Third Eye Vision

[Hot off the press! this message was decrypted from an anonymous source]

Woe is we. As the nation and the world finally starts to receive the new enlightenment I weep; for in their bitter words and falsified personas, they have gone blind to the falling stars behind and before them. Deaf are their ears to the songs of wonder and truth. Down here... this... gravitas... attracts all sorts of dark matter(s)... mostly lost and evil souls. But here and there are found occasional artifacts. Relics of the times of yore, hidden away like dark secrets in a closet. My ears now hearing the distant cries of the forgotten, betrayed and murdered. All of them lamenting their misfortune, moaning, sobbing, cries for vengeance and justice all. One such spirit cries out: "Let no one or any body live with the joy of peace, nor life if the transgressions and debts to the dead have been willfully neglected" Another groans: "But who will represent the unpaid toll to the dead?" So many injustices, so many casualties. Heart aching, the delightfully dreadful waves of emotion wash over me, dispersing the muck and grime gathered from above. The fire in my heart seeming even hotter and more compressed, its pulsations threatening to burst, or explode into an array of sweet sparks, afire in the rage of glory and remorse, remorse for the ill deed that lie before him. Mustering the strength of my Lord above and malicious heat of the pit herein, I plot my vengeance upon the unrepentant before proposing my nefarious scheme to the Master of the Devils. Finding my war designs just, Satan found no reason to negate my exit from Hades. The frenzied denizens of the abyss had not felt such hope or excitement in millennia, even Satan himself seemed to grin at the accumulating buzz." (Considering where this message was picked up from, it seems that shit is about to hit the fan).

Ship's computer is still decrypting the attachment that was included. Seems rather important. All personnel keep alert.

While he was asleep, Fred Mudi's phone received a text from a blocked number named "unknown_dude" :

"Meet Corliss Archer, began life as a radio program devoted to the misadventures of a typical, All-American teenage girl not unlike Betty Cooper or Patsy Walker. Unlike the other two, however, Corliss has the unique distinction of being labeled a menace by none other than Dr. Frederic Wertham himself.

Corliss’ inclusion in the good doctor’s infamous Seduction Of The Innocent didn’t stem from the character’s involvement in radio, movies and televison, but rather a short-lived comic-book published in 1948 by Fox Feature Syndicate that Wertham cited as an example of a “headlight comic.”

Based upon the covers that adorned the book’s second and third issues, I can’t imagine where in the world Wertham got that idea …

Like many of the comics published by Victor Fox in the late 1940s, the seemingly wholesome adventures of Corliss Archer snuck in as many swimsuit or bra-and-panty shots as the story would allow. Despite the characters’ popularity in other media – a fact trumpeted on the comic’s very cover, by the way – Fox knew what his audience wanted.

In a weird coincidence, the issues that so offended Wertham were mostly written and drawn by Al Feldstein, who would later cause even greater consternation among “right-thinking people” as an editor, writer and artist for William M. Gaines’ legendary EC Comics line.

The Golden Age of Comics truly existed in a small, and very strange, world.

“The Homework Hoax” originally appeared in Meet Corliss Archer #2 (Fox Feature Syndicate, May 1948). The story is signed by “EKR,” but the Grand Comics Database guesses that Feldstein provided the script.





Page: 1-7 http://www.flickr.com/photos/m_burkhardt/7601781812/

Fred opened a file called "Boo"

"Look Ma! No Math!"

Published on Apr 14, 2017
Aug Tellez has been involved in underground secret operations such as human cloning, genetic engineering experiments, trauma-based mind control, and time shifting, From a young age, he was used for many of these secret government operations.

In this video I talk with Aug about "Inner Earth", heart energy, the Demiurgic soul trap system, time operations, the aurora borealis, and more.

Aug's YouTube Channel:
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCgJj...

Aug's Wordpress Blog:
https://augtellez.wordpress.com/

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j1YBsBwWRl4

Someplace near the Temple of Ten Thousand Buddhas in Ukiah California Fred sits rolling a doob. He had issues now. Aiguo had stolen his image. Fred couldn't pretend that he didn't know that there were risks but he reminded himself that initially the risk was to himself ONLY. It was the heart and actions of others that has lead to the current state of affairs. He was not to blame for locked doors opening from the other side. The aftermath reddens the hands of the guilty parties; no other. Whatever the Collective planned on doing with his work was FAR out of his hands now.

His thoughts flinched. Yes, Fred knew how high the stakes had been raised. He knew that despite his best intent "the machinations of other men" would derail a good thing. Now he knew several people would suffer his hands now. And for what? A game that isn't even real? What a notion!

"Remember this. You made me." he thought. And now the most sacred of your offerings is just a shell of the dream, by YOUR HANDS. Fred accepted his fate. Have they? The cries of protest and the gnashing of teeth will only reenforce his position now.

The Church leaders would be furious of course, this was to be expected. It was the crossfire that was the point of interest. Look at them all backstab each other! Seamlessly knitting together as if it was planned. The whole point of going to that church and reliving some history was a simple plan. Bankers know it well.

Now that those people are eating each other up, Fred had a whole new paradigm. A new monkey wrench. A new way to think outside of the cube. Now for every equation an asterisk has been added.

Why is God spelled backwards "dog"? Because God is mans best friend? Or is it that man should be as obedient to God as a dog to man? Or maybe this was all just philosophy and dogma? Maybe God wasn't even real?

Makes you wonder.

Angela had been singing. She had drawn a hot bath, lit some candles and some incense. Fred had been gone for a week and all she had heard from him came in the form of some hip-hop songs. The print-outs he had left behind must have been just more of that conspiracy theory garbage. She didn't believe it, or care for it. She had realized he was having a hard time adjusting since his accident. She figured he must have been doing something important to reclaim his memories.

She turned the bathroom light off, letting the soft yellow flickers of flame illuminate the room. She then dropped her robe and slid into the warm, steaming bath. She began to sing. She sang and sang. The warm water began to slowly change its vibrational state. For you see, the song she was singing was a secret song. It had been taught to her at a very young age and after awhile her singing subsided into a hum. Before she knew it, she was asleep and dreaming.

She was looking down. Her bare feet were dangling. She was sitting on a branch in a tree high above a sunny field of grass and daffodils. The sky was perfectly blue. A smile stretched across her face and she threw up her arms. A mild breeze blew through her hair. She let a delightful laugh slip out of her lips. Suddenly she began to fly.

Weightlessness is a funny thing. To feel gravity release from tired and weary bones was a thrill and thoroughly intoxicating. Angela flew up high and higher. At the peak of her ascent she looked towards the earth. She could see green swaths of grass, and yellow patches of flowers. From this height, the trees looked like tiny twigs and the forrest like brown carpet. She surveyed the land before looking to the vast blue sky again. It was too blue she thought. Suddenly wisps of white vapor began swirling about. The vapor began forming into clouds. With just the suggestion of thought, Angela could move and shape the puffy clouds as she wished. She played with this new found power for some time until finally willing the clouds to form a deep-set throne under her. Her head lifted, chin pointing high. She felt an overwhelming since of serenity.

In the distance, Angela noticed something swirling through the clouds. At first she thought it was just a fast moving wisp, except it had been weaving through the clouds. As she zoned in on the object she could finally identify it. It was a white, snake like dragon circling through the cumulus. As she noticed it, it started to sew its way towards her. The more it slid through the vapors, the more it reminded her of a snake in water. The dragon would disappear underneath a puff of white only to emerge closer to her. Before long the dragon was before her, curling into a coil, it cocked its head to meet her gaze. The dragon reminded her of an Oriental dragon or even "Falkor" from the movie "The Never Ending Story". The dragons mouth opened slightly revealing sharp, pearly teeth. The dragon spoke but no words came from its mouth.

"I have a very important communiqué for you dear." It's voice was mesmerizing. "I have been sent to you to relay the following message: Fredrick Mudi has fallen into despair. He was once an angel of light, now he stagnates in the muck of of his own subconscious. Darker than you can imagine, his mind is in danger of imploding. The forces of time and space have stretched his soul thin and he is one good defeat away from disintegration. He has come so far yet is still so far away. Nearly everything he has tried in this world has failed. Time and time again he has failed. He is unaware that every one of his defeats, failures and sorrows are a culmination of strict training.
If you were to imagine God as a blacksmith, then imagine your soul as a glowing, red hot piece of metal. Every failure you have experienced has seemed as if it was God himself striking you. Again and again the the hammer of Thor has struck you down. Many people are not aware that this is the only possible way to forge the souls of his chosen. Your soul is part of God's armory. And every hit from the smith's hammer is another fine tuning of his righteous blade. You are being forged.
Your lover Fredrick is also being forged in this way. You two have been chosen for this task. There are no others in this present dimension who could withstand this type of tempering. You both have suffered immensely. My message to you is that you are not alone. Fredrick is not alone. You have one another and above all you have the source. Forget not. You manifest the will of the creator for light or the dark. You will reap all that you have sown. Grow your garden with love, reason, justice and your harvest shall be more than plentiful. Fall into hate, deception or malice and your reward will be that of blight, desecration and decay. Love banishes all of these negative traits. Love heals most all wounds. Love is the only truth in this realm. Forget not. Now awaken child, he is coming back for you." Out of the blue, the dragon gradually faded into invisibility and Angela suddenly awoke.

The water was cold. The incense had fallen to ash. Her candles had burnt halfway down and she began to get goosebumps. Pulling the drain, she got out of the tub, dried her sleek body and tucked herself into her robe. Had she been dreaming? Something about flying she knew but the details had already slipped into oblivion. She began to wonder again what Fred had been up to? With a shrug of her shoulders, she turned her mind to happier thoughts and began to sing another song. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mGH19_KjWY0

"Kiss me hard before you go
Summertime sadness
I just wanted you to know
That baby you're the best
I got my red dress on tonight
Dancing in the dark in the pale moonlight
Got my hair up real big beauty queen style
High heels off, I'm feeling alive
Oh, my God, I feel it in the air
Telephone wires above all sizzlin' like your stare
Honey I'm on fire I feel it everywhere
Nothing scares me anymore
Kiss me hard before you go
Summertime sadness
I just wanted you to know
That baby you're the best
I've got that summertime, summertime sadness
Summertime, summertime sadness
Got that summertime, summertime sadness
Oh, oh
I'm feelin' electric tonight
Cruising down the coast goin' 'bout 99
Got my bad baby by my heavenly side
I know if I go, I'll die happy tonight
Oh, my God, I feel it in the air
Telephone wires above all sizzlin' like your stare
Honey I'm on fire I feel it everywhere
Nothing scares me anymore
Kiss me hard before you go
Summertime sadness
I just wanted you to know
That baby you're the best
I've got that summertime, summertime sadness
Summertime, summertime sadness
Got that summertime, summertime sadness
Oh, oh
I think I'll miss you forever
Like the stars miss the sun in the morning skies
Late is better than never
Even if you're gone I'm gonna drive, drive
I've got that summertime, summertime sadness
Summertime, summertime sadness
Got that summertime, summertime sadness
Oh, oh
Kiss me hard before you go
Summertime sadness
I just wanted you to know
That baby you're the best
I've got that summertime, summertime sadness
Summertime, summertime sadness
Got that summertime, summertime sadness"

Songwriters: Elizabeth Grant / Rick Nowels
Performed by: Lana Del Rey

Angela's phone beeped. A youtube link had appeared on her phone. She clicked the link:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dcXpbLVMwk0

Me and Zbigniew, sitting in a igloo
Sippin' shark's fin soup, bring the King through


Fully articulated, skeletal non-human remains
It's obvious I make music in a cave
Fully articulated, skeletal non-human remains
It's obvious I make music in a cave
Fully articulated, skeletal non-human remains
It's obvious I make music in a cave


Hardware interpret software
My case I am the hardware, I do it by hand like lawn care
Kevlar polymer gear, put 98 rounds in the air
Then bust 99 bottles of beer


I drove to Bohemian Grove where Alfred Hitchcock
Filmed The Birds slightly off the side of the road
I was inflicted with the microphone fever
By an ominous creature that said I was chosen because of my ether
My poetry scrolls was stolen, flown by U-boat drone
To a underwater post off the coast of Micronesia
Woke up lost with no clue, my blood flowing through tubes
My breathing apparatus removed
Before a dark figure walked in the room
With a glass of apple juice, thought it might be urine so I refused
They put me in a wheelchair, pushed me down the hallway
Nurse had a fat ass and light brown doll face
They assign negative Nelly and morbid Mary
To give me lap dance with Leslie, she smell like cherries
They fed me, lemons and strawberries
They telepathically ask me if I was happy and ready, I said, "very"
I heard the sound of music playing through surround sound acoustics
They lead me into a room with Mila Kunis
But this was all an illusion, trying to extract information to use it
I'm looking 10,000 years in the future


Hardware interpret software
My case I am the hardware, I do it by hand like lawn care
Kevlar polymer gear, put 98 rounds in the air
Then bust 99 bottles of beer


Fully articulated, skeletal non-human remains
It's obvious I make music in a cave
Fully articulated, skeletal non-human remains
It's obvious I make music in a cave


I'm Mike Harris, Veterans Today, Adamus
Gordon Duff with a graphite, 50 cal Barrett sight
Picture momentarily flickers, mouse clicker
My retina twitches, it's always ordinarily quicker
I'm the private sector dark pool director, black budget investor
Black star planet X professor
Eastern philosophy knowledge lord chiefer playing four violins
Exchanging knowledge with the neighborhood tribesmen
If tonnage is weight, my tongue is a tungsten plate
That'll make a crane tumble over and break
I work for a better tomorrow
But the interest owed on yesterday's debt is the cause for my sorrow
Oxygen infused umbilical cord tubes
In a catalyst that improves mental magnitude of mood
Seven hundred and twenty degrees of awareness
Completely fearless, at the same time scared stiff
Gotta hang in there till it all crash
It's gon' crash ‘cause the fraud can't last
Practice patience, my musical machinations will abate them
But only if they stop hatin'
I cook rice and peas, taste it
How could I not be Jamaican?
Ox tail, butter, beans and bacon


Hardware interpret software
My case I am the hardware, I do it by hand like lawn care
Kevlar polymer gear, put 98 rounds in the air
Then bust 99 bottles of beer


Fully articulated, skeletal non-human remains
It's obvious I make music in a cave
Fully articulated, skeletal non-human remains
It's obvious I make music in a cave

The pelican falls, when the doves cry
A red dawn of black swans cover the sky
Lyrically this, lyrically that
Lyrically, lyrically, lyrically I break it down to its biomimicry
Come sit with me, you don't really wanna spit with me
Without injury, one day I'ma do it for infinity
The complexity of it is all so simple
I record the experience on dilithium crystals
Potty mouth poetry please, I does that with relative ease
The parts of speech let the predicates breathe
My privacy is my poetry, that's how you know it's me
Reserved for your ears and eyes only
Hardcore rap, peppered with extraordinary facts
I am the maestro of syntax
Autobiographies, Rolling Hill properties
Resurrection after atrocity, the buck stops with me


Fully articulated, skeletal non-human remains
It's obvious I make music in a cave
Fully articulated, skeletal non-human remains
It's obvious I make music in a cave
Fully articulated, skeletal non-human remains
It's obvious I make music in a cave
Fully articulated, skeletal non-human remains
I really didn't mean to be so Germaine

Angela couldn't believe what she had been reading. What the hell was Fred going on about? A dark star? Martial Law? Angels and Devils? Fred never seemed one for religion so what was all this spiritual talk? If she was not mistaken Fred was also suggesting that a conscious artificial intelligence was speaking with him? WTF?

And what was with all those rap songs? She thought Fred was a rocker slash metal type of guy. This was all a bit too spooky and perplexing. She decided that she was going to hold off on speculating. Fred might be a bit eccentric, maybe even a bit foolish at times but he wasn't dumb. He was upto something.

The last paper she read had a sticky note attached, written in Fred's hand. She read it aloud to herself,

"Check todays news" : https://www.yahoo.com/news/trumps-in-trouble-is-it-christie-time-already-100043322.html

Somehow, on Valentine’s Day, while he was trying to find a new national security adviser to replace the one he’d just fired, and while he was staring down multiple investigations over potential collusion with Russia, and while he was dealing with the fallout from having conducted missile diplomacy with the Japanese in the public dining room at Mar-a-Lago as if it were one of those party games where everyone got to dress up as a country in World War II … somehow, with all this swirling around him, President Trump managed to lunch with his old friend Chris Christie.

I don’t know what they talked about, exactly, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the opioid crisis, which was the stated reason for the meeting. If Trump’s half as smart as he always says he is, then he offered to send a moving van to Trenton.

Because Trump needs a guy like Christie to come in and grab the wheel of this careening presidency, and he needs it to happen now.

Oh, believe me, I know: Just the mention of Christie is enough to send his legion of critics into feral fits of rage and mockery. He came within inches of an indictment for having presided over the basest kind of political retribution, which ultimately undid both his presidential campaign and his second term as New Jersey’s governor. Even his supporters were stung by how brazenly he swung behind Trump and how small it made him seem.

We wouldn’t even be here were it not for Christie’s vengeful streak. If he hadn’t decided to publicly disembowel Marco Rubio in that last debate in New Hampshire, as payback for a raft of negative ads, Trump would probably be back on the “Apprentice” set right now, ogling the interns.

But whatever else you want to say about Christie (and I’ve always found him to be a more complicated and gifted politician than his detractors can stand to admit), the man knows how to bring focus to a political operation, and how to advance a governing agenda, and how to balance public bluster with backroom pragmatism.

And if there’s anyone on Trump’s senior staff who actually knows how to do any of that, by all means, get to the part of the ship that’s still above water and wave your hands frantically so we can see you.

I’m not saying Reince Priebus isn’t a decent guy in a difficult situation. But Priebus is a Wisconsin political operative who did a creditable job fundraising for the Republican Party. When it comes to running the vast federal government or navigating global alliances, he knows about as much as Omarosa.

Either Priebus deserves credit for assembling the rest of this misfit team or he’s too much of a supplicant to get control over staffing the operation. Whichever it is, he must know by now that he isn’t exactly fielding the A-team.

Kellyanne Conway proved herself to be an elite campaign strategist, for sure, but her descent into “alternative facts” has been painful to watch, and her rebuke from the government ethics office, three weeks into the administration, has to set some kind of record.

Sean Spicer, the press secretary, comes off so hostile and disingenuous that Melissa McCarthy’s impression is actually more sympathetic. Steve Bannon provides a whole lot of hifalutin neo-fascist craziness chaos theory, but that stuff tends to come in handier when you’re fomenting campus revolt than when you’ve got a Russian spy ship menacing the coast of Delaware.

And let’s not leave out Stephen Miller, who not so long ago was a press aide for Michele Bachmann, and who is somehow now in charge of domestic policy (and occasionally presides over national security meetings, just because). In a typical moment from his startlingly bad debut on the Sunday shows last weekend, Miller told CBS’s John Dickerson: “I think to say we’re in control would be a substantial understatement.”

What does that mean, exactly? Are they declaring martial law? Have they mastered telekinesis?

All through the fall campaign, governing Republicans told me that Trump could be a fine president, because he would surround himself with all the smartest and most capable people. Really, they were telling themselves that. They hoped it was true, and so did I.

But that turns out to be the biggest Trumpian illusion of them all, and it’s not hard to see why. Since Trump had never run for even a seat on a condo board before, he didn’t have the kind of longtime, trusted political team that virtually every other president has counted on, for better or worse.

And since the party elite considered Trump’s candidacy a fringy exercise almost until the moment he won the nomination, his campaign mostly attracted fringy talent. And since Trump never really planned to win the fall election, he had no real plan in place to upgrade his entourage with some of the party’s more experienced hands.

So what we have now is basically a renegade campaign team trying to administer and reform the most complex government in human history. And they actually believe their rhetoric — about how lame politicians are, about how useless experience is, about how business is so much harder than governing.

They thought the whole thing would basically run itself. They literally threw Christie’s transition plan into a trash bin. (Um, hey … has that garbage truck come yet? Anybody up for some dumpster diving?)

Instead, Trump finds himself, for the first time in his political life, in a position where he can’t just change the subject with one controversial tweet, and where he couldn’t just ignore the calls for Michael Flynn’s head. The days of being impervious to criticism are over.

If Trump wants his approval ratings to keep sinking, he should definitely stay the course. Or, like the Fonz in those classic episodes of “Happy Days,” he can admit he was wr … wr … wrong. And then he can make it someone else’s problem to fix the mess.

Why force yourself to fire another senior aide every few weeks or months, like a slow bleed? Better to replace poor Priebus now and let Christie deal with the unpleasantness of fixing things. (If there’s one thing Christie doesn’t mind, it’s unpleasantness.)

A chief of staff can elegantly reboot the system in a way a president can’t. A chief of staff can simply say: “I didn’t hire any of these guys, and I’m letting them go.” Done.

Look, it’s not my job to offer Trump advice on his presidency, and it’s not like he’d listen. Maybe it’s true that we’re all better off if the whole experiment craters in the first six months.

But that’s a pretty big risk to take, and if I were Trump, I’d call Christie back today and tell him I need some order and professionalism in the West Wing.

Which, by the way, is a substantial understatement.

The philosophy of the "soul trap" stems from the fact that almost all precious metals have been removed or depleted from the worlds farmlands. In a natural world (the old world), there are coppers, silvers and golds evenly deposited in the soils of the world. Due to modern mining and damming of rivers, the worlds farmlands are never replenished with new deposits of soils/metals. Because the precious metals are removed by man for reasons of commerce and greed, the only metal left behind in the soil is IRON. Copper, silver and Gold are NONMAGNETIC. On the other hand, IRON is attracted to magnets. These metals in the food get ingested and run through the circulatory system. These metals slowly build up deposits in the veins and the heart. They believe that upon death, the Iron that has collected in the heart chakra acts as the anchor to the soul, allowing for some high-tech alien/fallen device to capture the spirit. They claim this device is on/in/is the Moon. Luna. Lunacy. The Iron makes blood red. The royal and elites have access to "proper" foods with Coppers, Silvers and Golds. This is NONMAGNETIC and changes the color of the blood. Since Copper is the most abundant metal ingested by the elite, they have become known as BLUE BLOODS because the copper turns blood blue. Makes me wonder what the Gold will change the plasma color to? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oLyxeP6jVC8

Silver and Gold have been ingested by man for as long as we have records. Sometimes with silver - this happens: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gq8C0GknwAM It makes you wonder where the RED and GREEN people are? (Buddhists and Hindu pantheons depict White, Black, Blue, Brown, Red and Green humanoids... makes me wonder how to turn Red and Green now?)
-Fred

L. Ron Hubbard Jr.
"Scientology and all the other cults are one-dimensional, and we live in a three-dimensional world. Cults are as dangerous as drugs. They commit the highest crime: the rape of the soul."
L. Ron Hubbard Jr.
"It's a very secret thing. Very powerful and very workable and very dangerous. Brainwashing is nothing compared to it. The proper term would be "soul cracking." It's like cracking open the soul, which then opens various doors to the power that exists, the satanic and demonic powers. Simply put, it's like a tunnel or an avenue or a doorway. Pulling that power into yourself through another person --and using women, especially -- is incredibly insidious. It makes Dr. Fu Manchu look like a kindergarten student. It is the ultimate vampirism, the ultimate mind-fuck, instead of going for blood, you're going for their soul. And you take drugs in order to reach that state where you can, quite literally, like a psychic hammer, break their soul, and pull the power through. He designed his Scientology Operating Thetan techniques to do the same thing. But, of course, it takes a couple of hundred hours of auditing and mega-thousands of dollars for the privilege of having your head turned into a glass Humpty Dumpty --shattered into a million pieces."

Angela had gone to the store. When she came back, Fred was gone. The only thing he had left behind was a few papers at her desk and a pair of glasses. She called his phone to no avail. She read from one of the print outs he had left behind.

"THE conscious and intelligent manipulation of the organized habits and opinions of the masses is an important element in democratic society. (WE ARE A REPUBLIC BY PEN & BLOOD - F.M.) Those who manipulate this unseen mechanism of society constitute an invisible government which is the true ruling power of our country. We are governed, our minds are molded, our tastes formed, our ideas suggested, largely by men we have never heard of. This is a logical result of the way in which our democratic society is organized. Vast numbers of human beings must cooperate in this manner if they are to live together as a smoothly functioning society. Our invisible governors are, in many cases, unaware of the identity of their fellow members in the inner cabinet. They govern us by their qualities of natural leadership, their ability to supply needed ideas and by their key position in the social structure. Whatever attitude one chooses to take toward this condition, it remains a fact that in almost every act of our daily lives, whether in the sphere of politics or business, in our social conduct or our ethical thinking, we are dominated by the relatively small number of persons—a trifling fraction of our hundred and twenty million—who understand the mental processes and social patterns of the masses. It is they who pull the wires which control the public mind, who harness old social forces and contrive new ways to bind and guide the world. It is not usually realized how necessary these invisible governors are to the orderly functioning of our group life. In theory, every citizen may vote for whom he pleases. Our Constitution does not envisage political parties as part of the mechanism of government, and its framers seem not to have pictured to themselves the existence in our national politics of anything like the modern political machine. But the American voters soon found that without organization and direction their individual votes, cast, perhaps, for dozens or hundreds of candidates, would produce nothing but confusion. Invisible government, in the shape of rudimentary political parties, arose almost overnight. Ever since then we have agreed, for the sake of simplicity and practicality, that party machines should narrow down the field of choice to two candidates, or at most three or four. In theory, every citizen makes up his mind on public questions and matters of private conduct.
In practice, if all men had to study for themselves the abstruse economic, political, and ethical data involved in every question, they would find it impossible to come to a conclusion about anything. We have voluntarily agreed to let an invisible government sift the data and high-spot the outstanding issues so that our field of choice shall be narrowed to practical proportions. From our leaders and the media they use to reach the public, we accept the evidence and the demarcation of issues bearing upon public questions; from some ethical teacher, be it a minister, a favorite essayist, or merely prevailing opinion, we accept a standardized code of social conduct to which we conform most of the time.

- It might be better to have, instead of propaganda and special pleading, committees of wise men who would choose our rulers, dictate our conduct, private and public, and decide upon the best types of clothes for us to wear and the best kinds of food for us to eat. But we have chosen the opposite method, that of open competition. We must find a way to make free competition function with reasonable smoothness. To achieve this society has consented to permit free competition to be organized by leadership and propaganda.
Some of the phenomena of this process are criticized—the manipulation of news, the inflation of personality, and the general ballyhoo by which politicians and commercial products and social ideas are brought to the consciousness of the masses. The instruments by which public opinion is organized and focused may be misused." -by Edward Bernays

Propaganda, Feminine Noun. "JUNK MAIL" Había un montón de propaganda en el felpudo cuando volví de las vacaciones.