Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Friday, March 30, 2012
We Bought a Lie
While I'm contemplating my roots and wrestling with the question of whether I will have to return to England, now that I have severed all ties with my Elite controllers, I recall my childhood and stories about the Somerset countryside.
Idyllic times, at least in my imagination, full of mystery and fable. Crops circles, UFOs, ghost hunting, and witches covens, just a few intrigues of the era.
Reading Fortean Times, with its regular Crypto zoological articles, naturally added fuel to this teenage fire. Stories of mythical creatures roaming the West Country moors, terrorizing farmers in the night, and killing the livestock, leaving little trace as they vanished into dewy dawn mists.
I lapped this stuff up like a happy Labrador at dinner time. Amazing pictures of strange black creatures on grainy home videos, proof of their existence for sure. There definitely was something un-earthly roaming the countryside.
A little history:
Sightings of the Beast of Exmoor (a puma-like creature) were first reported in the 1970s, although the period of its notoriety began in 1983, when a Devon farmer named Eric Ley claimed to have lost over a hundred sheep in the space of three months, all of them apparently killed by violent throat injuries. The Daily Express offered a reward for the capture or slaying of the Beast.
Blurred photographs and a succession of intriguing sightings followed. At one stage the legend rivalled that of the Loch Ness Monster. Countless bounty hunts, safaris and expeditions - one conducted by Royal Marines - failed to pin it down. Sheep and farm animals continued to be mysteriously slaughtered across Exmoor.
Believers in the Beast's existence claim it is a feline creature, roughly the size of a puma, and dark in colour. The Beast is said to stand very low to the ground, and to be somewhere between four and eight feet in length (from nose to tail), with the ability to leap over 6-foot-tall fences with some ease.
No physical evidence of the Beast's existence has been discovered, a fact which has been explained by some as proof that the Beast is from another dimension and can enter and leave our plane of existence at will. Most observers and scientists believe that the sightings are merely of escaped domestic cats whose size has been greatly exaggerated, or else of large dogs that have been misidentified.
A similar beast story relates to the Beast of Bodmin, (a black panther-like creature), which is supposed to prowl Bodmin Moor in Cornwall. There have been around 60 other big cat sightings recorded in the area since 1983, and experts believe there is a population of big cats in and around mid-Cornwall.(Source: Everything Exmoor)
While at my local English language bookshop, I experienced a Eureka moment as I picked up the newsletter detailing all the latest releases. ‘We Bought a Zoo’, by Benjamin Mee caught my eye. As I read the synopsis I started laughing quite loudly, and the man at the check-out looked over at me, as if to say, ‘Oh no, I think we’ve got a live one!’ As I chuckled into the photocopied black and off-white paper in my hands, I realised that I had discovered truth again.
I wonder if anyone else has realised what I just did.
‘We Bought a Zoo’ is the true story about a young family, a broken down zoo, and the wild animals that had changed their lives forever, goes the by-line… the family invest their savings into a dilapidated zoo on the edge of Dartmoor. With over 200 exotic animals to care for, including an African lion, a wolf pack, a Brazilian tapir, and a jaguar, they have their hands full trying to keep the bailiffs at bay.
Dartmoor is an area of protected national park on the edge of Devon (sandwiched between Somerset and Cornwall). In 1968, the zoo that was eventually bought and rebuilt by Benjamin Mee, was known as the ‘Dartmoor Zoological Park’.
According to Wikipedia: A 2001 report by the Captive Animals Protection Society raised questions about the welfare of the animals and the conditions in which they were kept, even though there had been no accidents in the zoo's 33-year history. The group criticised the living conditions for the animals and the safety barriers, calling for the zoo's licence to be revoked.
The council were reluctant to revoke the zoo's licence, due to concerns over the future of the animals, but did charge owner Ellis Daw with 16 offences after the zoo was investigated. All but one of these charges was dropped, but Mr. Daw was found guilty of breeding Siberian tigers outside of an organised breeding programme, and of keeping them in poor conditions.
"I am very angry," said Mr. Daw "They are great big enclosures with vegetation and trees, a new style which we started 10 or 12 years ago which other zoos have copied."(Source: BBC South West)
Is it such a big stretch of the imagination to believe that a poorly kept zoo, with a myriad of illegally bred wild big-cats, is responsible for all the so-called 'Beasts' roaming the nearby moors?
Surely we haven’t been THIS STUPID for THIS LONG?
Look, even Matt Damon knows the truth... http://www.dartmoorzoo.org/
(Note: Another interesting feature of Dartmoor is that part of the land is leased to the Ministry of Defence, and has been used for over a century as a military training area. The stories of beasts roaming around can serve as a very convenient way to keep people out.)
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Meltdown of the Collective
As I trawl my favourite and popular blogs and websites I notice it, that tumble into the abyss. What has happened?
Why are bloggers going berserk?
Why are people queuing up to buy the most overt bullshit out there?
Where ever I look I see people full of anger, FEAR, and hate, and they want me to feel the same. I refuse to go down that road. By the skin of my teeth… I’m holding on!
The New World Order is being ushered in by the Elite controllers of the planet and there is nothing I can do about it?
The Jews control Hollywood and the world banks and there is nothing I can do about it.
The Paedophiles really are controlling the governments of the planet and there is nothing I can do about it?
But there are also aliens from Zeta Reticuli working with the American government.
The Twin Towers did not collapse because of two passenger airliners?
Obama is a paid actor, working for the Elite?
The moon is really the Death Star.
At this year’s Olympics there is going to be a major terrorist attack.
At this year’s Olympics the Rapture will take place.
An asteroid is going to crash into the Earth in 2013?
There is a two thousand year-old pink leprechaun living in the hollow Earth? (Okay, I confess I made that one up.)
Every absurd thing, every conspiracy your mind can think up is real, okay?
Believe it!
There are lies and negativity everywhere on the Internet and there are shocking and horrifying things going on right now, as I type this post. Again I am told there is nothing I can do about any of this.
That's the BIG LIE because there is a lot that I can do about it.
People don’t seem to realise that by repeating these stories, theories, accounts, and evidence, they make it so, they bring it into being, they spread the FEAR, and they manifest it into the real ‘material world’.
By all means feed the monster and sit back and watch it grow. Say, ‘Yes, I believe in your absurd accusations – I believe it all, every single word and I am scared, real scared!’
Soon enough there will not be much left for the monster to consume, except you and me.
So, what am I going to do about it? Am I going to continue absorbing and accepting this mind-numbing ‘meta-reality’?
I am not hiding under a rock and pretending that the world is full of hearts and flowers, some of these theories do have merit. But whenever I read a story intended to spread ANGER, FEAR, and HATE, I am shouting at the top of my voice, ‘I don’t accept your shit, I have the power, and you don’t scare me anymore!’
(rant of the day!)
Monday, March 26, 2012
Seeing is Believing?
I love the Internet, you can guarantee that where ever you may search, sure enough you will discover things you never knew existed, never thought possible, and absolutely denied you even had an interest in!
Recently, with more time on my hands, I’ve been reconnecting with my beliefs on many subjects, including the UFO phenomena.I’ve been re-reading about the Betty and Barney Hill case of 1961 as previously lost interview tapes of Betty have been made available on YouTube.
I’ve taken a fresh perspective on the Travis Walton case of 1975 after seeing old footage of the lumberjack talking about the night he was abducted. Naturally, I also reviewed the Rendelsham Forest case through all sorts of nonsense espoused by the Ancient Aliens TV series.
I haven’t really changed my view on the subject, I have smoothed out the corners of my core-beliefs and can see a nice clean edge of sanity appear around the whole ‘aliens among us’ debate.
Betty changed her story as she got older and confessed that her government was still very much in contact with her ’til the day she died.
Travis has refined his experiences to an almost perfect narrative and there is no room for alternatives unless you factor in mental illness, or an illuminati connection!
The Rendlesham Forest crew on the other hand seem to have expanded their tale into some kind of ‘warning to humanity’ message from the stars about the future environmental apocalypse… I am glad I still have a copy of the original News of the World front page from 1980; perhaps it is worth something after all.
While looking at alternative views on what is really happening with ufo/alien abductions I came across something thoroughly unbelievable, completely original, and totally engrossing. On a webpage called Vision and Psychosis.Net there is an explanation of Peripheral Vision Psychosis brought on by Subliminal Distraction.
The author of the research explains with examples and quite convincing arguments that everything from the Virginia Tech Shooter, the Betty and Barney Hill case, to the KONY presidential meltdown, are results of this little recognised, and barely understood psychological/physiological phenomenon.
It is a scary thought to believe that positioning your computer at the wrong angle for example, may cause you to have a ‘psychotic breakdown’ after long periods of regular continued use… It sounds crazy, but the idea is fascinating. I have not studied psychology but I can see how someone might become interested in the subject from reading this research material.
Another revelation that I experienced came by accident when I found a comment about flying orbs seen in the night sky. They could possibly be ‘Linear Illumination Shots’ used by the military in the field to light up a target area before making a decision on what do to. They are flying orbs, similar to distress flares although these are long-life white flares, sitting in the sky, all in a row and slowly moving down to earth until they naturally disintegrate.
In a way, I am a little saddened by the fact that there could be a real practical, observable, tangible, nuts-and-bolts answer to the whole ufo and aliens question… but I am willing to continue searching for the truth, however unsatisfying or disappointing it may be, eventually time will tell.
Next stop: A fresh look at the Beast of Bodmin.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Syria before Mordor - Part 2
Khaled whips out his mobile telephone to proudly show off pictures of his children eating ice-creams, two charming little girls. His wife, he tells us with dejection, wears the Hijab because it is custom. She works as well, teaching school to boys under the age of eleven from their home in the village. He explains that women working out of doors is not allowed.
He drives us around the city, darting about through the monstrous traffic, joining in the rhythmic ebb and flow of vehicles as they amazingly avoid crashing into each other… How they do this is a mystery. We peer through the cab windows in awe as a huge Mercedes truck vies for space next to us on the bustling road while a three-wheeled- lawn-mower-engine contraption attempts to overtake. Khaled announces ‘Syrian Car’!
No one bumps or hits anyone on the road, not that you would notice. A myriad of twenty year old Mercedes dash between Toyotas and Hyundais. We spot a brand-new Land Rover at the neon traffic lights, signals that count down from thirty seconds like a digital clock. Green for Go and red for Stop, like the colours of Aleppo, largely faded by the sun. Car horns beep loudly, people are shouting, pedestrians trying to cross the street. It could be an alternative New York City, with its hundred yellow cabs and “Do you speak any English?” drivers.
The time machine had stopped for a moment as Khaled jumps out at a corner to ask a friend for directions. They say people are the same where ever you go. Perhaps this is true, if people are open, friendly, and willing to help strangers. This was, on the most part, our experience as we recalled our first impressions from earlier in the week.
We laughed about Muhammad and the cigar smoking Syrian Arab who completed our money exchange transaction by swapping Dollars for Syrian Pounds using an empty Kleenex box. We felt like millionaires for a second or two before remembering that one thousand Syrian Pounds are the equivalent of a couple of Euros. But they were more than enough to get us where we wanted to go.
Our destination was The Citadel, one of the oldest medieval fortresses in the world. We headed for the curb-side on foot, bemused we looked in all directions. Mohammad called out to us, “You can walk there, no need for a taxi”. “Really, it’s that close?” We quizzed him from across the street. He pointed east and there it was, just visible over the tower blocks. It’s outer wall towering above a grimy cityscape, a hint of majesty through the haze of the sun. It startled us from a distance, like Fire Mountain (Mount Doom) of The Lord of the Rings fame. It was our goal, our quest. We needed to get there and it didn’t seem all that far away after all.
We began our walk just as the midday sun beat down, ensuring we’d always remember the way next time we ventured east. It was thirty-six degrees in the shade, dry, and the air was filled with a pungent aroma of cinnamon and exhaust fumes. Decomposing fruit, mingled with a waft of the Hookah smoke emanating from coffee shops and doorways of dusty buildings that had seen better days.
This was the thing about Aleppo. You could literally see it, feel it, those ‘better days’. If you looked close enough, rubbed your finger into the dust, you would reveal the layers beneath, hinting at better times.
Once, all of this was new; the rust was gilded, the blues were shining copper, the intricate stone work gleaming, and the dull marble was effervescent. Now it was all covered in a fine layer of yellowish dust, an orangey tone, a hue of brown. To find the bright vibrant colour you had to look underneath, inside the ‘souk’, where artificial light and draft strips away the dirt, and the truth leaps out at you from the covered market stalls hidden beneath the grimy city streets.
An archway beckoned us to venture further inside, the mouth of an endless tunnel, where crowds of people jostled and poked, and some prodded us, as we pushed passed them. A woman mumbled, someone shouted what could have been abuse, a man spat near our feet. We were quickly signalled to turn down a different route in the souk to avoid the butcher carving up the carcass of a sheep.
It was their territory and we were doing what all Westerners have done for centuries, invading theirs. We attempted to purchase their goods and test our haggling skills, and we tried not to show disrespect for their religion, infidels that we were, clueless tourists loving every minute of our ‘adventure’. Stall holders looked at us and turned to each other laughing. What a sight we must have been.
Monday, February 20, 2012
Qatar and the Financial Wiz-Khalifas
This will probably come as no shock to anyone who has read my previous biographical anecdotes. Most of you are quite familiar with how I manage to get myself ‘stuck’ in strange situations, and generally get myself into trouble. I tend to find myself somehow involved in shady companies, with shady bosses, making shady deals, where lots of money changes hands, but I never see any of it, and then something weird happens.
Today I am free. I have broken the chains that kept me shackled to the hedge fund administrator’s desk. Finally I made the decision and absconded from the evil-doers and their financial wizardry. I have walked out from a job that was slowly and meticulously sucking the life source from my being.
No more do I have to force myself to read pseudo-philosophic ramblings of hedge fund manager from hell Ray Dalio, or succumb to a self-inflicted lobotomy reading Barbara Minto’s Pyramid Principle, (two books that were a requirement by law, and which I tried with every excuse possible to avoid reading).
No more will I have to pretend to rejoice with 'the team' when an earthquake occurs, or war breaks out somewhere in the world, or Sarkozy speaks, because it means we are making a profit! Nor do I have to work fifty plus hours a week, and weekends, with no overtime, no bonus, no respect, not even a thank you. I will no longer have to listen to daily character assassinations of myself and my colleagues either. This was my final foray into the corporate world of international finance… I’m exhausted and I’m through with those bastards.
Lies rule our lives, but only if we let them.
The fund that bought me as a slave, sorry, that I worked for, was given one hundred million dollars by Sheikh Hamad Bin-Khalifa Al Thani - a very good friend of the West. The money is his government's pension fund of the people of The State of Qatar. Apparently this is a secret. However, I was never asked to sign a secrecy order and my contract has officially been terminated.
Therefore, I guess I can talk about it now?
Yes, just look at this. Even as I write it I cannot believe I worked for yet another company, whose sole purpose was to gamble money for the unscrupulous Arabs on the international stock market. The profits of which, used to fund war, to pay for weapons, and allow American military to continue to operate their routes through the Middle East. The product being death and destruction - allegedly. Did I just say that? I mean they probably spend it on those fancy hotels that no one can afford to stay in, that have bath taps made of gold.
Yes, indirectly, I worked to further the goals of the elite. Not my goals, for I am sheeple. This entire country (Cyprus) is full of sheeple. It appears we are all working here to further this agenda. My working life, my so-called career in administration, continued to be one big lie it would seem. A sick, sad world indeed.
So now what have I done? Unemployment is at an all time high, the country may very well be dragged down the toilet along with Greece the motherland. I am officially broke, as every penny I ever made has gone to the banks. I may very well lose my home and car too.
While this carries on, I do have one personal achievement that this hypocrite can be proud of. Finally, my writers' workshop group, which I mentor for free on weekends, has published its first book of recent works, called Synthesis. We have each contributed a few pieces of writing, and will sell the book completely for charity, to buy books for a local childrens hospital.
Being able to give something back to community has been invaluable to my own self-esteem which has slowly eroded over the past few months. The constant barrage of negativity received through working for an international hedge fund with the sole purpose of furthering the cause, the NWO…. No wonder I have become ill, I almost died, again. My morals, my thoughts, my dreams, my expression, were all being gradually stripped from me as I became a ‘cog in the machine’ again. No dead babies required this time.
http://thesignificanceofr.blogspot.com/2010/09/look-whos-talking.html
Although I am quite terrified of being unemployed, it is nothing to the plight of my body and soul should I continue to accept my master’s whip. Perhaps I waited too long and allowed my health to deteriorate while I pondered my next move. Better late than never I guess.
I didn't really think about it until last week, that however many degrees of separation there are between me and the Emir of Qatar… the financial Wiz-Khalifa, I don’t need this kind of karma. I’d rather be jobless and alive, than a zombie slave of the elite.
Syria - before it became Mordor - Part 1
I have spent time in Syria and can speak from experience of the place. I’ve met people, talked with them, travelled in the city of Aleppo and to rural areas, seen the diversity of cultures and belief there. I also saw a country woefully in need of some international help for development, to reduce poverty. The previous sanctions have obviously taken their toll on the place. It needs new infrastructure, new technology, investment, and hope for the future.
As I walked around the city I heard ladies dressed in the Hijab, everything covered, hands and faces. But they spoke with perfectly formed British accents. They talked about restaurants and shoes. No sign of extremism. Taxi drivers and waiters always smiled and seemed happy to speak to me, even though the secret police followed me and my travelling companions around the city.
“It’s like getting in a time machine and travelling back thirty years!” proclaimed one member of my group, as we jostled in our taxi seats while our driver Khaled careered over another of the potholes that decorated the narrow road towards the village he was venturing to.
We had met Khaled on the morning of the first day that we arrived in the city. He was the smiling one at reception. ‘Anything you need, ask me’ he told us. We smiled back and repeated ‘thank you thank you’, like the annoying tourists that we were.
We wanted to change currency and Khaled told us that Muhammad his colleague could help us out. Muhammad led us into a tower-block on the opposite side of the street. At first the hallway, with its ivory marbled walls and stairs gave the impression of a modern shopping-mall entrance, as we turned a corner and up a couple more stairs we realised that the entrance was for ‘show’. We were headed to the 5th floor, via the backstairs, the metal-caged lift wore an ‘out of order sign’ and the walls lost their marble, being replaced by some DIY concrete and plaster patches.
We reached the upper echelons and were greeted by a burly cigar smoking Syrian Arab in sand coloured suit, with the stereotypical sweat patch camo design. We got our currency without the bank charges and were ready to spend it!
About 40m kilometres away from the historic bustling Aleppo streets, Khaled drove us along a road that tapered off into a dirt track several times before reappearing intermittently whenever a mud-brick building appeared. We were bumping around that car as if we were on a fairground ride. Fast high-pitched Arabic music played on the radio. It was our soundtrack and we loved it.
After several stops on the way to ask directions, and allow wannabe Formula 1 racing contenders in their Hyundai-Hondas to over-take us, we arrived at the nameless settlement. Fences that were obviously home-made separated the property from the dirt-track. Mud-brick cattle shed and an igloo shaped house with wooden door, a rectangular concrete bungalow complete with veranda two metres to the right of it. A little girl stood and wondered what these strangers wanted, disappearing into the building to tell her parents. Out comes grandmother, she too in wonderment at the visit of these strangers.
Khaled asked the father to show us his farm and the outhouses. He laughed at us as if to say, ‘Mad westerners, it’s just a farm like any other’. He beckoned us to follow him to the field to pick cucumbers, like we had never seen them before. It was quaint and silly, but at the same time it was wonderful to see people living with such simplicity, totally without fear of strangers.
When I watch the news stories and think back to my time in Syria I feel nothing but outrage. I don’t recognise anything I am seeing in those videos, neither the faces, nor the clothes look like the Syrians I recall. I guess it was coming, the inevitable ‘intervention’ of the Americans/UN.
But Syria is not Libya, nor is it Egypt. The so-called ‘activists’ are not home-grown at all. They are imports from the west… those snipers shooting children in the street in broad daylight? Who are these people? I am not there now so I have no idea what is really going on. But one thing is for sure, someone is lying.
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