinsuits I’ve ever seen. He must also be that planet’s most accomplished thespian by far. Eat your heart out, Robert Downey: there’s a new Junior in town.

• Kennedy has a deft command of the English language, and an easy grasp of historical detail that denotes actual study and comprehension. He hasn’t done all of his homework (e.g. “Climate Change”), but it’s clear no teleprompter is doing it for him. And notably, he did not segue into any of those subjects he consistently flunks. He instead remained focused on the areas of common agreement and sense, drawing former “enemies” into alignment.

• Kennedy is no soaring rhetorician for the ages. His clarity and literacy only seems astonishing when compared to the gibbering goblins and baboons on exhibit at the DNC Zoo. He’s good, and has proven he can be funny when the opportunity arises (e.g. when he’s being accused of eating dogs or murdering whales with chainsaws). But he still lacks the “common” touch that would complete the package. That’s not his fault, considering his neo-aristocratic upbringing.

• He seems to be passionate about… something. Maybe many somethings. I don’t doubt that he wants to protect children from harm, but that describes essentially every human being with a soul.

I noticed a few other things, but I guess my overall takeaway could be summed up as this:

Kennedy’s new mission is to destroy the Uniparty.

He seems to have finally realized this mission is his top priority, that all other crusades and quests must be sidelined until the monster is slain. This may or may not be a suicide mission, including literally. If anyone knows what bloody depths the Blob will sink to when it feels genuinely threatened, it is Robert F. Kennedy Jr.

And now — at long last, after signals that could be seen from high orbit — Donald J. Trump knows it, too.

By the time their paths converge again, both men have been exiled from their Democratic party tribe. They have come to see that tribe and its Republican counterpart for the illusion it is: a fake, two-headed monster, puppeted by a real one. In their attempts to circumvent the puppet, they have prodded the real monster, and it has prodded back. Their associated trials and tribulations have transformed them, expanding their fields of perception. In peeking behind the curtains of power, they have seen things they can’t unsee.

As a consequence, they know too much. But, like most men in their position, they aren’t so easy to dispose of. Visibility alone functions as a kind of body armor, for one thing. If you royally fuck up some high-visibility job, it could mean the end of the game for you and your crew. That’s why most modern operations rely on gently assisted LIHOPs, as they did on 9/11, 1/6, 10/7 and — very nearly — 6/13.¹ The latter botch job has bought both men some time. A second attempt in quick succession would be so suspicious that even people under deep hypnosis might snap out of it.

So we circle back to that insane, zillion-word, pyrotechnic fairy tale.

I don’t think it’s a puppet show, but it’s also not telling the whole story. There is a very, very big blank that needs to be filled in, for this wacky new bromance to be anything but ships passing in the night.

I’ll give you a hint:

President Trump wears a face mask Saturday at Walter Reed National Military Medical Center in Bethesda, Md. (Patrick Semansky / Associated Press)

Some commentators have noted an element of Shakespearian tragedy in Kennedy’s speech. He’s not only the last surviving prince of a mythic American aristocracy, but was one of the last true believers in that myth. When he describes the anguish of leaving the Democratic party behind, I sense it’s at least partially genuine. Over the past several years, I’ve met many blue collar ex-Democrats who expressed a similar hint of sadness, maybe, but nothing so deeply personal and tortured. Kennedy sounded like a man whose last and most precious illusion had just been washed away.

But here’s what was missing:

Remorse.

Kennedy never expressed remorse for the role he played in bolstering that illusion, to the detriment of literally everyone on Earth. It’s true that people who lead a public life will say a lot of things they later regret, including vile and stupid things. When your last name is Kennedy, that means not just heedlessly throwing your support to one head of the monster puppet, but slurring people who can even partially see through that illusion.

So in addition to his expression of personal “tragedy”, he owed the republic an apology. In fact, I was waiting for that exact phrase to escape his lips: “I owe the republic an apology, for helping to feed the monstrous traitors of the Deep State.” That would’ve be apt, given those same traitors murdered his own father, among other kith and kin. It also seems like something that should be within his wheelhouse. Virtually nobody comes back from a heroin addiction without issuing a few apologies.

On the other hand, Kennedy is a special breed. Despite the neo-hippie veneer, has proven himself to be a pugnacious, unrelenting foe. He knows too much about the Enemy, now. In particular, he knows that showing any sign of weakness would only encourage this Enemy, and its minions in the PR department. It’s unfortunate, but it’s also true.

Guess who else knows this strategic truth?

In fact, guess who else not only knows it, but exemplifies it in his every public word and deed?

You might call this steadfast defiance not merely Donald Trump’s brand, but something that sits near the core of his being. It goes beyond an “inability” to apologize, which has been the usual diagnosis of armchair shrinks who only see his narcissism. It has a purpose and meaning beyond defending a fragile ego, because the Enemy is merciless and unforgiving by its very nature. It weaponizes apologies, just as it weaponizes any form of humility or sincerity or vulnerability or grace.

That’s a shame, too.

Because Trump, like Kennedy, has something big to apologize for. Something “truly, truly tremendous,” in his Trumpy parlance. No, it has nothing to do with “racism” or “sexism”, or any of the other sundry thoughtcrimes the Left attributes to us all. In apologizing for it, he would simultaneously confess a failure, a defeat.

He would need to admit that — after years of having so much fun beating his enemies to a pulp and driving them to madness — he finally got rolled. Yes, it took a worldwide “plague” of terrorizing propaganda, government sponsored censorship, hothouse penal colonies, fraudulent elections, mass human experimentation, and a worldwide iatrogenocidal murder spree to finally kick Godzilla out of Tokyo. To Trump’s credit — and to our misfortune — his enemies had to go nuclear to roll him.

But roll him, they did. Especially the two-legged rat pictured below:

Here’s the maddening part: Trump knows this. He may even feel sorry for it, somewhere in his heart. He laid a road out for himself as the undefeatable champion, and came up short in the final moments of the game.

Even more maddeningly, Kennedy could have told him everything he needed to know about “Doctor” Anthony Fauci. In fact, had the photo-op above taken place five years ago, it might have saved hundreds of millions of lives², not to mention kneecapped the worldwide assault on freedom, national sovereignty and basic human dignity we continue to endure.

What we have witnessed since the year 2020 is the single greatest crime spree in all of history, dwarfing all other holocausts and holodomors combined. Like all crimes of magnitude, the damage wasn’t limited to the biological and economic. It involved mass humiliation rituals of mind-bending proportions.

Among the absurdist sights and sounds were masked adults taking wide berths around each other in the street, then removing said masks when sitting down to dine. It convinced multitudes to see each other as fatal disease vectors, including a generation of young children whose ability to recognize human facial expressions has been permanently damaged. Another generation of children will never be born, thanks to reproductive injuries and deep psychological wounds. Some of those wounds can be seen in the Pandora’s box of sociogenic monsters set loose, in the form of suicidal depression, extreme body dysmorphia, and a nihilistic hated of Self and Other.

There will be a great reckoning.

The retribution will be of the same order and depth as the crime. It will be shocking to a great number of people who witness it — including literally shocking for many of the co-conspirators, once their trials are concluded and their sentences meted out.

And even before that day arrives, there will be smaller reckonings galore. As tranches of new health data are released, and people become aware of what was done to them, the fury will not be contained to courtrooms and juries.

During the “Love Summer” of 2020, I told my wife that the plagues of fear and madness would be far more deadly and long-lasting than any virus. Over the next year-and-a-half, as the scale of the crime fully dawned on me, I had dark visions about this interim period, the outbreak of wild vengeance that would precede orderly justice. The term “powder keg” hardly even scratched the surface of what we were sitting on.

I thought of all those parents, for instance, who’d been duped into poisoning their own kids. What if I was one of them? What would I consider proper “justice” for the dupers, in that moment of recognition? “Horror” doesn’t even begin to describe the images that immediately sprang to mind.

Even absent that terrible decision, I have dealt with bouts of surreal, vengeful anger — including a proxy anger for those who fell for the trick, or who succumbed to the crushing economic pressure of employers. Luckily, my faith in God has since put my thoughts back in order. It must be justice, in the end. “Swift and terrible” for some, but tame relative to what would await them in the broiling streets.

But until that day of justice arrives, we are faced with a practical dilemma.

Among those multitudes of people who fell in line, there is an almost irresistible incentive to pretend what happened did not happen. This is understandable; to look at the true picture would melt the sanity of many people, including those who already have suspicions about it. Included among this group would be the nearly three-quarters of the population who took the initial two doses, but who never went back for thirds (let alone fourths, fifths, or whatever number the mRNA product’s few remaining neuropathic customers are up to).

But their suspicions can only be that, for now. “They can’t handle the truth,” as Colonel Jessup once advised. Not all of it, not all at once. The best they can handle for the moment is the fraud aspect. The tests were broken, and the vaccines didn’t work. They were sold snake oil. That’s what the masses of attendees at the DNC super-spreader should’ve probably surmised by now.

CHICAGO — They came hoping for Beyoncé. They left with Covid. 

Fresh off of a jam-packed week of Democratic National Convention events, reports of attendees’ testing positive for Covid are rolling in. 

They include members of Vice President Kamala Harris’ campaign staff, who are now contending with sickness from Covid, according to two sources close to the campaign with knowledge of the cases. There is at least some concern the developments could affect staffing at events this week, they added.

One of the sources said that so far, the aides' symptoms they’ve heard about have been mild, and a third person close to the campaign said there was no concern about staffing the events.

Since the convention wrapped up Thursday, various attendees and reporters have posted photos of positive Covid results. 

They didn’t and won’t. They have been so thoroughly conditioned in the black arts of cognitive dissonance that nothing short of a miracle will break the spell. When the reckoning comes, they will be the most bewildered and distraught. They came hoping for Beyoncé. They will leave with shattered egos and poisoned reputations, at best.

But the spell of cognitive-dissonance doesn’t begin and end on the Left. For instance: what are the rest of us to make of Mr. “Operation Warp Speed” himself?

We could say he was betrayed, rolled, outfoxed, duped, taken for a ride. If we admit this, are we also saying that his judgment as a leader isn’t to be trusted? If COVID-19 was history’s biggest crime, then wouldn’t Trump’s “Warp Speed” mistake count as history’s biggest blunder?

We could also point to certain policies he claimed to be against, such as vaccination mandates and other forms of coercion. But his claims were all about a Future Trump, in a second-term presidency and vaccine deployment that didn’t yet exist. We don’t and cannot know whether he would’ve changed his mind.

In other words, there are serious questions on the table regarding Trump’s judgment and leadership abilities on the Right and Center.

Forget the Left’s version of these questions: they abandoned reality long ago, and aren’t planning a return trip any time soon. For the rest of us, we require a signal that he gets it now. A sign that he’s learned from his past mistakes and won’t repeat them in the future. Under normal circumstances, this would include a public apology and confession of these mistakes, formal or otherwise. But, as you all know, we are not living in normal times.

So here it is. Here is The Donald's apology, complete with all the glitz and glam we'd expect. It is Kennedy’s apology too, for his lifelong contributions to the Enemy’s master plan.

Or at least, this picture is the closest to an apology or confession you can expect to get from either man, at least until the election is decided. Or maybe ever, given what’s likely to follow.

Even if the election isn’t stolen again this year, the Enemy will not sleep. If anything, all the panicked moves and desperation plays we’ve seen lately will kick into overdrive. This will include a new round of PSYWAR and framing, in which they will paint Trump as not merely a blunderer who got played, but as one of the plot’s key villains and authors. Sensing no other options, their new goal will be to light up the vengeance circuitry and torches to the max, and hope the mob devours Trump before he can get the ball rolling on their trials and executions.

That is why this picture exists. Yes there are more prosaic reasons for its existence, and for their alliance in general. But these men also know that we’re living in a post-democracy world.

Maybe the election still can be won by conventional means. But that’s a big maybe, considering that the Deep State traitors running the show would all be facing the death penalty if they lose control. But what they can’t do — what they’ve proven themselves laughably incompetent at doing — is to win the trust of the People. If they could do that, they wouldn’t have to lie, cheat, steal, and murder their way to power.

So there you have it. The signal is: “I messed up. Here’s my apology. Please trust me again.”

Whether we choose to do that or not is a separate question.

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1. I’ve only recently noticed how, when the agency copy is submitted to the news desks, all these LIHOPs seem to be christened with dates instead of names. Makes me wonder about 12/7 and its assorted infamies.

2. If not billions. The final numbers aren’t in yet, and the waves of fatal heart attacks, strokes and turbo-cancers are still rolling ashore.