Analysis like you've been looking for from Jack Heart, Orage and Friends

More results...

Generic selectors
Exact matches only
Search in title
Search in content
Post Type Selectors
Home Blog

France II, in the Footsteps of Otto Rahn by Jack Heart


I took a long last drag from my cigarette and doused it in the receptacle by the front of the doors. It would be at least ten hours till the next one. I had two hours till takeoff, but I figured I better check in now considering what happened on my last flight out of Frankfurt in 2019. Orage had dropped me off at the airport at about one in the morning. The flight was at nine, so I made my way upstairs through the deserted airport and drank overpriced beer in front of an all-night McDonalds at a table in a German café across from it. At first it was just the barmaid, an attractive young fräulein who spoke little English, and I. But we were soon joined by a very strange man who hovered at the periphery of the cafe playing peekaboo behind the copious artificial plants demarcating its perimeter. Even though the temperature was in the mid-fifties outside, inside he was wearing a heavy winter snorkel coat with the hood pulled over his face. He had a shopping bag presumably to transport the days treasures he had found while foraging the airport. When I tried to take […]

This post is only for readers who have a paid membership subscription to Jack's work . Get yours' now! Annual Subscription Choices or Monthly Subscription Choices.

The Real Montauk Project

The Montauk Project: Worse Than You Think

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 ( 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.

Preston’s Final Message

Jack Hearts Podcast

Peter Pan Meets Pyramid Head by Jack Heart & Orage – The Human: Jack Heart, Orage and friends (

Montauk – The Human: Jack Heart, Orage and friends (

Peter Pan Meets Pyramid Head II by Jack Heart & Orage – The Human: Jack Heart, Orage and friends (

Peter Pan meets Pyramid Head III by Jack Heart & Orage – The Human: Jack Heart, Orage and friends (

Silent Hill Silent Scream… – The Human: Jack Heart, Orage and friends (

Excerpted From Those Who Would Arouse Leviathan:

הוד / Majesty

Part 4

Chapter 16 

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.

Those Who Would Arouse Leviathan by Jack Heart, Hardcover | Barnes & Noble® ( Those Who Would Arouse Leviathan: Memoir of an awakening god: 9781736288016: Heart, Jack: Books

Jack Heart’s Conversations from the porch – Episode 50


I’m sorry my Muslim readers, most of you know I have far more respect for Islam than I do for Christianity but the guy in the bathrobe is in on it. If he was serious, he would have used his hypersonic missiles to take out every F35 he could, then followed it up with a massive bombing campaign and a ground attack by Hezbollah. As it is he has left the Iranian people wide open for a viscous Jewish counterattack, just like his CIA handlers asked him to do.

October 7 Was an Inside Job: Sage of Quay® Dispatch: October 7 Was an Inside Job (

Two From the Montauk Project, Courtesy of Happy Parrot:

Brutal Regime Apocalyptic Dreams :

“You see all these American politicians and Neoliberal PMCs pledging their undying support for Israel by tweet that get like 3,000 *Likes* and yet every comment is like “Fuck you, no we don’t” from people of all political persuasions – who are the *Likes* from? Are they even real?”



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.

Those Who Would Arouse Leviathan by Jack Heart, Hardcover | Barnes & Noble® ( Those Who Would Arouse Leviathan: Memoir of an awakening god: 9781736288016: Heart, Jack: Books

France VII, in the Footsteps of Otto Rahn by Jack Heart


Any attempts to explain away the Mexican Nazi coin that do not include an explanation of the Mexican frieze below the monument at Koblenz should be dismissed off hand as the blithering of an idiot. Likewise for those who ignore the fact that a picture of Otto Rahn, the father of the SS, adorns the cover of the 1936 book, Invisible Radiations of Organisms, supposedly written by a German professor out of Cornell University of the same name but published in Berlin… ThriftBooks a large web-based used bookseller headquartered near Seattle is selling the book “republished,” with a revised cover of course. Their overview states, “This work has been selected by scholars as being culturally important and is part of the knowledge base of civilization as we know it. This work is in the public domain in the United States of America, and possibly other nations. Within the United States, you may freely copy and distribute this work, as no entity (individual or corporate) has a copyright on the body of the work. Scholars believe, and we concur, that this work is important enough to be preserved, reproduced, and made generally available to the public…” What they changed is the […]

This post is only for readers who have a paid membership subscription to Jack's work . Get yours' now! Annual Subscription Choices or Monthly Subscription Choices.

Jack Heart’s Conversations from the porch – Episode 49


Aleister Crowley, Loki’s Brood & the Fury of Hell I by Jack Heart & Orage

“The chains pulled taut around the casts and jerked me back down into the hospital bed as if I had been levitating in my sleep. I was drenched in sweat and for a moment I did not know who or where I was. The combined restraints of my injuries and the manacles had frozen my body to the bed and I felt a claustrophobic panic beginning to overwhelm me. I forced myself to concentrate and evaluate my situation. My memories suddenly came flooding back as if some great spigot had opened up a subterranean torrent of strange images and swirling sorrow.

I had been dreaming. I was in Aleister Crowley’s Boleskine House overlooking Loch Ness. There was a cavernous opening in a wall. It looked like some kind of vault. Within the vault was a gateway which was guarded by a male and a female child. The children were about twelve years old and of oriental descent. They were both wearing flowing silk robes and they did not speak but somehow I knew that Crowley had used them to carry out the instructions given in S.L. MacGregor Mather’s translation of The Sacred Magic of Abramelin the Mage.

Crowley had secured the house by the lake and undergone all the purification rituals prescribed in the manuscript. At the moment when the ritual is supposed to culminate with the appearance of an Angel who will transmit, through a prepubescent child, the sublime revelations that can transform a man into a God Crowley added his own little twist to the ritual. He slit the throat of each of the children and opted to forgo the ungainly intermediary’s in favor of the knowledge being delivered directly to him.

The children now stood as eternal sentinels to the portal he had opened up. They gestured for me to enter and when I did I saw that Crowley had unleashed three great demons into the world. Two of the dark Gods had already insinuated themselves into the collective soul of the human race but the third still lurked on the bottom of the lake. I saw them in their unimaginable vastness and all of the corruption they had brought upon the earth, now reeking with filth.

Suddenly I realized they were aware of my presence as was the one that was dormant on the bottom of the lake. The one on the bottom of the lake was the most powerful and maybe because I could not see it the most sinister. It rose up to meet me and I was griped with fear. I took flight over an endless roiling sea hurtling faster and faster through the grey and angry sky. The terror at my heels took the form of construction dumpsters and I could hear them clanging together as they pursued me. I flew faster and faster till my momentum hurled me across the dreams event horizon and I crashed down into the hospital bed…” – Jack Heart, Those Who Would Arouse Leviathan

It was just a dream, or was it? I know more about Aleister Crowley than any human being will ever live to know. I have been taught all his most secret traditions but the very first thing I was taught is never, never ever, read anything about Crowley that was not written by either himself or Israel Regardie, one of the few men Crowley ever let get to really know him.

Even with all that he wrote and he was a prodigious writer, Crowley has been quoted out of context more often than not. He was the ultimate narcissist and with better reasons than any mere king or queen. Crowley frequently took multiple paragraphs just to say good morning, spraying sentences like a Vickers Machine Gun belching out bullets in WW I, of which he was the primary instigator. There is basically nothing Crowley didn’t say at one time or another…

By the end of March 1933 with the passage of the Enabling Act the National Socialists had attained absolute power in Germany and by June of that year, Crowley could no longer contain his enthusiasm. In the first of a three-part series of articles for the London Sunday Dispatch Crowley gloats; “At birth I had three of the distinguishing marks of a Buddha. I was tongue-tied, I had a characteristic membrane which necessitated an operation, and over the centre of my heart I had four hairs curling from left to right in the exact form of a Swastika. Before Hitler was, I am.” (1) The I Am part means he is not just the power behind National Socialism he is its God…

To the fishmongers in the marketplace and barely literate factory workers reading the Dispatch, this may have sounded like idle boasting but to the kings and queens of the earth also reading, those that rule from behind the West’s democratic façade from high atop the pinnacle of synarchy, it sounded like a fact. It had always been their greatest fear, the sum of all fear; Crowley was going rogue and he was taking the German people with him.

Although he’d been telling the scions of synarchy, those that knew he could perform any of the miracles attributed to Jesus and so many more, that he was here to usher in a New Aeon; Crowley had but one categorical imperative and that was to kill God. Toward that end he would stop at nothing; which he spells out for the dense with his occult name; Frater Perdurabo, meaning inLatin: “I Will endure to the end…”

Crowley had been born to kill God and if I engaged in conjecture, I would say Friedrich Nietzsche wrote The Anti Christ as a Bar Mitzvah present to him. Crowley was turning thirteen when Nietzsche penned it. Although he had memorized the bible by the time he was seven years old Crowley rejected his rigid Plymouth Brethren upbringing almost from birth. He knew he was the Beast of Revelations the first time he ever heard of it. Famed mountaineer, chess master and saint of the Gnostic Church Crowley was a self-described dope fiend and had an intellect that could rival even Nietzsche. He set about the task at hand with an inhuman single-mindedness of purpose.

To Read the Rest: Aleister Crowley, Loki’s Brood & the Fury of Hell I by Jack Heart & Orage – The Human: Jack Heart, Orage and Friends (

Aleister Crowley, Loki’s Brood & the Fury of Hell… II by Jack Heart & Orage

By the end of WWI, William Butler Yeats knew exactly what was coming. The most famous poem in the Michael Robartes and the Dancer collection is “The Second Coming.” Yeats begins it: 

“TURNING and turning in the widening gyre  

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;  

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world.”(13)

The Egyptian hieroglyph for Horus is the falcon. In the aftermath of WWI’s carnage, Yeats sees clearly that nothing can control the God of War and Vengeance: “The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere / The ceremony of innocence is drowned.” In the poem’s last line, Yeats asks “And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?”(14) Yet he has already described the Beast with all the skill that his prodigious talent as a poet would allow: 

“A shape with lion body and the head of a man, 

A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun. 

Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it  

Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.  

The darkness drops again but now I know  

That twenty centuries of stony sleep  

Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle.” (15)

Yeats had been vacillating ever since 1913, when he had slain Michael Robartes in a short story titled “Rosa Alchemica.” Right before the turn of the century in The Wind Among the Reeds, Yeats had said of his muse: “Michael Robartes is the pride of the imagination brooding upon the greatness of its possessions, or the adoration of the Magi.” (16)

But by 1913, it was entirely different. Michael Robartes had now metastasized into one of the Golden Dawn’s infamous “hidden masters,” the supernatural beings whose disputed existence and direction caused a schism within the group that was settled by Aleister Crowley’s pistol. 

In the story, Robartes appears at his door after a fifteen-year hiatus and forces Yeats with mind-bending incenses to accompany him to a temple by the seaside, where they are besieged by an irate Christian mob. During the night, Yeats participates in a ceremony with a cult similar to the Golden Dawn. When he awakens in the morning, he finds that the ornate temple has now become an old barn, and he is unable to rouse Robartes and the rest of the cult who are in a trance-like sleep. As Yeats flees, Robartes and the cult are stoned to death by an enraged Christian mob.

Yeats then waxes poetic as he delivers Robartes’ eulogy, which is a reflection of his own faltering courage. Yeats renounces the deception of “Legion,” like a little Catholic boy renouncing the Devil, wrapped in the imaginary protection of his rosary beads. Yeats’ insecurities didn’t last long, though.  By 1916, his guilt for what they had done combined with his grandiose opinion of himself had convinced him that he was the incarnated Sun God and could pull off the Great Work by himself.

The first two poems in Michael Robartes and the Dancer are about Yeats’ own love life. In the first poem, the title poem, Yeats refers to himself as a “half-dead dragon” in the eyes of the much younger Iseult Gonne, whom it seems Yeats believed to be the incarnated soul of the moon. Iseult was herself of magical birth, being conceived in an act of sexual Magick, as the aristocracy has been practicing for thousands and thousands of years. She was among the kings and queens of Europe a legendary beauty and the daughter of their own residing wild woman Maud Gonne.

In his desperation, Yeats allowed himself to become convinced that he could perform the Great Work without the necessary pain, bloodletting, and details that his nemesis Crowley and his followers were apparently reveling in by 1916. Crowley says of himself in the author’s note of Moonchild that by 1917, he was exerting his best “efforts to bring America into the war.” To Crowley and his aristocratic followers, WWI was not a struggle between nations but a Holocaust, a blood sacrifice, burnt offerings to bring about the incarnation of Horus and the killing of the old grey world and its tyrannical God.

Undaunted, our rejected self-appointed Sun God next proposed to Maud Gonne whom he believed to be the rest of the Pagan female pantheon. Rejected again, our intrepid Sun God married his fellow Golden Dawn initiate, twenty-four-year-old Georgie Hyde-Lees, the witch of “Solomon and the Witch,” the second poem of the Robartes collection.

The proposals all took place in 1916, a year in which Yeats was obviously desperate to marry. The year 1916 appears in another verse of the collected works. “Easter, 1916” is a poem first published back in 1916. On the surface, it appears to be about Irish nationalism, but contains the line “When sleep at last has come on limbs that had run wild,” a sentence that could be interpreted pornographically. Easter is also the day of resurrection in Yeats’ Christian security blanket. Regardless of the ambiguity of “Easter, 1916,” Yeats’ meaning in “Solomon and the Witch” –the second poem of Michael Robartes and the Dancer– is perfectly clear.

To Read the Rest: Aleister Crowley, Loki’s Brood & the Fury of Hell… II by Jack Heart & Orage – The Human: Jack Heart, Orage and Friends (

Europe: les soldats et les jeunes fuient les armées

Les populations issues de l’immigration ne sont pas intéressées par l’uniforme militaire pour mener les guerres de l’Occident, ni les autres jeunes de ces pays. La plupart des migrants soutiennent la Russie. Les appels lancés par les dirigeants de l’OTAN pour recruter des soldats dans une croisade contre   la Russie sont boudés par les recrues qui ont commencé à fuir. 

L’armée française est face à des départs volontaires et à un manque de recrutement. Le ministre français des Armées, Sébastien Lecornu, a dévoilé son plan pour mettre fin à l’augmentation des départs dans l’armée française. «Il ne s’agit plus tant de recruter de nouveaux soldats que de persuader les troupes existantes de ne pas démissionner», stipule Politico.  «Ces conversations existent désormais dans toutes les capitales, dans toutes les démocraties qui disposent d’armées professionnelles sans conscription», souligne le média anglophone. Les armées occidentales ne peuvent plus recruter et manque de soldats.
Même l’Allemagne est touchée. Un récent rapport annuel soumis au Parlement allemand a montré qu’en 2023, quelque 1.537 soldats ont quitté la Bundeswehr, la réduisant à 181.514 effectifs. Les Européens ne veulent pas mourir pour une guerre voulue par leurs élites. Cela traduit la résistance des populations en Europe contre la guerre de l’UE contre la Russie. 

To Read the Rest and Translate into your own langauge: Europe: les soldats et les jeunes fuient les armées. Observateur Continental

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.

Those Who Would Arouse Leviathan by Jack Heart, Hardcover | Barnes & Noble® ( Those Who Would Arouse Leviathan: Memoir of an awakening god: 9781736288016: Heart, Jack: Books

Revenant Ash by Mike Kay


The power was out. In the darkness the street seemed to glow ever so slightly in contrast to the buildings. Above me thick clouds barred any heavenly illumination. I watched as the darkness became a safe zone for humanity. With nothing observable beyond touch, the wafting of the voice, with no schedule set to satisfy the endless demands of society, with nothing for the grasping ego to attach to, all that was left was the murmur seeking connection.

I was here, alone with the darkness when she found me. A lone car made its way down the road, and in that moment when the headlights touched me I ceased being the darkness and became a man once more. She must have seen me then, her desire for interaction driving her to the next event in her life. The car passed slowly, and on she came, her feet making quick sounds across the pavement. The flame of her lighter suddenly revealed her face, no longer young, and her brown eyes reflected that flame, searching.

In that moment of the flame she had convinced herself that I was real. Her lighter extinguished and she moved closer, the afterglow somehow intensifying the darkness, the exhausting press of identity. “Quite a night”, she began.

She had thrown those words out casually, yet so much was riding on them. Suddenly my heart sank, and was crushed by a powerful sense of loss. I felt, in that simple, world weary phrase the defiance and resignation of one who never won at life. I understood her then, her desperation, and I knew in a moment where it would lead. She spoke in a slight Spanish accent, where the vowels are extended.

“I don’t mind it”, came my reply.” It’s very much like a dream”.

The lighter ignited once more as she lit her cigarette. “Do you smoke?”

“No,” I replied matter of factly.”I already have too many addictions.”

She laughed then, a sort of hoarse and low sound of genuine humor. Her dark eyes always seemed to catch a reflection of the flame, as if they hungered for something within it.

“I’m like that”, she admitted with a long exhalation of smoke.

She began her story then. It was a familiar story of being lost, of sleeping on hard concrete never knowing tomorrow. It was a story of hunger and desire and the cost of failure, of being held captive by forces too strong to resist. Her words filled the darkness with longing for what could not be given a price, after she had sold everything, even that which wasn’t hers. She spoke of a dream she had, or a vision, one night in a strange decrepit hotel room with the traffic roaring outside. Perhaps I should have shared with her my vision of the flaming rafters, that I knew when the US government burnt my home to ash, and that there is in this life the sting of death, and something in me died then. Yet these words would have somehow trivialized her story, so instead I only listened.

I understood her, when she said in so many words how she missed her previous life, but cruel fate had locked her into this unhappy place. She knew where she belonged, but was barred from ever returning.

Then I finally did speak up, and I told her that this place isn’t home, that I have memories of a world where the snow glows white as if ignited with rainbows, and the blue of the sky is no blue that anyone in this concrete palace has ever beheld with their own eyes.

She turned to me fully then, and in the light of her glowing cigarette made a quick gesture so that it streaked across my vision, leaving a trail. She seemed to be looking at me, as if to judge what to say next.

“Are you cold?”

“I am the cold”.

She told me then of all her missteps, of the grip heroin had upon her, of the lives she saw snuffed out that could never be retrieved, and that she was one. She whispered hoarsely of the lump of stuff she could hold in her fingers that had so much power over her, over everyone who fell. She spoke of that perfect high that changed the earth and sky, and her desperate love for that state. She spoke of her fear of the cops, and how she was under a spell. Then she told me of things I could never repeat, for it wasn’t about what she had done, but how something within her had vanished, and she wondered if she ever had it at all. With each sentence the desolation of her heart grew and grew. I was so close to her agony that it burned like a storm, and I saw then the terrible truth of replacing one’s soul for the torment of the high, and the addiction became its own blazing path. I was consumed by a terror of that ruin and cast into a shadow where hope was not even an idea. And when she finished her story and vanished into the dark that devoured her, a lingering odor of cigarette smoke and collapse, I was grateful to be free of the downward racing destiny so eager to plumb the depths of oblivion.

She has hid

Herself so far away.

Because of pain

And the escape.

She don’t know

What to do about it

She only hears

The whisper of a promise.

And the voices sing


And the voices sing


And she walks away.

I thought then, for a very long time, grateful for the clouds and the failed electricity that only further embraced the dark, a darkness that made it possible to feel that loss of the familiar yet wordless self, the loss of that directive energy, that wordless self all the abrahamics condemn.

It is probably very few who know that ‘Demon’ is derived from the classical Greek Daemon, a word perhaps best understood as genius, and that in the abrahamic mind all aspects of the self not suitable to their control were to be sacrificed on the altar of political power. Few understand today that who they are includes an essence beyond the physical, even as words fail to express this directly. The raw desire of the urge to step beyond, the ecstasy of escape is that base self crying out for the transcendence and participation with the forgotten genius, the divine love of the Daemon.

Modern man lives as much as he can in an embodied state. From a young age, the self is reinforced as a fact of physical existence. The open, dreaming child mind is imprinted through barely conscious methods to develop identification with the physical form as the establishment of boundaries of existence. Yet this developing self is not truly located anywhere. Modern thought establishes the brain as seat of self, a sort of default position, yet the best behavioral psychologists cannot find a biological basis to this assumption.

The tyranny of embodiment must reduce the person to a simple core, and indeed it does. The error here is the assumption that this reduction is complete. The severing of the non-physical self is a recurrent theme produced by those who see themselves at the top, with the latest example produced by the World Economic Forum, the W.E.F., all the billionaires, and dead empty black holes who see themselves as the irreplaceable ones.

The W. E. F. defines you in viciously denigrating terms. It claims that you are simply a series of electrical impulses, that your agency is an illusion, and they, your new masters have a plan for you; The mind, the self become words of no real meaning, no substance to the very idea that a self appointed group of power hungry psychopaths has some right or some authority to assert their control. They are actually quite funny to watch, their assumed sense of superiority becomes a kind of cosmic joke.

And she walks away.

Yet we can understand that the subtle communication of dreams exists, that destiny is an odd fact of life, that paranormal experience has long been proven to be a genuine phenomenon. We have for too long now been at the mercy of the merciless, those whose lust for power is so consuming that they will use any means available to secure it, and one of the primary methods for securing power over others is to steal their genuine heritage, and deliver to their victims a vision of the self that is without potential, without dignity, without grace.

The way of understanding the self must be based upon truth and reality to escape from the clutches of those shuffling dead who want you dead too, and deliver back to mankind the birthright of who they are.

In times of yore it was understood that the self was fashioned from diverse source and that the You, the I, are only centers that we learn to work from, the fire of personality that develops with the melding of the cosmic self.  For those with the sight have always beheld inexplicable things, the many colours that dance and radiate around the human form, and that the ladder of wheels always bespoke of something beyond simple comprehension. We are not one wheel, and we are not one body, and we are not one energy.

Now that we are here, arrived at the moment of change where the ways of the world are about to end, some violently, some with great upheaval, and the mourning for what was will include the loss of hope for what could have been, now is the time where it would be well to remember the essential explanation for who we are.

The first and most common aspect of self is that which dominates the daily life of the adult person. We will call this our near self, because always it is nearest as we make our way through our day. It is here, in the near self that we erroneously think “we” reside, that true “us” that thinks the familiar thoughts and feels the familiar emotions, the “us” that likes hot dogs, and movies, and tries to make sense of its journey through this life. Modern man lives as much as possible in the arms of the near self, but even so everyone secretly realizes that the near self floats restlessly upon a far larger, and far less understood second aspect of the self, which we will call the deep self.

The deep self is the unknown origin for the forces the near self constructs into a working personality. Yes, we are all miracles. The deep self holds the darkest, unrealized terrors and the strongest, insatiable desires. The deep self has no need for time, and so refuses to be limited by it. The deep self can talk to the dead, which the near self can never do. It knows things simply by contacting them. It doesn’t particularly care for standard explanations of why things work, it has its own explanations, and knows what they do. The deep self has no boundaries, as they are understood. It knows no morality, and it is consumed by the fire of transcendence.

Near self and deep self make up an essential duality. If the near self is the angel upon one shoulder, then the deep self is the devil on the opposite. The abrahamics divided this essential duality into two externalized entities, setting forth for thousands of years a way of thought and belief that ensured a civil war within the self, a war which splits the heart mind, and ails the self. The Fisher King suffers a great wound, and the salve will only partially make his life livable.

Modern psychology has only further enshrined this war, creating a set of expectations and beliefs that directly echoe abrahamic thought. There is no real healing in psychology, no dignity or honour or spirituality. Modern psychologists oversee torture, and create television commercials. Freud turned to Jung as their ship steamed to harbor in New York, and told his protégé that America believed he was bringing to them a great gift, while in truth it was a great plague.

If we are honest, we know that the deep self is the true power of the person. The motivations that move the person all derive from the deep self. Likes and dislikes, attractions and aversions, bent of character, and the residue of previous incarnations all are alive and active within the deep self. It is from here that the near self emerges to take the helm, and protect the person throughout their life journey.

Thus the deep self is the first person, and if life is kind, the near self arises as the second person from the timeless ocean of the deep self to attain a working rationality, a linear concept of a world of things and essential facts of life, but what of the third facet of the self? What of that aspect that modern life ignores, or even completely denies, that incorporeal ethereal self that is so easily lost, our elder brother?

She has hid

From herself far away.

And so she runs

To the needle every day.

It’s an empty thing

When she feels about it.

It makes her hate

The world she’s living in.

But she don’t know

What to do about it.

She thinks she lost

Something precious

She once knew.

She wants it back.

So she keeps fighting through

All the pain.

And the voices sing


And the voices sing


And she listens well.

Elder brother hovers over who we believe we are. It’s a strange kind of thing, to be aware during the day. Is he above the Sun? Is he below the clouds? You cannot see him, with your physical eyes, it’s only the heart, who knows where he lies.

We are told by the Christians who hated him that Basillides wrote of this mystery of the self. He told those who would listen that the near self could never leave its world. It could never reach above to the greater mystery of who we are, only entertain that it might be possible. He instructed that the longing the near self shaped into a recognizable image was the essence of the deep self all along. Thus it is, that only the current far below can reach up to know the Daemon, Elder Brother.

Well, one says, if this is so natural, then why is it so hidden? Why is it so easily lost? Why are we told that it’s only a dream, and we need to get real in the concrete palace? I want to know!

When we came here, from the darkness so far away, and our real parents wished us well on our way. We just didn’t know what we were getting into, and in this world we forgot ourselves through and through. The burning tears, reminded us that we knew it, but we just can’t grasp that spirit in our hands.

We need a new way, which is the old way.

The stain of incarnation, that split of everything into so many parts, is not due to itself a source of shame. Our failures are not because we lived a certain way. Mistakes we made, are not counted on our clothes. We were meant to fall, and to get up every time. The wounds we bear, we won’t ever get around them. It’s just enough to know through and through that the current runs deep, no matter what we do.

No matter what we do.

The ancient Gnostics knew no sin. The Cathari men delighted in the Cathari women who delighted in them. The bright eyed children were simply loved through and through. There was no sin.

In a world where the true wealth was in high places there were no items of value to steal. There was no sin. The books they wrote, were all burned to finest ash. The deaths they rode, are marked by disdain to this very day. Yet it was not them, who forgot the Elder Brother. It was not they who forgot him.

The deepest current, through longing flows up and away. It touches the wheel of the heart, which shines in every way. The path is clear, when there ain’t no doubt about it. The joining with him, releases the finest dew. The dew is light, falling upon your very aura, and you become complete. You are now the Tree.

She just fell in love

With something she always knew.

Her shame she left

Behind her in the dew.

She knew herself.

There was no doubt about it.

She walked the earth

Her feet were bare and brand new.

And the voices sang


And the voices sang


And she went with them.


The three part person is a very old realization. Some say it is woven from our own Wheels of Light. You can see them yourself sometimes, like pools of essential life, focused at the hips, the heart, the head, and least known, above us. It helps if one wishes to see them to rest in the darkness, and to never use the physical eyes.

This modern world, and those who think they run it, is going through a huge transformation right now. The lever pullers want you to think it is they who are calling the shots, and it is they who are making the change. Do not be fooled by their deception. They are desperately trying to ride the wave to cling to what they have, and doing so through taking everything away from you.

So they want to take from you your knowledge of yourself, which is so beautiful that they must make it ugly. Yet you can see the beauty in this life, and the wonder of existence if you stop for a moment and just live.

Happy Ishtar


The Believer, the full movie with special thanks to Happy Parrot for bringing it to us.


If you are watching crocuses in Moscow or Americas infrastructure crumble into Chesapeake Bay, please continue but don’t do it here. This is where I bring the Mandala effect home to you and if you feel there is anything in the world of greater consequence, not only to you but to your soul then you in all likelihood no longer possess a soul. The Deagel Report has already come to pass, and western man, what’s left of him, lives in the world of the walking dead.

This movie: The Believer I’ve never heard of but one of my subscribers suggested in the comment section of France VI on Substack that I watch it, even offered to send me the DVD, which I see in the YouTube comment section was going for a hundred dollars before suddenly being available for free in of all places JewTube. That’s exactly where it should be, this is a movie, by Jews and for Jews about neo-Nazis and Jewish self-loathing. For once the Jew doesn’t place the blame for anti Semitism on White supremacism but he puts it where it belongs, squarely on his own narrow shoulders.

I once had a friend, very high up on the Illuminati pyramid of power, in fact you could say he is the pyramidon. He told me, “We blame everything on the Jews it’s in their contract they wouldn’t have it any other way.” The movie does a nice job of pointing out why such a fact is a fact, but I don’t want to play spoiler. Rarely does a movie come out worth watching so please enjoy it but I will say this, its protagonist has little to do with Otto Rahn.

Rahn was pointing the accusing finger at the Christians, for defiling their own God in the name of an alien religion. As he says over and over again in Lucifers Court, “a great wrong has been done to Lucifer.” And it was not this small minority of scheming misbegotten people dedicated to the tyrannical god of darkness since the very beginning who perpetrated that wrong. Its every man and woman who ever got on their knees and prayed to an impotent Jew nailed to a stick while spewing blaspheme against the God of Light. It is them the SS, Rahn and yes Lucifer too have put in this simulation to suffer the consequences…

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.

Those Who Would Arouse Leviathan by Jack Heart, Hardcover | Barnes & Noble® ( Those Who Would Arouse Leviathan: Memoir of an awakening god: 9781736288016: Heart, Jack: Books

France VI, In the Footsteps of Otto Rahn


And to inaugurate his fake war epic, which is attested to in some eight hundred pages written by Miguel Serrano in his magnum opus Adolf Hitler the Ultimate Avatar, Otto Rahn would fake his own death. He choreographs his pseudo-suicide with his last words of Lucifer’s Court: “Above all the flowers and plants, bees like one tree: the ash. Sometimes, they swarm on it in hundreds, even thousands, nourishng themselves on the ash’s sweet sap. —The Edda has the dew from the cosmic Yggdrasill ash, Tree of the World and of Life, falling in “honey chutes” so the bees can feed from it. 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. The sun has at last broken through the clouds. Its oblique rays make everything shine and sparkle. Vapours rise from the steam. My little Empire clock will soon strike seven times. At nine o’clock, it will be dark. I will go out of the house. Very near here, I know a forest path bordered by majestic pine trees. It begins in a place called […]

This post is only for readers who have a paid membership subscription to Jack's work . Get yours' now! Annual Subscription Choices or Monthly Subscription Choices.

Jack Heart’s Conversations from the porch – Episode 48, Sabrina Wallace


There were thirty-three subprojects for MK-Ultra that to this very day are beyond top secret. When MK-Ultra came to light in the seventies these projects were hidden behind the National Security Act but when you throw your lead bacteriologist out a thirteenth story window in front of Madison Square Garden in a macabre demonstration of Masonic omnipotence certain things can be assumed. One of them is the thirty-three secrets still protected today by the National Security Act are biological in nature. From triggering extinction events to controlling humans through the bacteria they consist of it has all become just another day at the office in places like Camp Detrick, Porton Down, Edgewood and the Dugway Proving Grounds. 

Allowing these latter-day sorcerers and professional poisoners to exist in our midst carte blanche will perhaps be the last mistake the human race ever makes. There was always bound to be a COVID, and it’s bound to get worse. – Jack Heart, September 30, 2020

In 1922, the great Irish novelist James Joyce published his landmark work Ulysses. It’s said that he had been commenting on the times when he wrote “I have to turn my head until my darkness goes.” 

By 1966 in homage to that line, the iconic British rock and roll band The Rolling Stones would plead to “see the sun blotted out from the sky.” They exhorted the empire’s children to “Paint it Black!”

No doubt by 1944, when they saw which way the wind was blowing, the empire had already decided to Paint it Blue, all of it. This is a story about Bluebirds and Bluebooks, Have Blue, Project Blue Beam and a Blue Planet Project. But like every other story it has a beginning which along with its ending is the only part that is really true… 

In 1947 Andrija (Henry) K. Puharich received his medical doctorate from Northwestern University through the Army Specialized Training Program. While he had still been in school, he had burst into the field of cognitive science with his ground-breaking paper: Theory of Nerve Conduction. The paper postulated that neuron units radiate and receive waves of energy in the ultra-shortwave bands below infrared and above the radar spectrum; effectively making them a biological radio, a receiver-transmitter.

Puharich’s theory was an epiphany for José Manuel Rodriguez Delgado, who held a fellowship at Yale at the time Puharich published and is widely believed to have been the lead technical scientist in the CIA’s infamous MK Ultra project. About a half a decade later Delgado would co-author his first paper on implanting electrodes into human brains. He would go on to author one hundred and thirty-four scientific publications over the next two decades on electrical stimulation of cats, monkeys and humans.

A born showman, Delgado once had a bull with one of his patented ‘stimoceiver’s’ implanted in its brain charge him in the middle of a bull ring in Cordoba Spain. Unperturbed, he pressed a button on his hand-held remote control and stopped the beast in mid charge. He was an outspoken proponent of a better world through cybernetic mind control. He even wrote a book on the subject titled Physical Control of the Mind: Toward a Psychocivilised Society. He was the ideal villain, while Puharich worked from the shadows… Interning Puharich carried out experiments with drugs that were sponsored by Sandoz Chemical Works, the pharmaceutical company that developed LSD.

During that period, he was influenced by the pioneering work of Joseph Banks Rhine, the founder of parapsychology and upon completion of his Internship Puharich studied ESP as an extension of his work with nerve conduction at university. Always in the mood for ‘explanations’ he once remarked that what he was “trying to establish is that the brain is an area wherein is localized the cell energy of the body. I shall label this cell energy ‘dynamics.’ I further venture to say that transference of dynamics from one person to another is possible.” (1) 

Puharich pointed out that it was common knowledge “that there are people who can thrill and exhilarate one, and that there are others who simply bore and fatigue one. This implies that there is a wireless, touchless transfer of this vital substance. If dynamics can be transferred from one organism to another, why cannot that other function of the mind – thought, also be transferred from one mind to another mind? It is also conceivable that dynamics not only passes freely between persons, but also dissipates out into the atmosphere.” (2)

In 1949 Puharich met Eileen Garrett, the founder of the Parapsychological Foundation in New York City (NYC). She would introduce him to John Hays Hammond Jr, the man who would be his closest friend for the next decade and in Puharich’s own words his “mentor.” (3)

The online encyclopedia Wikipedia hails Hammond as “The Father of Radio Control.” 

That means sending signals to remote controlled devices. A product of Yale and filthy rich from birth, Hammond passed away in 1965 at seventy-six, owning 800 foreign and domestic patents on more than 400 inventions, primarily in the fields of radio control and naval weaponry.

By 1929 Hammond had built his own castle replete with drawbridge overlooking Gloucester Harbor in Massachusetts. It’s now a museum offering guided tours of its legendary Roman, medieval and renaissance art collection.

To Read the Rest: MK Ultra – Cybernetic Mutation, Remote Controlled Slaves, Dragon Soldiers and a Zombie Empire; Paint it Blue by Jack Heart & Orage – The Human: Jack Heart, Orage and Friends (

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.

Those Who Would Arouse Leviathan by Jack Heart, Hardcover | Barnes & Noble® ( Those Who Would Arouse Leviathan: Memoir of an awakening god: 9781736288016: Heart, Jack: Books

Jack Heart’s Conversations from the porch – Episode 47: Simulated Reality, Vaccine maiming, Constitutional Crisis and CGI Joe Vs Orange Jesus…


Below is an abridged compilation of Jerry Derecha’s work. In no way do I endorse Mr. Derecha or anyone else’s conclusions. Although I am grateful to him for putting this all together for you to look at. Thanks Jerry.

I’m pretty sure that was Jim Carey under a Biden silicone mask doing more performance art at the expense of the real Biden’s long dead and gone reputation and life. Supposedly that was Carey who staged Biden’s famous fall down the stairs of a fake Air Force One boarding staircase. It’s possible. – Jerry Derecha on June 18, 2022
WHAT IS COMING TO THE CAPITAL??? | Huge Walls Built Around Capitol Building & White House. D.C. is Practically Empty w/ Many Federal Buildings Vacant. Has the U.S. Fallen? – Jerry Derecha on June 18, 2022
Why is the most important / powerful man in the entire world getting picked up at airport by an Uber/civilian? Where is the security detail? Where is the Secret Service? Why is he carrying his own bags? | Not the first evidence we’ve had of the BiDan Shadow Presidency – Posted by Jerry Derecha on May 28, 2022
Who Plays the Role of Manchurian Joe Biden? Ron Masak? Jim Carey? A Robotoid? A CGI Avatar? Just How Many Different Versions Are There? Hunter too…? – Jerry Derecha on March 19, 2022
Biden’s “Secret” Service Detail #ClownWorld #ManchurianJoe – Jerry Derecha on November 29, 2021
Joe Biden and the G.I. Joe Movie Predictive Programming – Jerry Derecha on September 16, 2021
This is ancient news for many of you. But in case you’ve been in a libtard haze for the past year, Joe Biden is long “dead and gone” and has been played by a cast of 3 or 4 different silicone mask wearing actors for at least the past 2 years. – Jerry Derecha on August 28, 2021
MANCHURIAN JOE | VIDEO: Confused Biden Asks “What am I doing?” While Shaking Hands With People…Suddenly Kneels in Front of the Crowd – Jerry Derecha on July 6, 2021
We saw them do the exact same thing with the inauguration footage. That farce of an event was filled with anomalies. While they were claiming one thing was taking place on television, boots on the ground in the vicinity were clearly showing us that what we were being fed as a “live feed” was FAR from what was actually taking place in the area at the time. We’ve also seen countless anomalies in the footage of Biden at the White House supposedly signing Executive Orders that clearly demonstrate that they are filming inside a film studio and are not actually at the White House. A White House that’s been seemingly abandoned since that inauguration. We even have some compelling footage that shows some kind of covert mass roundup of sorts that went down that night (Examples: HERE | HERE | HERE | HERE ). – Jerry Derecha on March 17, 2021
This is MILITARY INSURRECTION on display. This is UNTHINKABLE in the military. Military is ALL about obeying orders. SOMETHING IS UP!? – Jerry Derecha on January 25, 2021
WTF? Joe Biden is Gone. They Aren’t Even Trying Anymore. Sleepy Joe the Undead Synthetic Shapeshifter. GREATEST HITS – Jerry Derecha on January 25, 2021

Of course, my old colleague from Veterans Today Dr. James Fetzer called it from Day 1, which makes him possibly the most dangerous man alive right now, at least to them, may it stay that way… -Jack

Jim Fetzer, Joe Biden vs. Debate “Biden”: Just Not the Same Guy

Posted by Jerry Derecha on December 21, 20200 Comments

Jim Fetzer is one of the most heroic people on earth. No one has been railroaded harder than he and Wolfgang Halbig have been as it relates to the inevitable repercussions that follow speaking out about the Sandy Hook hoax. Some of us simply will not fall in line and relent to the bullshit.

More on Sandy Hook HERE & HERE. I cleaned up my Sandy Hook posts so all the media should be there now, despite the many attempts to pull the videos I had posted. Sandy Hook was what got me banned from Of all the controversial and over the top things I’ve said in the past, it was that that got me yanked. They get really sensitive about it. Even the most prolific of alt news bloggers out here cower in fear at the potential blowback from speaking out about the most blatant & evidence-saturated false flag event in world history. Not I. Truth is truth. Even Zionist disinformation actor-agent Bill Hicks/Alex Jones walked back his comments on Sandy Hook. Sellout peasant bitch. Authentic humans operate in the real world, no matter how grim and wild the implications of the truth may be. If comfortability is what drives you, then you’re a sellout too.

Joe Biden (Clone) Hasn’t Been Human Since 1970s!! | New Age Tabloid Rundown. For Entertainment Purposes Only.

The Real Joe Biden Is Gone Forever

Who, or What Exactly is Joe Biden? What is Tucker Carlson Trying to Tell Us?

Jim Fetzer, Joe Biden vs. Debate “Biden”: Just Not the Same Guy

By. James Fetzer | | November 5, 2020

Jim Fetzer, Joe Biden vs. Debate “Biden”: Just Not the Same Having dealt extensively with body doubles (in the case of Paul McCartney and of Hillary Clinton, for example), it was probably easier for me to notice that the guy who debated Donald Trump on the national stage (twice, in fact, the second time in Nashville, TN) was not Joe Biden than for most of the public. Having made that observation, however, it became incumbent upon me to bring the matter to the attention of the appropriate authorities, where a submission has been made to the FBI Field Office in Nashville by a California attorney of note with support from my friend and colleague, Scott Bennett, who, like myself, is a former commissioned officer of the US military (Scott, Army; me, Marine Corps).As I understand the matter, the fraud involved here violates 52 USC 30102 on the organization of political committees, including the following:(e) Principal and additional campaign committees; designations, status of candidate, authorized committees, etc.(1) Each candidate for Federal office (other than the nominee for the office of Vice President) shall designate in writing a political committee in accordance with paragraph (3) to serve as the principal campaign committee of such candidate. Such designation shall be made no later than 15 days after becoming a candidate. A candidate may designate additional political committees in accordance with paragraph (3) to serve as authorized committees of such candidate. Such designation shall be in writing and filed with the principal campaign committee of such candidate in accordance with subsection (f)(1).(2) Any candidate described in paragraph (1) who receives a contribution, or any loan for use in connection with the campaign of such candidate for election, or makes a disbursement in connection with such campaign, shall be considered, for purposes of this Act, as having received the contribution or loan, or as having made the disbursement, as the case may be, as an agent of the authorized committee or committees of such candidate.

Be that as it may, the American people are entitled to know that the so-called Democratic Party has been perpetrating a fraud upon the public, where their designated candidate, Joe Biden, appears to be in the stages of Parkinson’s Disease, including the loss of his cognitive abilities, where the anti-dementia medication he is taking has the unfortunate side effect of incontinence, such that he could not participate in a public debate with his opponent, Donald Trump, for 90 minutes without changing his adult diaper. For that reason, it appears, the DNC resorted to “Plan B”, which was to use an actor who strongly resembles Joe Biden in his place. This has been done without notice to the American people and clearly constitutes a form of campaign fraud upon the public, which I substantiate as follows:


I, James H. Fetzer, Ph.D., declare and state as follows:

I have first-hand knowledge of the fact set forth hereinafter, or, at the least, based on the information stated herein, I have a good faith belief that the following is true and correct.

I am 79 years old.  My residence address is 800 Violet Lane, Oregon, WI 53575. My telephone number is (608) 835-2707 and my email address is

I watched the Presidential debates, and have studied the photographs, audio recordings, and visual information regarding the debates involving President Donald Trump and former Vice-President Joe Biden, which occurred on 22 October 2020 at Belmont University, 1900 Belmont Avenue, in Nashville, Tennessee 37212.

  I am a former military office, who resigned his commission as a Captain, USMC, in 1966 to enter graduate school and earn a Ph.D. in the history and the philosophy of science, and a McKnight University Professor Emeritus of Philosophy on the Duluth Campus of the University of Minnesota, from which I retired in June 2006 after a 35-year career in higher education.

  I have reason to believe that the person who appeared to debate President Trump was not the real Joe Biden, but another person (aka a “body double”). Comparing original photographs, and reviewing the debates several times, I have noticed that Joe Biden has free ear lobes, not attached ears, like his body double; that Joe Biden has a smooth chin, not a cleft chin, like his body double; and that Joe Biden also has a wider cranium than his body double.  Others, including myself, noticed that Joe Biden has blue eyes while his body double has brown. (See Exhibits A-F for photo comparisons.)

Based upon the foregoing—and other indications of less significance, such as that Joe Biden ties his tie with a double Windsor, but his body double only a single Windsor–I believe that the person appearing during the Presidential debates as Joe Biden was, in fact, an impostor (a body double) and not the former Vice-President of the United States of America.

If so, then I believe a great fraud has taken place over the nation’s airways to deceive the American people about the appearance, health and cognitive competence of the Democratic Party candidate for President of the United States; and that such inconsistencies may justify an investigation and/or certification of the former Vice-President’s appearance and attendance.

 As far as the voice, I would defer to the analysis done by the FBI regional office in Nashville, Tennessee; but I understand that voice morphing technology has advanced to the point that even a body double can project a voice that is indistinguishable from that of the impersonated party.

 I shall make myself available to discuss this matter at any time, and would encourage, recommend and implore the Federal Bureau of Investigation to conduct any other measurable analytics to ascertain and determine whether or not Joe Biden, the former Vice President of the United States, or an impostor (a body double) appeared in his stead at the first and second Presidential debates, held on 29 September 2020 and on 22 October 2020, respectively.

I declare under penalty of perjury of the laws of the State of Tennessee that, based on a good faith belief and information, the foregoing is correct and true.

Further Affiant Saith Not.

/s/ James H. Fetzer, Ph.D.

James H. Fetzer, Ph.D.

Executed this 29th day of October 2020, at Oregon, WI 53575.

EXHIBIT A: Joe Biden vs. Debate “Biden”

Joe Biden has pendant ear lobes, his double does not. Biden has a smoother chin, his double strongly dimpled. Biden has a wider cranium, his double a narrower. His double appears to be a more diminutive version.

EXHIBIT B: They have different colored eyes

James Woods was the first to observe that the double has brown eyes, while Biden’s eyes are blue.

EXHIBIT C: These differences are repeatedly manifest

Thousands upon thousands of additional examples are readily available on the internet via a search.

EXHIBIT D: Some photos leave no room for doubt

It turns out that ears cannot be surgically altered and are just as distinctive as fingerprints.

EXHIBIT E: Body language reinforces their difference

The body double and Jill stand apart, not close together, where she is not beaming but appears to be distressed and he is not smiling, which is one of Joe Biden’s distinctive behaviors

EXHIBIT F: Body language likewise leaves no doubt

With the double, she looks grim, he is not smiling, and they are remain physically separated. She is not reacting the same way because this is not her husband. It would be easy to find a huge number of photos on-line, because they are using the double a lot.

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 & Facebook too.

Those Who Would Arouse Leviathan by Jack Heart, Hardcover | Barnes & Noble® ( Those Who Would Arouse Leviathan: Memoir of an awakening god: 9781736288016: Heart, Jack: Books

Delete Google!


“Lawmakers have started reacting to Google’s admitted racial and historical bias, and one Republican senator wants to see the “breakup” of one of the most well-known and profitable tech companies.

“This is one of the most dangerous companies in the world. It actively solicits and forces left-wing bias down the throats of the American nation,” Sen. J.D. Vance, R-Ohio, told FOX Business’ Maria Bartiromo in a “Sunday Morning Futures” exclusive interview.”

Ohio senator demands Google ‘breakup’ amid Gemini debacle: ‘One of the most dangerous companies in the world’ (

Blake Lemoine the quintessential Google employe, demands his AI program be given human rights. When genetic defects like this lived out their pathetic lives in their parents’ basements this kind of aberration could be tolerated and coped with by a given society but thanks to Google this Thing here has been empowered to shape the minds of children. Not only that It has been given a monopoly on doing so. The only solution now becomes removing it and removing Google with extreme prejudice…
With all their guns Americans cannot or will not protect their children from this alien intelligence that has laid to waste everything they ever knew and loved. Above is how a real mother behaves in the face of a monstrosity such as Google.

The next time you see a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound girl with blue hair and a nose ring or an equally overweight effeminate pink haired boy, both speaking in demented slogans think of Google and all the damage they’ve done. You want to know why your world is being deleted look no further than Google. By 2019 I’d had enough as a writer of trying to row my intellectual boat upstream in a raging torrent of wet cement. I wrote, Chaioth ha-Qadosh – Tookie Memorial Post, Sīrius Calling II and went to war taking all the power of the primordial darkness with me. It won’t be long now. I never wanted it to turn out like this but in nature what cannot defend itself will perish. It’s long past midnight and the witching hour stealthily approaches. The sentient can feel her hot rancid breath as it scorches the earth but then that’s what Sīrius means, Scorcher. This excerpt is from that final essay that was not an act of war:

Google, another product of Stanford University and Menlo Park, was incorporated in the fall of ninety-eight shortly after stories about the Black Goo and the true nature of the Falkland Islands War began to surface. In just one more coincidence of circumstances all Google services except for Chinese Google Maps are blocked from access within mainland China by what has been dubbed The Great Firewall of China, a combination of legislative actions and technologies designed to keep Google out of the People’s Republic of China.

Google, the very epitome of a monopoly as envisioned by America’s antitrust laws, has grown with the internet and become a corporate giant the likes of which the world has never before had to contend with.

In testimony given in June to the United States Senate Judiciary Subcommittee on the Constitution; Dr. Robert Epstein, Senior Research Psychologist at the American Institute for Behavioral Research and Technology called Google “a serious threat to democracy and human autonomy” given its “power to suppress content – the censorship problem, if you will – as well as on the massive surveillance the company conducts, and also on the company’s unprecedented ability to manipulate the thoughts and behavior of more than 2.5 billion people worldwide.” (1)

Google through a company they created, ironically called “The Trust Project,” and finance, with help from certain Silicon Valley tech billionaires, Israeli operatives, Jesuit think tanks and shot callers for America’s war machine, routinely use “HTML-embedded codes in news articles to promote their content at the expense of independent alternatives.”(2) They have been doing this at least since early 2017 when The Trust Project’s director; Sally Lehrman boasted of sending “machine-readable signals to Facebook, Google, Bing, Twitter and other technology platforms…” (3)

Google has been all about control from their very inception. They were not even incorporated for three years when they applied for a patent to “manipulate the nervous system of a subject by pulsing images displayed on a nearby computer monitor or TV set…” (4)

Gordon Duff, one of the few that know how the news really gets made, accuses Google of what he calls “Atmospherics.” Google, as entrenched as it is in cybernetics, has an almost unlimited capability to collect data which they take full advantage of.

Atmospherics “is the pseudo-science of engineering all that data through fusion centers and creating “output.”

You see, the NSA, America’s “listening ear” that taps every phone, hears and sees all but processes or “fuses” as it were, almost nothing. Google “fuses” everything, every email but more, with the help of their dark little friends, all VOIP phone calls, and by that we mean everything, gets listened to as well, far more than the NSA gets.”(5)

In June of 2017 Google was fined a record 2.42 billion Euros “by the European Commission after it ruled the company had abused its power by promoting its own shopping comparison service at the top of search results.” (6) The record was soon broken when in July of 2018 the European Union fined Google another five billion “after it found Google forced Smartphone makers using Android to install the company’s search and browser apps. (7)

At the beginning of this year France, true to form, kicked the reeling giant in the shin with a fifty million Euro fine and in March the European Commission struck the third mighty blow. Google was ordered to pay another one and a half billion Euros “for abusing its dominant position in online search advertising.” (8)

Clearly the European Union has declared war on Google but in America, under the Citizens United Decision and its even more monstrous offspring McCutcheon v. Federal Election Commission, Google remains the gold standard for corporations seeking to seize control of the government. Those court decisions relegated America’s politicians, always corrupt but not legally, to mere assets for the wealthy and currently in America no one has more assets than Google…

By the end of the first decade of the twenty-first century it was clear that the internet, with its ability to deliver complex information in real time, had become the most vital component of western civilization. Information is the most valuable commodity there is. It always was. As the old Jewish proverb goes “give a man a fish and you feed him for a day; teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.

Corporations by the very definition of the word exist only to accumulate wealth. In order to maximize that accumulation, the existence is tailored to utilize the given infrastructure of its environment with the minimum amount of maintenance to the infrastructure. That is how a corporation works, plain and simple; it is by its very nature a parasite. Allowing a corporation to commandeer the information highway is not just a bad idea. It is irresponsible.

By the end of the last decade any even remotely efficient authority had only two options to deal with Google; one was to nationalize it and the other was to initiate a no holds barred anti-trust suit against it, as was done with Bell Telephone in 1974, which finally resulted in the Bell System Divestiture in 1984.

Instead with Operation PRISM, the NSA made it a partner. In 2015 it was reconfigured under the banner of its brand-new parent company; Alphabet Inc. a thinly veiled allusion to its new partnership with the NSA, CIA, FBI and ilk… Google has even joined NASA in the entertainment industry with their D-wave computers. Apparently instead of the government nationalizing Google, Google has googlized the government. All that’s left to be done is to move the “Googleplex” to Washington DC.


Cover Photo – Little girl and cell phone stock image. Image of online – 108738145 (

1 – Epstein, Ph.D, Robert. “Why Google Poses a Serious Threat to Democracy, and How to End That Threat.” AIBRTAmerican Institute for Behavioral Research and Technology. 16 Jun 2019. Web.
2 – Webb, Whitney. “The Trust Project: Big Media and Silicon Valley’s Weaponized Algorithms Silence Dissent.” MPN News. 7 Jun 2019. Web.
3 – Lehrman, Sally. “What People Really Want From News Organizations.” Markkula Center for Applied Ethics. 25 May 2017. Web.
4 – Loo, Hendricus G. “Nervous system manipulation by electromagnetic fields from monitors.” Google Patents. 2001. Web.
5- Duff, Gordon. “Atmospherics and the Googling of Humanity.” New Eastern Outlook. 2 Jun 2019. Web.
6 – Kelion, Leo. “Google hit with record EU fine over Shopping service.” BBC News. 27 Jun 2017. Web.
7 – “Google appeals $5 billion EU fine in Android antitrust case.” AP News. 10 Oct 2018. Web.
8 – Riley, Charles and Ivana Kottasová. “Europe hits Google with a third, $1.7 billion antitrust fine.” CNN Business News. 20 Mar 2019. Web.