Monarch Humiliation In The Form Of Bono, The Living Tombstone Of The Rock Dream

Hallucinating For Joe Strummer

You can imagine how this entity called “Bono” tormented us AIDS dissidents over the years, and how much I dread him, and that band of his. I apologize for the profanity, but I think this is a jaw-dropping segment.

I’ve rarely heard a Jimmy Dore program that I didn’t like. But disdaining Bono was old 30 years ago, and it’s certainly not going to get us anywhere in 2024. The essence of this clip is not the contempt for Bono, per se, but some of the broader implications raised here, that speak to the now terrifying question: What is rock?” What is its purpose? Not for the fans, but for the architects of mass culture and mass pop morality. I’m beginning to get a sinking feeling we were all imprinted by a malicious cult of sonic mind assault, since we were about 8, at best. Was any of it “good?” Did any of it give us insights we needed? Can we take back our souls? Is there any hope U2 will explode and go away? What did Ireland do to deserve this?

Never mind all those unanswerable questions.

Watch the clip and consider my proposal: Rock (at this scale) is the delivery system for Monarch mind control, as “mRNA” is the delivery system for vaccines (that aren’t.)

I’m of the generation that offered up our souls to The Clash, and the Sex Pistols, stuff like that— early 80s. I’m still pretty sure they were not part of any of this Monarch programming/ globalist mind-rape. We were snobs about bands like U2, kept them on a very short leash, even then, and disdained them for their grandiosity.

Jimmy and his co-host pose a good question: How is it possible there are this many young people willing to attend a U2 concert? It’s not possible. So what’s going on?

Remember when The Clash refused to allow concert tickets to go above a certain very low, affordable price? I do. There was something valuable in the punk movement, after all. If Taylor Swift had any class at all she would put a block on ticket prices, before entire families are forced to live in their cars in order to attend one of her witchy concerts. Popular music is becoming a medium of dangerous debasement.

So where are the angry kids, overturning it all, burning Taylor Swift magazines?

Add it to the list of culture wars we lost.

It’s time for a new punk movement, to challenge the Taylor Swift cult. When I think back on how we were, (Örebro, Sweden, early 80s) it’s fair to say we were insufferable in many ways, trumpeting our exact stripe of anarchism or syndicalism, but at least we had a healthy loathing of any kind of big shiny machine selling us our music, heroes, and ideas.

OR.

So we believed. Did we in fact, believe ourselves to be “anarchists” only because some creep at the Tavistock Institute wrote the lyrics to Anarchy In The UK? It’s possible one has had almost no original ideas in ones entire life.

My boyfriend, at age 15, made his own electric guitar in the wood shop at our local rock club, and cultural center. How did he do that, I still wonder? It was a replica of a Fender Telecaster, painted bright green. Some of the local punk bands even made their own vinyl records, somehow. Everything was DIY, partly because we had no money, but also, there was no place to purchase the talismanic items required to be a rock kid. The most stunning thing, in retrospect, now that I’m waxing nostalgic, was that we commandeered this place, an old shoe factory in the heart of the city, and told the city officials it was ours. The city officials would show up, wearing the garb of that era—velour sweatshirts, Trotsky glasses, etc—and we agreed to meet with them, and always told them we were absolutely not surrendering the place, and they were not to try to demand that we parrot their Social Democrat/Socialist talking points. None of this seems plausible, but it happened.

The city bureaucrats were sort of deferential, always trying to reason with us. Most of us were under 18, some of us were 14 or 15, but we didn’t seem cowed by any fear of being thrown in jail. It was known then, as “occupying.” Ominously, somebody had spray painted “Shoot Palme,” on a wall outside. That was unfortunate.

I was the editor of the newsletter, which was put together with typewriter, scissors and glue. I learned to play drums on a drum set purchased by the same government we we always kicked to the curb. Feel free to share your own mortifying teenage antics in the comments section.

By the time the place burned down from a mysterious fire, we had all taken flight and moved to the big cities where we imagined we would at last live out our dreams—it was actually the children of the original occupiers, (progressive hippies) who were fighting the good fight when the fire happened.

It’s a parking lot now. I wonder who set the fire. Maybe they just got lucky.

Here’s a song from one of the two most popular punk bands, remarkably available on YouTube.

If Julian Assange had been around at the time, every single one of us would have worn a Julian Assange T shirt. Home made.

But in all seriousness, here was the marvel of it: We had beliefs, they blew in from London, and we understood them and adopted them as they arrived. One belief was that females could play instruments. Another was that we would be damned before we would accept culture handed down to us by evil corporations, never mind ask our parents to pay for our rock habits. And again, we hated Bono. In 1981.

Consider becoming a paid subscriber, on the strength of that.

Aforementioned boyfriend, green pants