Friday, 11 February 2011

Fiction Factory/Faction Affliction/Figmented Filamented Firmament

For the first time at this shop I will state the two usual caveats.

What follows has nothing to do with God.
Bring the full nine yards, you’ll need it.

Welcome to a double dose in the crack’in’sanity where we’ll start in the past, move to the future and then transfer over to Lalaland later.

Oh yes I can hear the murmurs of disco content out there “Oh phekk me!!He’s off again!”

You and I, me and you, we and am watching a whole load of bollox heave into view all over the planet at the moment that makes one wonder if there is a meeting scheduled to take place that lights the blue touch paper. The kind of meeting that brings the match to the secret protocols that have been stuffing the fiat TNT and Ponzi gunpowder into every nook and cranny possible.
Now I am no fan of the future tellers and protocol spinners. Cayce, Blavatsky, Pike, Nostradamus et al, they all display one characteristic that immediately makes you aware of the smoke and mirrors job being played on you to hide the true smoke and mirrors job.

They never, never ever wanted for their next square meal. Indeed Pikey was a real fat bastard. That alone tells you the thing you need to consider; foundation bitchboy or boybitch.

They and their kind never ever had to worry about getting their hands on the magic money, the phantasmagorical lucre, shekels of the orient Ponzi scheme. Tokens, they all fell into their hands.

You and me if we decide to go off our scones, go trolley doolally and spout nonsense, we’ll starve in the street no matter how in tune with the celestials we really are.

Don’t get me wrong though. I never said they were liars. However I’m getting ahead of myself here so back to the setup in the early years of the 21st century, or whatever the true date on the secret count is.

Are we being groomed for a deadly fireworks party again? You know they third of fat bastard Pike’s shooting matches? Part of me says yes and part of me says no.
Let us deal with the latter part first.

Could the 7 billion souls on the planet, minus a small number of dedicated afflicted. You know the psychopathic onanistic autoerotic schytzoid monomaniacal ones that RREeaaaallllyyyy love to fuck over every second of every hour of every day because they’ve been hermetically genetically hermitically memed (chosen) by the Djinn all those thousands of years ago. The fools who think they are special. The bloated shephards and their fattened cannibal sheep. You know the ones. Could 7 billions minus a few hundred millions save the day?

Nah. Don’t be fucking stupid!!! Right then lets get on with it.

When I was small boy I read 10 Eventful Years, over and over again, in parts depending on what subject took my fancy. The events described were truly unbeleivable to a primary school lad growing up in the quietude of one of UKplc’s pastoral corners where the loudest noise to be heard was a distant train heading up to Glasgow or a cow backfiring. Yet my grandad assured me that it had happened, all that stuff, all those people, all those events, he’d been there.

A little while later I got the chance to listen to my uncle’s collection of Adolf Hitler’s speeches. Oh yes I can hear a few pennies dropping out there in ausphartland, or so you think. I was interested to actually hear what one of the world’s, so called, great orators sounded like. So even through the scratching vinyl on the old turntable I wondered what all the fuss was about. It just sounded like the geezer needed a fisherman’s friend to sort out the gutteral RRRRs. I made allowances for my total ignorance of the German lingo but even so I thought, oratory, you know it shouldn’t matter what he spake I’d have been moved in some way. Perhaps I needed to have been there I mused.
Today of course I realise that all the gusset wetting and hardons in his audience were as a direct result of national grooming. Population manipulation over 20 years. Conditioning of huge numbers of people to elicit a predictable outcome, a desired fate, in the aggregate. Yes I needed to have been there because the whole point of the exercise was to make sure that 10 years later I wasn’t there or anywhere else. I’d be dead.

Which is comforting in a sinister way when I look at the great big babyish face of the current PM. When I listen to his words I know this is no orator at work. The guy is somo personified, measured in precise doses to the somnambulant population here in the UKplc comfort gulag.

This bland puppet and his phoney POTUS counterpart are fronting for a profound change, I think, mostly outwith the borders of the Rock/Roth riding and chase. I’ve mentioned it before. The NWO is to be static and the next shooting match will enforce stasis. As I’ve said the lethality space is so deadly now that movement will become impossible. Maneouvre warfare will stop.

Now don’t be getting all comfy if you find your Post code, Zip code or whatever postal system you use actually inside the Rothschild Chase or the Rockefeller Ranch. The Einsatz Gruppen und Sonder Kommando will come for you if you fall into the following two, soon to be gorey, categories. Free thinker and/or infirm. In fact the Lead Pill Pharmacy will have a hunting license to make sure you are terminally infirm pronto if you raise an inappropriate eyebrow. If the LPP don’t get you then the Sisters of Mercy will pill you when you fall ill.

At this point I’m going, sorry was going to allow myself an expletive filled sojourn blaming the muppets in Yankland for allowing an ersatz emperor, an illegal immigrant foundation bitchboy, onto the throne. The same afflicted bastards that came as slaves and subverted Rome have come as refugees and destroyed USofA corp. History never repeats itself but there are patterns. You know by now how I like to conflate Human Resoucres and Celente. Anyway glass houses and all that. They did it to UKplc 500 years ago and the yeomen didn’t know.

So what’s been wandering through my synapses then?

Coincidental, or designed, happenstance.

Around the time when the chap called Cook was sent round the planet by TPTB who else got his orders?

Not the first time such, to my non linears, things have coincided. Remember the spaghetti boy I mentioned a few posts back? Marco Polo (What was your real handle you Venetian muppet?) is a cuddly little wanderer who brought back one of Mr Heinz’s favourite tinned products, second after the Beanz. No more questions needed. He’s a sweet guy, just decided to go for a walk.

My arse.

Let’s have a squeek at what else was kicking off around that time. Here’s a little more background from two of my favourite workers of art in the non linear world. Tarpley and La Rouche.

Venice’s War against Western Civilisation

A Contribution for Nicolaus of Cusa's 600th Birthday: A Dialogue of Cultures

Now all those wordy words might make some baulk, so I’ll put on the babelbolloxphish and put it in the nonlinear vernacular.

Freedom is expressed through the hard works of the individual and realised in the wealth of the many. Freedom never tires, never sleeps, never makes unheeded play. Freedom is the only way to human completeness. Everything else is afflicted. Through the afflicted, whose most modern incarnation is the Rothschilds, everything that freedom cherishes will be stolen if the free allow the afflcited.

Got that?

Now I know you are thinking causality here. There are tenuous links, if any, between these separate occurences and
events described above. Well I agree. However TPTB don’t need causality, they just need long wave influences and trends upon the human herd that only they know about to accentuate or attenuate natural human behaviour in the aggregate.

For example everyone knows about the butterfly flapping its wings and causing a monsoon somewhere malarky. Everyone thinks, even after reading up on chaos theory, well…nah. Nope. Drop an H-Bomb in Antartica and get blizzards in Kent, yes. But butterflies? Get serious.

Well what if you were a high magician with access to the secret star maps. You might just decide that a certain point on time would be ideal to start a period of exploration if the subtle influences of the stars were affecting human behaviour in a certain optimistic way overall. Or you might consider it ripe for a real revolution if the star alignments, and local planetary geometry, were making the human subjects all antsy like. Just a little nudge from you on the fiat lucre and fractional banking tiller, you the high initiate of the mystery schools and you get what you want all unnoticed like and serendipitous.

Of all the weirdness that is taking place this past month or so the fannying around on the liar’s box with Soros’ variegated never ending rearranging of foundation assets into so called positions of power is most distracting. This is how you do a sincere revolution. No fucking about, badaboom. Not this farting up and down the hill and back again. What is going on at the moment smacks too much of this kind of distractive fannying around.

Indeed the general level of lethal farting aroundedness for the past 20 years in the overall area that was Babylon makes one ask about longer term trends that have nothing to do with rule by the mob but rule by the sacred. The sacred who’ve been never ending in their quest for things that they believe will take all of us to their paradise.
So I’ll ask you to slip on my nonlinears with me and view the ground there as the secret maps would reveal the topology to us.

What some would call Israel, others RCE/TA, others Palestine is just an old firebase. Long since abandoned. Anything east of the firebase is just tracks and desert until you get to Babylon. Anything south and west of the firebase is tracks and desert until you get to Memphis.

There is nothing else there. No borders, no cities, no peoples, no political economy, nothing. It is a blank canvas except for the two poles named.

“So what!” I here you gasp. Boring to say the least, well don’t forget the nonlinears they work better with a bit more nonlocal and noncausal data, a bit more info to use them on.

How’s about this?

He decided to try to seize the tablets, along with collections of Persian antiquities at the Oriental Institute and other prominent museums. The goal: Sell them, with the proceeds going to the survivors of the bombing.

His plan, though, has angered many scholars who see it as an attempt to ransom cultural heritage — the tablets are considered as important a find as the Dead Sea Scrolls — and fear it could set a dangerous precedent.
“Imagine if the Russians laid claim to the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution and the original draft of the Gettysburg Address because they had a legal case against us,” says Gil Stein, director of the Oriental Institute. “How would we feel?”

How do things look now? Can you see a pattern at work here? Someone's after really old stuff. You see Nostradamus, Pike etc are not foretelling at all or predicting. They are telling us how it was on instruction.

Here’s a little something to help. Whenever these UN slobs give advice about a “problem” you know that the problem is supposed to be there for a reason.

in all the official languages of the United Nations, to submit to the Commission on Crime Prevention and Criminal Justice at its eighteenth session relevant recommendations on protection against trafficking in cultural property

Again I’ll use the phish to translate.

We’ve got a pick list of ancient stuff our foundation bosses want. So hand over a list of your ancient valuables and their current location so we can “protect” them. Honest.

So just to join this meandering to its sister at the other shop. Just to get you all wondering about what is being prepared for us when everything is just so in the heavens when we are susceptible to the next big nudge, look through the nonlinears upon the secret map, careful now he doesn’t know we are here, and who’s bloodstained hand is directing operations?

Someone who has got more ancient artifacts to loot in order to put everything back together again, like when his master was young.

Someone who thinks he’s descended from Nimrod apparently. Nimrod, the mighty hunter. Ancient Nimrod

His hand points to Persia and does his master’s bidding.