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Life in the Empire

We don't need another / a new discussion to prove it.

It is as it is.

Let this "fred" (discussion thread) live under the theme .......

long live this family

brothers, sisters, brethern, dogs, cats and birds, ants and flees, water and air and gas and Clare and Jim and him and the window Simm (??) and you and me and he and she and we and them and us and puss (???) and fish and the dish (it's on) and paper and pen.


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But here's my moonbeam theory and i'm sticking to it.  Way better than pizzagate:  ETs.  Disclosure.  And the ruthless evil fucks who want to cull the population are down to 1/3.  Guess who they are.  Pick your oligarch.  But the 2/3 in the deep state are ready to do the leak-o-rama on the Culture of Secrets.  "911" seems to have indicated that LOTS of people can keep a secret and maintain a "conspiracy" that big... using weaponized memes and anything else that's necessary to suppress the ideas/ technology etc. we have already received somehow from the "others."  

Remember we are a 0-level civilization.  So we can assume there are at least 1s... maybe 2s... "out there."   Now think of "civilizations" that are 300-level and beyond.  That's who we're dealing with.  They are trans-dimensional beings.  I thought the idea of "meme warfare" kinda ridiculous.  Like a live squirrel fight.  Like "air warfare" was during the Civil War.  Lowe's balloons were as far as it got.  50 years later there's the Red Baron.  The US Civil War wasn't the first "modern" war... but it might have been the last ancient one.  We need to evolve quickly to where war becomes as repulsive as cannibalism... or the smell of shit.  

But armed with cruel hate, his craft and power are great.  On earth he has no equal.  That was before drone warfare.   

Nobody was sure if Gillie was a boy a girl.  Nobody asked.  I believe we got Gillie and Abe at the same time.  And there’s no doubt that Abe was an eagle.  Nobody needed to ask.  And Gillie could march and fight as well as anybody.  That’s a fact… and that’s all any of us cared about anyway.  Some say Gillie was an Indian, and I believe that’s true.  But I will tell you this, and I don’t give a damn if anybody believes it or not.  Gillie was a witch.  Some men can fight like devils, but can’t march worth a damn.  They’re usually late… but welcome. 

Then there are some who could march like insects but couldn’t fight.  They are all dead.  And that’s who I heard the stories from.  When they saw Gillie around the eagle… they would see bird and human heads together.  Nobody else came that close to Abe without fear of losing an eye.  Huge Rebel boys came at Gillie with bayonets and I stood and shot one of them.  Time the smoke was gone, the Rebel boys were gone.  Mine was dead.  Gillie’s were gone.  And swear Old Abe was up there screaming, “Hardtack!  Hardtack!”  So they said:  the ones now dead. 

Sherman attacked once again down the Graveyard Road, with 150 volunteers   Sherman told Tuttle, "This is murder; order those troops back."  They had no more success than any of Sherman's other assaults.  By then, Forlorn Hope was gone and so was Gillie who sounded like a girl, moved like a boy and had the ability to become invisible.  That was back in the last days of May or the first of June in 1863.  Today it might be called “Remote Viewing” or some other humbug.  It was witchcraft.  Straight from the ancient forests all over the world. 

Witchcraft.  Suppressed for over a thousand years.  Remembered through tens of millennia before that, the language of the forest and its creatures intermixed with the bursting shells and that devilish rebel yell, I could compare to nothing but one of Dante's pictures of Hell, a something too fearful to describe.  The Great Remembering in the presence of Trans- dimensional beings.   Never saw Gillie again until sometime in 1864 when we all mustered out together and the war was about over anyway. 


Sometimes I wish we had a "like" button. I want to let you know that I really enjoyed reading that but I feel a weight to write something meaningful in return.


Migawd P are you OK in S. Fla.??  Ning jerked me around over $,,, appears to be ok now.  

5:30 AM - waiting for light to finish boarding up windows and bring in bbq/chairs/etc to garage.  If Irma continues to confound the experts and track to the left of the cone of uncertainty than she could be a major hurricane - have our bug-out gear ready to throw in the car if she stays in the water rather than hitting land.  Otherwise we are going to hunker down.  The predicted winds are doable and the direction would be the best case scenario for us as far as trees go, they would fall away from our house.

By the time Irma passed east of Tallahassee she was a tropical storm.  We lost Centurylink for a bit after the storm and a couple plants but that was it.  The clean up from the preparedness will be longer than any actual damage from the storm.

That's good. Must have been frightening nonetheless.

Nice to have breathable air in Seattle again. Not look forward to 6 months of rain after a summer without it. Got this feeling there's gonna it's going to be a wild ride this winter.

In good news, our pedo-mayor is resigning tomorrow after another one of his victims has come forward.

The waiting is the worst.  You know it is coming, or not, based upon the predicted "cone of uncertainity".  You know it is going to be devastating, or not, based upon its current strength and what it might or might not do.  And for a week you check the reports regularly...and it keeps inching to the west - which is bad - instead of turning to the north. And it is starting to look more and more likely that you are going to be in the path, or not.

That was nicely put Pan ... thank you.

I lost my RBC access for a while due to losing my password.  Looks like I'm back again with a voice.  My last 4 months have been one giant tornado of uncertainty with certain certainties ... my sister evicted me and I had invaluable help from friends finding new place to live in Johannesburg instead of Pretoria.  Dogs are settled.  I am ever so much happier.  I think the extra sunshine in this little townhouse has helped all three of us.  Certain uncertainty about financial survival ... having to take legal action to retrieve capital from sister ... or not.  Seems she convinced my mother I was "compost" mentis and appointed herself as adminstrator of any inheritance I may or may not have receive ... Some school friends of mine with 60th birthdays around the same time as mine (24th Sept) are gathering down in the Cape for 10 days of beach holiday and en route I get to visit my mother ... going to be an awkward meeting because if I am not "compost" she is going to have an alternative more uncomfortable time adjusting to what that says about her youngest daughter ... not a good thing to bring upon someone who is 86 years old, but it got beyond me just holding my peace (piece?) after my sister walked out of negotiations and send a loan settlement agreement proposal which included me leaving my entire estate to her sons.  My estate at the moment is two elderly dogs .... so I needed to find out from my mother what sister knew that I didn't.  I'll have a letter from my psychiatrist saying I'm ADHD and doing well on meds, two friends with me and we'll go to tea at the botanical gardens to discuss the compost issue .... all very surreal and beyond the imagination of anyone who could make a good living from writing fiction.

Greetings to "y'all"

From what I have heard, my father's estate is evenly divided between the five children - so far no issues arising - inheritance can sure turn nasty.

if I could talk I'd tell you how my compost was, but there is so little conversation that the silence is devastating in my English town, where it is as though I had been dead for years, cut out of society. Might be food bank for me soon, retirement age has gone up again, 68 now, 5 years to go. stopped going anywhere a long time ago. Truly devastating silence.
you know how impossible it is to speak. left the labour lot after a brief visit due to open vote on siria which put bustard leader firmly in criminal fraternity of war mongers.
schizotypal is on my label of unsuitability for discourse. no friends. cut the rotten wood out with a knife, wire wool, beeswax polish, there... nice and smooth.
the great consolation is the beauty of this place increases with time as so much does, leaning into the light, upwards and outwards, filling the open air with being alive. and rustling, especially the bay, which is a noisy tree.

and I get to look up, higher and higher, and walk amongst them, plucking the fruit from the thorns in the peace of the evenings.

have been laying an informal path of variously sized sandstone flagstones as arthritis allows.

here I stand on the sacred land with the Goddess carved by my ancestor in my hand, thousands of years between


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