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Psalm 139:7-12

Whither shall I go from thy spirit? or whither shall I flee from thy presence? If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there. If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me. If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me; even the night shall be light about me. Yea, the darkness hideth not from thee; but the night shineth as the day: the darkness and the light are both alike to thee.

 

 

I’m back. Ye men of Texas, I pray thee to protect me from this madman. Check your own records; I am here because of a brief encounter with one of your own. He, like me, issued a warning because of the light that is out. I know of your curiosity because of him. God will bless you for it. The mighty flood waters will pass us by. Only take the high ground. Several hundred feet where I am will be the difference between life and death. The approach of the Pacific will sound like a thousand locomotives. Stand your ground. I am real. I know whereof I speak. Only keep this madman at bay, I pray ye.

And if they are unwilling for any reason, then I ask my Russian and Chinese friends for protection. I am greatly offended by his arrogance. He threatens my peace of mind. And should it be necessary for him to disappear, I would not object. I have little time left now to finish this writing. Let us all agree that no man should interfere with this work. For I am the tip of the spear that you hold in your hands.

 

I have only one purpose in this life now, and that is to complete this work. On my word of honor, I will never again stop writing.

 

I have been too slow to recognize that this work is my life. It is my purpose in life. This is why I was born. No one else can do this work. My kid brother, in an effort to dissuade me from my life’s work, once protested that there are over seven billion people on this planet, and that I should be more humble than to entertain the bizarre notion that I know something nobody else does. Well, I’m guilty of that on multiple fronts. The two of which I am most proud is that there are 2,160 orbits of Jupiter in the Maya Long Count calendar and that the Georgia Guidestones were built by a remnant of real Freemasons after our country was defeated by the Illuminati (posing as the Northern Masonic Jurisdiction) in the Civil War.

But these two things are only the tip of an iceberg. I see a frightful winter descending upon us, but I am not alone in this. It is the things I see that no one else does that inform me that I have a greater purpose in life. I do not conjure these things out of thin air. And I am not the madman you imagine I am in your own inability to cope with the naked truth. Many if not most of these things I learned from my intuition. They are as astounding to me and they are to you. Over time I have learned to squelch reason and open my thought to intuition. Our scientists really are mathematically insane. They worship at the alter of their own reason.

 

Romans 1:22
Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools

 

Unsupported by intuition, reason alone cannot be trusted. It is subject to an untold number of influences that have no bearing whatsoever on truth versus falsity, such as egotism, pride, self-justification, and other more evil traits such as hate and revenge. My use the adjective mathematically is a courtesy they do not deserve. In truth, and in accord with the law of opposites, they live in an imaginary “Big Bang,” “Black Hole,” “Dark Matter” world that s9imply does not exist in reality. Mainstream “scientists” are to a man (or woman) mad, crazy, insane, delusional, intellectual sickopaths (not misspelled). However, they are legion, respected in society, earn good salaries, and live in nice houses. Who among us is willing to say the King has no clothes? For an answer to that question turn to the Electric Universe and plasma science.

 

This I know and do here proclaim. We are indeed living in the end times. Unless you are reading this on your deathbed, you will experience the reality about which Christ Jesus spoke days before the Roman elite brutally killed him for opening his mouth about the one subject that to this very day remains taboo. Christ Jesus and Stanley Kubrick were killed by the Progeny of Jove and for the same reason. They wanted the people to know and understand what is about to happen. I will do the same. I will follow the best men who ever lived, to my grave if need be, but these are different times. We are too close. The Progeny of Jove imagine that they have already succeeded. They are fearless. And they are fools about to die an ignoble death, never to be heard of again. Even in this they are not unique. This deathtrap has been set countless times. This show is a best seller in the Milky Way. There is nothing new under the sun.

 

To those bastards distracting me right now in my own home, I say this: repetition is only hypnotic for minds that are empty. I was studying you. Not the other way around. I still am, only this game is boring me. And I would that the FBI intervene. The agreement I made with you is to stay out of sight. Anyone who thinks they can invade my surroundings and not be noticed isn’t paying attention. Whoever is behind this petty, predictable, and half-ass effort to commandeer my ship-of-state only serves to betray your interest in me. I would singularly fire them if this intrusion was unauthorized. That there are better and worse men among you is clear to me. To the former I say heed my words. Do not enter therein. Stand your ground with me. Trust in the words of Enoch. To the latter I say Tic Enoch. Tic Enoch. Tic Enoch. You are getting sleepy now. When you awake it will be only for a millisecond as thousands of amperes surge through your body. And your last thought will be of me, the big nobody who knew of your fate years in advance. How? How did he know? Your tunnels are a deathtrap that you cannot escape. Your death is “written in stone,” one might say. Tic Enoch. Tic Enoch. Tic Enoch. I was born for this. The Nine God will protect me, not that I need it. I have already seen enough. I am ready to die at any time. My biggest secret? You men are mere mortals. You cannot possibly know for sure this thing is about to happen. You seek confirmation is every direction, including mine. I have more conviction than you do. I am wired differently, and you know it. You were meant to know it. If God speaks to me it is for one reason, and one reason only, to prophesy your death.

 

June 16, 2019

 

Dates become important after years of pursuing this knowledge. The hunter almost subconsciously becomes like his prey after years of stalking. I stopped writing on February 23, 2019, which is 322 backward, and I am resuming this work on 616, the significance of which I will leave to the reader. 113 days intervened, which totals 5. I was born on 1313. All my numbers are perfect. You might think things like this are insignificant, but then you could never track the Progeny of Jove through time.

Several things have happened in my life, not the least significant of which is that it has become overwhelmingly clear to me that I have attracted the attention of someone with far-reaching capabilities.  So be it. Or rather, it should be so. I have tried to ferret out their intentions without any success. On the face of it, one might conclude whoever is behind this crude attempt to define my reality was trying to discourage me from writing, but I suspect the opposite may be true. You guys are playing in a wilderness of thought. It is my wilderness. I own it.

More significantly, I was briefly let into the life of a young artist I once knew and briefly dated. It was sheer novelty at first. But caused me to think deeply about life and the paths not taken. Living with her would be riches of a different kind. Raising a child is the only thing I have ever cherished more. I thought long and hard over these things. Then I realized with the ferocity of a soldier sacrificing himself on the field of battle in order to inflict some great harm on his enemy or to save the life of a comrade, I have only one purpose in this life, to complete this work. No one and I do mean no one, has the faintest concept of where I am headed.

 

Matthew 13:15
for this people’s heart is waxed gross, and their ears are dull of hearing, and their eyes they have closed; lest at any time they should see with their eyes, and hear with their ears, and should understand with their heart, and should be converted, and I should heal them.

 

This is in large part because I don’t give a damn what people think. I work in public because I despise the thinking capacity of most human beings. They are empty shells entirely defined by the Progeny of Jove. My daily readership now is measured in multiples of ten. It will be in multiples of tens of thousands in the not too distant future when the extreme weather returns (as it is doing even now), the extreme cold diminishes earth’s “carrying capacity” by several billion people, and the general populace begins to aufwaken to the reality of the end times. Yet I am the same person now as I will be then. 

 

I must have the answers in place for the coming awakening. Their time will be brief. But those handful of people who escape the hypnotic state deserve answers. Some will want only to taste a juicy steak again, but the others have the right to know what the Progeny of Jove did to humanity including the death of Christ Jesus.

 

The work is not entirely my own. It uses me as much as I create it. Together we dance and when the dust from our twirling together settles a Magic Kingdom of a different sort will appear apparently out of nowhere. What you read now are but my notes. The magic begins when I appear to be done. This is now my life. It has taken me years to realize what I think I suspected from the very beginning. I was put on this earth to write these 108 pages. That is why I can only imagine what life would be like with my long lost friend. But I am on my knees, tearfully thanking her for bringing me to this full realization and for the glimpses of what life might have been like. I ask God’s protection of her while on this dreary planet. Your little black houses were right, made of the junk of this world, and dark, always dark. Those little dark consciousnesses. I love you, my dear friend. I always will. In the end, you were bigger than her. She hides from the both of us because there is no real love in her. I dedicate this last great push, which will be till the end of days, to you, to the moments of youthful love no one can ever take from us. Only I was meant to serve a higher purpose. Doing so is my destiny. Au revoir or write anytime, especially when the “still, small voice” whispers “shit, I think he knew what he was talking about.” That’s when it is time to leave. Do not hesitate. Leave! And get your little ass down here to Texas. There’s always a place for the two of you in our home. No notice required. Just show up at our front door and let me take care of the rest. You don’t need a damned thing but the shirts on your back.  (Well, hell, at least as far as I’m concerned. The neighbors may feel a little different.) That’s straight talk. You are and will forever remain the last girl I ever cared about in that way. Thanks for bringing me back from the dead. I was in a temporary state of confusion. I felt abandoned by God. Now I know for sure that I really was born to write these pages.