Amato spiattella il complotto che sarà attuato

[Finnegan]

Ormai è impossibile fare la professione di complottista. Ormai dicono tutto apertamente lorsignori. Qui il misteriosamente ultrapotente Giuliano Amato annuncia esplicitamente che il Potere, con la menzogna del riscaldamento climatico, sta per applicare alla popolazione, aggravate, le restrizioni che sono state imposte con l'impostura del Covid: "Quelle della pandemia sono solo le prove generali".

https://twitter.com/Florian98168458/status/1677725334232285185

Quando le nuove restrizioni che annuncia avverranno? Sotto certi aspetti sono già in corso, come dimostrano le normative "green" UE di questo tipo:

https://twitter.com/fabius10scudi/status/1677917821387395073

In autunno ci sarà anche una nuova raffica di vaccinazioni mRNA: per un Covid che non esiste più, amnmesso che sia mai esistito: questo lo "prevede" (annuncia) Repubblica.

Covid, le raccomandazioni? Una vaccinazione annuale per tutti, in particolare per over 50 e i soggetti fragili. Ogni sei mesi per over 75 e immunocompromessi. Lo affermano la Siti e la Simit. Quindi ancora il risanamento dell'INPS non è avvenuto?

https://www.maurizioblondet.it/amato-spiattella-il-complotto-che-sara-attuato/

[Derry]

Attenzione, per ripristinare certi ambienti umidi ci vorrà un bel po' d'acqua, potete star certi che quello di chiuderci l'acqua sarà il passo successivo...vi dice nulla la campagna pubblicitaria "acqua nelle nostre mani"?
Ecco, dopo gas ed energia elettrica, i maxi aumenti arriveranno per le bollette dell'acqua: con il pretesto di diminuire gli sprechi, le società  dell'acqua inizieranno a fare ciò che vogliono, ad imporre tariffe assurde per un genere di prima necessità!

[Finnegan]

E' la recessione artificialmente indotta (e dichiarata: nessun complotto), come le carestie di Stalin, che secondo lorsignori dovrebbe far nascere "l'uomo nuovo" del comunismo (nell'uno e nell'altro caso).
E' una filosofia che scorre come un fiume carsico da 2 secoli, con Malthus e Kipling che scrisse anche un libro dall'eloquente titolo: Recessional. Era un patito della natura ferina e selvaggia, un precursore del WWF con i suoi orsi e le sue paludi
A proposito di paludi, questo passo da un introvabile libro del pittore-romanziere Wyndham Lewis, in cui si rinvengono vere e proprie pennellate d'artista, è particolarmente illuminante sulla contemporaneità:

THE BAD-LANDS

IN THE MARTYRS OF THE MARSH

"Ready to indulge in the luxury of decay, and amuse himself with fancies of the tomb."― walter pater

It has been my intention in short that other people, whose business takes them in this direction, should make use of the road I have been constructing with such care. If temperamentally they prefer the difficult, of course that is another matter, and I know that many do. Let them by all means continue to use the tortuous and waterlogged paths as before. But cross this region they must, if they are to "get anywhere": and we see stuck all over it, as we approach it, melancholy (and they would have us say "tragic") figures ― the figures of people with little sense of direction, of feeble will, and a probably prenatal disposition to "get stuck" and acquire merit by sombrely wrestling with insuperable obstacles ― monuments of frustration, but also of vanity. However, all the world, or all the intelligent, are not like that; and here is a road of sorts ― I may have too hastily referred to it as Roman, I do not know: but at least it is passably straight, from terra firma to terra firma, by the shortest route, though I do not claim you can pass by it under a few exacting hours of hard going: but if you know of a shorter, make it by all means: but cross the beastly stretch you must, as I have said.

What, then, is this waterlogged stretch of territory, which it is necessary to negotiate, but which has proved a profitable trap to so many tragical stick-in-the-muds ― whose portentous torsos remain, in a distracted immobility, upon all hands, as dark warnings to all and sundry not to engage in this peculiar Slough of Despond? ― at once warnings and sly invitations? And what manner of person are they who compose this gallery of scarecrows, waving (at rare intervals) inarticulately a drooping-arm, as a signal of distress, and emitting unintelligible incantations?

Well, the waterlogged stretch is simply the post-war decade-and-a-half, or rather that period as it is represented in the field of art and letters. And the derelicts that spot it like the legless statues scattered over the landscape of Rapa Nui, are the ladies and gentlemen who have been and are luminaries of Anglo-Saxon art and letters.

But this waterlogged stretch is coeval with the uninterrupted chain of "crises" which started as soon as the obscene saturnalia of the war came to a close. It is a purely mental bog ― at least in so far as the Want-in-the-midst-of-Plenty is artificial, this "waste-land" is artificial. It is a deliberate inundation, that has become chronic. And, just as in the other case, upon the popular and political plane, a man-made famine is accepted as a visitation of the inscrutable powers of nature ― there is no orthodox economist who does not set out from that premise ― so in this other field of intellec-tual endeavour (or its opposite) the same sort of assumption is the order of the day, with only this difference, that occasionally, instead of a terri-ble natural visitation, it is regarded as a god-sent punishment for mortal wickedness.

Most of the protests, which, from time to time, have broken forth against this policy of despair and of do-nothing, have come from the most compromising quarter possible: some indignant "hearty" has suddenly "gone off the deep end" about all this "spinelessness" ― very erect (the spine very much in evidence) ― very red in the face (from a rush of red-blood to the head) ― very much puffing and snorting with the he-mannish instinct to castigate all these "slackers" and "cissies"! That of course has only caused the martyrs-of-the-marsh, as they might be called, entrenched in their inaccessible bog, to titter in their sleeves. That was all excellent advertisement for them ― so what we want, in order to shift them, and in order to discredit the bog, is a different approach from that. If you are to discourage these depressing exhibitionists and solemn buffoons of the bad-lands, you must think of something better to do than to puff out your masculine plastron and admonish them to "be men" or anything idiotic of that sort ― or to be womanly-women or mothers of men. You must go about it rather more scientifically than that. You must, in short, analyse the bog, the local conditions that promote its continuance. And then, as to the genii loci of the bad-lands, or waste-lands, in question, you must psycho-analyse them at once and shoo them out of their pits with unpleasant laughter, rather than with respectful and hortatory wrath. For they are not by any means harmless ― men are imitative and they attract a crowd of followers: on the other hand they are not to be taken as anything more serious than as jokes of the Zeitgeist.