John Kaminski American Writer and Critic

John Kaminski
American Writer and Critic

Too tired to sleep

A prose poem

The picture is all too obvious today, only no one can really see it. 

No one really wants to see it. They’ve been blinded by the false light of the fake dreams they’ve been made to have. Everywhere you turn you see the same face, not unlike the one you see in the mirror, asking the same question that you can never really hear, never mind answer. 

Behind each aspect of life lurks the same menacing smirk, all asking the same question and demanding the same price, smiling snidely with a forced cheerfulness while collecting its terrible price for the meaningless gifts with which it has inveigled the passengers on this train of life to keep from screaming when they realize their ultimate destination was nowhere, only they were charged a high price for the trip and now are left wondering where the money went. And also where they are.

The money, the media, the medicine, the movies. Writing yourself into a script that was written for you by people you did not know and thinking it was your own choice. As the government and the media merged reality into one single slanted narrative, the people were slowly put to sleep, and molded into silent army of sleepwalkers who simply did what they were told as long as they got their bonuses that kept them from objecting to the terrible things they were forced to do. Meaningless things. Cruel things. Complex puzzles they were made to solve that they thought would make them happy that they never really finished by the time the train left the station without them.

And though it all seemed new and shiny as time passed everyone began to realize it was same story day after day where people thought they were in control of their lives only to wind up with nothing at they exact point they thought they had everything.

As everyone marched toward the opulent elegance that had been planted in their minds as their goal, the quality of their lives began to erode into an artificial imitation of what a good life should be. Their children turned against them. Their dreams turned into tasks. Their goals were never met because they weren’t real to begin with. At the end of the road they wound up in a building they hated in a body that no longer worked amid people they didn’t know. And they asked themselves incessantly what went wrong.

Outside the unwashed window in the trees with stubby branches turning black from the flakes of schmutz that flittered down from a turbid sky came the memory of a form that had to be filled out that somehow had been lost. It was the same story repeating eternally that comprises all lives lost to a reality is never really real and wrong answers to tests that can never be retaken.

All this time the story has been the same, repeating vomitously throughout gray days of numb remorse. What could have been the answer seemed to parse the words in the noise of the traffic outside the house. It was all too clear but unintelligible, and the shadow of this doubt interfered with our sleep.

What we did to other people had been done to us without our noticing. It made us who we are. Whatever happened to them is of no consequence now. It was inevitable that what we did to them is now what is being done to us.

All societies have been destroyed by this same corrosive force. The forces of hope are always undone by bribery. It is a game the thoughtful cannot win.

Each time the prize was stolen. Those who stole it gained the victory.  Those who earned it and lost it learned to fight again. Or they sat back down in the corner and let their speech impediment mature.

Society is like an injured prodigy, imagining the operatic ecstasy as it dwindles to a furtive chant in an empty room at sunset.

The whole scenario with all its panoplies and embargoes will need to be rebuilt, inevitably, repetitively, instinctively, the way life unfolds in the morning with the need to brush your teeth and try not to remember where you were the last time you saw her.

There was freedom at stake in all these gambles, but you had to be to work at seven and had no time to reconsider.


John Kaminski is a writer who lives on the Gulf Coast of Florida, constantly trying to figure out why we are destroying ourselves, and pinpointing a corrupt belief system as the engine of our demise. Solely dependent on contributions from readers, please support his work by mail: 6871 Willow Creek Circle #103, North Port FL 34287 USA.


The Horror in Men's Eyes

Were we forced to kill them,
or did we do it willingly?


Do you like to kill? Did you get off on Shock & Awe? Do you think killing 600,000 people in Libya was just about the right amount for a typical deployment of a No Fly Zone? Are you glad you practice a religion that urges you to murder folks who don't think like you do? If you were a refugee, would you desire to kill those who tried to help you because their lives were so much easier than yours?

Have you taken the time to reflect on soldiers who come back home and kill themselves? Have you known any of them? And have you observed that wistful vacancy in their eyes reflecting regret beyond redemption, or noticed their unwillingness to talk about what happened to them, as their raw emotions fester and curdle inside them just before they explode?

Read more: The Horror in Men's Eyes

The Babylonian Woe


‘A conspiracy against life’

. . . in their folly the men of the city are willing to wreck our great city, being won over by wealth. False are the hearts of the people's leaders.— Solon, 600 BC


From earliest times and apparently without exception down to the present day, the leaders of nations have been the puppets of moneymen who hire them to rob the people they pretend to rule.

From the ruins of Lagash, a citystate in ancient Sumer c. 2400 BC, where archeologists unearthed the estate of a banker that was much larger than the king’s, up on through the fabled empires of Egypt, Assyria and ancient Greece, each of which was finally consumed in flames due to the machinations of the always secret international money power, humanity has always ruined its own paradise by letting the incredible lure of money overpower its own common sense.

Read more: The Babylonian Woe

Message from the future

(written in the past)

Hyperborean from Hyperborea <This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.;
Thu, Jan 11, 2024 at 7:48 PM
To: This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

This is just an excerpt. The entire version will be furnished upon request.

Kalki Jugend
Miguel Serrano collected works
Abridged by John Kaminski

The future is either a vision of the Age of Heroes leading into the neo-Hyperborean Golden Age, or a perpetual WW3 controlled by the Demiurge and the destruction of Europe once and for all. What is left of humanity will become a digital nightmare ruled by Israel, a dystopia not imagined by even the most nihilistic science fiction prophets.

Read more: Message from the future

False Flag Fatigue

The Death and Transfiguration Scam

I have yet to see a competent story written by a reputable observer indicating the so-called gay massacre in Orlando was in any way a real event. It follows without saying that public perception of this unending series of choreographed terrorist events no longer accepts these smelly melodramas as authentic threats to public safety. The structural similarity of this string of manufactured catastrophes reveals them as complicated fabrications for which far too many public officials have lied through their teeth about what was actually happening.

Read more: False Flag Fatigue

Shadow of the Comet

In order to clearly see our future, we must clearly see our past. As it stands now, our collective past disappears into a confusing fog of garbled legends all claiming to be the ultimate truth. Preachers of all these myths have one thing in common: the survival of their chosen creed is far more important to them than the message they preach.

Read more: Shadow of the Comet

The Secret You Never Get to Hear


16th December 2011 

The gods keep mankind ignorant of the ways of living, else one would do enough in a day to last for a year. — Hesiod, c. 700 BC 

My thoughts keep returning to the strange similarity between the way religions and the government do business. Always some secret reason — something too holy for us uppity slaves to appreciate, or some piece of information too sensitive for us ignorant citizens to be trusted with. 

Read more: The Secret You Never Get to Hear

The Barefoot Revolution

Freedom from pain is just one step away

The automatic gift for plugging into the universe?
It guarantees a pain free good night's sleep!

I was always fascinated with dirt. When I was little I was usually covered with it from head to toe, playing cars in the dirt in my friend Richard's backyard. With dirt, I reasoned in those blissful early school years, you could build anything.

Much later in life, trolling for apt metaphors about Earth's enigmatic situation, I blurted out into an empty room, "We need to return to the dirt!" It seemed a perfect metaphor, given what I knew about the moon hoax and the fact that no human has ever been there.

Stop trying to nuke the universe and re-establish our connection to the dirt has always been my best advice to any inhabitants, no matter what species, of this planet.

Read more: The Barefoot Revolution

The Power of Fireflies


Prepare yourself for a real shock. Maybe the best one you'll ever have.

I am convinced that for man to survive now,
his perception must change at its social base. [. . .]
Everything is energy. The whole universe is energy.
The social base of our perception should be
the physical certainty that energy is all there is.
— Carlos Castaneda,
The Art of Dreaming, 1993

 Dr. Jerry Tennant's dog slept on his master's head for 18 months, and restored the electron imbalance caused by a brain virus, revealing a genuine empathic connection pets have with humans that causes them to help us heal when we're sick that can be measured in electrical terms.1

Read more: The Power of Fireflies

The Timeless Gift of Thomas Cole

The Course of Empire, The Voyage of Life and the America we have lost

Meditation on a forgotten genius, the artist Thomas Cole, or,
A paradise that was hope of the world destroyed by the perversion of the Jews


We have been taught how not to see. The blindness that envelops us today leaves us helpless on the eve of multiple disasters that most of us will not survive. Once, long ago, America was a vision that was the hope of the world. Today, America is the world's worst nightmare as the darkness closes in on everyone with depressing finality, and from all directions.

The clearest vision of this hope that was the dream of America was painted on canvas and distributed widely throughout the U.S. in those hopeful days before the Civil War began the rot that has led us to the eve of destruction we confront today.

The creator of this vision was a far-seeing artist, famous worldwide, named Thomas Cole. In 1842 he designed his wish for the future of humanity with prescient foresight, measured optimism and profound wisdom.

Read more: The Timeless Gift of Thomas Cole

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