Conspiracy / Extra-Terrestrial / Metaphysics / Mind control / Spiritual / Synchronicity

The Reality Virus

They say it started with a kiss. According to the Coca Cola company, it started with a Diet Coke.



Storm Stella is coming to the UK. It’s Uk Raine.




The root of poison. Poison is a virus :

c. 1200, “a deadly potion or substance,” also figuratively, from Old French poison, puison (12c., Modern French poison) “a drink,” especially a medical drink, later “a (magic) potion, poisonous drink” (14c.), from Latin potionem (nominative potio) “a drinking, a drink,” also “poisonous drink” (Cicero), from potare “to drink” (see potion).

For form evolution from Latin to French, compare raison from rationem. The Latin word also is the source of Old Spanish pozon, Italian pozione, Spanish pocion. The more usual Indo-European word for this is represented in English by virus. The Old English word was ator (see attercop) or lybb (cognate with Old Norse lyf “medicinal herbs;” see leaf (n.)). Slang sense of “alcoholic drink” first attested 1805, American English.





‘There seemed to be no use in waiting by the little door, so she went back to the table, half hoping she might find another key on it, or at any rate a book of rules for shutting people up like telescopes: this time she found a little bottle on it, (‘which certainly was not here before,’ said Alice,) and round the neck of the bottle was a paper label, with the words ‘DRINK ME’ beautifully printed on it in large letters.

It was all very well to say ‘Drink me,’ but the wise little Alice was not going to do that in a hurry. ‘No, I’ll look first,’ she said, ‘and see whether it’s marked “poison” or not’; for she had read several nice little histories about children who had got burnt, and eaten up by wild beasts and other unpleasant things, all because they would not remember the simple rules their friends had taught them: such as, that a red-hot poker will burn you if you hold it too long; and that if you cut your finger very deeply with a knife, it usually bleeds; and she had never forgotten that, if you drink much from a bottle marked ‘poison,’ it is almost certain to disagree with you, sooner or later.’


And Saddleworth Moor. Saddleworth Moor in Yorkshire, England was the scene of infamous child murders in the 1960s by the Moors Murderers Ian Brady and Myra Hindley. Keith Bennett’s body is still missing buried probably on Saddleworth Moor.



Every Mother’s Son.



Agent Orange.




‘Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time as she went down to look about her and to wonder what was going to happen next. First, she tried to look down and make out what she was coming to, but it was too dark to see anything; then she looked at the sides of the well, and noticed that they were filled with cupboards and book-shelves; here and there she saw maps and pictures hung upon pegs. She took down a jar from one of the shelves as she passed; it was labelled ‘ORANGE MARMALADE’, but to her great disappointment it was empty: she did not like to drop the jar for fear of killing somebody, so managed to put it into one of the cupboards as she fell past it.’



Why is Donald Trump so orange ?



Thanks TTN.



From Mail Online :

‘Dr Soloman, who works at Rice University in Houston, believes that the Martian climate will cause a darkening in our skin through carotenoid pigments – found in bright yellow and orange foods like squash and carrots – which will be grown on the planet.’


Total Recall. The Red Planet.




The Space Between Us. Two Worlds. One Connection.’



East Texas Settlement Mars.



Texas, USA.


Red Sky At Night.



The Bridge between East and West.




‘The square of the hypotenuse is equal to the sum of the squares on the other two sides.’ Maybe. I don’t know.




And Don’t Be Scared ! Here is an alternate reality short story from Roob’s friend Legs – Thank You – which I think is on the right lines.

If you like what you read, there are more which you can find by clicking Amazon – Fears of the Old and the New. By H.K. Hillman.


The Reality Virus 3229

As Dale walked beside Julie, his nurse, he saw the other world again. The crisp, white hospital walls faded into the damp, mould-encrusted bricks he had come to know well. The flicker of tallow candles replaced the bright fluorescent lighting, their odour wiping out the smell of disinfectant. He didn’t want to look at Julie. He knew what he’d see; he knew how she would look to him now.

“Dale, are you all right?”

He stopped walking, the muscles in his face twisted in disgust. Julie put her hand on his shoulder.

“Dale,” she said. “What is it? Are you seeing it again?”

“Yes. It’s awful.” He couldn’t help looking at her. He shuddered at the patchy grey hair, the hunched shoulders, the sore-ridden, wasted body clad in soiled brown cloth.

She smiled, showing her few remaining teeth, black and rotting, and he could smell her graveyard breath, the breath of something that had feasted on decay. He closed his eyes, tight. “I don’t want to see this anymore,” he said. “I want to see the real world, the clean world. Not this – this monstrosity!”

Julie took his arm. “Come on,” she said. “I’ll guide you the rest of the way to the doctor’s office. It’s just a little further. The doctor will know what to do.” She led him as if he was blind, slowly moving forward until she stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Dale,” she said, “open your eyes. What do you see now?”

“I don’t need to look,” he said. “I can smell the candles, feel the damp. I know I’m still hallucinating.”

“Look anyway. For me.”

Dale opened his eyes. “I can see a doorway, in a wall of cracked plaster, showing bare bricks. A battered door is hanging in the frame and I can see light through the gaps in the boards. There’s a symbol, a cross, drawn in red on the centre of the door and some markings below it, which I can’t quite see…”

Then, abruptly, everything changed. He was facing a white-painted door with a frosted glass panel. The light showing through the panel wasn’t flickering, it was the focused light of a reading lamp. The tallow-smell had gone, replaced with the ubiquitous disinfectant smell of the hospital. He looked at Julie and smiled. “You can see the hospital now?” she said. He paused before replying, savouring her long black hair and perfect smile, the crisp white uniform that showed off her shape so well.

“Yes,” he said. “Everything is fine now. I see the door as it really is, clean and white with a frosted window.” He drew a long breath as Julie knocked, then released it slowly as she opened the door.

The doctor stood, smiling, then walked across to Dale, his hand outstretched. “Dale,” he said. “How are you today? How’s that other world of yours?”

Dale winced. These attempts at humour always sounded flippant to him, as though his condition were some kind of joke. He knew the doctor meant well, but sometimes Dale wondered if the doctor believed a word he said.

“The other world is Hell,” he said, not accepting the doctor’s handshake.

The doctor’s brow creased into a frown. “Had another visit recently?”

Dale nodded.

“Just a moment ago,” Julie said. “His hallucination is consistent, he always sees the same things in the same places. Where there’s a door, Dale sees a door, but it looks very different to him.”

The doctor looked at Dale. “And it’s always the same?” he said.

“It depends where I am,” Dale said. “It’s always the same for a particular place. It’s as if the hallucination is overlaid on reality, permanently, and sometimes I can see it.”

He thought for a moment. “You know,” he said, “I’ve been trying to remember what things were like outside. Before I came to the hospital. I can’t. I can’t even remember what I used to do or where I used to live. It’s as if I never existed outside here.” He buried his face in his hands.

“Relax, Dale,” the doctor said. “You did have a life, you know. You lived over on the West Side, alone, and you had a job. I’m afraid it wasn’t glamorous. You were a cook in a small cafe. It’s the virus. It’s affecting your brain, causing these hallucinations and amnesia about your previous life.”

“Can it be cured?”

The doctor smiled an indulgent smile. “We’re doing everything we can.”

“But can it be cured, or not? How long will I be here?”

“When you see the hospital all the time, and don’t see your Hell at all, then you’ll be ready to leave,” the doctor said. “You’re already seeing it less often. Only once today.”

“So far,” Dale said, curling his lip.

“That’s good enough,” Julie said. “The day’s nearly over.”

“That’s right,” the doctor said. “Time for Nurse Davis to take you off to bed. We’ll meet again tomorrow.”

Dale started to rise, but stopped halfway. He looked at the doctor. “Is it contagious?” he said. “It’s just that Julie – I mean Nurse Davis – and the other nurses spend a lot of time around me. Are they at risk?”

“Not at all,” the doctor said. “The virus is very hard to catch. The nurses are safe with you. Now, off to sleep with you.”

Julie led Dale back to his room. He climbed into bed, and she handed him his sleeping tablets and water. He had taken them every night without question, but tonight he felt like a change. He wanted to think, not to sleep. Dale didn’t want to offend the nurse so he put the tablets into his mouth and took the water. Instead of swallowing, he trapped both tablets between his cheek and gum, throwing the mouthful of water back as usual.

“Well done, Dale,” Julie said. After her routine of fussing with his bedclothes, she left the room, turning down the light.

Dale picked out the tablets with a finger and put them under his pillow. Sure, the staff would find them in the morning and they’d be annoyed with him, but so what? He was a patient, not a prisoner, after all. He lay back, enjoying the warm, clean sheets of the bed, and tried to remember his life before the hospital. He had been a cook, so if he could think of something, a recipe perhaps, maybe something would come back. Still trying to think, he drifted into sleep.


He was woken by the creak of a door opening. His bed was uncomfortable and his sheets felt rough and dirty. He could hear voices, talking quietly as if to avoid waking him. He opened one eye, just a little, and saw the doctor and another man. Both were wearing rough sheets of brown cloth which were draped around them like cerements.

Both were hunched and looked malnourished, both were covered in sores and stinking of decay. Oh great, he thought, another hallucination. He closed his eye and pretended to be asleep.

The doctor was speaking. “He’s making good progress. He sees the clean world most of the time now, he only sees the decaying world intermittently.”

“Good,” the other man said. “When will he be ready?”

“A matter of days.”

“The fundamentalists haven’t found out?”

“No. As far as I know, they don’t even know about our work.”

The unknown man grunted. “We have to be careful. They have spies everywhere. They won’t approve of what we’re trying to do here, they would consider our work blasphemy. Interference with God’s punishment, or something like that.”

“I know,” the doctor said. “Our staff are carefully checked, and no visitors are allowed.”

“Very good. What about the others, are they seeing the same things?”

“Yes,” the doctor said. “The other patients all show the same hallucinations as Dale here. We’ve kept them separate so we can be sure they’re not comparing notes. They all report exactly the same visions. The virus, it seems, works the same way on everyone.”

There are others, Dale thought. Others like me, with the same virus, the same hallucinations. Dale squirmed on his bed. It felt as though he was lying on a coarse sheet laid directly on the bedframe.

“Careful,” the doctor said. “Best not wake him.” The two men left, closing the door quietly.

Dale opened one eye. All clear. He opened the other. Bare-brick walls surrounded him, lit by a single guttering candle on the far side of the room. He put a hand onto the mattress – there was no mattress! He sat up, examined the bed, and found that it was no more than a few planks of wood with a coarse blanket thrown over it. A similar blanket covered him. His pillow was a sack stuffed with straw. On an impulse, he lifted it, and saw the two sleeping tablets he had put there earlier. So they were still
there, even in his hallucination. He hoped that was a sign he was getting better, that small pieces of reality were filtering through his nightmares.

As he held the pillow, Dale noticed his arms, bare in his filthy, coarse night-shirt. His skin was grey, his muscles wasted, and red sores oozed pus that dripped onto the bed. His left hand was missing two fingers, their stumps black with infection. Feeling an itch on his right forearm, he turned his arm to look at it and screamed. A large sore had burst, purple flesh was exposed and maggots wriggled in the wound. Still screaming, he beat his arm against the bed.

The door opened and the hag he knew was really Julie came into the room, followed by the doctor. Pushing him back on the bed, the doctor held him still while Julie tried to calm him. “Think, Dale,” she said. “Think of the hospital. Try to see it.”

“Why is he awake?” the doctor said. “Didn’t he take his pills?”

“Yes. I saw him take them. Dale, come on, concentrate.”

“Maggots,” Dale said, his voice a childish whine. “In my arm. Maggots eating me.”

“No,” Julie said “Don’t see them. Look at me, Dale. You can do it.”

“Yes,” Dale said. “Hallucination. Virus. Not real.” He stopped struggling, closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing. He waited until he could smell disinfectant, then opened them. Julie smiled down at him, long black hair covering part of her face. The doctor released him and stood up.

“Feeling better now?” the doctor said.

“Yes,” Dale said. “It’s gone.”

Julie was looking at him, her brow furrowed. “What happened to your pills?”

With a sheepish expression, Dale lifted his pillow and brought out the two white pills. Saying nothing, he handed them to Julie.

“I thought as much,” she said. “I’ll get you some more.” She left the room.

“You really should take the pills,” the doctor said. “We can’t have you screaming all night, you know. You have to get some rest, and so do the staff.”

“I know,” Dale said. “I haven’t done this before. I don’t think I’ll do it again.”

The doctor smiled. “With luck, you shouldn’t need to for much longer. We think you should be okay within a week.”

Dale looked up, hopeful.

“There are other patients with your virus. Some of them haven’t seen the terrible world in days. If you follow the same pattern, one more week should do it.”

“That’s great news. So I just have to hold on for a week?”

“No guarantees, but I hope so.”

Dale lay back on the bed, grinning, just as Julie returned with a plastic cup and a glass of water. “Here you are,” she said, holding out the rusted tin mug. No! Plastic cup, plastic cup, concentrate! The mug wavered, became the cup again. Dale took it and swallowed the pills even before Julie handed him the wooden goblet. Glass! Glass of water!

“It’s starting again,” Dale said.

“Don’t worry,” Julie said. “The pills will take effect in a moment.”

Dale looked into her clouded red eyes and fell asleep.

When he woke, Doreen sat beside his bed. With her red hair in a tight bun, her lips in a tight smile, she was pretty, but nowhere near as pretty as Julie. Still, at least he could see her, at least he wasn’t seeing some rag-clad monstrosity.

“Good morning, Doreen,” he said.

“So you’re awake. I’ll get your breakfast sent in,” she said, standing and walking to the door. She paused as she opened it. “I hear you refused your medication last night. I hope there’ll be no such nonsense on my shift.”

As if he would dare. “No,” he said. “I’ve learned my lesson.” He had a fleeting vision of her as a twisted, infected horror as she left. Damn, he thought, the hallucinations are strange today, flashing in and out. That hasn’t happened before. He would have to ask the doctor about that, ask if it had happened to the other patients, the ones who had recovered. An orderly brought his breakfast and he sat up to eat.

Doreen returned just as he finished. “Up you get,” she said. “The doctor wants to see you.”

Dale’s eyebrows rose. “So early? He doesn’t usually see me until the afternoon or evening.”

Doreen pulled the sheets back. “Well, today it’s the morning,” she said. “Don’t ask me, I just do what I’m told.”

Dale slipped his legs off the wooden bed and climbed into the sackcloth garment. He clutched his head. Mattress. There is a mattress. I’m wearing jeans and a shirt. He took a deep breath and followed Doreen out of the room, along the white bare brick corridor. Gloss-white paint overlaid damp, mildew-covered stone. Fluorescent lights fought tallow candles for illumination. Dale shook his head.

“What is it?” Doreen said. “More hallucinations?”

“Worse. I’m seeing both now, one on top of the other, like a double exposure.”

“We’d better hurry along to the doctor.”

Doreen propelled him along the corridor, past white-uniformed staff with faces ravaged by infection, past roughly-made wooden doors with frosted glass panels, into the doctor’s room. She hadn’t knocked. The doctor looked up, surprised.

“He’s seeing both at once,” Doreen said, guiding Dale to a chair and pressing him into it.

“Oh dear,” the doctor said. “This could be serious. You’d better get a sedative ready.” Doreen nodded and left the room.

“What?” said Dale. “What’s serious? What’s happening to me?”

The doctor frowned. “Stay calm,” he said. “It’s the virus. Your body is rejecting it, cleaning itself. How are you feeling?”

“Scared. And confused. You said I used to be a cook. I wasn’t. I remember – something. I remember a laboratory. I was a scientist, wasn’t I?”

The doctor played with a pencil then put it down abruptly. “Yes, Dale, you were.”

“I worked with viruses. This virus. I was infected. What was it, an accident?”

The doctor stood, his crisply-ironed sackcloth flashing white, then brown, his strong, wasted frame striding, limping, to the window. “It wasn’t an accident.”

“What do you mean?”

“It wasn’t an accident, Dale. You infected yourself deliberately.”
The doctor turned to face him. “You infected the others first, then yourself.”

“No!” Dale stood, knocking over the wooden box he had been sitting on. “No. You’re lying.” His hands bunched into fists as he faced the doctor, then he felt a sharp pain in his back. Turning, he saw Doreen holding a syringe, her red hair becoming a mottled grey as his consciousness fled.

He could smell iodine. Forcing his eyes open, he saw that he was lying on straw, damp and foetid, in a bare room. With a groan, he stood and walked to the door. It was barred from the outside. “Hey,” Dale shouted, banging on the door. “Let me out.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” The doctor’s voice came through the door.

“Doctor? Is that you?” Dale paused. “I remember. You’re Simon.” He spoke slowly, dragging the words from the deepest pits of his memory. “Doctor Simon Morgan.”

“Yes, Dale, it’s me.” The voice wavered.

“You’re my brother.” Dale leaned against the door. “You didn’t tell me.”

“It would have interfered with your treatment. Your memories have to recover on their own.”

“Why am I locked up like this?”

“For your own safety.” The last word was choked off by a sob.

Dale could still smell iodine. He looked at his arms. They were thin and grey, the red welts oozing pus. The wound on his right arm, which had been full of maggots, had been cleaned and was stained yellow. That was where the iodine smell was coming from. Why had they treated it? It wasn’t real. He banged on the door again.

“Let me out, Simon,” he said, “I’m hallucinating again.”

There was a long silence. “No, you’re not.”

“Yes I am. I’m covered in sores and this room is vile. There’s only stinking straw to sleep on.”

Another long silence. “It’s not an hallucination, Dale. This is the real world.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. This is the rotten world of my hallucination. The virus—”

“The virus causes illusion and forgetfulness. Those infected don’t see the real world any more, and don’t remember it. They see the world as it was before the war.”

“What war?” There had been a war, he remembered vaguely.

“The final war. The chemical and biological weapons war. You were working on antidotes for the weapons, but you were too late. The war took us all by surprise. So you worked on a new virus. This one.”

“Yes, yes, I know. The hallucinations are all my fault. I need help now, Simon. I’m stuck in my hallucination.”

“No, Dale, you’ve lost your hallucination. Your body has rejected the virus, so you don’t have hallucinations any more. You’ll start remembering more soon.”

“What do you mean?”

There was a deep sigh from the other side of the door. “This is it, Dale. This is reality. The war killed most people and those few of us who survived are dying slowly, hideously deformed by the weapons that were used. Your virus is our only hope. It won’t cure us but it gives the illusion of normality, of cleanliness, of life before the war. The other patients are fine, they believe they’re in a clean, wonderful
hospital in a beautiful world. We’ll begin injecting more people with the virus soon.”

“What about me? Why not just inject me again?”

“It won’t work, Dale. You’re immune now. The virus won’t work on you.”

Dale slumped against the door. “So what next?”

“Soon we’ll all be seeing the clean world of your hallucination. Thanks to you, your work, your virus, we’ll all be able to enjoy life again. Oh, life will still be short, but it’ll be better.”

“You mean everyone will see the illusion of a clean reality.”

“Yes. Well, almost everyone.”


“Everyone but you, Dale. Everyone but you. That’s why I’ve hidden you here, to stop the authorities killing you as they did the others. Those who the virus failed to infect. I can never let you out. You represent too great a risk, the risk of remembrance.”

Dale sank to the floor, sobbing, as his brother’s footsteps echoed among the drips from the damp walls.



What is really happening when we go to the Doctors ? When an optician checks your eyes what is being checked for. ? Why all the smear tests and prostrate examinations ? Why did my friend Jackie die from cervical cancer at the age of 30 ?

Why do we get ill. A bad life style or just bad luck ? And why are the Doctor’s surgeries and hospitals full up and why do we continually hear emergency sirens from ambulances and police ?

Why all the migrants ? Last autumn a new friend moved into the house where I live . She had lived in Malaysia and had returned to Britain with her two sons. The first thing she asked was where could she register at a Doctor’s which I found for her. And she was very grateful for the Welcome she had been given.

The Cold War was over a long time ago and there is no need economically or territorially for the continual sabre rattling. And why does North Korea continually threaten everyone.

MAL in the basement – ‘Inception’.



The Secret Garden.




It’s about Time. And you are always safe.


82 thoughts on “The Reality Virus

  1. Ken, I thought it was implicit in the bible that the knowledge of good and evil was serpent knowledge and this knowledge was forbidden by god – he certainly didn’t seem very happy when Adam and Eve went against his instructions and found this out for themselves – could Frank be more of a christian than you?

    Faith you are right a lot of people with esoteric knowledge live and have lived questionable lives but in order to fathom out what’s going on it’s important not to throw the baby out with the bath water and to use the knowledge they have.

    Equally it is important to realise a lot of these people have themselves been the victims of horrific abuse and mind control



      We don’t need to fathom out what’s going on. Gods Word is all we need, and the Scriptures are His voice, completely and utterly sufficient.

      Those given over to a reprobate mind, have minds that are devoid of good judgement. They continually chose evil, and deceive themselves ( and sometimes others ) into believing their evil is good.
      Sin is justifiable and acceptable to them. They suppress the truth with their wickedness, and live impure lives with no desire to please God. They don’t have the Holy Spirit and live only for their own selfish desires and lusts

      And I realise that some people have themselves sadly been the victim of abuse. And that in itself, shows the evil and wickedness of the ones who carry out such vile acts.

      The Lord knows who these wicked ones are, and his wrath is upon them. And to suggest that we actually
      ‘ use the knowledge they have ‘ is totally wrong.
      A reprobate knows only evil and rebellion against God.

      • Gosh, do you ever post about the beauty you see in this world? What’s that saying: “It takes one to know one.”

        You said we should not interpret your bible esoterically. If we take it all literally, what a bloody ugly book!

      • Faith

        Someone sage once told me…when you victimize a victim, you tend to create an enemy. The bible is full of victims looking for vengeance from a wrathful god whom they believe exacts eternal judgement on those lacking ‘obedience’ (whatever that is). But isn’t it only ‘justice’ if the punishment befits the crime? Why are we constantly at war with the Spirit, while trying to create cookie-cutter clones of ourselves? And what does blood and physical torture have to do with a Spiritual ‘crime’? What a dull world it would be if we were all the same. Then you wouldn’t be a victim anymore. Who, then, would be your enemy?

        If Spiritual understanding can’t evolve over time, then it looks like we’re doomed for more of the same bullshit. More victims, more victimizing victims, making more enemies…and so it goes. Jesus practiced forgiveness…and he was a Simple Man.

    • Nemesis

      It took me sometime to understand who my boss was.

      I won’t go over what is the Christ again but she/he or Shim isn’t interested in casting anyone into hell or punishing anyone.

      What the Christ wants is for us to wake up and remember who we are. But we’ve been in such a deep coma and amnesia that it takes some doing working through everything.

      And I’m glad Ken and Faith made it here.

      • Snow White (nuclear winter?) and the ‘poison’ apple (forbidden fruit) and the antidote, ‘loves first kiss’.

        • Elena

          About Trump and the reason for Trump and why he has shown up ? And where we are in Time.

          This may not make sense unless you’ve seen Doctor Who.

          The War Doctor was a hidden Doctor Who who been forgotten about and not acknowledged.

          He was involved in and responsible for a massive war which destroyed planets and huge numbers of people in the past.

          But because of the guilt in the Doctor’s psyche, the War Doctor was denied.

          • Frank

            I’m not familiar with that part of Dr Who, but think I get your drift.

            Last year Pres Obama made a headline with ‘We will go to Mars by 2020’. And we had a conversation about the symbolism of Mars. Planet or god of war.

            Flip the M in Mars upside down and it reads, ‘We will go to Wars by 2020’.

            About Trump, his skin color is the color of planet Mars. 🙂
            He is on record that he wants to renew the nuclear arms race.
            And he proposed his first budget yesterday, and it is heavily tilted toward military expansion, at the expense of social and health related programs. It’s being called a ‘hard power’ budget.

            Waiting for the four horsemen of the apocalypse to ride. 🙂

            • Elena

              I’m hoping we may have changed things or are changing things.

              Trump’s face is part of my thinking. We maybe looking back a long time ago – memory in real time – to another planet, if there is another planet and into the psyche of humanity and consciousness. Maybe the solar system is another sign of separation.

              And the pyramids in Egypt and the Pyramid Mine on Mars in Total Recall.

              And why is the soil red in Texas ?


                  I think I’m on the right lines. Trump Tower has been hacked.Reading the Twilight Language.

                  From the BBC :

                  A US Secret Service laptop with Trump Tower floor plans and other sensitive material has apparently been stolen from an agent’s vehicle in New York.

                  The laptop, which was protected by encryption, was taken on Thursday, the Secret Service confirmed.
                  The computer has details on a criminal inquiry into former Democratic candidate Hillary Clinton’s use of private email, according to ABC News.

                  Police are looking at surveillance footage to identify a suspect.
                  The Secret Service released a statement saying “an employee was the victim of a criminal act in which our Agency issued laptop was stolen”.

        • Nicola, from the office I’m working in currently, left today, Shiny. She got a few leaving presents, one of which was a full length cardboard cut out of Gerald Butler. I swear to god, every time I got up to use the printer, his eyes followed me…

          … Oh, and she also got a whole head, rubber penguin mask… Weird, to say the least. But then again the whole office is full of dolphins. We did a quiz…

          I’m not, apparently I’m a monkey with strong dolphin tendencies. I had to laugh 😀

        • TTN

          A couple of weeks ago – I can’t find the link – Jen sent me an email which included a story that London Bridge had shut down.

          The message has been repeating itself since Christmas.

          • Frank just e-mailed you…in regard to the Cuban thing its an explosion a big bang the Cuban Missile Cr isis when the world was the closest its ever been to destruction maybe in other alternate realities it actually happened and that is what you were seeing

            and it resulted in radio active mut ants X men…

            but then I am still drunk and hallucynating

            splitting atoms/adams 8:15

            the big O MA

              • Frank Im drinking milk as a hangover cure…Hathor also had a hangover which lasted for three days

                Hathor is calling all the cow boys…to ring her bell

                to get off your horse and drink her milk


                She was originally a personification of the Milky Way, which was considered to be the milk that flowed from the udders of a heavenly cow

                Her traditional votive offering was two mirrors and she was often depicted on mirrors and cosmetic palettes

                Hathor was associated with red turquoise, malachite, gold and copper. As “the Mistress of Turquoise” and the “lady of Malachite” she was the patron of miners and the goddess of the Sinai Peninsula (the location of the famous mines).

                She was also associated with the Menit necklace (which may also have been a percussion instrument) and was often known as “the Great Menit”.

                As the “lady of the west” and the “lady of the southern sycamore” she protected and assisted the dead on their final journey.

                She occassionally took the form of the “Seven Hathors” who were associated with fate and fortune telling. It was thought that the “Seven Hathors” knew the length of every childs life from the day it was born and questioned the dead souls as they travelled to the land of the dead.

                Her priests could read the fortune of a newborn child, and act as oracles to explain the dreams of the people. People would travel for miles to beseech the goddess for protection, assistance and inspiration. The “Seven Hathors” were worshiped in seven cities…the magnificent seven….

                but watch out she bites….

  2. Free-rangin with the chicks in a O-range jumpsuit.
    I’m told we were put here by a pumpkin eater.
    Must’ve been that pussy-grabber, Trump.
    No fear!

  3. Sorry if I offended you Frank, it wasn’t my intention – I just find it interesting that you try to see the good in everyone and everything – and Faith and Ken – at least on this website – seem to do the opposite. For what it’s worth IMHO both ways of thinking are flawed – there is good in bad people, etc and vice versa.

    This all leads on to the question ‘is there life on mars?’

    When we pray, or send out good thoughts or love to everyone and everything what are we really doing ? what is the intent.? That good should override and negate evil (more correctly fear) in some way – stop it from having any power, stop it from existing ?

    Does it work? Where does fear go if we reject it? It exists – the bible tells us this – so what happens to it does it slink off to the shadows where it can’t be monitored and continue its business while we stick our heads in the sand or hide under the covers and hope its gone away?

    I am sure most people at some point in their lives have said the lords prayer which contains the line ‘deliver us from evil’. What are we asking? That we want nothing to do with the entire notion of evil , we’ve willingly handed the whole thing to god to deal with on our behalf.

    Is this what he’s done for us?

    As faith repeatedly tells us (as do virtually all religions and their devotees) we should hand all responsibility for our lives and everything surrounding them to some ‘higher’ entity (inshallah) – but can this entity be trusted – does it have our best interests at heart. We’re meant to think it does but from what I see when I look around I would say perhaps it does not.

    Do we want to take back responsibility for all our lives and thereby all aspects of everything and acknowledge that they exist – both good and evil?

    Does evil exist for us – Is there life on mars?

    • Nemesis

      You didn’t offend me at all. It’s difficult to describe or explain my last few weeks in a way that makes sense.

      If I’m reading this right it doesn’t matter what anyone thinks now. Let them think it and just get on with their lives and think what they like.

      And my question now is not so much is there Life on Mars. But is this Mars ? And how does Venus for into this ?

    • Dualism is a limited view of the human condition. One that is completely mired in Samsara. Clinging and wanting all the time, ego driven. Perhaps the most ethical living posture is being in the heart of now. Many colors can be seen at 42 degrees. 87

  4. Nuclear Anima – two become one
    The powers that be know how SS works in this realm. Anything you create during a SS ritual is realised on the astral plane – eg a childe is created (not a literal child but a creation of intent) – sooner or later this is birthed in this world, eg a war or a terrible calamity, etc. However, the original priestess and priest have been working together for a while now doing the same thing together – via sine wave communication – and creating a childe of their own intent.

    Male and female work like a plug in a socket – they connect, switch on and create electricity. Energy is electric and where it pools in the female chakras it becomes magnetic (7th element of metal). In the high priest and priestess a fusion – two become one – occurs in both sets of pineal glands in both people along the magnetic chakra pole – unlocking them and a beam of light is released from this, powerful enough to transcend everything (even all of the dome roofs) and connect with the original Creators. (Incidentally Jesus is a fissure of men as he has been fissured from his original female partner – also splitting the atom is symbolic of this fissure).

    So everything is hips – hidden in plain sight. Films are a major proponent of this concept. The da vinci code is a key twisted example of this. At the end of the film Robert Langdon comes to the conclusion that the body of the Magdalene is hidden under the pyramid at the Louvre.

    One of the louvre definitions – ‘structure in roof incorporating openings for the passage of smoke’ – And her smoke rose up for ever and ever Rev 19.3 kjv. Smoke perhaps being symbolic of the beam of light? A traditional design of roof is a pyramid shape……

    Again terrible rituals by the machine become messages for us. At one or other anniversary of 9/11 a beam of light was sent into the sky after the twin towers were destroyed – I believe a single building is now being built instead – two become one.

    Anima – latin for breath of life – commonly thought to mean soul – one added letter becomes animal – free the animal ?

    Are the original comatose bodies of the priest and priestess (poss referenced in Chemical Wedding) stored on this earth somewhere, waiting for the anima to leave the priestess’s existing earthly body and go into her original body – younger and entwined with the viper. Is she herself enough for her soul pattern to match so she can re-enter her body – is she ME again?

    Are the originals in? Can the priest go into stella again?

    • That sounds like “she” is expected to be vaccummed up by the raper, i mean raptor, i mean rapture. Or to buy a ticket for the ASS cension.

  5. Nemesis, you’re a riot. I love it.
    Jesus is a fissure and a fixture of ken, i mean men, stuck up there on his post.
    I bet he’s cursive under his breath, re-sighting the script.
    The question is not is there life on Mars or is there Mars.
    The quest ion is who is Who, Doctor?

            • My given name is Dennis. What heavy spiritual discourse from this post. Allot of insight, spectacular! To shine forth is key! 87

              • It most certainly is!
                Who gave you that name, tennis? Is it as reel as “A Void”? I love my given names too. ;-P Those I give myself and those others have given me.
                Tell me, Dddddddennis: at which station did you lose your sense of humor? Was it before or after you became vegan, discovered “India”, worshipped at the feet of a “guru” and renounced being a human being? Or was it because of a childhood full of bible study where you learned to move in absolutes do fairly much the same? You come here as a consumer and recite a single mantra over and over again, much like mensen ik ken. IS

                You are hanging on so tightly you are losing the plot.

                Merovingians like a good weave.

            • Great song!

              And it’s definitely in the air! It blew over and Fuk’dUS. We’re all buzzing with hot-particles and half-lives now!
              Perhaps by design?

  6. Statistics never was my strong suit…but I do remember the standard deviation between two points was the Mean or Median, expressed by…

    …which I tend to think aptly represents the synchrosphere and connects two faces of the same dime-in-sion. The bridge, if you will. Just thinking of the mutated flower above. But then again….I barely passed the class…so make of it what you will.

  7. truth lies within, all is contra-diction
    Hollywood & Holy Word ..

    a theist atheist, agnostic a Gnostic …

    never a bored moment in the board room

    go fourth TAMMUZ –
    hear On Ur th … well…

    the Olimbic games at fuk u shimmer ? where else

  8. To pair a phrase, “the human condition” is limited and mired in duality yet we are very certain exploring the words Nigga/Naga/Nega/Neggar makes one “disgusting.”
    This is why I A Void highly spiritual people.
    I role….

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