Interesting. Negative
reactions from Idiots that are controlled by
Middle-Managers-For-Hire. Something about the idea that you are
writing the Truth seems to bother them.
How did they know that you
are writing the Truth? What tops it off, is the fact that Demented
White Females (DWC), and any bitch that was ruining the brains of any
young man it could attack, are really unhappy about your writing.
They always shut their facial anuses and look like dead fish when you
do something that threatens their Society of Lies.
Why would that bother
those things?
Meanwhilst -- the Real
Women are just watching it all like it was a tennis match. Heads
going back and forth, popcorn disappearing, girdles expanding, smiles
abounding.
That is a good sign. Let
us get very basic and fundamental about this. Think in really basic
terms which no egomaniac of the SQLD or the forces of the Five Evils
can follow -- because it does not suit their lust for
self-glorification or the programs that they have accepted -- or been
tortured with.
1. You write.
2. You write anything that
is not SQLD approved.
3. You do not ask their
permission.
4. You do not give a damn
what they want.
5. You write in your own
words, not theirs.
6. You write about them
without their approval.
7. You write the Truth
that they hate.
8. You do not write lies
that they told you about themselves.
9. You write with
conviction and determination given to you by Humanity -- which they
want dead.
10. You share your
writings with other Humans -- as many as possible -- without the
permission of the SQLD. (Satanic and Queer Lying-Dead).
Why would that bother the
Demented White Females (DWC)? Why are the Queer Propagandists unhappy
with the Demented White Females (DWC), and the bitches that they
assigned to fornicate the brains of young men?
----------
If you search on the
Internet for -- 'Word Power' -- what do you find?
----------
Why (in general) do
females think that they can write more and better than males can?
That is a fact. Females always think they can communicate better than
males. Do they believe it gives them power over males? Twisted and
ugly and sick and deviated females, do not want males to communicate
at all.
*************************
These days, these
inglorious days, I see a lot of captive slaves of the Deviates and
Politicians that are lost in dementia and some weird resemblance of
egotism. It cannot be real egotism, because they are minions of the
Politicians and/or Perverts -- but they have the same smirks and
crazed eyes and puckered faces that real egomaniacs have.
Yes, and a lot of them are
'cops' in Iowa. 'Cops' in the other states of the Midwest do
not have that affliction. Of course, they do
not have Des Aliens, and that dogpile of bricks and crap called the
Statehouse/Pantyhose Emporium, to live with either.
Police Officers in the
other eighteen states (that I drive in) are nowhere nearly as
exhibitionist and loony as the ones here in this Third World Regime
of Iowa. The second worse are the actually psychopathic State Police
of Indiana -- but they are a distant second.
Here in Iowa, there is a
tourist attraction that everyone outside of Iowa is missing out on.
Here in Iowa -- we have the genuine article Banana Republic
Police-State Thugs; complete with Petty Dictators and cigar-chewing
Generalissimo Police Chiefs. You should see this! This is Central
America from the 1960's!
Why are the 'Afflicted
Cops' in Iowa thinking that writing does not threaten their
domination and power, and the bullshit regimes that they serve? (Why
are they thinking at all?) Do they already have plans on how to seize
and torture and imprison writers? Where are the Political
Prisons that they have built for
revolutionaries that write non-approved
words about them and their owners? Do they think that writing is
feeble compared to their armor-plated cars and vehicles and grenades
and automatic weapons? If so, then why the prisons? Why the black
helicopters? Why the Keystone Cops Parades? Those retards are going
to hurt themselves, trying to scare the little old ladies that
threaten the downtown peace and quiet of the innocent towns where
they stage their anti-revolutionary exercises. Exercises of
'Orchestrated Terrorism'.
Don't tell me! Let me put
on my sunglasses first. There. Okay -- they are really trying to be
certified and make the team at the All-Iowa Counter-Revolutionary
Qualification Trials for 2016.
Clue: The instant that any
of them think and act that way, YOU
are in a dictatorship. Whether it is ruled by a singular tyrant or an
oligarchy of political assholes.
Which is more to write
about -- of course.
Why do the 'cops' not fear
the power of words?
Or do they?
Only in Iowa; there are
some very strange and ridiculous 'goings on' by the 'cops' here. Some
really bizarre and childish displays of what I have to call 'berserk
presence'. It is probably meant to be intimidation, but it fails at
that utterly and results in laughter and rejection instead. In more
exact terms, it makes the poor 'cops' (that are ordered to act like
the Retards of the Roads) look as bad as we all know what.
What occupies
the Statehouse/Pantyhose Emporium. Which is diametrically the
opposite of any thing that any law enforcement officer should want to
be. Every law enforcement officer of any description (if honest and
Human) should be wanting to cooperate with all Human revolutionaries.
They should be wanting honest participation
in the Revolution.
[[But, they are thugs!
What am I talking about???? Clearly the standard Deviate practice, of
recruiting only the most violent and stupid thugs for Thought Police
duties, is now the rule at the Iowa Police Academy.
For your information --
those are the exact same Police Terrorism Tactics that are used at
MassInsanity -- where the Hideous Boston Horrid Zone is located.]]
Do you realize that there
is no Citizen's Oversight Committee that monitors the State Thugs
here in Iowa? They are not answerable to anyone except Deviates and
Politicians.
Back to ourselves and
sanity >>>> think basic. If anyone is Human -- they will
want to be a part of Human Revolution. Anyone. It is a force of
Nature. How often does anyone get to be a force of Nature?
If anyone is not Human,
and is a dog for money, they will not want to be a part of Human
Revolution; and they will not want Humans to
write.
*************************
*************************
Concerning writing: I am
troubled about our writing abilities and our writing production and
our writing quality. Quality, bothers me. We have a serious problem
with Quality. If we are having trouble -- then the entire future of
the planet will have the same trouble with the same problems.
Yes -- I write with
appropriate language to pound down the lies of our enemies. However,
I try to use the highest Quality of wordage that I can at the same
time. I really am Quality Conscious.
And Quality
Unconscious, as the following dream will
illustrate to you.
--------------------
--------------------
The Dream:
I heard that. Let us not
all groan and complain at the same time. Take turns.
----------
I rode a bus from South
Carolina to Arizona once. In the back seat all the way. Where the
view is.
----------
I do not care who thinks
what of this. We are back to the blackboard here, and you will learn
or leave the classroom.
----------
This dream began with
myself inside a building. I have nothing for or against buildings in
my dreams, they just happen. This was a large building, that was
irregular in shape and form; not a standard generic building like the
ones you see in new Chinese cities 'for the masses'. It was not a
building in which every story is fifteen feet high, and they are
stacked on top of each other in a geometrical formation. This
building had been custom designed, and it had floors where floors
were supposed to be; and then it had large open spaces.
Sometimes a floor was
sub-divided so half of the floor was tiered like a regular building
would be, and the other half of the floor was completely open for one
hundred feet. A hundred feet of open vertical space in that area. A
lot of the building was split into what seemed to be lofts, floors
that were part of a larger floor, but smaller. There were many
staircases, stairs going to various places, stairways not elevators
or escalators. I never saw an elevator in this building. You could
tell the building had been made to have work done inside of it. It
was some kind of industrial building with offices, but it also had
areas where work was done -- like where assembly lines would operate,
machine shops would be busy, things like that. And high up in the
building, not low or in the basement. Industrial it was, and yet it
was lavishly built and expensive. The building was huge, it was
massive, and there were machine shops and factory facilities of very
special types on just about all of the floors. It did not seem to be
anything like heavy metal industry though, but you could tell that
products were being manufactured in there. It was not heavy industry
per se, but every floor seemed to have a purpose and something was
produced there, something was made on every floor.
It was completely empty.
The building itself had a sense (by its design) of high activity; as
though in any normal operational day it would be very active, and a
lot of people would be inside there and working there. But now, it
was completely and totally empty. I was floating around from floor to
floor looking at things, somehow ignoring the production machines and
looking at the walls and stairways instead; then I decided that I had
to go to the bathroom so I stopped at a floor and I walked into a
large bathroom that was very well built, and had very stylish tiles
all over the walls; a very expensive bathroom that probably cost more
than my house does -- indeed the entire building exuded an aura of
lavish expense. The building emanated the sense that a lot of money
had gone into its construction. This was a billion-dollar building,
easily. Even the bathroom showed how high-tech and strong the
structure was. So, I was in the bathroom and everything was working
right and I was looking at all of the fixtures and tiles. The water
worked, the lights worked, the toilet worked, everything worked
properly -- and I was in there -- and then outside I could hear naked
running feet.
I could hear people
running outside with no shoes or socks on. It was not too many
people, maybe four or five people, and I got this flashing image in
my mind that they were almost primordial.
'Primordial': From
the beginning of Time or the beginning of something. Basic and
essential, earliest stages of development. As in 'primates'.
They were almost like
Caved People. It occurred to me that this building was like a modern
cave, in which things are happening and things are operating and
things are being built. For a tribe. It would not have surprised me
if upon opening the door I would find four cavemen out there, in bare
feet, running around on really expensive tile floors. They ran around
out there for a few minutes, and then they ran away. By the time I
was done in the bathroom and I opened the door they were gone. I
started getting a sense again that this was not an 'off day', this
was not a Saturday or a Sunday. Instead, something was wrong,
something was not right at all. I started to get the idea that I was
in Saint Louis, where nothing is right. Saint Louis is the Insane
Asylum of North America, and I started to get the impression that I
was in Saint Louis.
That was the impression
that I had of the location of the building. I went outside of the
building, through the walls floating down to the big avenue below,
and I was now in a large satellite hub of a metropolis.
'Metropolis': A
very large city, an urban center geographically, a principle center
for activity, always with populations in the many millions, from the
Greek word for 'Mother City'.
A metropolis on this
continent can have more than one hub. Always a central hub and a
number of satellite hubs. I was not at the central hub of the
metropolis, I was at a business satellite hub with tall buildings. I
never looked up at the building that I had just come out of, but I
could tell that it was very big and very tall; and something was
completely amiss. It was only a feeling, however the streets were
empty. The empty streets and the lack of traffic (I never saw an
automobile in this dream at all, never saw an entire automobile
anywhere in this dream) I took to mean that I was near the inner
city, and the inner city had been abandoned. Something had happened
to this city, and the hubs at least had been abandoned by all of the
White Folks.
There was no one else
around that I saw, but I had this impression that the White Folks had
abandoned this business hub. My attention was attracted to a section
of the city about four miles straight ahead of me, down an avenue
that continued straight out of the hub and extended into different
parts of the city. Most avenues do that. Most avenues that start at
the center of a metropolis and go through a satellite hub will
continue through it and go a long distance in both directions and out
to different parts of the city. Most avenues do that. Most avenues
that go through a hub will continue through it and go a long distance
in both directions, and in that way one avenue crosses the entire
metropolis -- like North Avenue in Chicago, which is a one-sided
version of what I am talking about. North Avenue can only run from
the center of Chicago to the far western countrysides, because of
Lake Michigan. If you have ever traveled North Avenue out to the far
countrysides west of the metropolis you will not believe how many
different things you will see, and how many towns you will see along
the way. It is quite a variety, from the center of Chicago to the
country areas where it becomes a two-lane road.
Four miles further
outwards, on the avenue I was floating over, there was some kind of
noise going on, that I could hear somehow. I floated down the avenue
following the noise, wanting to see what was going on over there. The
closer I got to the noise the more Black Folks I saw. They were all
very agitated, very agitated Black People. They were all wearing
plain everyday clothes, nothing really fancy or colorful. They all
seemed to be wearing dark apparel, like blue jeans and brown shirts
or blue jeans and dark red shirts, colors that were dark. But that
was just an observation, because the focus was upon the fact that
they were very agitated.
At their vicinity there
was a large building, not as huge as the previous one. That building
was a 'generic building'. It was very generic, rectangular, taller
than it was wide, with fifteen foot stories, made of blue metal with
stainless steel trim. All of the side panels of the building were
blue metal, all of the trim around the windows and the design trims
separating the stories and the walls and the vertical separators were
all shining stainless steel. It had many window openings, but it had
no windows in the openings; and it was unoccupied.
There was a great
conflagration of Black Folks shouting and yelling and being agitated
on the avenue beyond this building, and in the center of them were
four White Men. The four White Men were trying to explain what had
happened.
But, all of the Black
Folks were speaking sub-tongues and sub-sub-tongues. None of them
were speaking English. All of the Black Folks were speaking
rap-spawned dipshit sub-sub languages that only they can barely
understand, even then only in the most remote ways. They never really
understand what they are saying to each other. It is just one step
above 'grunting' and 'growling'.
Me myself -- I would
rather grunt. I would rather grunt -- "gruntgruntgrunt! grunt
grunt! grunt gruntgrunt!" I would have more fun grunting, and I
think I would still be understood. And, I could understand other
people's grunts.
But, those Black Folks on
the avenue were all talking a sub-sub tongue of rap-spawned language,
and the four White Men could not understand them at all. All four of
them had beards and were in their 'forties', about six feet tall,
regular shapes not fat not thin, they seemed to be smart, they wanted
to explain to all of the Black Folks what had happened.
The Black Folks were
trying to listen to the four White Men, but they could not control
their arms. The Black Folks were trying to listen to the four White
Men and understand their words, but they could not understand real
speech, and their arms kept going up and down in the air -- they
could not control their arms.
I was floating just above
everybody's heads and watching it all, and then someone in the
milling black crowd shouted -- "It's Hassan! Hassan done done
it!" Suddenly, the entire crowd of Black Folks started to wail,
and a lot of them bent over like they were trying to touch their
toes. "It's Hassan! Hassan done done it!" they wailed and
moaned and cried.
The four White Men gave
up, and resigned themselves to the fact that they could not explain
what had happened. They could clearly see that this was not working
out, and then the four White Men saw me -- but the Black Folks never
saw me. I was hovering right there, but the Black Folks never saw me;
but the four White Men saw me. They shook their heads at me,
obviously hopeless. They shook their heads like -- "We cannot
make them understand. They will not understand. They do not
understand."
Again someone in the black
crowd shouted "Hassan! Hassan done done it!" and suddenly
all of the Black Folks ran for the generic building nearby, that was
blue with stainless steel. Very quickly all of them had filled the
building and they were sticking their bodies out of the building's
window openings (from the waist up) and shouting in their sub-tongues
and flailing about with their arms. Thus, the entire building was
occupied by all of the Black Folks who were shouting in their
sub-tongues; and they were genuinely afraid. They were genuinely
afraid, and there was an atmosphere of fear everywhere. There was an
atmosphere of intense fright, everywhere. Except when they shouted
the name -- "Hassan!" "Hassan!" That seemed to
make them quieter, and almost reverent.
Now, I was in a situation
where I was floating above the avenue near four White Men, and I was
looking up at the generic building, about eighty stories tall. It was
full of window openings without windows, and every opening was full
of Black Folks sticking their bodies out of the windows from the
waist up, and shouting and speaking sub-tongues and sub-sub tongues,
and waving their arms about frantically. Shouting and screaming, very
frightened.
I materialized and stood
with the four White Men, and we started to talk about what had
happened. I do not remember what they said at all -- I know I was
talking to them and we were speaking in the regular English language;
and they were trying to tell me a very believable story of what had
happened. Which amounted to the obvious fact that the place had been
attacked. The continent had been attacked.
They gave me to understand
that some leader named 'Hassan' in Arabia had attacked America. It
was an attack from a 'foreign power'. It was continent-wide, and
apparently this 'Hassan' fellow had Intercontinental Ballistic
Missiles (ICBMs) that the CIA knew nothing about and they had hit
North America -- hard. Probably for economic reasons.
However, you could not
tell the Black Folks that. Because they could not understand your
speech. They could not understand your words. Now, in the dream, I
was standing on the avenue talking to the four White Men with regular
speech and they were explaining to me what had happened. Thus, I got
the general sense of it -- the continent was under attack -- and
there was no thinking about 'terrorism'. 'Terrorism' is the
catch-word that the terrorists in Wash This Death City use to try to
divert attention away from their own terror activities and towards
anything or anyone else, especially their own political enemies.
Inside Wash This Death City they are calling themselves 'terrorists'.
They are calling each other 'terrorists', they are accusing each
other of being 'terrorists' constantly, they accuse everyone else
outside of Wash This Death City of being 'terrorists' constantly. All
of which makes 'terrorism' and 'terrorists' into worthless Queershit
words. I cannot think of more worthless words, so falsely have they
been used by all Politicians and Queer Propagandists. They are words
that should be given funerals, appropriate and proper burials. Of
course if you are sick enough or insane enough to watch TV, you are
doomed to hear that Queershit for the rest of your life.
To get back to the dream
-- things were starting to move fast and I had gotten the idea of
what had happened, so far. Try to follow what happens next. I thought
of going to the building and flying up to the fortieth floor, and
making myself visible to all of the Black Folks that were shouting in
their sub-sub tongues, and flailing about with their arms and they
were very frightened and they had scared faces. I was going to show
myself, and explain it to them using direct thought.
I never got the chance to
do this. Looking back on it, if I had done so it might have scared
the heck out of all of them, or they might have just listened to me
-- you never know. However, something made the building move further
away from me. In the dream the building moved about five hundred
yards further away from me. Either I moved away from it, further down
the avenue -- or it moved down the avenue away from me. Suddenly, I
was half a kilometer away and could still see the building very much,
and I could see that the rest of the area was comprised of one and
two story houses and a few low-cut industrial complexes; and this was
all in Saint Louis I am sure, but it looked a little bit like
Chicago.
I saw the building with
all of the Black Folks sticking out of the window openings and waving
around with their arms, and beyond them (down the avenue) I saw the
business hub that I had been in before with a lot of tall buildings
at the beginning of the dream. Then in the sky, probably three miles
beyond that business hub and about two miles high in the sky a star
began to form.
A bright orange star. Not
like an explosion, but like a progression. It started from a small
orange light, and kept building and building outwards and outwards
and outwards and it was boiling and it was revolving and it was
foaming like an explosion would be, but it was not bursting outwards
like a regular explosion would. It just kept building outwards at a
pace, larger and larger and larger until it was quite big in the sky
-- dominating the entire view of the sky. It seemed to be
intensifying. Streaks of white were flashing through it, and then it
burst out horizontally and parallel to the surface of the planet.
A massive wave of orange
and white fire swept over everything, over the entire scene. The
building with the Black Folks was annihilated. The four White Men
were annihilated. The metropolis was annihilated. Everything was just
wiped off the planet. Gone, completely gone -- so gone that the scene
came to an end. The scene lasted long enough to make sure that I
understood that everything had been annihilated -- and the scene just
changed.
Now, in the next scene, I
was not flying anymore. I was dressed in normal apparel and I was
sitting in the back of a big bus. I was really concerned about 'my
mashed potatoes'.
I wanted mashed potatoes.
I was on this bus to get 'my mashed potatoes'. In fact this bus was
going to one of my favorite truckstops in the entire Midwest, where
they make really good mashed potatoes. I was very happy about that.
However, in the process we had to stop at lesser truckstops, which I
had to endure; and I was getting hungrier and hungrier because I knew
that when we got to that one truckstop they would have the mashed
potatoes that I wanted. And the gravy. And, I always put just a
certain amount of pepper on top of the gravy. Then, life would be
wonderful again. I would have my mashed potatoes, and I would be
happy again.
We were driving along, and
there were forty people in the bus with me -- of every description
that you can think of -- including an old lady with a parasol. Every
description of person you could think of was there, because they were
never the same one minute from the next except for the little old
lady with the parasol. They were sitting in forty seats, and at this
time I never saw the bus driver.
We were slowly going down
a highway like a big two-laned highway with wide shoulders; probably
a US highway because they are all bigger and wider than state
two-laned highways, and they have shoulders. We were on a US highway
like US36, and we were bumping along from one truckstop to another,
and I would not get out of the bus at the truckstops. I had a big
back seat, that was red with red naugahyde upholstery all over it and
a high back on it -- it was almost like a sofa back there -- and it
was surrounded by a vista window. A one-piece vista window that went
from one side all the way around the back to the other side,
extending along the sides about five feet -- all one piece of glass.
So, I had this huge view of what was going on; I had the best window
in the house at the back seat. Plus, there was a water fountain back
there; and I like water fountains.
At each lesser truckstop I
could see a general melee of confusion and much arguing, and I often
heard reference to 'The Great Hassan' spoken with exclamatory
shouting as though it was the forgiveness of all that was happening.
This left me
disinterested, as I was waiting for us to get to my favorite
truckstop where I could get my mashed potatoes. We would stop at
lesser truckstops along the way, and I always looked out the right
window because the truckstops were always on the right side when we
stopped. Whenever we went to a truckstop everyone would get out,
except for me, and I would wait in the back seat and drink some water
and think of Barstow, California or Salina, Kansas or Flagstaff,
Arizona and I would wait -- because they did not have 'my mashed
potatoes'.
However -- four truckstops
from now we would reach the truckstop that I wanted, and I would get
out and I would get my mashed potatoes. And I would get some gravy on
my mashed potatoes and I would put pepper on the gravy, and I would
be happy.
We never made it there.
We were in Indiana, and we
were going into Ohio; we crossed the border into Ohio. I remember
that, because I remember that one town on the border that I have been
through a number of times on the Indiana/Ohio border, and I remember
the silos. We went through that town to a small truckstop, and we
stopped, but it was not my truckstop (it did not have 'my mashed
potatoes') it was not the one I wanted -- so I stayed in the back
seat. Everybody got out, and then after a while everybody got back
on, all looking like different people except for the little old lady
with the parasol. We continued again, going east into Ohio. And we
kept going. Then after some time we slowed down. We slowed down and
we got into the middle of the road. It was a US highway, so it was a
wide two-laned road with wide shoulders -- but we were driving down
the center dotted line because on either side were columns of
skeletons walking west. About two or three abreast. Skeletons walking
down the shoulders and the sides of the road, in a long seemingly
endless formation just as though they had bodies. But they had no
bodies.
When you see caricatures
of skeletons in movies and comedy theaters the skeletons walk like
they are on wires. They clink about, they clank about. This was not
the case with these skeletons, they moved as though they still had
bodies, except there were no bodies. These skeletons were moving with
smooth articulation, with smooth movements, as though this happens
everyday. They were all walking west while we drove slowly eastwards.
They did not look up except to look at me in the back seat of the
bus. The ones on the right side would look at the bus and look at me
in the back seat, ignoring all else. Every once in a while, a
skeleton would lose its head, and his head would fall off. Then, the
skeleton behind it would pick up the head and say "It is the
will of the Great Hassan!" and put it back on the skeleton in
front of it.
Just about every fifth or
sixth skeleton would look at me, and with its skeleton fingers and
skeleton hand point at its opened jaws and shake its head. It would
open its jaws wide and look right at me and point at its open jaws
and shake its head. But, it could not talk. It had no speech.
It would just shake its
head, and look at me, and point at its open jaws and then we would be
beyond it. Then another one would do the same thing and we would keep
moving, and then another one would do the same thing. And then, one
would lose its head and the skeleton behind it would pick up its head
and say "It is the will of the Great Hassan!" and put the
head back on it; and the whole procession just kept marching like
that along the sides of the road westwards, while we traveled east.
We ran out of them, they
simply faded away; and everybody in the bus started to make surprised
noises. I was in the back of the bus so I always got to see
everything last. Everyone else in the bus was shouting with surprised
utterances and gasping sounds, and the bus came to a stop. Then, I
was looking out the forward windows and everything in front of us was
grey -- grey grey -- I mean really grey -- one monochrome of grey,
but it was moving in some very unusual form. It was hard to
understand what the greyness was doing, but everything in front of us
and to either side was greyed -- like an horizon. It was not actually
surrounding us, it was just that we were so close to it and it was so
immense that it filled a line of sight to the far northern horizon
and to the far southern horizon. It was not wrapping around us, but
rather was quite linear in its own form, however it was huge and we
were right up against it.
The bus driver stopped,
and the door opened and I got out. I walked up to the huge wall of
greyness and I looked at it closely. It was composed of millions of
columns of some grey matter, each about three feet in diameter, and
all rotating in the linear line. From Infinity in the north, to
Infinity in the south; these columns as high as you could see were
all rotating and all grey and made of some material that you could
not tell -- and they were all pressed up against something. Something
between myself and them. It was like they were pushing against
something unseen, and when they touched it they flattened out. It was
as though the greyness was trying to get through some invisible
barrier. It was not visible to the Human eye at least, and it was
just as enormous as the greyness was; stretching from Infinity in the
north to Infinity in the south. It was just as wide and as high as
the greyness was, and it was not allowing whatever the grey was to go
any further west. And, it was somewhere in Ohio.
The greyness, with its
swirling columns each three feet in diameter, kept pushing against
it; trying to go west, pushing up against it. I turned around and I
called to the bus driver. He got out of the bus and he was about five
foot ten inches tall with short red hair and a boxer's face and he
looked like someone that I know from Detroit -- a typical bus driver
in a bus driver's uniform. He did whatever I wanted him to do, which
was a pleasant change, and I said -- "Get in your tool kit.
Bring me a bottle of 30 weight oil."
He went to the back of the
bus, opened up the back section and produced a white bottle full of
oil; brand new oil probably Citgo or some similar brand. He walked
back forwards to me and handed the bottle to me, and I told him to
stand next to the bus. I tightened the cap on the bottle so it would
not come open, walked up to within ten yards of the wall of rotating
greyness, and looked back to the bus. Everyone in the bus was leaning
forwards in their seats, holding onto the metal rails on the seats in
front of them and watching everything that I was doing. I wound up
like a baseball pitcher and threw the white bottle of oil into the
greyness. It went through the invisible barrier, whatever that was,
and immediately burst into flames and rocketed into the greyness
(just like a rocket would) leaving a trail of fire behind it. And
disappeared.
The bus driver was so
shocked by that, that instead of running he became frozen to the
ground but his body leaned back in shock about fifteen degrees. I
stood closer to the greyness trying to see through the stuff, and
trying to see the invisible barrier, and not wanting to touch it; but
I could not see at any angle any material there. I looked at it by
forty-five degrees and sixty degrees and thirty degrees north and
south (etc) trying to catch some reflection or light refraction that
would show me what the invisible wall was; but I just could not see
anything. However, the grey columns kept on rotating and pressing up
against something while they tried to move westwards.
I got the sense that we
had all better leave, because we probably upset the invisible wall
and we probably upset whatever the greyness was. I walked back to the
driver and said that we had better turn around, and go back west as
fast as possible. I said something to that effect, and got in the
back seat again. The driver got into the bus and made the bus revolve
on its tandem tires, instead of turning around. The entire bus
revolved on its back eight tires, with its front tires in the air;
turning around one hundred and eighty degrees.
I was sitting in the back
seat backwards, looking out the back window as we drove away from
that invisible wall. I looked and looked and I still could not see
anything there except the grey columns rotating and trying to force
their way through the invisible barrier.
I decided to give that up,
because there is just no answer for it; but whatever is inside of
that greyness is certainly dead. Nothing could live in there. I had
one consolation, at least the Hideous Boston Horrid Zone and Wash
This Death City had been completely destroyed. Nothing, not even
buildings, could survive in that greyness. Every thing would fragment
and dissolve and disintegrate in there, nothing could continue to
exist in there.
I wondered for a minute if
the shorelines of the Atlantic were still intact, if the shorelines
of the 'East Coast' still existed; or if they had been fragmented and
disintegrated too. Which would mean that everything over there was
becoming a greyness swamp.
I turned around in the
seat, and I was surprised to see that all forty passengers (including
the little old lady with the parasol) were sitting in their forty
seats with their knees on the seats and grasping the steel rails on
the backs of each seat with white knuckles, and staring out the back
window with looks of absolute shock and fear. Their mouths were all
open and gasping like fish out of water -- in real fear --
speechless. They did not even see me. They were staring out the back
window as we were driving away from the grey nothingness.
I sort of eased down in
the seat, so I would not be in the way of them staring out the back
window, so I would be invisible. I woke up.
I call this dream -- 'Rat
Got Your Tongue?'
*************************
*************************
The 'Great Hassan' was
something in this dream that seemed to throw us all back to the days
of the slave caravans that used to cross the Sahara desert decades
and centuries ago. Back to the days when everything was done
according to the 'will' of some greater person. Some 'great person'
would want something done, and all of the lesser people (or the
people who were cast into lesser roles or lesser situations or had
been born into lesser classes or lesser castes) would have a
condescending stupidity about it; a bowing of the back and the mind
to the 'will of the greater person'. The Prince of this or that --
his will will be done. This Sheikh or that Sultan -- his will will be
done. He is the greater one, we are but his servants, his serfs, his
slaves. We are but his subjects. It is his great will that we serve.
We give our bodies for his greatness. We die for his greatness.
In the dream, there were
elements that were a throwback to that era; because the skeletons
were mentioning 'The Great Hassan'. There was a sense that I got in
all of it which confirmed this, like when the bus would stop at the
truckstops and people were talking and shouting about 'The Great
Hassan'; that 'The Great Hassan' had done this and therefore it was
all right somehow. I could hear those people from the back seat of
the bus. I could hear the people talking at the truckstops. I could
hear those people saying such idiocies. It seemed to be all right to
them as long as 'the Great Hassan' was responsible for it. In the
dream it was almost as though there was a current in the wind that
was chanting "The Great Hassan!" "The Great Hassan!"
This was accompanied by a
dumb and stupid kind of acceptance -- a really idiotic and too stupid
to be 'animal' acceptance at the truckstops (and from the passengers
on the bus) that 'The Great Hassan' has attacked the continent and
therefore it is good. 'The Great Hassan' had smashed the cities and
therefore it was a great thing. It was good and it was great because
'The Great Hassan' had done this. "The Great Hassan done done
this" -- and that made it all right somehow.
--------------------
--------------------
A lot of dreams defy
interpretations, and are merely the result of a brain left adrift in
whatever environment the owner has allowed to exist at the time. As
always, I struggle to have Reality understood; even in dream forms.
The Reality about any dream that is meaningful can be anything from
benign and simple to extremely complex and portentous.
'Portentous': Important
and serious, particularly with respect to future events.
Inspirational and amazing.
I have thrown together a
brief diagram to illustrate what I am talking about. In the center is
the Dream Zone. All around it are some of the environmental
influences that affect our dreams. This is not complete for sure.
I only spent an hour on
this, so do not expect art.
Relentless Reality >>>>
the unending Reality of the Universe, utterly regardless of
propaganda. Subject to no one's whims, or desires, or needs, or
orders. Sometimes called -- 'The Cruel World' by Idiots.
Brain Noise >>>>
caused by redistribution and rerouting of brain waves during sleep.
Also caused by physical damage, and/or transitions during sleep from
dream state to semi-consciousness and back. Too much noise can set
off randomness that interferes with dream courses. It is Brain Noise
that so-called Sleep Machines put to rest. Find the right Sleep
Machine, with the right background sounds to play while you sleep,
and your Brain Noise will go to sleep too. It really works.
Suppressed Natural
Ambitions >>>> separate
from queer brainwashings, queer demands that you think like a
Deviate, that you consider yourself to be a Deviate too, or that you
embrace all deviations. This
is about natural unperverted ambitions.
Memories -- Plus
or Minus >>>> memories of good things that have happened
that create good dreams. Memories of deviate things that have been
observed, or deviate attacks that have been suffered, that cause
nightmares.
Natural Sex
Drive >>>> totally Human and Natural, as nothing else is
sex. Only natural attraction between opposite sexes is 'sex' --
nothing else is 'sex'.
Empathic Body
Wave Attacks >>>> I have described these often in my
writings. Grotesque and horrible acts of terrorism commited by
Horrids against innocent Humans. Usually while they sleep. Always
approved of by any and all Politicians.
Ugly Deviate Lies >>>>
if its lips are moving -- it is lying.
Uncentered Lack of Wisdom
>>>> conscious reactions to bad stimuli, or reactions to
bad information, are turned off during sleep. Even so, experiences
with destroying bad stimuli can occur by reflex, and annihilate evil
objects in your dreams. This is very satisfying. IF -- you had the
courage (while conscious) to destroy bad stimuli -- such as anything
that Deviates say or think or do.
Desire For Better Life
>>>> desire for Human
adventure, desire for better life, desire for living a different life
that is not so infested with perverts as the one you are living in
now. This could be called the category of wishes and hopes. Dreams of
having a better life than having to be in any country where Queer
Coalitions and the Five Evils exist, with the complete approval of
all
Politicians.
Telepathic
Attacks >>>> if you do not have defenses and you allow
the proximity of such perverts. All
perverts are that malicious and awful. There are no known exceptions.
No Logic >>>>
I often dream of logic. Those dreams never result in dreams of this
magnitude. Logic Dreams are illogical dreams about logic. Somewhere
in the depths there is a natural logic system that is accessed by
dreamscapes and epic dreams. The results are awesome. That natural
logic system is what all Deviates want to kill. If you have it,
protect it.
Self-Worth --
Plus or Minus >>>> personal aggrandizement and
self-esteem, improvement of self image -- OR -- the exact opposite,
depression and self-degradation if exposed to Queer Propaganda. If
not exposed to Queer Propaganda, this becomes aggrandizement and
self-approval and self-satisfaction. If subjected to Queer
Propaganda, this becomes depression, self-degradation and a sense of
being worthless, lost, and abandoned.
--------------------
--------------------
This dream is
quite easy for myself to interpret. It is a warning dream. The
subject matter is the creeping social insanity and degradation that
is indicated by the rampant fall of the population into the usage of
semi-intelligent sub-tongue speech, and even sub-sub tongue noises.
It is certainly caused by Evil, by brain damage, by mental disease,
and in this case it is also being caused by the Internet.
I refer to the
Internet chat thing -- where people have 'chat' sessions all of the
time and are too lazy to write completely any one message; thus the
entire conversation downgrades into written blurps and mere chips or
segments of what any real conversation would require as complete
sentences. 'Facebook' is part of that, and 'twitter' is part of it;
wherein you are only allowed a certain amount of characters to put
into a message. That is literally causing and promoting the usage of
sub-tongues and sub-languages throughout the society.
[[Think I
am wrong? Increase the allowance of characters on such websites by
20X (twenty times), and watch the entire speech and thinking
degradation that I am writing about -- reverse.
For a chat website that only allows 150 characters, that would
increase to 3,000 characters. For a chat site that only allows 500
characters, that would increase to 10,000 characters. All of the
social degradation that is caused by Internet 'chat sites' would
begin to reverse. In Truth, actual writing skills would begin to form
in the users, and the speech-to-writing AND the writing-to-speech
transformations would cause the improvement to become verbal as well
as written.
However -- any
improvement would be contrary to the horrible goals of the creatures
that own and operate such 'chat sites'. So, do not expect any
improvements when further degradation into a society-wide imbecility
is their goal.
Ignore their
excuses about 'bandwidth' and 'data capacity'. That is Bullshit.]]
Such stilted and
crippled and severly limited 'chat sites' are creating new
sub-tongues and fostering pre-existing sub-tongues that are
essentially meaningless. To have any kind of conversation that is
meaningful, you have to have a real long-bodied long-formed and
complete conversation from both sides. In my case, I send out
messages to be read; but no one can reply to me because of the
Queer's Internet Interruption and Intimidation Network (IIIN) -- now
dominated by the Deviate Ministry for Propaganda -- the Queer Factory
Huffingbutt's Post.
Conversations
are meant to be of letter form if they are written. Letters are the
complete form of written communications. The 'twitter' and 'facebook'
stuff, with built-in limitations to it, is NOT written
communications!!!! Instead, it is a kind of dabbleing and doodling
dementia release (the release of abbreviated absurdities) and it is
becoming a mania, it is becoming a sickness worldwide. To the point
where people are not even talking complete sentences any more.
Instead, they
are spitting out word fragments, and chewing words and gurgling words
and giggling words and making Noise Words. Incoherent noises are now
passing for communications.
What happened to
grunts and groans? They at least carried emotional meanings. This new
stuff is just clinical and sterile noises. I was just thinking to
myself that I would rather grunt than 'rap'. I would rather grunt and
have people understand my emotions, than do any of that 'rap crap' on
'twitter' or 'facebook', Extremely limited and phony communications.
That is leading to the sick and crazy sub-tongues and sub-sub
tongues.
[[The Power of
Thought is directly proportional to the size and quantity and depth
and exercise of one's own thought patterns. Their complexity. Their
expansive capacity. Their variety, and calibration to Reality. All of
that demands a Full Database of thought components -- complete -- in
the long forms -- in the relative forms -- each corresponding to
thousands and millions of other long form thoughts and
understandings. A fully functional Human Brain dwarfs the DNA Helix
in complexity by comparison. If you fragment all of that, if you
starve all of that by putting it on a restrictive diet of finger
foods and data morsels and sub-tongue candy bars, you will literally
disintegrate the overall structure of your conscious mind. The Power
of Thought will rot to death in your own brain.]]
This dream
shows what happens to people who can only speak in sub-tongues. They
have no way of comprehending Reality. They have no way of coping with
Reality. They have no way of dealing with Truth and Facts. They
become helpless in a situation. They become helpless in a crisis,
because they
cannot think more than abbreviated ways. They cannot have full and
complete thoughts in their brains.
They do not communicate to each other in any proper way.
They communicate by 150 characters at a time, or whatever the
limitation is.
THAT --
IS LIMITING THEIR ENTIRE BRAIN CAPABILITY!!!!
Their entire response to any situation is becoming
truncated and stifled and curtailed and aborted and disabled. Beyond
the short limitations that they have been dumbed down to -- they
panic. Since they have lost the ability to speak and write, they have
lost the power to think. Beyond such awful limitations they have no
idea of what they are doing (or how to think), and they cannot
generate enough of the small and tiny and miniature messages in their
brains -- in a sequence -- fast enough -- to formulate a complete
message (a thought) that would be a full response to any situation.
They are being Mentally Neutered. Powerless over their own fate.
Mentally cut down like wheat. Which is what this dream
illustrates. It is also why I am repeating it to you.
[[Think I am wrong? Was that a complete thought?]]
Of course if you are a person who wants children who are
easy to dupe and easy to fool -- not just at NEA Public Schools --
but you also want to be able to brainwash your own children so they
are easier to control; then you will vehemently oppose the idea of
'One Hundred Thousand Human Leaders'. You will oppose a real and
alive and dynamic Human Species. A Species that can talk complete
sentences and think complete ideas.
There is one bright note to it. I was just in a
department store, and I saw two Human Beings (a Human Couple -- a Boy
and a Girl) speaking English! I actually saw a Boy and a Girl
speaking English. They were 'White'. A lot of Girls that are White
speak a sub-sub tongue, that sounds like the very reduced bird-like
chattering that they do on the Internet. Thus, you cannot talk to
them. After ten words they hit a limitation in their brains, and they
stop understanding what you are saying. However, that Girl in the
department store was actually speaking English. She was talking in
full sentences. She was constructing paragraphs in her mind. She was
probably able to read aloud, a book! That is phenomenal these days!
To be able to read aloud a book???? It is almost
illegal. Certainly, anyone who could read aloud a Human Book would
possess far too much Human Power to be allowed to live. Such a person
would be seen as a 'Terrorist Threat' to any Bastard or Bitch that
wants mind-control over this society.
Which is why it never happens in Queer Coalitions,
unless it is Queer Propaganda.
*************************
*************************
Markel Peters
