Not Bad for a Really White Boy. He Looks Like a Bond Villain Now, and to Top It Off, He's a Walking- Talking- Mandela Effect.

 God Poet Transmitting…….

As it so happens, I was going to do a posting on Assange… sometime in the coming week… because he is deeply embedded in that section of alternative information sources that I don’t trust one little bit. If you’ve been coming here for years then you know I put him in the same range as Chomsky… because their responses to who did 9/11 are nearly identical. Then… as I roamed further afield over the years, I noted that there were several individuals who had received the same talking points.

I thought it odd that Assange… back when he was an outlaw wunderkind and not a potential Nobel candidate… (as he no doubt will be one of these days… when they get his whole tortured bio together… in a glossy four-color brochure for The Press) never had an ill word to say about Israel. He didn’t even bring Israel up in the parts I read. I didn’t read most of it… too boring for my tastes.

With all his information on Syria and who did this, and who did that… never a word did I find about fair Israel… that Gay-Transsexual-Satanic nation… that’s been busy mass murdering its neighbors… and sucking the entire world into a Godless spiral… down… down… down into the pit of WYSIWYG. They’ve been at it since Palestine got stolen from The Palestinians.

I’m not going to go into Assange with much more depth than this… because there is a better and more informed source than myself to refer you to. I’ll just stay with my subjective impressions, and… The Feel I go by… which I consider more rigorously vetted than the best deductive efforts I’ve ever come up with.

Now The Man in The Wiki Mask is Jessie James/Robin Hood Assange. The latter-day hero who could have been ripped from the pages of Dumas, and no doubt… he looks good in tights. All he needs is a hairpiece and a rapier. With bells on he could go dancing down the jingle jangle morning from Whitehall to MI6. He’s got that Mandela Shine now. Not bad for a really… really white boy. He looks like a Bond villain these days, and… to top it off… he’s a walking… talking… Mandela Effect.

He and his partners in thought crime felt that 9/11 wasn’t even worthy of discussion, especially when there were far more worthy and legitimate conspiracies to pay attention to; say what? I knew… even back then that all roads led to Neoconlandia, and I was and am… an uninformed nobody. Assange had far better sources than me, and according to him… there was no there… there. Imagine that! So what was that whole orchestrated theatrical… Man Without a Country performance about?

I’m guessing he was being credentialed. Much earlier on I looked into a wide spectrum of these name players on the truth-teller fronts; David Wilcox… Mike Adams… Alex Jones… Benjamin Fulford… the list is long. I peered into their backgrounds… looked at their associations. The names Rothschild and Rockefeller often appeared. A man has got to get paid! Pretty much all of these people and many more that I have not named were disinfo agents… or so it seemed. There turned out to be a whole lot of there… there.

Now I know there are fanboys out there that like these swashbuckling characters… speaking truth to power… going toe to toe with The Machine; in a manner not unlike professional wrestling. We are awash in John Connor’s clones at steel cage matches with Skynet.

None of them seem to want to tangle with the stone-cold obvious truth that Israel did 9/11. Soon though… it’s going to get shouted from the rooftops. Mr. Apocalypse and Lady Awaking request your RSVP for The Grand Ball of Revelations and Awakening, which will be broadcast 24/7 on Radio Telepathy… WICU on your dial.

All these whistle-blowers remind me of the last drunks on a rainy New Year’s… early morning… in Times Square… making a bunch of noise at one end of the street so you don’t see what’s happening at the other end.

One thing all these people have in common is sounding like a cross between a British announcer… doing a sotto voce on the green… at some major golfing event; talking about The Approach… The Approach!!! And the guy that screams, “Are you ready to rummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmbbbbbbbbble!!!” because… it’s always sensationalized… made to appear more important than it is, and if it were important they wouldn’t be telling you about it.

They do it in a cultured whisper and they do it at the top of their lungs. They jump up and down and wave their hands yelling; look at me! Look at me!!! I’m biting the head off a live chicken and having sex with The Bearded Lady… (at the same time!) There’s nothing going on in the other tent. No one’s screaming. They’re watching a movie.

All of them got money too. What about all those crisis actors from Sandy Hook that keep winning the lottery? Oh! You haven’t seen that? I am getting more and more convinced that all of these people are paid actors. The actors that pretend to be dead or in hospital beds, and… the people that expose them. It’s all taking place at that end of the street… with the drunks and the noisemakers.

It’s accomplished in the same way that The Usual Suspect controls the conversation in both directions. On the one hand are the kill anything that walks… for a buck… Azov Battalion neo-cons. On the other hand, are The Marxist-Satanists… kill anything that walks… crawls… or flies… for a buck. They argue in public and hold hands behind their backs. I’m not talking about Parade Rest. That parade never rests.

None of the things that any of these people ever talk about turns out to be important. It’s all a misdirected distraction, BUT there are some people out there talking about what’s really going on. There’s a whole new crop of truthtellers who are actually telling the truth. Where did they come from? They came from a former generation that died out some decades ago, and… they’re pissed off about that, and… they know stuff… because every rock you turn over now… every curtain… every cover that gets ripped away has got something concealed beneath or behind it.

Maybe I’m wrong about these people… who are all… suddenly… getting rehabilitated… who look like victims… who fought the good fight, and… are now bloody but unbowed. All they need is that flute player with the bandage around his head and… a guidon with a tattered flag and it’s their Kodak moment, and… whaddya know? Today’s the Fourth of July!

If I’m wrong about all these brave heroes who’ve never told me nothing yet, I will apologize, but it’s twenty years down the road and I still haven’t been given cause. Why is that?

Remember when The Eagles released that song The Last Resort? The Beatles released All You Need Is Love. There was Money for Nothing; Stevie Wonder… Pink Floyd and… I don’t have the space for all the wonders of life’s soundtrack… before they called the demons up out of The Pit in the 90s; white… black… and identifying as purple. Remember all those songs that made us feel something when we listened to them… that made us think, and made us smarter and more informed… while also not making us less caring?

Now we got The Bitch and Ho Spotify playlist of Hell’s own hot… burning flesh… slamming into twerking… drunken-animal behinds… with gold chain swaying and guns going off, and YOU KNOW they created all of this to take our minds off that other music, and… you know who it was that controlled those industries and put the word out. Little Lord Fauntleroy didn’t have anything to say about any of that either.

They promoted all those no-talent painters like Koons, and the rest of the sexual degenerates… like Warhol and Basquiat. Then the post-modern Satanist movement came in with Marina Abramovitz and all the emulators… to take our minds off of the great art that was there before they came in and shit on canvases… for the adoring coprophagia crowd. It definitely makes the white wine and cheese platters passe.

They took everyone with talent and locked them out. Then they tossed the phony credentials of the blow-job art critics… to The Philistines in the cheap seats. We know who owns all the art galleries.

Assange and all the other media rock stars are the talking head equivalent of the bad art industry.

Now we got American Psycho musical blood splatter seating… but is it art? It’s Gallagher smashing heads… instead of watermelons, and people in plastic rain gear are seated front row. They are just getting crazier and crazier. I once wrote a wonderful uplifting musical that will never see the light of day. I’m not complaining, at least I don’t have to hang out with those people.

When you lose the plot because all you’ve been doing is plotting, and you managed to lead yourself down The Garden Path… into a wilderness of stumps and shit that hurts when you run into it at night… you’ve no one to blame but yourselves.

I don’t hate any of these people. I feel terribly sorry for them. It could have been me… but for fortune. However… all these people… with all these balls juggling in the air; sooner or later the juggler is going to tire out… sooner or later the tenor of the times will change. Bell bottoms come into style… go out of style, and then come back into style. I never liked them. I never wore them.

It’s like all that horrible shit… designed by men who hate women, and love to exaggerate them… and make them ridiculous. It’s that drag queen perspective. When Nature becomes a concrete wilderness, only bitches and hysterics are walking the streets… in platform shoes… with goldfish swimming in the aquarium heels, and… none of them are women.

That’s okay I guess because there are few actual men left either, and if the shitheels have their way, they’ll be hunted for sport. They won’t have their way though. That’s why there are always new generations coming. Sooner or later… the right wave comes in, and everything changes… like it’s going to do now. All kinds of new people are going to pop up out of the camouflage they fell into. Anyone could be the hero. Maybe everyone will be.

End Transmission…….

Links will not be at GAB today cause I’ve fallen behind, but I can still get back up. Read yesterday’s links. Go on a retrospective in your bell bottoms.

https://gab.com/visible

The Conclusion of The Field and The Knower from The Bhagavad Gita-

KRISHNA

They alone see truly who see that all actions are performed by

Prakriti, while the Self remains unmoved. When they see the

variety of creation rooted in that unity and growing out of it, they

attain fulfillment in Brahman.

This supreme Self is without a beginning, undifferentiated,

deathless. Though it dwells in the body, Arjuna, it neither acts nor is

touched by action. As Akasha pervades the cosmos but remains

unstained, the Self can never be tainted though it dwells in every

creature.

As the sun lights up the world, the Self, dwelling in the field is the

source of all light in the field. Those who, with the eye of

wisdom, distinguish the field from its Knower and the way to

freedom from the bondage of Prakriti, attain the supreme goal

…………………………………………………………………………………

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