“How serious is the war? Picture seven grains of salt. That’s the size of a fatal dose of fentanyl. It’s sold as fentanyl, or as a pretended pharmaceutical drug, or as CANDY. To kids.
Buckle up.”
—Jon Rappoport, Mexican Drug Cartels Are Taking Over Montana
“What EPA claims is the "safe" lifetime dose of dioxin — now raining down over Ohio and PA — is he weight of 1/32,000,000th (one thirty-two millionth) of an aspirin tablet.”
Eric F. Coppolino
The news is consistently unfathomable, and soul-crushing.
I noticed I was finding excuses not to be absorbing what was happening, taking a few days away, and it was only late last night that I understood the gravity of the “Chernobyl” cargo train event in Ohio.
I examined several videos and was confused and disturbed that that all had such “production values,” with triple screens, music and so forth.
When every catastrophe comes to us re-packaged as “content” it’s very difficult to respond appropriately. People were saying one particular video was the best one to watch but it seemed too slick to me. Are we just watching all this, as consumers? Is this the new television?
That video with the man holding the limp fox. The floating dead fishes. The dead chickens. The familiar disorientation, from everything being decontextualized and digital. Who is showing and telling me what, and for what purpose?
Were there conductors on those trains? Did they die? Can they speak to us?
I fell asleep, listening to some darkly important video about how ancient druidic cults have controlled us through symbols for centuries. I woke up to an interview with a scientist who is making the case that there is no such thing as reality, but rather, it’s all a byproduct of evolution, and the drive to re-produce.
I have felt that “reality” is not a given anymore. It lives in the analog, fragments in the digital.
I had a dream that I was with an old childhood friend from Sweden, my friend Anneli, and I was holding out my hand and introducing myself to somebody she was with. I said my name, and the atmosphere of the dream was shame. That my entire personality, set of ideas and beliefs were so wrong, it caused me to become an un-person, and now I was trying to exist again.
Then I had to flee, and had only a bag of bananas.
Then I was on Broadway, where I lived as a child, where my father lived until 2020, and there was a street fair. They were selling people the chance to cut children’s hair—Asian children. In the dream I was thinking: “This is not good. Why do people want to pay to cut children’s hair? They don’t even know how to cut hair, do they?”
I suppose it was a Joe Biden Anxiety dream fragment.
I turned on InfoWars and ALEX JONES was talking about HAARP, Operation Blue Beam, the fake alien invasion, and the latest Greg Reese report. How they caused the earthquakes in Turkey and Syria.
Next thing I knew, I was sobbing, uncontrollably.
It lasted about an hour, and it was long overdue.
I knelt down and prayed, for mercy, for intercession, for strength, and for protection against apathy and despair.
To perceive or not to perceive?
I think I’ll go fill the bird-feeder.
Coming March 23, available on pre-order now.
“I knelt down and prayed, for mercy, for intercession, for strength, and for protection against apathy and despair.
To perceive or not to perceive?”
I struggle with this daily. Is ignorance really bliss? It seems like it for the masses. I fear we are no better than MSM by constantly analyzing this world on fire. Our bodies will react to the fear porn and the real situations all the same. Unfortunately, once you are awake it’s hard to go back to sleep. 😒
I honestly don't know how those of us in the know are supposed to retain our sanity. Crying helps. Thanks, Celia.