Those of you who Understand what that giant rearing stallion in front of the Denver Airport symbolizes know this world has no future. Preston Nichols used to say a time traveler from here could travel only so far into the future before he would come to a place desolate of life that’s only geographical feature was a giant statue of a rearing stallion. Now you Free Masons, you Jesuits, you Illuminati and various homespun Magi may tell us that you know there’s a future because there has been a book written about it: Library Genesis (libgen.rs). You are not reading our words carefully enough. There is no future in this place but there are many worlds as you have already discovered with the science of Hugh Everett III, and what little you do know about National Socialism. First you will have to find the doorway out of here and so far, we have little inclination to show it to you… – Jack.
Jack Hearts Podcast
Excerpted From Those Who Would Arouse Leviathan:
הוד / Majesty
Nietzsche once said “if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.” I don’t recall gazing into any abyss. I hadn’t even read a book since high school let alone anything by the master philosopher. Never the less there was an abyss dead ahead, a yawning black hole with a singularity at the center that would rend to pieces every notion by which man desperately clings to his contrived perception of reality.
It was in the tail end of June, one of those endless summer days that make life worth living. I pulled my big flatbed truck onto Sunrise Highway and slipped it into high gear. In back of me the sun was dropping like a great red fireball into an ethereal sea streaked with pastel pinks and ominous purples. I lit up a cigar sized joint and felt the air whipping through the trucks open windows. My flesh tingled with its cool caress. I had been working outside all day with my shirt off turning my complexion glowing crimson bronze with a hint of a stinging sensation. I could feel the muscles rippling beneath my skin. They were still pumped from the day’s exertion. It was a confirmation of my own virility every time they strained against the black fishnet shirt I was wearing. I was heading east to Kenny’s new house he had rented with his wife Patty, his five year old son, and his recently born baby. I got off the highway at Carlton Avenue in East Islip heading south and made a left before the rail road tracks turning into an enclave with streets named after long dead presidents. The houses were worn and run down, not as bad as Mastic and Shirley but they had long since lost their suburban charm. I made a right and another left around a sump onto a road that ran parallel to the railroad tracks and I rumbled past Kenny’s house. The lights were on and I saw Joey Baranek’s car in the driveway along with a beat up white van I didn’t recognize. It was a two family home and Kenny had the portion toward the street and the train tracks. I went about a half a block down to the cul-de-sac and made a U-turn in its aborted circle. I looked over my right shoulder at a vacant lot that stretched about the length of a football field before turning into woods and thickly tangled underbrush. The woods fish hooked from the tracks around the lot and continued through the backyards of the houses terminating at the corner with the fenced in thirty foot deep sump. Stagnant water submerged the bottom. The lot itself looked as if it was being used as an improvised dump by the Long Island Railroad. There were four and five foot high mounds of dirt, covered by weeds, and piled at impossibly steep angles as if they were built by some subterranean insect engineer. Towards the center there were charred debris strewn about in a haphazard fashion as if somebody had been burning something and then tried to put the fire out. Minus the burnt wood the overall effect was like a miniaturized version of an abandoned Mesoamerican city reclaimed by encroaching jungle.
I parked the truck in front of Kenny’s house and leapt the three feet from its cab to the street. I walked around the front of the truck and up the entrance to the two car driveway towards the house. Pausing I took one long hit from the last of the joint and flicked it into the street watching its burning embers scatter into the evening breeze. I studied the van trying to figure out who it belonged to and I noticed through the closed windows that the front of its cab was partitioned from the back by a jet black curtain. The borders of the curtain seemed to emit a faint glow that was illuminating the cab but I couldn’t be sure because of the overhead street light that had just come on. The glow seemed to flicker as if someone was burning a candle in the back. The van was motionless which was kind of creepy because I was sure it was occupied. I cleared my lungs of the pot and inhaled deeply seeking the reassurance of tasting the sweet summer air. There was nothing, no fragrant lilies and fresh cut grass, no sounds of children laughing and playing on the edge of evening. I listened more intently and noticed there were no chirping crickets or sounds of anything else except the far off forlorn whistle of a train. It was as if I had stepped into some coterminous world where what I was seeing didn’t really exist but was only the residual impression of the world I had left behind. I was startled by the long whistle of a train thundering by on the tracks not fifty feet away. I had never heard it coming.
Regaining my composure I barged through the unlocked front door without knocking. Kenny had been my best friend since we were thrown out of Catholic school together. I was the only one, including his brother and sisters that was allowed in his closet at his parents’ house when he wasn’t home. I remember opening that door and having bags of Quaaludes swallow me up in a pharmaceutical avalanche. Joey and Kenny were seated on the couch at the far side of the room. In front of them was a table supporting a small mountain of coke. Kenny immediately began cutting me a line and Joey said “where have you been? I haven’t seen you in Mo’s Place for a while.” I answered him like it was a chore “Steve and I got a divorce and I’m tired of you people trying to get me to get you coke at all hours of the night. As a matter of fact I just gave Dawn a bag of coke to sell in the bar. But I guess you haven’t seen her or you wouldn’t be here.” I looked at Kenny grinning and said “woops there goes another ounce. You told me to give it to her.” “I know” he said. “She’s my problem. She’s my sister. I want her to make money but then she doesn’t give me mine. She’s about to get cut off.” I replied “you better not do that. I ain’t acting as a drug liaison anymore, I’m a landscaper, besides” I gestured at Joey “these junkies are mainlining it in Al’s van in the parking lot of Mo’s.” Joey denied it of course but everyone knew.
Joey started to fidget on the couch. His slightly goofy face was accessorized by string straight platinum blond hair and buck teeth, all supported on a pear shaped body. The goofy face contorted to a look of confusion as he glanced at his watch. “Ten O’clock” he said. “How is it Ten O’clock? I got here at about eight thirty. It doesn’t even feel like I have been here a half hour. That stuff must be even better than I thought it was.” I was incredulous. I asked him “What time did you say it was?” I didn’t wait for an answer. I was probably already up on the running board of my truck by the time he gave it. I turned on the lights and looked at the dashboard clock; sure enough it was Ten O’clock. It was just getting dark when I got there. I was at Kenny’s no more than two or three minutes by my calculations. I walked back in and as I passed the van I saw it was now rocking rhythmically back and forth. When I came back in I wasn’t saying anything about the time. I looked at Kenny still seated on the couch and said “what’s with that van in the driveway it looks like someone’s going at it in there?” He flashed me that knowing white smile emphasized by his twinkling green eyes and said “my new neighbor the dyke and her girlfriend. They’re not allowed to do it in the house so they do it out there almost every night.” I said “you think they would mind if I watch?” He laughed and said “you don’t want no part of that. They’re both fat disgusting pigs. That is one strange family. The mother seems like she’s their prisoner and the family’s run by the sixteen year old son who looks like he just crawled out from underneath a rock and smells like it too. They all call him Chief. Never heard them call him anything else. Then there’s the little one he’s the weirdest one of them all. He’s supposedly a deaf mute and you only see him at night. I don’t think he even lives there. Every night the fat dyke goes out and picks him up. He must live close by. She’s never gone more than five or ten minutes. Funny I never see her leaving to drop him off. He’s only about twelve years old. I don’t know what a kid that age is even doing out that late.”
A grin crossed my face. I figured he had to be putting me on, sure when we were little he used to like to set things on fire and watch them burn but he never told lies nor did he exaggerate. I said “what the fuck are you trying to tell me you are sharing a house with the Adams family?” He told me “you ain’t even heard half of it yet. The kids in this neighborhood are like a cult or something, like we used to set fire to things when we were kids these kids crawl through the walls of these houses and watch the people inside them. And that Chief character next door seems to be their leader.” This sounded like a case of cocaine paranoia but Kenny was practically immune to cocaine. He could do a huge line eat a ham sandwich and go to bed five minutes later. Besides Kenny didn’t do all that much coke, not every day, not even every week. Like I have already said Kenny was good at dealing drugs. “That’s crazy” I scowled at him. He answered indignantly “I’ve seen it myself and all the people in this neighborhood know about it. A few days after we moved in I was walking my dog down at the lot on the end and this guy comes out and starts talking to me. He said that burnt wood over there is from when these kids burned down their own clubhouse while they were inside it. One of them got third degree burns all over his legs. That’s the kid that lives next door to me; Billy. The fire department had to pull him out of there. Then he tells me that a couple of days ago he’s sitting there watching TV in his living room when the ceiling caves in and three kids come raining down between him and the TV. They just got up and walked out. When he called the cops the cops told him there was nothing they could do about it, since he couldn’t identify who the kids were.” He was starting to get my attention when I asked “He didn’t know them?” As if he knew what he was implying he took a deep breath and said “He said it was a couple of boys and a girl but it was like the police didn’t want to know about it.” “The kids must have come through the attic.” I said. “You can’t crawl through a ceiling, unless you happen to be rodent or something.” “No.” He said. “I asked him that too. He said it was in the living room on the first floor. He can’t figure it out either.”
I didn’t know what to make of what he was saying and I really didn’t believe much of it. It was second hand information. I would have just told him to cut me another line but at that moment I was plunging into the abyss. Kenny, Joey, and I, all looked at the ceiling above the couch where they were sitting simultaneously. Kenny stood up triumphantly and Joey terrified. I was already standing. I will not sit on a couch with its back to the window and that was the only other couch in the room. Across the ceiling a dragging sound began from the wall by the stairs. The sound was heading toward the far side of the house, the windowless side facing the railroad tracks. It was distinct, halting, and deliberate, no auditory hallucination, besides we all heard it. “The bastards been listening to us.” Kenny said. “I knew it! The other day he was watching Patty take a bath. I heard him behind the medicine cabinet.” I couldn’t believe what I was seeing and hearing. Joey said he had to go now. His pasty white complexion was a vivid red. The noise continued slowly, inexorably, across the ceiling towards the windowless wall adjacent to the train tracks. Against that wall Kenny had his seven foot tall entertainment system. On top of the entertainment system, out of reach of little Kenny is where he kept his coke. I waited till I heard Joey’s car pull away. I looked up at the ceiling and said “alright you little fuck. Are you testing to see if this is a game? Well your about to find out right now.” I went back out to the truck. By then the van had stopped rocking. I returned with my Gerber Guardian II knife. The thing had about a ten inch double edged blade that was sharp enough to shave with. I could whip it overhand like a Nolan Ryan fastball and stick an insect fifteen feet away. I said “this will go right through that plasterboard ceiling. Now what are you going to do?” The noise continued moving toward the wall and the cocaine. I looked at Kenny and said “alright you have joists running about every sixteen inch’s off center across that whole ceiling. They support the floor above and this ceiling is just the facing for them. Nothing could crawl that way. Maybe a rat that has gnawed holes through about a dozen two inch thick joists. But that’s no rat. It’s too loud and too deliberate to be any kind of an animal.” Kenny and I both agreed that Chief had to have made some alterations on the joists prior to Kenny moving in and was somehow pushing and dragging things through the holes he had made from his own side of the house, or somewhere outside, or both.
At about that time Patty came down from little Kenny’s room upstairs right above us. As her name implied she was very Irish looking. With blond hair and piercing blue eyes she was a bit heavy set but had a good sturdy body. I had always thought Kenny could have done better but Kenny wasn’t drawn to the kind of woman I was. Kenny asked her if she had heard anything upstairs. She said she hadn’t and little Kenny was asleep. “What are you doing with that knife?” She asked me. She had never liked me. I think Rick had been her friend originally. Kenny told her what was going on and she looked at us both disbelievingly. The noise which was now between the far end of the couch and the entertainment center suddenly bolted to its right parallel to the joists and right towards the bay window. It made something like a whooshing sound silencing abruptly when it got to the wall. Patty heard it and she became insistent on moving the coke to their bedroom upstairs. When she came back down she was skeptical about the whole thing again.
Kenny and I were not. I tucked the knife into the sheath in my pants and we went outside. There was about an eight foot overhang above a single step wooden porch shared for the entrances of both residents. Kenny’s side of the overhang ended about where his bay window began. The overhang had a sloped roof like the rest of the house and there was clearance for people inside it along its whole length, which was about twenty feet. Kenny went over to between his door and the neighbors and looked up at the hole where the light fixture for the front entrance should have been. “There was a light on here yesterday.” He said. “I know it was on all night.” I went over and looked up at the hole. The porch was dark and the hole was darker. I said “Chief are you up there? You think this is funny Chief? It would be really funny if I had a nail gun in the truck. What kind of chief are you? Are you an Indian chief? Do you have other little Indians up there with you? Do you have any idea what kind of insects are up there with you in the dark; wasps, hornets, spiders, who the fuck knows what else. No wonder you smell like shit.” When we went back inside Patty was upstairs.
Probably for the first time in my life I was intrigued by one of its events. This was the phantasm that had stalked me from my crib, the unnamed darkness that lurked on the periphery of my dreams. This was not just a fleeting glimpse or a random shadow that would quickly become a faded memory. This was an event that was being witnessed by others, an event that could be scrutinized. This was my raison d’être, my reason for existence, the part in me that I had by now thoroughly convinced myself didn’t exist. What had happened at Kenny’s that night could not be explained with rationalizations. But artificial me, the disguise that I was so comfortable wearing for both the rest of the world and for myself, could never admit that, at least not yet and never publically until now.
I had put Kenny to work investigating everybody in the neighborhood. In school we had called Kenny the Mayor because he was friends with everybody. That’s how he had made his current Columbian connection. The guy had gone to Copiague High school with both of us. I remembered him, vaguely. The guy was just some no English speaking immigrant that hid in the corner afraid of both the Black kids and the White kids. His only memory now of high school was Kenny was his only friend. And Kenny was cleaning up on that memory. The guy wouldn’t sell to anybody else on Long Island.
It was the first really hot spell of the year when I pulled in front of Kenny’s about a week later. I had just finished my first big job of the season but even with a pocket full of cash the Maria Regina job seemed like a thousand years ago. My landscaping business was slow again and whatever I had Jim could handle even if he had drunk two quarts of Wild Turkey the night before. I immediately got out and walked over to the soffit on the overhang by Kenny’s bay window. I climbed up on the railing around the porch and pushed against the soffit. It was secured solidly and the cedar shingles adjacent to it above the window looked like they had never been moved. I jumped down onto the porch to take a look at the hole for the light fixture. Before I did I looked across the lawn at the neighboring house. Sprawled out on an easy chair in the brilliant light of noon was a young girl basking in the sun. She was wearing a bikini and looked to be about sixteen years old. She could have been the coal miner’s daughter splayed out as the sacrificial virgin in some titillating Hollywood B movie. She was a real cracker beauty and it just didn’t seem right that she could lay there like that on her back with her legs spread in such an inviting fashion. Her crotch pointed right at me.
When I went through the door Kenny was on the couch in his usual place by the entrance to the kitchen. I said “Who’s the girl?” He gave me his little sly smile and said “that’s Kim Jackson. She’s the people next doors daughter. Would you believe she is only twelve years old?” I deadpanned “no.” He continued “She also has really bad asthma and isn’t allowed out of the house. Since I have been here the ambulances have been here at least three times for her. She could just get an attack and die at any moment. That’s the first time I have ever seen her hanging out outside.” Jokingly I said “maybe she knew I was coming.” He wrinkled his nose a little and said “naw. That’s jailbait” like I didn’t know that already. Suddenly remembering I said “I forgot to look at the Chiefs peek hole.” He said “go out there. You’re going to freak out.” When I went outside the light fixture was back in place. Kenny came outside and said “the next day it was just back on there, like it was nobody’s business. I even asked the little creep next door. He says the landlord was fucking with it.” We both looked over at the girl. She seemed like she was oblivious to us. Her head was thrown back and her eyes were closed. But she was only about forty feet away and almost naked in a very sexually suggestive pose. I kind of doubted that she was unaware of our presence. I looked at where the bikini bottom pulled taught against her crotch. I could see the area around it was wet.
We went back inside and I thought I heard Kim’s mother over the background noise of the TV screaming for her to get inside. I asked Kenny if he had found out anything new. He said “plenty and you got to hear what happened the other day.” I was already hooked. I had to know what was going on there. “What?” I asked him. He paused and took a deep breath. “It was about four o’clock in the morning and me and Patty were sleeping when all of a sudden this screeching starts from over in the woods. It sounded like a monkey or some kind of giant parrot. It was loud enough to wake the dead. It must have been up in a tree somewhere back there.” He pointed between the lot and his house and continued talking. “The cops got here fast and they were all over the place. People were all out in their backyards in their pajamas and bathrobes. The cops cordoned off the area from here down to the lot and told everybody there was a dangerous animal loose in the woods and everybody had to get in their houses. I saw these other guys through the kitchen window. They looked like fireman. They were carrying ladders through the yards. They must of went up in the tree and got it because it shut up pretty abruptly. Then everybody just picked up their barricades and left. No one said a word about what it was.” I said “your fathers the bay constable you can’t find out?” He said “I asked him. He said the cops don’t know what it was either. Some kind of federal animal control agency came in and got it. “That would be Plumb Island.” I said. “It’s off of Montauk. That’s where the government does its Dr Frankenstein routine on animals for the whole country. That’s about sixty miles and a short boat ride away. Kind of out of their jurisdiction weren’t they?” He just looked at me and said “It didn’t take them that long to get here, seemed like they were just right around the corner.”
I asked him if he had talked to any of the neighbors. He said “yea all of them. Their all really scared but their all insisting that’s it’s just these kids. Apparently Chief over there” he gestured to the ceiling above him “is the leader of his own little satanic cult. Kim’s father next door caught him leaving all the shades on his window across from Kim’s wide open in the middle of the night while he did this weird little naked dance around candles.” I found myself wondering about the whole neighborhoods apathetic reaction to being surreptitiously cast in a real life version of Children of the Corn and said “and he didn’t kill the kid or at least call the police?” “He went over there.” Kenny said. “He spoke with the mother and she said she would make him stop. He says it hasn’t happened again. He’s watching.” I was smirking when I said “yea I see he’s got it all under control” referring to his almost naked daughter posed like a thanksgiving turkey right outside the front door. Kenny continued. “I been talking to the kid next door on the other side; Billy, the kid that burned his legs. He’s about fourteen. He’s already told me that this kid Chief,” he again gestured to Chiefs now customary place in the ceiling, “worships the devil and so do his sister and brother, that all the kids in the neighborhood were afraid of them. Because Chief did bad things to people, and he hinted that Chief was responsible for his legs.” I asked “What do you mean?” He answered “well when he said that shit he looked down at his leg real coyly. But the kids a little con man. I trust him about as far as I can throw him. He wants me to take him fishing at Heckscher State Park next week. I’ll get more out of him then.” “We can take him shark fishing.” I said “Or how about I just get Phil and John down here to give them a little parental guidance. I don’t care what these kids are doing. It doesn’t sound like those federal people pulled no kid out of that tree.”
We went outside to look around the neighborhood. The first thing I noticed was a wire extending from Chiefs room upstairs over the roof and down around the other side of the house running into the basement. It looked like the wire for a TV. Around the back many of the people had recently installed fences. Some were still in the process of building them. Kenny now had a six foot stockade separating his yard from the woods. It was connected with the fences of the neighbors on each side. I asked him “who put that up?” He said. “I did yesterday. My lats are killing me from digging holes all day. I don’t know how you guys do it every day.” I sarcastically said “well its Chief’s backyard too. Why didn’t he help you? Isn’t he afraid the beast of East Islip will return?”
I looked across at Kim’s window. She was no longer outside. But her father was and he was looking up there too. Raked across the aluminum siding directly under her window were what looked to be claw marks. They were also on the siding beside the window but were much less pronounced. The spread between the gashes were about a half a foot each but they were made in uniform groupings of four like a giant hand or paw had been clawing underneath Kim’s second floor window. Kenny also saw them and followed by me walked over to Kim’s father saying “what the hell? How long have those been there?” The father said “I don’t know. I just saw them. He must be trying to climb through her window with a ladder. I better call the police” He looked to me like he was more than just a little spooked. I couldn’t resist chiming in. “Kenny and I used to do work for Joe Alteri. That’s the guy who does all the guarantee painting work for Al-Can and All-Site on Long Island. They do all the aluminum siding on the East Coast. We ran six man ladder crews spraying sometimes two houses a day every day for a year. Those marks weren’t made by no ladder. Those look like claw marks to me. Maybe a twenty foot grizzly bear” I said smirking. The guy just looked at me, turned around and walked inside. He looked like he was going to throw up.
We went around the other side of the house to examine Chief’s wiring job. As we came around the far side the wire started jumping in two foot leaps and slapping against the house as if someone on the other side of the roof was whipping it back and forth. When we ran around to Chiefs window the wire was motionless running straight out his window and over the house. The same way it had been before. When we went around to the side where the wire ran into the basement it started to jump around again. It could not have been being moved from the basement since someone had drilled a hole right through the foundation, run the wire through, and sealed it with tar. We must have tried three or four times but we could not catch Chief moving the wire from the window of his room. That wire looked like it never had budged from the place where we had first seen it drawn taunt out the window and over the roof. I looked at Kenny and said “come on now Kenny he’s playing with us, got us chasing around his little wire like cats after a ball of string. This kids going to have to get dealt with.” Kenny said “oh yea real good idea. With all the shit I got laying around the house.” Resignedly I said “Well lets go inside and do some lines and drink a few beers. It’s too hot out here maybe we can catch him later when its dark.” Kenny agreed and said “let me just show you this before the garbage men get here.” We went out by the garbage pales in the street and he pointed triumphantly. There was a clear plastic bag with assorted nastiness in it along with what looked to be about a half dozen empty cans of Raid wasp spray. I said “I guess he never thought of that before. I need a line.”
Patty had taken the kids to the pool at Heckscher State Park. Sometime during the day I had taken some Xanax and fell asleep on the couch. When I awoke the baby was crying and Patty was banging pots and pans around in the kitchen. Kenny was upstairs with the baby which was probably why it was crying. It was almost dark. There was a knock at the door and when I answered Chucky, Dawn, and a couple of girls I didn’t know were out there. Chucky, along with our friend Tommy, had been the Copiague high school heart throb. He had moved to Mount Sinai and nobody had seen him since. Dawn pushed passed me snickering “what the fuck did you do to that faggot Joey? He says he will never come here again. He thinks the place is haunted. What a little bitch. Now I have to come here all the time? I don’t even have a car.” She screamed up the stairs “Kenny you have to get me a car!” I told Chucky and the other girls to come in and went back to the couch. Kenny came down and sat next to me telling Patty to go upstairs and take care of the kids. Dawn flopped into the loveseat by the window with her white high heeled marsh mellow shoes on the upholstery. There was no other seats left so Chucky and the other girls stood. We made small talk about Chuckey’s new life in Mount Sinai which is where the other two girls were from. Eventually Chucky asked Kenny for a quantity of coke which Kenny dutifully pulled down from the top of the entertainment center. He had put it back up there after deciding Chief wasn’t after his coke. Kenny and Dawn went outside to have a few words and the girls sat down in Dawns now unoccupied loveseat. Chucky continued to stand making small talk with me when the dragging sound started again right above his head. Chucky was astonished as were the girls who were with him. They got up and huddled close to him as he stared up in amazement at the ceiling. I went to the door and told Kenny he better come in. We went through the whole story with Chucky. All the while Dawn was telling her brother he should get Patty and the kids out of there and let me start blasting the ceiling. During that time the dragging sound continued off and on. Chucky looked like he wanted to stay and help us investigate the mystery but Kenny had given Dawn some coke to sell and she kept saying she had to get out of there.
We all went out into the darkness together walking Chucky to his car. He kept saying “nobody could crawl through that ceiling. That’s what I do in Mount Sinai. I build houses. What the fuck was that?” Dawn screamed loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear her “don’t worry they’ll figure it out. They figure everything out. That’s why they’re the only guys with any money from Copiague. The little faggots in this neighborhood are in a lot of trouble!” As Chucky walked out in the street to get in his car two bottles came flying from out of nowhere. They just missed his head and smashed in the street. I broke into a run yelling over my shoulder “I think they came from over the tracks!” The three of us clambered over the embankment. When we got to the other side we heard the sound of running footsteps on pavement but we couldn’t see anybody even though the view up and down the street was unimpeded. A voice came from the direction of the footsteps saying we will get so and so on them “He’s in the army.” And another voice answered him as it faded into the darkness with the footsteps “yea we’ll get the army. The army’s on our side.” Chucky left. After that I never saw him again. Even as she was getting in the car Dawn kept telling me I should go and get John and Phil. I was beginning to think she was right but I kept telling myself these are kids.
As Kenny and I walked back to the house together I said to him “they must have ditched behind one of those houses on the other side of the tracks, some of them must live over there. We gotta figure out which house it is.” He looked at me disbelievingly and with little enthusiasm said “yea.” Exasperated I said “what the fuck do you think its ghosts. There ain’t no such thing as ghosts. Those were flesh and blood kids that just threw flesh and blood bottles at Chucky.” He said “what the fuck were they talking about, the army?” I didn’t answer him. I had no answer. As I took the step back up to the porch I looked at Kenny’s front door. Somebody had splashed a can of used coffee grinds all over it. It looked like it was piled four inches thick on the welcome mat but then I quickly realized the whole mass was a writhing colony of ants. The ants had already covered Kenny’s door. Not wanting any of them to get in the house we went around to the back door. It was covered with ants in the same manner as the front door. I said “the little fuck emptied some of those ant colony’s you can grow in a fish tank on your doors while we were chasing the other ones over the tracks.” He didn’t say anything as he jumped gingerly over the ants to get in the house. I took my car up to the store and purchased two cans of Raid. When I came back I put an end to the ant plague. Patty swept up shovels full of dead ants for what seemed like hours complaining all the while “you didn’t have to kill them they would have went away on their own.”
Later on that night Hal came over in his Ferrari. Hal was a mid twenty’s rich Jew from Dix hills whose father owned a chain of jewelry stores. I liked Hal so I ended up leaving with him and picking up three girls driving around Copiague at six o’clock in the morning. Even more luckily these girls were in their own car because the Ferrari only had two seats. We made plans with them to go back to Hals pool house. I figured I would need a deluxe bag of coke for the occasion so I called Kenny from a pay phone. He didn’t answer even though I kept it ringing for a long time. Kenny always answered his phone. We had to go back to East Islip to pick up my car anyway so we had the girls follow us back there. When we arrived I banged on all his doors and windows with a great deal of persistence and for an extended length of time. I disappointedly came to the conclusion that the day’s events really had frightened him and he had taken Patty and the kids to a motel. I wasn’t doing another twenty-four hours in any pool house with these girls unless I was really high so I ended up going to Jims and crashing out there Hal was on his own.
When I woke up I called Kenny again. There was no ring or any other kind of a preliminary. There was a dial tone and as soon as I dialed his number I could hear the familiar sounds of Patty banging pots and pans around in the kitchen with the water running. I listened for a while and I heard a distant baby crying but no one talking. I wasn’t more than fifteen minutes away so I went to his house. When I got there Kenny was outside with little Kenny and Patty was in the kitchen. I checked the phone in the kitchen and it was firmly on the hook. I asked if the baby had been downstairs, if little Kenny had been inside, or if Patty had been using the phone. She said “no.” Kenny said “I’ve been home for two days and nobodies been calling me.” He couldn’t understand why he couldn’t hear me banging on the doors and under his bedroom window. He said “the baby’s up by six, every morning.” I said “I just called your phone and listened to everything that was going on in your house while it was still on the hook.” “What do you mean?” He asked. I explained to him what had happened. I said “I think you’re under some kind of surveillance Kenny. Sounds to me like it’s some kind of technology that hasn’t made the TV yet, probably never will. I guess I accidentally tapped into it when I dialed your number.”
Kenny took it real serious. Instinctually Kenny was one of the smartest guys I have ever met, maybe the smartest. He stopped dealing coke and took a vacation in Atlantic City with his Columbian connection. He was gone for about a week and he left Patty with his stash. I went over there one day to see how she was doing and she told me she had pulled a bag off the top of the entertainment system and dumped it all over. She said all she could get back out of the carpet was about an ounce of rock and she might as well do it. She and I took a ride over her friend’s house; the kids were over her parents. Patty and her girlfriend started dropping rocks in ammonia turning it into a nasty tasting form of free base. They made me smoke it with them probably to insure that I didn’t tell Kenny because she wasn’t allowed to base. Two girls practically forcing me to smoke cocaine with them was sexually titillating so I went along with it. It was just a mind game at the time. Nothing happened. It was my best friend’s wife. It was the first time I had ever tried base and I ended up being convinced that it was a waste of perfectly good coke.
When Kenny got back from Atlantic City his father confirmed my suspicions. Kenny was on law enforcements radar. He closed shop and started making arrangements to move the family to Florida when he was done living out his security in East Islip. Kenny and I started doing a lot more coke. He had a lot left and my season was really slow that year. The both of us became obsessed with finding out exactly what was going on in East Islip. By then John was, for the first and only time in his life, happily married. I got him to come over Kenny’s by promising him a bag of coke that he could take home and do with Meryl. When he did come over, wearing his ostrich skin boots just for the occasion, nothing happened. John went on and on lecturing me that night. “See. You should know much more than I do. You have a way higher IQ than I do. You like to read books and I hate to read books. But I read a lot of books when I was in jail and I took them home for you to read. You have never even looked at them. They’re still sitting up in a box in my old room at my mothers. You can’t see the nose in front of your face. You’re like some stupid Guiney gangster in a bar.” I don’t remember much else about that night except John left early with his bag of coke and I consented to take a look at the books.
He came over my mother’s house a few days later with the box full of hardcover books, some quite old. He got my attention immediately when he said “you better read these. Your right there is something going on over there. When I left Kenny’s I stopped at that big club over on the corner. I don’t even know why I stopped. I have never been in there before. When I walked through the door there was a guy standing there with these two big muscle bound dudes who were afraid to even ask me for the cover. I go to push past them and this guy starts talking to me like he knows me calling me by my first name. “Hey John. John I been waiting for you.” He hung out with me all night. Turns out he was the owner and he kept giving me free drinks. He was talking about some really crazy shit. Saying he was with the Mafia and the CIA, that they were the same thing and that they had been watching me for a real long time now and they wanted me to work with them. I don’t know anything about anybody crawling through walls but this guy was clearly waiting for me at the door and he knew all about me.” I just looked at him and wondered whether he had consented to work with them or not. But as I have intimated before in this story there is a formality between me and John that should not exist between two guys who have known each other as long as we both had. I observed protocol and started looking through the books.
There was this huge blue book; The Golden Dawn by Israel Regardie. It was full of symbols and rituals. There was Practical Magick by Aleister Crowley containing the same symbols and rituals and two volumes by Godfrey Higgins about Masonic lore. There was a thin white book called The Holy Books by Aleister Crowley that John said was the most important. He snatched it from my grasp and started reading passages like some Jurassic Age Shakespearean actor having an orgasm during recital. From what I could gather from the obscure symbolism that I did not understand yet Crowley was saying that he had killed the old God, or at least he was going too and that he would be the new one. There were also other books including two more by Israel Regardie; The Middle Pillar and the Garden of Pomegranates. John explained to me that Regardie was the only man that wrote books about him that ever really knew Crowley, having been his personnel secretary. The Garden of Pomegranates would be the first book I would end up reading but not yet. I already believed in demigods. In fact I was already fully convinced that John and I were just such entities but praeterhuman intelligences had thus far been beyond my range of experiences. My father hadn’t taught me much about philosophy and religion but he had taught me to believe nothing of what I heard and only half of what I had seen. I was going with that for now. I still do.
A reconnaissanceof the area Kenny had moved to revealed that beyond the vacant lot and burned out fort, about a quarter mile down the tracks, was the Great River Train Station, a major hub for the Long Island Rail Road’s south shore line. East of the train station was Heckscher State Park and miles of virgin woodland. There was nothing unusual about the area geographically except that it was a bit more rural than the majority of Long Island’s South Shore. Carlton Avenue had some clubs and some bars and a lot of dilapidated stores. The area Kenny’s house was in was between Montauk Highway and Sunrise Highway. It was strictly White working class.
I took a look at Chief and his menagerie of a family. Chief himself skulked about. You would see him coming and going, sometimes with his family, sometimes alone, but never laughing or joking. He looked like a young version of Charles Manson without the beard but the same long dark hair and wild staring eyes. Sometimes I would pass him on the porch. When I glowered at him he would look down to avert my eyes. He always smelled like rotten eggs and the scent would linger long after he had passed. One of the neighbors had told Kenny that they had seen him climbing out of a man hole of the neighborhoods partially constructed sewers. The sister was a fat dyke just as Kenny had said. She was about eighteen. She had dark hair, a bad complexion, and the IQ of a door knob. The little brother as predicted only appeared after dark. He was an undersized twelve, skinny and frail, pale white with closely cropped dark hair. He either could not or would not talk. Billy had told us that when he played with the other kids he would communicate by whistling to them. You could hear whistling outside at all hours of the night. When questioned about the kid’s nocturnal habits Billy was evasive saying something about his father, whom the kid lived with, working at night. The mother didn’t look like anyone in her family she was bleach blond, well kept, and about mid forty’s.
Billy lived in the single family house next door on the side towards the lot. He was about fourteen years old and shared the house with his mother. He was as disingenuous as anyone that age could be. He spent all day practicing in his backyard with a bow and arrow. He would seek me or Kenny out and talk to us for hours. Somehow you knew he wasn’t really saying anything. Whenever he was questioned about the strange goings on in the neighborhood he would always intimate that it was Chief without coming right out and saying so. Flanking the other side towards the sump was the single family home that was the residence of Kim and her family. I rarely, if ever, talked to Kim. Her father looked like he was about to have a nervous breakdown. I figured seeing her speaking to me would push him right over the edge.
One day Kenny and I were over by the sump with the dog and I spotted a two foot long greenish brown snake in the sand by the fence. As I have said I have had a lifelong love affair with herpetology so knowing there are no venomous snakes on Long Island I immediately grabbed my prize to examine it. I was a little surprised when it spread a cobra like hood and hissed at me. It was a Hog Nosed Snake, the only one I have ever seen on Long Island. Although they are harmless they do a perfect imitation of a cobra, hood and all, to scare away predators. If that doesn’t work they will keel over and play dead excreting a noxious foul smelling fluid all over themselves. I was going to keep it and put it in a fish tank at home but when I saw the fat dyke’s window was open on the van I couldn’t resist. Grinning like an idiot I threw it in the van. The next day when Billy saw me he couldn’t wait to tell me that the girls had found it and had nearly had apoplexy. They had to get Chief to remove it from the van for them. Billy assured me Chief said ‘that was a really good one.’
I needed to turn up the heat a little which I did by inserting Phil into the situation. Phil came up with the same solution he did for everything. He told a mortified Kenny that he would make Chief disappear. Kenny said “you can’t do things like that around here. First of all I don’t do shit like that. Second of all the police are watching this place. And third of all these are just kids.” Phil started hanging around the house. He told us “you guys are just doing too much coke. Nobody could walk around inside walls and even if they could nobody would be stupid enough to play around over here. Give me a few ounces of coke and there will be no kids left in this neighborhood. I have to see this to believe it.” Patty said “I already told them that.” Pointing to me she continued “nothing ever happens when he’s not here. The few things I have seen seem to all revolve around him. It’s as if he is the source of everything.” Kenny chimed in “he hasn’t been over for the past couple of days and the knick-knackson the entertainment center have been moving around. I marked where they are and I have been watching them. They are moving around!” Phil said “you’re probably just playing your stereo to loud. Or it’s the vibrations of the trains going by. What do you think its ghosts? There are no ghosts or believe me I would have seen a few by now. Do you think Chief can make himself invisible? I can’t believe somebody like you is even saying shit like this. Eric already went over this whole house and he said none of the shit you’re talking about is possible. The guys a master carpenter. He builds high-rises in the city!” Phil was right. I had brought Eric over to check out the house and he had checked the attic and the basement, to Patty’s incessant objections. Eric had pronounced the house secret passage free. But he told me something else on the side that I never have told anybody. “Watch Patty. Whatever is going on there she’s involved.” Kenny had a native intelligence that he couldn’t articulate with his limited command of language but Eric had something else. Eric was half animal. The biting incidents, the over sized tendons and blood veins coiling around his arms were not the only manifestations of that fact. He was as sentient as any cat or dog. If Eric said something was going to happen it almost always did. Everybody knew this about him.
That day we watched the knick-knacks for hours. A glass figurine slowly but surely moved about six inch’s during the course of the day. Its movements were so slow they were beyond the realm of human perception, only about an inch an hour, but after six hours the figurine had moved six inches. Phil insisted it was the rumbling of the trains passing by every hour or so that moved them but he was being obstinate. The figurine was steadily moving which Kenny proved to him by placing another knick-knack next to it. In an hour the figurines had about an inch clearance between them even though no trains had come, no music was playing, and the entertainment center was perfectly level. Patty kept coming in the room and saying to me “it’s you. It’s you.” But she would not explain herself. It had rained torrentially during the course of the day and outside a brick chimney stack ran from the basement to about three feet above the ledge of the roof. Around dusk, very loud and very clearly, a suction sound could be heard coming from the stack as if something was scaling it outside making its way to the roof using suction cups. When we went outside there was nothing. Phil quipped “it must be Batman. Good I always wanted to kick his ass.” Looking at me he said “you take Robin.”
It was after dark when we again heard the suction sound coming from the chimney stack outside. We all ran outside at the same time practically getting jammed in the doorway together. The sound of running footsteps were coming from over by the sump and Kenny and Phil took off in hot pursuit. I ran around the side of the house to see if anybody was by the chimney. I didn’t see anybody so I started toward the street to catch up with Kenny and Phil. I had the overwhelming sensation of being watched and I hadn’t checked the roof anyway so when I got out into the street where I would have a clear view of it I stopped running and turned around. There on the roof with its long legs spread for balance and one arm extended to brace itself against the top of the chimney was the essence of my nightmares. It was not human. That was plain enough. It was at least seven feet tall with membranous bat wings semi folded into its back. It had no head only two dinner plate sized glowing red eyes that seemed to grow right out of its shoulders. Its eyes did not stare but rather burned themselves right into me and for a long time afterwards I would see them in reflections at night and in my dreams. Years later I would read John Keels descriptions of what was called the Mothman but at the time I had never even imagined that something like that could exist, at least in my waking hours. After what seemed like forever suspended in time with our gazes locked in what could only have been an ephemeral embrace I broke free and took off down the block after Kenny and Phil. When I got to the corner Phil was climbing over the fence out of the sump saying “there’s no one down there unless you think their hiding underwater.” Kenny looked at me and said “did you see anything around the house?” Staring into space I said “no.”
I had never had a hallucination before even though I had taken massive dosages of hallucinogenics trying to induce one in myself. I had always figured if I could just have a hallucination the mysteries of my childhood would be solved. Sometimes it had appeared as if the patterns on walls, rocks, and plants, were some kind of ancient and universal written language but there is a big difference between a delusion and an illusion. Once I took about twenty hits of John’s mescaline and stared all night into the water from the docks at the Venice. After a few hours the reflections of lights from the surrounding buildings seemed to dance like burning cities on the waves of the bay. But as far as seeing pink elephants or even spontaneously seeing visions I had never come close. What I had seen was real and it wasn’t something any ‘sane’ person would see so I kept my mouth shut. When we got back to the house Patty was waiting for us in the doorway. I was silent the rest of the night and we sat in the living room doing lines. Patty kept asking me “did you see something outside?” Phil said “there’s nothing out there but a couple of kids fucking around. Believe me.” But Patty was mocking and insistent “no. Look at him. He’s all white. He looks like he’s seen a ghost. You kept looking out there. What did you think you were going to do if you ever actually found what you were looking for? Turns out all you could do is run away from it. Why bother looking for something if you’re just going to run away when you find it?” I didn’t answer her but Kenny angrily did “what the fuck are you talking about Patty? I think you’re doing too much shit lately. There ain’t nothing but a few ounces left and I’m selling the rest to Bates tomorrow for whatever I can get for it. That’s it! Party’s over for everyone!”
There was a ringing in my ears all that night and the impression of children’s laughter right beyond the threshold of perception. When I went in the kitchen for a beer Patty had hung a wicker basket of burnished glass stones over the kitchen counter. Two of them were red like giant ruby’s and caught the stove light reflecting like a pair of eyes in the rain splattered window over the sink. They seemed to be reminding me that I would never be alone again. I had listened to the song Easy Ride by the Doors since John had dragged me out of the water now I knew. Eyes like burning glass. “The mask”, the veneer of the lie, had been ripped from the face of the liar. I could see him clearly now, as clearly as he could see me.
We kept shoveling coke up our noses and we kept hearing footsteps running around outside the windows. Every time we heard a noise Phil would respond by bursting out the doors in a futile attempt to catch the noises source. Around daybreak Kenny, Phil, and I snuck out the front door and made a mad dash to the railroad track embankment slipping and sliding over its rocky gradient. On the other side of the tracks we waited. As the first rays of daylight lifted the veil of darkness from Kenny’s house we watched in amazement. Billy was running around the house in circles pausing occasionally under the windows. His body was hunched over as he ran like a marathon runner almost out of gas. Phil looked at us victoriously saying “should I go slap the shit out of the ghost now?” We crossed the tracks and stood watching as the kid darted first one way then another around the house. Although we were less than a hundred feet away, standing right there in the open, it was as if he could not see us. After no less than a dozen laps he ran around the back and didn’t come back. When we looked he was nowhere to be found. He had pitched a tent in the fenced enclosure of his backyard. We watched the tent for a while waiting for him to come out. Finally Kenny said “you guys better go home. That kids fourteen years old. I’ll handle it.”
I saw Kenny a few days later but I already knew all I would ever need to know. Kenny said “I caught up to him a few hours later. He says he was looking for Chief they were camping out and playing tag. He seemed to be shocked that I had seen him. He didn’t know what to say. Then when I seen Chief he said he doesn’t know what the kid is talking about. He used to hang out with Billy but they don’t even talk to each other anymore. All I know is I never seen him hanging out with Billy and their both too old to be playing tag.” I said “well Kenny there’s a lot of things you haven’t seen, you and everybody else in this world.” He asked me again if I had seen something that night and again I told him “no.”
I told myself that it must have been one of the kids wearing a costume. That Patty was in on it with them and they all must have been pilfering Kenny’s coke all along. That would explain their strange behavior. The noises in the ceiling continued and by the time Kenny left for Florida they had spread to the rest of the house. I kept trying to set traps for Patty by getting her out of the house and telling Kenny to look here and look there. He never found anything and I never outright told him that I suspected his wife of anything. One morning right before they left I went over there with Eric’s shotgun and told her to bring the kids to her parents I was going to settle it that day. She had a screaming fit telling me “everything that is happening here is all because of you. I really don’t think you should even be around my kids. You have no idea what you are. Thank God we are moving to Florida.”
Around midnight Kenny and I took a ride to the seven eleven over on Connetquot Ave by Heckscher State Park. As we pulled back onto the side roads we saw three young girls walking and noticed one of them was Kim. I pulled up to them and Kenny said “what are you doing out this late?” She laughed at him and looked at me and said “there’s been some changes. I decided to take you up on your offer.” She showed me the back of her hand and on it was carved a bloody cross. I said “what the fuck are you talking about? I never made you any offer. This is the first time I have ever even talked to you. Are you high on something?” She laughed again and said “I drunk some wine.” Then she said “oh yes you did. And I like it.” We pulled away as she continued to laugh and I said to Kenny “what the fuck was that about?” He said “I have no idea. And as far as I know she’s not even allowed out of the house, let alone this late and this far.”
About a month or two later Kenny called me from Florida and told me to read the paper. The big story in Newsday that day was a fourteen year old boy had been arrested in East Islip and charged with over forty counts of sexual assault. Turns out innocent little Billy had been sodomizing all the other little boys and girls in the neighborhood. A neighbor had called Kenny in Florida. The neighbor had also told Kenny that the reason Chief had tried to burn Billy alive in the clubhouse was to put a stop to his reign of terror. By now I believed none of it. Plato wrote that men were hairless apes who sit frozen in place in a cave with their back to a fire and watch shadows on the wall cast by the procession of reality that pass’s between their backs and the fire. If one of the apes was ever dragged from the cave and forced to watch the spectacle from a hole in the ceiling above they could never go back to sit with the other apes and endure their bestial chatter.
Below are two links where you can purchase Those Who Would Arouse Leviathan. I would suggest you buy it in hardcopy, not because I make more, I actually make the most from Amazon E books, but because you will avoid giving Amazon any money. Frankly you should be shooting Amazon employees in the street, Google too.
The façade of the cognitive science building looked to be more modern than most structures at the University. It wasn’t an old campus by American standards, but it wasn’t exactly new either. He wondered privately at times if he had made the right choice to pursue his doctorate within these hallowed halls. He was told by his advisors that this was the place for cutting edge research, and anyone looking to advance their career could do worse. Still, something ate at him.
Glancing down, he rechecked for the hundredth time the handwritten note. On it were the simple directions to professor Devereau’s office, located in the cognitive science building. It was off hours, but he felt that there was no harm in trying to catch the buisy prof. He’d been at this committee thing for over a month now, and it was starting to become a pain.
Stepping in, there was a small waiting room with an empty receptionist desk. The lobby door was fixed open, probably for janitorial, which led down a long, well lit hall with cheap peel and stick flooring. On the right were the offices, a row of closed doors displaying industrial style tiles machine engraved with names and numbers. On the left were the labs where much of the actual research was done. The hall proceeded to an intersection, and he was about to turn right and proceed to Devereau’s office when he heard the distinct voice of the professor off to the left. It wasn’t the usual arrogant tone that he expected. The voice carried a note of disturbance. He froze, listening.
“I’ve already provided you with direction for this program, which I had misgivings about from the start. You stated that this was a onetime effort, and now you apparently want it to be a continuing event.” It sounded as if there was a squeak from a chair being quickly moved across the floor. “This program has already done exactly what I most feared. It has obviously reduced cognition and increased fanaticism. Already from the opening moves we have less of a society because of this!”
A smooth, measured voice rose in response to Devereau. It was the voice of someone used to persuasion, used to lying. “Dr. Devereau-can I call you Gerry? Look, Gerry, I like you. You know we first picked you because you are that good, and you’ve come through, which has not gone unnoticed. The way it works, Gerry is that my superiors don’t think they got all the data they-and you need to develop real policy, so we have to continue to go forward, ok?”
“The problem is John, and I will call you John, that my predictions regarding behavior have already been confirmed. Artificially recreating the religious experience on a public scale has never been done before, and it has resulted in a wide spread call for and demand for violence as a cathartic release. Religion without the structure of religion requires substitution, and the substitution has done visible damage, independent of the artificial experience.”
“C’mon Gerry, you don’t think for a minute that the last four years happened without a purpose, do you? Covid has provided us with all kinds of opportunities-and you as well. How much research do you think you could have done without it?”
Devereau made a noise of exasperation. “John, once the person is lead down the road to a reduced sphere of operation, of necessity both the mental workings and the emotional reactions follow. People become more primitive, less rational, and more reactionary. There is no guarantee that their loyalty will stay with the powerful in society.”
“You know Gerry that Covid is coming back. It’s in the works with a few other things. We can be harsh-very harsh with the American people. We really don’t want to be harsh Gerry, and your participation ensures we won’t have to be.”
There was a pregnant pause then, a silence where only the hum of the lights and the sound of his own breathing filled the hallway. It was how one feels at that moment on the high dive when gravity takes over, and the plunge into the blue pool below becomes as inevitable as the setting of the sun. Devereau broke the silence.
“I remind you John that this experiment is skimming the edge of legality. It is certainly breaking moral law. Removing the religious experience from its’ spiritual context in order to gain control of the populace has never been done before-I would add for very good reasons.”
“I’m reminded Gerry. Just keep in mind, if it wasn’t you, we’d just find someone else less troubled by our aims. But back to topic, your analysis of the religious experience, your laying bare its essential steps, qualities, and practice has allowed my superiors to accomplish a milestone. Just look at what you have discovered, and been able to test in the real world, Gerry. The religious experience is indeed a working method by which great loyalty and trust in our leaders is secured. Surely you can see that this is a benefit to any society, especially ours in these challenging times.”
There was a hissing sound. It was perhaps a note of quiet annoyance, of disagreement, or simply a sigh before making one last attempt to convey a perspective to another who is unreachable.
“John, the society wide applications for what is an extremely personal and interior process have completely unknown consequences. Those we currently see are not in any kind of final form. Remember, the religious experience is often visited by what psychologists refer to as near psychotic episodes. This is the outer view of an internal process of completely tearing down the structure of the person. We have achieved this in the population, and more! We have seen that the use of tools such as the introduction of an unseen, unperceivable deadly threat, the adoption of identity destroying devices such as masks, and fear based isolation-forcibly removing people from the very structure of their lives, whilst removing all possibility of returning to those lives prepares them for a messianic acceptance of their leaders as priests, or even gods-“
“Which enables them to enact quick and decisive policy,” John interrupted.
“Yes, even gods”, Devereau continued stubbornly. “Depending upon the deployment of political and media based strategies, which is blatantly removing from the public any free choice they might have had”.
“Okay Gerry, I’ll bite” returned the smooth voice. “Now, why don’t you tell me-how many of your vaunted people have any idea of how to navigate this world, huh? We’re not living in the 18th century anymore, Gerry. These ideas of people having some kind of choice in a world of nuclear weapons, aliens, and pandemics sure sound nice, but they aren’t going to find any policy decisions printed on their bags of potato chips, are they? So, who is going to tell them Gerry? Is their neighbor going to take enough time off from porn and basketball to tell them? No Gerry, we are going to tell them. We are the ones with the brains and the guts to get things done, and working with people like you, we are going to do them.”
“John, do you realize that suicide rates, domestic violence, all kinds of addictions have skyrocketed since we began the depersonalization program? What kind of society do you think we will have left after this?”
“One able to meet today’s challenges, Gerry. Just imagine with me for a moment how much worse this would all be if my superiors did nothing to prepare for the bigger crises that are well on their way. With your work we have a society to meet them. Isn’t that what we all need?”
He heard chairs move, and shuffling, indicating that the meeting was over. He carefully placed the handwritten note back in its’ secure place. He wasn’t certain exactly how he felt. He felt the urge to turn around and go, but he was determined to catch the final remarks.
“-Ancient, John, really we don’t know how far back this extends into the past, but we do know that the traditions, the rituals, the symbology to return to a functioning individual-a healthy model of the self go to the roots of the oldest cultures around today. Replacing these time tested supports with props and substitutions from pop society- lets’ take the example of canonizing health care workers through ridiculous glee club events, and deifying science through personification rituals-you are building a priesthood out of technicians and bureaucrats. None of these people have a clue about the nature of this praise they are receiving. They have no understanding of what has been unleashed, thus they cannot guide the public that suddenly believes they have such power. This is playing with fire.”
The smooth voice returned in a tone that was no longer persuasive, just direct, and worse-chilling. “It’s going to happen Gerry. It’s going to happen with you or without you, that decision has already been made. I advise you strongly to accept our offer. It is in your best interests. I will return with the documents on Monday the 15th.”
He was already out of the building, and into the evening air. Strolling across campus, his mind a storm, he came upon a group of artists wrapping chairs and benches in white cloth with bright, almost iridescent ribbon. There were vague suggestions of human forms under the wraps, bound tightly to their furniture. He looked on with a growing sense of desperation as his eyes met the gaze of one of the artists.
“You get it, man” was all he said.
The campus was remarkably similar to so many others across the USA. Perhaps at one point it actually had been a town, but now it was the University that had penetrated the entire fabric of the human landscape-a decentralized mixture of older and newer buildings dispersed into a largely run down and over priced urban milieu. Like all things in America, there was a strong feeling that this was some kind of semi-private walled off culture, unavailable, parasitic, competitive and terminally cold.
On foot, he wove through the maze of streets scarred with potholes and endless cheap repairs. He waited for stoplights to avoid being run over by foreign cars with dark tinted windows. Everywhere were the wifi towers. A group of teens sporting Mohawks dyed multiple colours leered at him briefly, their faces glinted with metal dangling from all the wrong places. He wasn’t sure if they were heckling himself or someone else. He decided he didn’t care, as he turned down his street.
The slum he rented with a bevy of strangers was just down the block. The clouds boiled overhead. He saw the people and the animals that were often within them. One of the cloud people was reaching to him, silent communication. His mind laughed at his training, which directed him to view the world as dead, when inside he felt the communication, the bond that was absolutely missing from the structures in the society.
His thought drifted to Christine, how he had felt that pull, that attraction towards her. He had always believed that she was intelligent, unlike so many girls. When she decided to care about her appearance, she was actually quite attractive. Then his memory drifted to that last time they met at the internet café, after a long absence. She had followed the demands of a family in crisis, whilst the decisions of college and career dominated his waking days. He had been waiting for her at their favourite table, when she walked in exuding an air of ferocity. It was becoming quite common for females, especially younger ones to give off a strong odor of hostility, but this was the first time he had felt it in Christine, and it took him aback.
He recalled asking her if she was having a tough day, and being looked down upon, as if a mere useless male couldn’t possibly comprehend the complexities of existence. “It’s the antis”, she spat, with an accusing stare in his direction. “They want to destroy the pharmaceutical industry. What happens with the next pandemic??? They want to kill us all!”
He laughed a little then, which was absolutely the fatal move of the day. He topped off his mistake by disagreeing with her.
“DON’T YOU WATCH THE NEWS!?!”
He stared into her eyes, steely grey and fixed with raw seething emotion. He remembered wondering who he was actually talking to, because it wasn’t the girl he thought he knew. Sure, it had been awhile, and people change, but still-“You’re actually watching the news now Chris?”
“So you always said that watching the news was for those who were too afraid to make it”.
She huffed a little, some but not all of the righteous indignation had bled off. She seemed stung by his words. “I guess with the lockdowns and all I got boring”.
“Wow, you mean your life, your outlook, everything changed that much???”
“AM I TALKING TO AN IDIOT?!?” She stood up, slinging her bag over her shoulder. On the one level, he felt that she enjoyed turning his interest in her into a chance to publicly humiliate him. “I can’t believe you act like you don’t know… EVERYONE’S LIFE HAS CHANGED, but not yours, I guess. Don’t try to follow me out, because that will make me feel that you’ve become a creep, and you don’t want to be creepy, trust me. I don’t want to see you again EVER. GOOD BYE!!!”
She made her way out of the café without looking back.
“See ya”, he had muttered over his coffee.
Devereau had mentioned mental instability was a byproduct of the “depersonalization” program they were pushing on people. He had also mentioned that the point was to secure extraordinary devotion and trust in the leaders of society.
He wasn’t sure the pharma industry qualified as one of these leaders, but he wasn’t going to rule that out. Certainly he felt no devotion, and even less trust towards a society that would launch a covert program upon its citizens. One thing was for sure, the events of the last few years were beginning to look more and more like the coordinated kind of campaigns one would associate with a war.
It was pretty difficult to interpret the plethora of new surveillance, control, and secrecy measures as somehow being to the benefit of the citizenry. Even if one chose to believe that the recent events required extraordinary powers to be granted to the medical industry, it didn’t follow that medical surveillance systems demanding total compliance were in any way proven to successfully combat medical crises. It looked to him that medical crises were at the very least being mined to greatly expand totalitarian controls worldwide. For one thing, he had never been given an explanation as to why medical records had to be tied to the incipient central bank digital currencies.
So, no he thought, Chris was wrong, his life had changed quite a bit. His eyes moved back to the sky. The person who had reached out to him with their cloud body had transformed. Now there was only that deep brooding belly above, threatening to drop rain.
The Dump, as he referred to it, was exactly that. The siding of the building hadn’t been subject to any maintenance at least since the voyage of Columbus. The porch light miraculously worked, shining down upon a rough front door. He was surprised that he had to key in on a weekday evening, everyone must be out elsewhere to tackle their homework, he surmised. The landlord, who had once been a student himself, and still thought of himself as one of the guys, was always bumming a beer, but never made the slightest gesture to fix anything.
Stepping into the kitchen, he was unsurprised to find every dish he owned was used and relegated to the unwashed stack careening out of the sink. At least they didn’t try that with his clothes, he thought. Opening the fridge, his once full package of lunchmeat was torn open, most of the contents gone. Three slices of ham remained. He grabbed some bread and cheese and sat down at the table. A bag of potato chips had some crumbs left, and an unopened can of pop hid beneath a pile of used fast food wrappers. His meager meal was set, and his mind turned back to all the unhappy thoughts of the day.
Adult life certainly wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be, and he couldn’t get past the notion that John was an a-hole working for shady interests, with prof. Devereau as his boy. A small thought started to form then, at the edge of his mind, like a dream that was providing a symbol the conscious mind couldn’t quite understand. It grew until it couldn’t be ignored, and finally he pushed the other thoughts aside and gave it its due; what, exactly is Covid?
Everyone had the made-for –TV version of course. It was the overplayed drama and the fear, and the attempt by people who all sounded alike to provide a conflicting narrative barren of any genuine proof, but loaded to the max with innuendo, suspicion, fake statistics and flashing lights. He had long ago grown tired of the infantile shock opera that was the “news”. On rare occasions, the news could provide small tidbits of worthwhile information, but the bulk of any broadcast was devoid of useful material. Worse, having had the great fortune of being involved in a couple of those incidents that made it on the news, he knew from personal experience that most of what they claimed was essentially, completely, irrevocably wrong.
Of course, this realization didn’t help in answering the question. What was Covid?
He took a long pull on his soda and let out a loud burp. Just then the front door swung open and in wandered Jim with Alicia in tow. His roommate waved grandiosely, didn’t wait for a reply, and swept into his room. Soon enough the peace was stomped out by the roar of Jim’s stereo, just in time for the last bite of his sandwich. Heading for his own cave, he plopped down at his desk to focus on homework. He saw at the corner of his computer screen that it was already closing in on 10:00pm. Tomorrow was going to arrive early, and first up was Devereau and the neurology of psychology.
“…I will be expecting detailed papers on the topic of neurological systems, their roles in behavior and the perceptual field. I will be looking for a working knowledge of how these systems underpin cognitive function.” The professors’ voice rose with the din and bustle of students eager to head for their next class…“Extra credit for anyone who can introduce the hard problem of consciousness into their research!”
The classroom was already a ghost town as Devereau bent over the desk to arrange his notes. No better time than the present…”Uh, professor-?”
“Yes-yes, they like to call me that”.
“Well uh, I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time. You see I need another committee member and-“.
“-And you want me to sit on your committee and advise you on your thesis.”
Devereau met his gaze.
“Meet me in my office in one hour and we will decide then”.
The last visit to the professors’ office had sent him into a rabbit hole he had no interest in investigating. He strongly hoped that this time would be different, and that he could simply move on with life and school. He told himself everything was normal as he crossed the campus, told himself repeatedly, despite that doomed feeling that he had already fallen into the rabbit hole, and there were no handholds anywhere to climb back out of it.
He stood outside the building with a half hour to spare. Deciding that it was too early to just show up, he found a convenient bench, and sat down with a sigh. Within moments, something caught his eye. It was Devereau hurriedly scooting across the landing, but what keyed in that now familiar sinking feeling was the figure working to keep up with the professor. He was a big man, although not overly tall, merely wide at the shoulders and the midsection. His short hair was dark, almost black, and his suit was as black as the briefcase he carried in one very large hand. He didn’t know how he knew, but he knew this was John.
Almost automatically, he was up off the bench and in pursuit. This time he actually had a reason to be present-an obligation, really… Maybe this wasn’t the time to break this thing wide open, but then maybe it was. The lobby was open and empty, again no receptionist sat at the desk. He moved as quietly as possible into the hall, energized by the butterflies in his stomach.
This time they were in the professors’ office. The door had been set to close, but for some reason remained slightly ajar, just enough that Devereau’s voice was clear in the hall…”-Think you can control this thing, John? You think because the first time you captured the terrified and the quiescent that this meant you would forever dominate those with stronger minds and wills? I warned you the Covid narrative would lose steam, and now you have to fall back on the tried and true methods you weren’t happy with in the past.”
“Gerry”, the smooth talker was on game today.” My superiors need you to decide what the next best step should be. We are more than ready to take it. We already have religion, the media, and all the industries. Don’t worry so much, just analyze the data and give us your best recommendation. Look we are going to have a big meeting at Central this Sunday. I’m here to tell you that you need to be there, and come prepared”.
There was a sudden, significant pause.
“Look Gerry, we are taking this reshaping of personhood to new levels. You are going to meet other neurologists and cognitive psychologists who actually admire your work. This is a big career move; I don’t have to tell you what this means. But I will let you in on a little secret. I’ve been working with a team of high powered investors with very deep pockets, Gerry. They are prepared to kick in substantially to your program and to this university. We are all pretty excited to take this reshaping of personhood into its next phase. Gerry, you are in a position to change the world”.
Something made him then clear his throat loudly and rap his knuckles against the metal door. “Professor Devereau, excuse me, but I’m here for our committee meeting-“.
He stepped back as the door swung open. The big man stood before him, regarding him with black, deep set eyes.
“John was just leaving”, replied the professor. “Won’t you come in?”
The broad face with the deep set eyes looked almost comical in the way it was framed by the small ears. Expressionless, the eyes continued to regard him with a sense of annoyance as he addressed the professor over one broad shoulder.”I’ll call you Gerry, before Sunday. Maybe we can carpool”.
At that the big man shoved easily past and vanished down the hall.
This time he made suitably sure that the door was firmly shut, before standing at the front of Devereau’s desk. The professor was also standing, holding his reading glasses in one hand as he examined his student with tired, washed out blue eyes.
“So, what did you hear?”
The question was deceptively simple, almost easy to dismiss, so lightly had it been delivered. Yet he immediately knew that however he chose to answer was going to determine his very future. He decided to play it cool.
“It sounded like a job offer, professor”.
Devereau raised his eyebrows, a gesture that under better circumstances might have been interpreted as amusement. This wasn’t one of those times.
“And what kind of job do you think was in question?”
He heard that sound then. It had begun quietly, almost unnoticeably, but it was quite loud now, and growing. It was like the pressure one experiences while deep under water, a brilliant white noise that moves one to act, to seek the surface, and life giving air. The walls moved very close, bending in around him. Devereau’s eyes were locked onto his. It was moments before the dark abyss would open before him if he didn’t state the truth.
“John wants you to help him destroy humanity”.
The night was complete. It lacked absolutely nothing. The slight breeze was gentle, refreshing, just cool enough to make the small group feel alive. Above them shone the stars, silver white on either side of cloudy expanse of the Milky Way. The candle light danced with every change in the air. An unadorned hand, clutching a pen, moved in a cadence with the voice that provided the explanation for those seated at the table.
The pen in hand traced a first geometric form upon a blank sheet of paper. It came to life as the sound was pronounced…”K OWN UH”.
“K OWN UH”, the voice rasped, “for the first sound. Just so you know, it is the Rune of illness”.
There was a murmur around the table.
“AH S for the second sound, it carries the significance of speech”. The hand gestured with its pen, as if reinforcing the point, “AH S also contains the weapon!”
“F AY”, the pen traced a third figure on the paper, “is strife”.
“That certainly fits”, offered one voice in the dark.
“EE SUH”, the voice continued with the hand, “is death”.
No one spoke then, as the candle flickered and the fourth figure was drawn upon the paper.
“Yet the real question here, for this divination lies in the last Rune, for the number is then male, uneven and the stability of the curse is upset, made active. This last Rune T EER is the law”.
There was an exclamation of surprise and confusion as the hand wrote the final character to lift the paper to display the five Runes in sequence, which spelled out the curse, Covid. A woman reached out to take the paper, and examine the Rune row closely. Nodding, she passed the script over to the next person seated at the table, and the rasping voice went on…
“It is clear to me that Covid was intentionally made to cause chaos and loss. In this, it is a great challenge. The balance point itself is strife. In English, which still retains the core language of the Runes, every word is developed in a linear progression, thus every sound is fettered to a word, and from a word to a deed, yet in the final sound is its own binding after it takes its due.”
“So Covid does have an end”, a voice from the table offered again.
“Covid will be bound”. The rasping voice paused as the pen was set down. “Bound does not mean an end”.
Devereau nodded. It was a simple gesture. “So, do you think I should take the job?” Devereau was slouching like a man under a heavy burden. “Never mind, it isn’t a fair question. I’m already at the job of weaponizing the religious experience.”
“What does religious experience have to do with all this?”
“It’s the template for how the coordination of Covid works”. Devereau sat down heavily. “My part in this is the cognitive lead, but there are other branches of the program.”
“Other branches, professor-???”
Yes, the best funding is currently going into engineering the morphology of the human energetic field, but the cognitive aspect is the default program to achieve the control goals.”
Devereau folded his hands on his desk, as if measuring what he was going to say. “It’s all in our personhood. You’re a psychology student, so surely you understand that the person is the means and the tool through which we coordinate ourselves with the environment.”
“Yes,” he replied easily. “We used to call this the model of personality, but now we understand that the model of personhood is far more accurate and essential than personality, it relates to the core experience of the individual”.
Devereau nodded in agreement and continued, “The religious experience, in full intensity shatters the person. The previous model of personhood dies. It is this moment, before the symbols and rituals of ancient origin take hold, where the individual can be molded and prompted toward desired goals”.
“You mean to say that all this is perfectly understood?”
Devereau sighed. “It is recognized that when the person confronts a powerful condition that it cannot address, and cannot suppress that the result for most personhood models results in this breakdown. This confrontation between person and event is overwhelming. It dissolves the very cognitive processes the person uses to interpret, understand, and contextualize the event. This is often referred to as ego death. It is the point where the person’s defenses become inoperable.”
“So, the idea is to simulate a transformative religious experience for decided non-spiritual goals”. He plopped himself unceremoniously into an open chair. “But it sounds really dangerous’.
“It is. The person is literally destroyed. All is lost, the optimism, the trust in the future, even hope itself. A new and more robust model of personhood can result from this, but the process can take years-even a lifetime. ‘The Job’ as you call it, is all about translating this into a useful milieu.”
“Am I right in thinking that the reconstruction process is where the trappings of religion come to play?”
“Well, after the actual shattering takes place, there is a period whereby the model of personhood requires external support to rebuild; this is where the trappings, as you call them, really assume critical importance, yes.”
“Then there must be an actual conscious aspect to this professor. One must actively seek this assistance”.
Devereau leaned forward, his hands now tightly clenched.”Very good observation! I think I will serve on your committee…yes, but back to the point. ‘The Job’ is all about removing-or at least minimizing this essential component. This is where unpredictability and fanaticism arise. The structure of any ancient religion-say Buddhism is time tested in its employment of very specific rituals and disciplines that have verifiable success in supporting the new emerging model of personhood. However, if instead one substitutes ideologies, dogmas, and memes the result can easily move to unhealthy levels of devotion, tunnel vision, and an inability to construct a healthy personhood model. It’s all a very uncertain business.”
“And this is what we see today.”
‘’The Job’ is basically just a fancy substitution system. Once the shattering was accomplished through the deft use of Covid and the power structure of society, the supports of religion were substituted with authority figures, many of whom were simply created on the spot, from various fields. They were often chosen specifically for their lack of charisma, as they would be perceived by the public as serious in their bureaucratic and professional areas. The pressure and hard sell tactics overrun the budding model of personhood. The highly polarized and emotionally charged environment bulldozes the natural process, and inserts the idea of raw loyalty and subjugation that resists examination”.
He nodded.” In actuality then, we do not know if any of this will succeed in its aims. It may create, in the short term a core of pro-government fanatics, but it can also destroy the cognitive structures of countless people. I get the feeling professor, that this is more than a little monstrous.”
The candle, flickering in the gentle breeze upon the table was down to half its original height, wax flowing down its sides. The rasping voice answered a question from the shadows, far below the great trail of clouds and light in the night sky…
“…Yes Covid in a sense was bound as it was launched. We think everything in this world progresses from a matrix of possible actions. We have the world and its doings fixed in our minds. But all things actually just are, and the endings written in were never in doubt.”
“So, it’s good the Covid is bound.”
“In a sense.”
“I don’t understand”
“All things magical also involve their mirror. Some like to say that this entire world is nothing more than smoke on the surface of a mirror. Thus, in divining the word through Runic analysis, one must also divine its complement.”
There was a sudden unease around the table. A quiet nervous giggle arose, only to fail into silence. The hand and the pen returned to the paper, with the geometric characters now written in reverse order, next to the first, but on the same plane.
“With the mirror of the spell we have a mirror of significance for each Rune. So, from a binding the transform is to the endless expanse, from death to the hard materiality of surfaces, from selfish strife to generosity, from containing the weapon to the flow of the river into the sea, and from sickness to the brilliant gift of Prometheus.”
“Fire is the gift of the Gods.”
“Now I really don’t get it. The Runes have changed all of this from a horrible torture to some type of condition that brings us closer to the Gods and their gifts?”
“Indeed”, the rasping voice continued.”Our normal way is to assign good or bad to things according to the moment. We rarely are given to any wider perspective. Yet for some Covid is a cloak and they don it as they are able, for as long as it serves them. Once the cloth wears thin, and develops holes, they set it aside for the next one, having experienced all it had to give. Others will adopt the cloak, and they will come to believe that it is them in entirety. Nor will any amount of cajoling convince them to set it aside. Thus when another cloak is wrapped about their shoulders they must bear it together with their old choice. Covid can help us to cast off those worn out old cloaks, for only a fool would want them, when we could be burdened by only our current one, and dance light as a feather beneath the stars.”
Cover Picture: Pinterest
“§ 712 It [the Holy Catholic Church] firmly believes, professes, and teaches that the matter pertaining to the law of the Old Testament, of the Mosaic law, which are divided into ceremonies, sacred rites, sacrifices, and sacraments, because they were established to signify something in the future, although they were suited to Divine worship at that time, after our Lord’s coming had been signified by them, ceased, and the Sacraments of the New Testament began; and that whoever, even after the passion, placed hope in these matters of law and submitted himself to them as necessary for salvation, as if faith in Christ could not save without them, sinned mortally. Yet it does not deny that after the passion of Christ up to the promulgation of the Gospel they could have been observed until they were believed to be in no way necessary for salvation; but after the promulgation of the Gospel it asserts they cannot be observed without the loss of eternal salvation. All, therefore, who after that time observe circumcision and the Sabbath and the other requirements of the law, it declares alien to the Christian faith and not in the least fit to participate in eternal salvation, unless someday they recover from these errors….” educational forum about Judaism
These are my rambling thoughts as I resonated with the cannabinoids on a wonder-filled afternoon. – Phil
The need for a Messiah
Being as the mass of Christ, the celebration of the coming Messiah, is upon us I share a few thoughts…
We are all seeking a messiah. The savior from above, the one who will is within manifesting without. Opinions, studies, testaments organized or from one’s own imaginings are not going to bring the truth, only the arrival off that fateful day. Even the spirit within which talks to the ancestors and other departed who leave messages upon our hearts cannot make us understand. We, the living, are wholly and completely incapable of comprehending the fateful day we arrive.
Inaction begotten by fear is compounded by social structures which support hope. Hope in the form of a savior to stave off the day of epiphany. Truly I say to you with irrevocable irrefutable evidence (evidence gathered throughout human time) that nothing escapes the moment on that fateful day. It is unequivocally to be experienced by all, individually and without recourse.
There is your one truth of all humanity. Spin it as you like, try to survive, buy and sell, pray and hope, rise and shine, there is but one moment of truth. And you will not escape on that fate filled day. None have nor will ever escape.
The Magic Ride
We are selfish beings each having our own experience. They say we all come from the one, or the pair. Our ancestry is all the same, they say. I say nay, we each have our own tapestry we are weaving. Each strand, each wave, is different. This is my experience. Yet we will not truly know until the date of fate fulfilled.
Uncle Teddy gets it wrong….
Lyric “…we’re all gonna die some day, well I got news, you never got to go.” Uncle Teddy said this. In my opinion one of the top 100 guitar songs of all time. His “belief” is that strong that he’d write it in a song. Yet just the word belief itself shows being the lie is life.
Sage of Quay® News: Lee Merritt – New China pneumonia outbreak is Electromagnetic Warfare (sageofquaynews.blogspot.com)
Below are two links where you can purchase Those Who Would Arouse Leviathan. I would suggest you buy it in hardcopy, not because I make more, I actually make the most from Amazon E books, but because you will avoid giving Amazon any money. Frankly you should be shooting Amazon employees in the street, Google too.
Selected Works of Jack Heart & Orage:
The Stopworldcontrol guy has gone full on to expose the interference of dutch intelligence in the truth movement to prevent people from voting and it worked. 24% of voters for Thierry FvD did not vote, 29% voted for the Zionist Geert Wilders party.
It will now be either him (which I dont think so) or a Turkish woman who will become president of NL. The Turkish woman Dilan Yesilgöz (currently minister of justice) is the daughter of Yücel Yesilgöz who is responsible for putting Baybasin an important Turkish whistleblower turned political prisoner in NL cause he is sitting on evidence that high placed people from our Justice system where fucking and trafficking minor kids in Turkey.
So everything is looking dandy! A child trafficking covering or a zionist will lead NL.
In more positive notes…
I’ve been reading about Robert Otto Becker.
“Electromagnetic Fields Produce More Potent Mycotoxins
Earlier this year I had the pleasure of conducting an interview with Dr. Dietrich Klinghardt, in which we discussed the impact of electromagnetic fields and radio waves on your body (among other things. The complete audio interview and transcript is available to all my Inner Circle members).
Dr. Klinghardt reminded me that Dr. Robert Becker — in his second important book Cross Currents that came out in the late 80s or early 90s — found that when you expose a bacterial culture to abnormal electromagnetic fields, the bacteria believe they are being attacked by your immune system and start producing much more virulent toxinx as a protective mechanism.Klinghardt believes that it’s possible that some 50 percent of chronic infections are caused, and/or aggravated, by electromagnetic field exposure, leading to syndromes like chronic fatigue, fibromyalgia and other chronic pain syndromes.”
If you want to read his books find some uploaded here:
I uploaded the video to the same folder where the books are including the patent for the technology.
Also saw a videoclip the other day of Austria scientists if I remember correctly running low voltage through salmon eggs, the salmon that hatched where back to their original form species that was extinct, also much healther and stronger.
will pass it on if I can find it.
Schlomo has certainly installed these brown, brown-nosers in Britain. England, Scotland and Ireland all have Indian/Stani leaders. Wales has a demented bagel-tonguing LGBTQWERTYUIOP incompetent. The children must be protected from these invertebrates and their swindling masters. – Jon Valentine Lee (Jack Hearts man in England)
Harry Vox once the star pupil Zbigniew Brzeziński and darling of the New York City literati till he happened to notice 9/11 was an inside job and said so, tells Zalinski how things really are: Hey Zelensky – You’re Dead 🙂 A Message to US Intelligence and the Ukrainian People (bitchute.com)
Nick Fuentes, a Christian patriot, with a huge following on Rumble tells it like it is with the Jews, both in America and Israel. Sage of Quay® News: Candace Owens DESTROYS Ben Shapiro (sageofquaynews.blogspot.com)
Below are two links where you can purchase Those Who Would Arouse Leviathan. I would suggest you buy it in hardcopy, not because I make more, I actually make the most from Amazon E books, but because you will avoid giving Amazon any money. Frankly you should be shooting Amazon employees in the street, Google too.
Selected Works of Jack Heart & Orage:
I am not impressed with the miracles of Jesus nor Allah. There are those who walk amongst us that can do the same things and I have seen them do it. I don’t need to read it in a book as secondhand hearsay. Unfortunately, these are not men or women, they are of a different race entirely. Whether you want to call them Demons or Djinn or even Gods. The thing is they are a collective, a hive, and they are bound to a singular intelligence connected in a very intricate etheric tapestry that is not sympathetic to the human race. Once in a while one like Bruno Groening breaks free and is able to feel real empathy for Man. Such a being is called a Saint by the Catholics, and the results can be sublime…
Otto Rahn starts his journey in Paris, I was now in Paris. I breezed through customs and was vomited into the middle of Charles de Gaulle Airport at midday. It was a cacophony of noises, races and destinations, like a colony of ants in a nest of methamphetamine. I made my way toward the train stations tentatively following the signs through at least a half mile of this maelstrom. Orage wanted me to take the train to Grenoble in the French Alps where he would pick me up after he drove out of Switzerland, coming from Germany. Immediately my phone began to malfunction and wouldn’t hold a charge. I ended up anchored to a kiosk in front of the airport railroad station that had American charging outlets because I didn’t have a European adapter. A nasty looking slice of pizza was seven euros. I bought one…
If the airport is any kind of a barometer no one in Paris speaks English except the French. Unfortunately all the airport personnel are African, including the security guards who exhibited a visceral hatred of Whites. To counter this the real police were all French. I finally found a little African angel at the ticket station who spoke some English. She told me I couldn’t get a ticket to Grenoble unless I switched at several different stops and was sure to get lost. Orage had been saying he could pick me up at Aix, so I opted for the express to Aix at a hundred and twenty euros. Orage was not happy about it, but he would have to drive the extra kilometers to pick me up.
The train was immaculate just like the trains in Germany. It cut through the twilight of the French countryside at well over a hundred miles an hour, but it didn’t even feel like it was moving. Across from me sat a young African man and on the other side of the aisle two star crossed teenaged lovers obviously returning from an adventure in Paris. The rest of the car was almost empty. The African guy got some food from the adjoining car, and it smelled so good I followed his lead. All I’d eaten that day was the slice of roadkill pizza from the kiosk at the airport. I was just settling in to enjoy it when a Muslim family of four lugging over half a dozen large suitcases started fussing with the luggage rack outside the door. When they came in the man loudly announced that the French teenage lovers were in his seats. He pulled his tickets out brandishing them aggressively in the boy’s face. The kids moved on. There were hundreds of seats on the train. The man, about thirty-five years old seated himself and his family. There was his wife wearing the standard medieval Muslim costume while he wore what looked to be an Aerosmith T-shirt. His daughters were dressed like American teenyboppers, and during the rest of the two hour ride almost never looked up from their I-phones. He spent the rest of the ride fawning over his dour looking wife and, at least I got the impression, trying to impress me what a man he was. I never uttered a word, so he had no way of knowing I don’t speak French.
It was long past dark by the time we pulled into the historic town in Province where Orage owned the second floor of a building. We parked by a fountain and made three trips up each with luggage and German beer. There was an evil wind howling down the ancient cobblestone corridors and the only thing I noticed was the teenagers hanging out at the Greek restaurant on the corner.
The Nag Hammadi library was discovered shortly after WW II. The texts, which have been reliably dated to century’s before the Ottonian dynasty, lend a pedigree to Gnosticism that Judeo-Christianity just doesn’t have. The so said “Dead Sea Scrolls” were “discovered” a year later and are a barely coherent attempt to fabricate a Judeo-Christian valediction. John Allegro, the lead scholar, ended up convinced that Jesus was a mushroom. The Dead Sea Scrolls Deception, a 1991 book written by legendary researchers Michael Baigent and Richard Leigh, establishes irrefutable evidence of a massive conspiracy between the Vatican and Israeli scholars who worked on the project.
The Nag Hammadi texts are not a hoax and include the Gospel of Thomas which many biblical scholars will concede to be the source for the sayings of Jesus and most of the synoptic gospels parables. There are a hundred and fourteen verses in the Gospel of Thomas, not coincidentally correlating to the hundred and fourteen suras of the Quran. Both are considered Manichean, an academic euphemism for much older than the bible. It’s a very safe bet to wager that Jesus was invented in the Midi and the burgeoning empire would make him a Jew.
On the first pages of Lucifers Court, written a decade before the discovery of the Nag Hammadi texts, Otto Rahn notes that a minority of scholars from his day “deemed Cathar heresy a relic of the ancient doctrine to which the Goths, Vandals, Burgundians and Lombards adhered: specifically, that it was from the Visigoth kingdom situated in the south of France, ancient Gothia, that Arianism had shown itself to be particularly powerful.” Rahn tells his readers that, “German heretics of the twelfth century would utter, “Lucifer, unto whom such great wrong has been done, greets you!” as a mark of recognition.” (54)
In Arthurian lore and the quest for the Holy Grail the enchanted Isle of Avalon, much like the Hervarar saga, does not fit in the color by number post Ottonian world. Academics will parrot in unison that it is Glastonbury on the coast of England, but Glastonbury is not an Island. Nor do its fields have no need for plowing to produce a cornucopia of grains and grapes while apple trees grow in abundance in the woods. Nor do the people Glastonbury live to be a hundred years or more. Nor were they ever ruled over by nine sisters (the nine wave maidens). All this is chronicled in detail by Geoffrey of Monmouth, and it is backed up by the early medieval Spanish scholar Isidore of Seville.
More sober scholars put Avalon beyond the North Sea, perhaps Iceland or even Greenland, somewhere beyond the 60° northern latitude noted by Rahn in his journey to Iceland. The Eyrbyggja saga, the Ynglinga saga and the Saga of Eric the Red all tell a tale of Hvítramannaland, White Man’s Land. There are numerous accounts from captured Inuit’s in the Saga of Eric the Red about inhabitants of Hvítramannaland who had “hair and skin as white as snow” and “dressed in white garments, uttered loud cries, bore long poles, and wore fringes.”
Magnus Aurelius Cassiodorus was an early historian who worked under Theodoric the Great. Cassiodorus chronicled the history of the Goths but of course all twelve volumes are lost, no doubt somewhere in the basement of the Vatican. What little that’s left in the light of day survives only in a latter historian named Jordanes’ abridgment; Getica. Quoting Jordanes Rahn writes, “that the Goths “had once set off from the island of Skandia”, that certain of their chants evoked the Gothic origins of the name of their people and that “old half-historical, half-legendary poems” bore out the memory of Gothic migrations. The songs, like the poems, have been lost.” (55)
Rahn begins his quest for the grail in Paris, but he must travel south to the Occitan. He writes: “Scarcely has my voyage begun when I must return my gaze northwards once again. Towards Midnight. It must be there that a mountain of Assembly and a crown can be found…” (56) Rahn is already convinced that what he is looking for, the crown of Lucifer and the assembly of the Gods, lay in the North under the Great Bear: “In the Nordic sky, in ancient times, this constellation bore the name Arktos or Artus, Arthur, Thorr, or — the old Grandfather. The bear Thorr also, the old and great Father, master of Eddie divine power…” There is however a missing piece somewhere in the Sabarthez, the missing jewel, “the key, the Dietrich,” (57) that will activate the crown of Lucifer and unleash the divine power of the Eddas.
Rahn is looking for the fabled Avalon, Mount Etna, the home of Morgan le Fay, Queen of the Fairy’s and her half-brother King Arthur. The enchanted rose garden of Laurin; the king of the dwarves. In light of all that has been said in the last ten years about Bluebook, Bluebeam, Have Blue (Stealth technology) and Paint it Blue, Rahn is looking for Magonia, as in Jacques Vallee’s definitive book on the alien phenomena Passport To Magonia.
Rahn recollects, “the Germans of the pagan epoch worshipped, under the name of Asgard, as the domain of the gods, and under the name of Hel, as being the divine kingdom of death, was sung about, by the heretics and troubadours of the Middle Ages, under the names of ‘Grail Mountain’, ‘Rose Garden’, ‘Arthur’s Round Table’, ‘Mountain of Venus’ or this ‘Mount Bel’ in flames, into which Dietrich of Bern penetrated.” (58)
By the time Rahn wrote that he had already found what he was looking for in the Sabarthez. Now he would have to find another mountain, “in which King Artus lives surrounded by his court. There is a stone there: the Aget stone, which had at some time in the past fallen from the Lucifer’s crown. This Aget stone (in Middle-Early German, this word referred to amber or magnetite) and the Grail stone can only be one and the same, in the same way that Artus and Anfortas are one and the same person; a suffering king, guardian of a holy stone.” (59)
There is only one Grail, but there are two pieces, actually three. Rahn gives it away at the end of Lucifers Court. He acquires the third piece somewhere outside of Reykholt, a village in western Iceland where Snorri Sturluson composed the prose Eddas eight hundred years ago. He writes: “Before returning to Reykholt, I gather a stone. I shall put it with the fragment of the Delphi temple frieze and with the other stone, which I collected in Montsegur’s ruins.” (60) The fragment from the Delphi temple frieze was taken from the ancient Hellenic sanctuary of Apollo/Lucifer. It’s apparently what launched the quest. Rahn never really talks about it, and it must have been in his possession from the time he arrived in Paris.
Of the grottos of the Sabarthez in the shadows of Montsegur’s ruins Rahn is evasive, saying: “Amongst the numerous grottoes of the Sabarthes, some of which are fortified, there are two that particularly draw my attention: the grotto of Lombrives and that of Fontanet, known also as Fount Santo — the sacred fountain.” Rahn tells a story of how Hercules upon a visit to the subterranean palace of King Bebryx, ruler of the Lombrives, falls in love with the kings daughter; Pyrene/Venus. Hercules leaves and when Pyrene finds out she is pregnant she pursues him only to be torn apart by wild beasts before Hercules can save her. “So he wept all the tears out of his body. Mountains, rocks and grottoes flung back the echoes of his cries. He went to bury Pyrene, who will never be forgotten as the Pyrenees have since that time borne her name.” (61)
In Lucifers Court Rahn only says that he would have liked to have found the Grail in the Sabarthez, but the outcome of his search there is made very clear in The Secret Glory. Gadal gave him the key and he has recovered what has been lost to the human race for seven hundred years. Christian Koenig adds, “in fact it was found in a hollow stalagmite carved out with a chisel. Me, I always knew of this vase that held the meteorite. It was exhibited in the Gadal room of the Tarascon museum.” (64)
Rahn has the key, but he still must find the doorway it opens. He is convinced that what he seeks lay in the north, somewhere in the land beyond midnight at the end of the ancient amber trails. He writes: “When Laurin, the king of the rose garden, confided to Dietrich of Bern the secret of the fire mountain, which divinized, he also pointed out to him the route that he should take: a “well-traced route”. It must have been one of the ancient amber trails…” (65)
Rahn now must journey to Hyperborea where the Gods were born, Skandia from whence the Goths and the rest of the Aryan tribes came, “the island of Thule and the land of amber.” He writes: “In Nordic myths, the land of the Hereafter was called Glasisvellir and Glasislundr. This could be translated by ‘Land of Glass’, but also by ‘Land of Amber’ (thanks to Tacitus, we know that the Germanic word glas meant ‘amber’: the Romans called it glesum and the Greeks elektrori). The Friesian islands in the German gulf of the North Sea, Heligoland and others, were also islands of the dead. The Roman Pliny called them Glesiae and Elektrides. They were insulae vitreae: the islands of glass of Celtic tradition, where King Arthur lived. Arthur, that means: Great Bear.” (66)
As the world careens wildly out of control under the mad stewardship of those forces which National Socialism fought so valiantly against, which even before in Lucifers Court Otto Rahn so vehemently indicted when he wrote, “we neither recognized Yahweh, the god of the Jews, nor Moses and the Prophets. We did not pray to the god of the Jews, as the divinity has no more relations with the Jewish people than with any other people. This claim of being the elected people of God, only the Jews have manifested. What is Yahweh, if it is not the soul of the Jewish people, arrogant, intolerant, jealous, greedy for power and without nobility?” (67)
Everything that was yesterday no longer is today. It is not so hard anymore to perceive we are living in an alternate realty where evil has been exaggerated so that it may be eradicated in the primary reality. We are living in the wrong end of a Fourier Transform, we are living in Silent Hill. In many systems of Magick the offending demons must be corralled into a single talisman and when the talisman is destroyed so are the demons.
Multiple realities have been an established scientific fact since Hugh Everett III penned Wave Mechanics Without Probability early in 1956. Even before that in 1952 the inventor of the wave equation and father of wave mechanics Erwin Schrödinger had told physicists at a famous lecture; that there really is no such thing as probabilities. When his equations seem to be describing several different histories, they are “not alternatives, but all really happen simultaneously…” (68)
In The Montauk Project: Experiments in Time Preston Nichols writes about the Rainbow Project under the legendary Jon von Neumann, the predecessor of Hugh Everett III as the keeper of the governments darkest secrets. Nichols says, the Rainbow technology turns on and creates what can be called an “alternate” or “artificial reality.” The experimental subject is enveloped in an electromagnetic bottle removing it from the space-time continuum and rending it invisible. In Norse mythology the Bifröst is a Burning Rainbow Bridge that reaches between Asgard, the realm of the gods, and Midgard, the realm of man. (69)
In Adolph Hitler, the Ultimate Avatar Miguel Serrano is mocking the skeptical when he asks whether “German submarines around the North Pole or the Greenland of John Dee found the exact point at which, as if by a black funnel, their ship has gone through, going in to connect with the Other Pole, going out to that paradisiacal earth and sea that, having once been here, no longer are?” Serrano taunts, “Ultimate Thule, Hyperborea, the other side of things, so easy and so difficult to reach. The inner earth, Another Earth, anti-earth, astral earth, reached as if by a “click, a bilocation, or tri-location in space.” (70)
In ‘The Return’ Rahn writes that the Yggdrasil, “Tree of the World and of Life,” is the Ash which bees flock to by the thousands to drink its sweet nectar: “The cosmic ash is the Milky Way in the nocturnal sky. The Anglo Saxons called it the Aryan Way. In Sweden, it was called Erik’s Way. Erik is another name given the Devil.” (71)
The Devil is in the House of Hohenzollern, and he has the Holy Grail because to Otto Rahn and the SS the devil is the only decent being in that accursed book of the Judeo Christians. And it is the devil that shall lead them into the final battle between darkness and light, after all it was Lucifer who was wronged from the very beginning, and it is his reckoning. The Goths are his people, as are all the Aryan tribes.
Aryan or àrya in Sanskrit; means noble, loyal to God. The Rig Veda refers to the Pakthas along with the Jadu, Kuru, Sivas, and Bhalanases, as the àrya tribes that fought unsuccessfully against King Sudàs in the Battle of the Ten Kings. (72) Many scholars feel the Vedas and the Eddas are complementary. It is not hard to imagine that King Sudàs was the king of the Śūdra, the lowest of the four Hindu castes. No less a philologist than Friedrich Nietzsche himself constantly referred to the Judeo-Christian faith as the religion of the Śūdra. Somewhere back in time in a place where Gods walked with men, not very far away, just a “click,” a bi-location, or tri-location in space,” there was a successful slave revolt, and the Aryan masters were cast out by the god of the slaves; King Sudàs or Yahweh…
Rahn writes: “The Goths descend from those “angels cast out by God” of whom Augustine speaks! These angels were cast out with Lucifer by the Biblical god into Hell, the unfathomable Tenebrae. These “fallen angels” of Augustine’s and their descendants — to whom the Goths therefore belong —, altogether make up…the ‘Court of Lucifer’!” He continues: “One should also consider Hercules and the Argonauts. One of them, Perseus, was the ‘creator’ of Persia. Hercules and the Argonauts all belong to the “fallen angels”. And paradoxically, they are still enthroned in the sky as constellations. In spite of Yahweh!” (73)
Toward the end of The Secret Glory there are absurd attempts by Ingeborg Roehmer–Rahn, Rahn’s niece a psychiatrist (what else?), and Professor Paul Ladame, a friend of Rahn’s before the rise of the SS, to paint Rahn as a remorseful participant in the SS, driven to suicide by guilt. Roehmer is not even old enough to have ever met her uncle and Ladame was a British spy who was only allowed to leave Germany and not be shot because Otto Rahn let him. Christian Bernadac, whom in his capacity as an investigative journalist actually read Lucifers Court, knows that the roots of Aryanism as defined by the SS are laid out by Rahn in the book. He notes: “It is certain that he did not describe this role to his friend Paul Ladame.” (74)
Ladame, presumably a relic from bygone days of the OSS and perhaps looking for a last big paycheck from MI 6, in the beginning of the movie explains that Rahn was a lady’s man who used this guile to charm his way into the upper echelons of Parisian social circles. But by the end of the movie he is accusing Rahn of being a homosexual, and together with Roehmer, they paint a picture of a deeply flawed twentieth century troubadour, appalled and disillusioned by the violence which was about to envelope the world. (75)
This is not born out in the film by Reich Historian Hans Jurgen Lange who tells stories of how Rahn would wander through the cabarets of Berlin at night in his SS officers uniform and reprimand his fellow SS officers whom he felt were “besmirching the uniform” by drinking too much and consorting with lewd women. He tells a story of how Rahn, infuriated that an officer in the Wehrmacht, had been given better seats at a wedding than he an SS officer, physically attacked the Wehrmacht officer. When Rahn summons Ladame and confronts him about being a British spy it is obvious that Rahn is one of the most powerful men in the SS and knows every move Ladame has made with the Soviet embassy. He then tells Ladame to leave Germany indicating it was his decision that Ladame not be prosecuted. (76)
In Lucifers Court Rahn vows, “life would be nothing without the spirit of combat and without courage in the face of death.” (77) He is already promulgating the blood doctrines that would knit together one million multiracial, multinational men from diverse theological faiths into the dreaded SS when he writes: “We, the Occidentals of Nordic blood, we were called Cathars, as the Orientals of Nordic blood were called Parsees, that is to say Pure Ones. You must understand me, otherwise your blood must be impure too!”
“— Yes! The Parsees, the Aryans and us, the Cathars, have not betrayed our blood. There you have the secret of the link that unites us’ that you tirelessly seek! Note this well: if you have a liking for Parzival, you should know henceforth that this is an Iranian name. It means: pure flower! And if you put yourself in quest of the Grail, it is the sacred stone of the Parsees, the Ghral, that you seek. Only he who is already known in heaven, will have access to the Grail. You have read all that in Wolfram von Eschenbach. Our Heaven is neither that of Jerusalem, nor that of Rome. Our Heaven only speaks to Pure Ones, in other words those who are neither inferior creatures or of mixed race, nor slaves: Aryans. This name means ‘nobles and lords’!” (78)
Nichols followed The Montauk Project: Experiments in Time with two more books. The foundational premise of the trilogy was the artificial production, amplification and introduction of an oscillated frequency to subjects that had to be young men with the right Nordic blood type. When seated in a chair, designed by von Neumann to achieve harmonic synthesis between the subject and the introduced frequency, the subject can project alternate realities, even beings that can interact with this reality. (79)
Blood memory. As Rahn wrote in the Return: “Minne is remembrance; and remembrance is a paradise one can never be chased out from.” (80) Experiments have been done confirming the ability of DNA to imprint itself on water. The world that we live in along with our own bodies consist primarily of water. Through genetics certain Norse bloodlines are quantumly entangled with Glæsisvellir, the shining fields where lifetimes are measured in millenniums. Paradise is lost but not forever. The way back is in their DNA. The average human male body consists of thirty nine trillion bacteria cells and thirty trillion human cells. The human cells are almost all contained within the blood. In the words of the messiah; the kingdom of heaven is within you.
This does not only pertain to Nordics. Rahn writes that it is relevant to all, “those who believed that Yahweh could absolutely never be their God, nor Jesus of Nazareth their Saviour. In Lucifer’s house too, there are numerous dwelling-places. More than one path and more than one bridge leads there…” (81)
To paraphrase the great American beat poet Jimmy Carroll the SS has ally’s in heaven and comrades in hell. Rahn writes: “To the Iranian Parsees and the Aryan Indians, memory was also the only Paradise, from which they could not be chased. We know that their sacred tradition taught that the Far North was the original land of the Aryans; this blessed land of Aryana was the country of sun and men lived there in happiness. One lived a long time there and one could discourse most intimately with the gods, who seemed to live in the midst of men. A drink running from marvelous trees, bestowed immortality upon gods and divine transcendence upon men: the drink was called Haoma, or as the Aryan Indians said, Soma. He who took this, received the Aryan force in him.” (82)
Parts 1 and 2:
France, in the Footsteps of Otto Rahn by Jack Heart with special thanks to Orage, Jon Valentine Lee & Joe – The Human: Jack Heart, Orage and Friends (jackheartblog.org)
France II, in the Footsteps of Otto Rahn by Jack Heart – The Human: Jack Heart, Orage and Friends (jackheartblog.org)
Cover picture: ETNA BY ATHANASIUS KIRCHER. Web.GRAVIR LES MONTAGNES… EN PEINTURE: ETNA BY ATHANASIUS KIRCHER (wanderingvertexes.blogspot.com)
54 – Rahn, Otto and Translated by Craig Gawler. “BINGEN ON THE RHINE.” Lucifer’s Court: A Heretic’s Journey in Search of the Light Bringers. 1937. P7. Web. <https://archive.org/details/otto_rahn_-_lucifer_39_s_court_1_scan_-_1_pdf/page/n8/mode/1up >
55 – Ibid, GENOA, P67.
56 – Ibid, PARIS, P9.
57 – Ibid, RETURN, PP186 -187.
58 – Ibid, GOSSENSAB (COLLEISARCO), PP94-95.
59 – Ibid.
60 – Ibid, REYKHOLT, P185.
61 – Ibid, ORNOLAC IN THE LAND OF FOIX, PP36-37.
62 – Ibid.
63 – Ibid.
64 – Heart, Jack and Orage. “Otto Rahn, Hidden Master or Madman.” The Human. Mar 2018. Web. <https://jackheartblog.org/wp/2018/03/otto-rahn-hidden-master-or-madman/.html>.
65 – GOSSENSAB (COLLEISARCO), PP94-95.
66 – Ibid, COLOGNE, PP139-140.
67 – Ibid, BY A ROADSIDE. IN THE SOUTH OF GERMAN, P104.
68 – Heart, Jack and Orage. “Peter Pan Meets Pyramid Head.” The Human. Mar 2017. Web. <https://jackheartblog.org/wp/2017/03/peter-pan-meets-pyramid-head-part-i/.html>.
69 – Heart, Jack and Orage. “Peter Pan Meets Pyramid Head II.” The Human. Apr 2017. Web. <https://jackheartblog.org/wp/2017/04/peter-pan-meets-pyramid-head-ii/.html?trashed=1&ids=5616>.
70 – Heart, Jack and Orage. “Twin Peaks & the Return of the White Queen.” The Human. Feb 2018. Web. <https://jackheartblog.org/wp/2018/02/twin-peaks-return-of-white-queen/.html>.
71 – Lucifer’s Court, RETURN, P187.
72 – Heart, Jack. “Afghanistan – the Shadow of Evil.” The Human. 2011. Web. https://jackheartblog.org/wp/2014/02/afghanistan-shadow-of-evil-reblog/.html
73 – Lucifer’s Court, MILAN, P71.
75 – Ibid.
76 – Ibid.
77 – Lucifer’s Court, COLOGNE, P138.
78 – Ibid, BY A ROADSIDE. IN THE SOUTH OF GERMANY, P105.
79 – “Peter Pan Meets Pyramid Head II.”
80 – Lucifer’s Court, RETURN, P187.
81 – Ibid, CAHORS, P34.
82 – Ibid, AMORBACH, P113.
Previous posts on our expedition to the Sabarthez:
Behind Paywall: La Chevalerie Amoureuse Troubadours, Felibres and Rosicrucian’s – Translated by Romain
La Chevalerie Amoureuse Troubadours, Felibres and Rosicrucians – Translated by Romain – The Human: Jack Heart, Orage and Friends (jackheartblog.org)
La Chevalerie Amoureuse Troubadours, Felibres and Rosicrucian’s – Translated by Romain – The Human: Jack Heart, Orage and Friends (jackheartblog.org)
La Chevalerie Amoureuse Troubadours, Felibres and Rosicrucian’s – Translated by Romain – The Human: Jack Heart, Orage and Friends (jackheartblog.org)
Selected Works of Jack Heart & Orage:
The Devil laughs at men who complain about the consequences when they cherish the causes.
This modification of Bossuet’s quotation replacing God by the Devil perfectly contains the substance of what follows. This article would not have been possible without the excellent discovery made by astrologer Patrice Bouriche in his latest video entitled “The Sun in Rosh Ha-Satan – Unpacificable Promised Land” (1), to which I have added my thoughts prompted by several synchronicities. All credit to him.
With the resurgence of Israel’s ritual bombardment of Gaza, the messianic effervescence of its most devoted fanatics is gathering pace. Plunging the world into destruction is the way for these planetary parasites to hasten the coming of their famous messiah. Never mind that, according to some exegetes, their God alone is supposed to bring the Jews together and that the alyah promoted by the Zionists before the coming of the messiah therefore constitutes heresy for some; a desire to supplant the divine or to force it through concrete actions. But through the intellectual gymnastics of pilpul, so dear to Jews, this redemption through sin would also bring a great chastisement upon Israel, enabling it to achieve its ends all the same.
Let’s take a look at the natal chart drawn up on the date of the declaration of independence of the state of Israel on 14 May 1948 at 4pm, using the tropical zodiac:
The ascendant is in Libra, the place where Saturn is exalted, where Neptune also resides, adding this capacity for betrayal in relationships with others and a nice touch of mystical intoxication when it comes to explaining genocide; Jupiter is in domicile in the sign of Sagittarius for this people dedicated to the law with messianic ideals, and its position in the 2nd house is there to make us understand just how much the Torah gives them the right to everything under heaven. The midheaven is in Cancer, where Venus also resides, to signify the devotion that Jews naturally have towards the family and the idea of a national home. Uranus and Mercury in Gemini in domicile, to mark the legendary rhetorical skill of the “People of the Book”. As for the Sun, it’s slightly afflicted in Taurus in the 7th house, marking this propensity for financial scandal and the veneration of the golden calf but also this persistence in forging profitable, long-term relationships with a plethora of sayanim. And of course, this planetary cluster in Leo, where almost all the aspects converge. We see a rising Moon at the Zenith for the favour of the crowds, a flamboyant military Mars and the presence of the Saturnian ruler of the Ascendant, signalling a slight tendency towards tyranny. All this in the angular house of destiny. Why is it so important? For this beautiful Davidic lineage from the tribe of Judah, from which the messiah must emanate and for which the lion is the symbol.
What a divine blessing! So much chutzpah!
A brief digression is in order here on the subject of Tropical Astrology. This term was coined to make a distinction from sidereal astrology by taking into account the seasons of the northern hemisphere. However, this is nonsense, as Astrology designates the “discourse of the stars”, Astrologos in Greek, and “Sidereal” comes from Sidus, “the stars”. In a magnificent pleonasm, Sidereal Astrology designates “the discourse of the starry stars”, which indirectly demonstrates the fallacy of tropical Astrology, as Astrology already implies observation of the real sky in its very etymology (2).
Tropical astrology, however, is the one favoured by the power-hungry sect in order to hasten the advent of that famous Age of Aquarius that occurs once in a while in rabbinically-teleguided New Age movements. Since the Hebrew calendar began 5783 years ago, this is very convenient, since it allows to affirm that the Age of Aquarius has never yet arrived – although Plato’s Great Year must have undergone several revolutions since then…
This Age of Aquarius, which is just around the corner and when the so-called World Brotherhood is due to come into being, will nevertheless have a difference! The promulgation of the 7 Noachic Laws is reserved for the Goyim population by the B’nei Noah. The Rainbow is also the symbol of this Talmudic movement (3), which is currently giving rise to a certain ambient madness that is rotting the foundations of society and providing guidelines for the Great Reset programme emanating from the World Economic Forum. Since Aquarius – Verseau in French or Verse/Eau – Water pouring – implies the Flood, it also indirectly refers to Noah.
The last outstanding example of this messianic madness was the grand conjunction of Saturn and Jupiter in tropical Aquarius on Monday 21 December 2020, opening the period of the greatest deception in history, which allowed billions of people to be ritually injected into the system, when in fact this conjunction took place in the more appropriate constellation of Capricorn.
Nor is it by chance that the invasion of Ukraine took place 2 days after humanity was due to enter the New World Order for good on 2/22/2022 at 2.22 PM (4) during a period when Saturn is in Tropical Aquarius. Remember also the “Build Back Better” plan (BBB from the Hebrew letter Beth, associated with the number 2, and that of the Bereshit to mark the genesis of this Great Reset).
The next major planetary conjunction is between Saturn and Neptune in 2025/2026. This configuration signals a definite struggle for a new world order, and dreams of messianic materialisation will be propitious…
Everything is orchestrated to artificially accelerate time so that Israel, a hierogamic contraction of Ishra/Ashera and El, can give birth to its messiah.
Here, then, is Israel’s true charter in the actual configuration of its natal sky:
In addition to the more predominant importance of Hermes/Mercury, who is also the god of liars and thieves, what is not visible here but is of great importance, is that the Sun is actually aligned at the end of Aries, on the same longitude as the first stars of the Gorgon, the most malefic sector of the heavens in several cultures, whose main star is Algol, also nicknamed the Star of the Demon (5).
We need hardly remind you of the myth of Medusa, whose gaze turned her enemies to stone (or pillar of salt?). A Latin name for Algol was Caput Larvae, meaning “the head of the spectre”. Arab astronomers observed that the brightness of this star changed: it diminished, then intensified again after a few days. Observations later showed that this was due to eclipses.
In Arab tradition, the star represented the Ogre’s head or the head of the Ghoul, which is reflected in its actual name: Ra’s al Ghul. The ghouls of Arab folklore are female beings related to a class of vampirising djinns, offspring of Iblis, who seize physical or psychic corpses (6).
Closer to home in terms of time, Algol is also the name given to a computer programming language, a contraction of “Algo” and “L” for Algorithmic Language. The Greek goddess Algos is also the personification of Pain and Sorrow according to Hesiod, and daughter of Eris or Discord. (7) Which gives a rather new meaning to the term algorithm, meaning here the painful rhythm.
Finally, the Hebrew name for the star was Rōsh ha Sāṭān, “the head of Satan”, and the star was also associated with Lilith…
Israel, this messianic imperialist state, was born under the sinister gaze of this star. But the hubris of the rabbinical magi in wanting to use the tropical zodiac to achieve their ends led them to make a terrible mistake when it came to the reality of the heavens.
All these names clearly demonstrate the malefic character of this star projecting its gaze towards Israel’s natal Sun, a country radiating murderous violence, destruction and obstinacy… The Chinese called this star Tseih She, which translates as “piled up corpses”.
But there’s even more! The natal Sun is placed on the anaretic degree of the martial sign of Aries, on the 29thème , associated with Saturn. The cusp of the 8th house cuts it in two, recalling the etymology of the word “Devil” from the Greek diábolos, derived from the verb diabállô, meaning “he who divides” or “he who disunites” or “deceiver, slandererer”. The 8th house is also the house of death in astrology. Al-Ghul in this position promises a violent death.
Perhaps that’s why, in the constellation, Perseus cuts off the demon’s head on Athena’s orders. Perseus is, of course, a quasi-homographer of Persia, and today refers to Iran; of Ariana, the land of the Aryans…(8)
Patrice Bouriche – L’histoire Secrète de l’Astrologie, Tome 1 – À la source de tous les cultes
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