Thursday, May 25, 2017


"As of September 2015, the C.I.A. estimates that 30,000 foreign fighters have joined the ISIL: 3,000 from Tunisia, 2500 from Saudi Arabia, 1700 from Russia, 1500 from Jordan, 1500 from Morocco, 1200 from France, 1000 from Turkey, 900 from Lebanon, 700 from Germany, 600 from Libya, 600 from the United Kingdom, 500 from Indonesia, 500 from Uzbekistan, 500 from Pakistan, 440 from Belgium, 360 from Turkmenistan, 360 from Egypt, 350 from Serbia, 330 from Bosnia, 300 from China, 300 from Kosovo, 300 from Sweden, 250 from Australia, 250 from Kazakhstan, 250 from the Netherlands, 200-300 from Azerbaijan, 200 from Austria, 200 from Algeria, 200 from Malaysia, 190 from Tajikstan, 180 from the United States of America, 150 from Norway, 150 from Denmark, 140 from Albania, 133 from Spain, 130 from Canada, 110 from Yemen, 100 from Sudan, 100 from Kyrgyzstan, 80 from Italy, 70-80 from Palestine, 70 from Somalia, 70 from Kuwait, 70 from Finland, 50 from Ukraine, 40-50 from Israel, 40 from Ireland, 40 from Switzerland, at least 30 from Georgia, 23 from Argentina, 18 from India, 10-12 from Portugal, and 3 from the Phillippines."

Classified Document:
Author: General Aleister "Madman" Monighan

عبادة "Ibadah." 
Obedience with submission. A psychosexual jihad. They fetishize submission, worship, and servitude to their God. Their message of living a pious and charitable life is used to justify rape,  domination, slavery. All the worst things. I see it on all of the supposed sides. Almost any aspect of what you might call an organized religion is stained by these practices. They pick up the sexual energy from people, drain them and use it against them en masse. It's the reason for most forms of celibacy and sexual control. They are storing up the energy like a battery. It's one of the only things that they really understand how to use us for.
The early proponents of the infallibility of the Catholic Church were some of the same people who believed in the inherent cursed nature of the dark-skinned people of the Earth, the supposed "curse of Ham." The church fathers believed those who were of a deeper resonance of melanin to be marked by God as fair game for slavery and mistreatment. Thus the deeply horrific and shameful legacy of the African slave trade, leading all the way up to the mining of Africa for coltan ore that exists to this day. Every time a new wi-fi device is invented, a small war will break out in the Democratic Republic of the Congo over the mining profits for that particular ore. From this vein a dark ring of horror threatens to envelop the Earth.
It is this very same logic in the misreading of an ancient book that justifies the slave-taking actions of men as justified by God in the world of Islamic extremism. They believe the unfortunates who find their way into slavery to be somehow chosen by God, and they believe that their God guides their actions, allowing for the defeat and the subjection of others. By this logic, their God also allows pedophilia, incest, and snuff films.
It is by this logic that our world seems to run. 
I have a different way of looking at things though. It is perhaps true that "our actions are God's food." I believe that I have found a solution to these things. A solution to the powers that be. I have a message for them. Soon the world will know the truth.


Wednesday, May 24, 2017


{opening transcript}

Journal of Marcus W.
03:33 P.M.

"Take off his hands and feet
His eyes and head and all
And when them student finish
There was nothing left at all."
- excerpted from "The Dissecting Hall," a folk poem of the American South

The world is not what it appears to be. We are like ants behind glass in a child's bedroom. There are hidden forces in the world, non-human, that set people against each other. They vampirize human emotion and feed off our "energy." They also act as impediments to the urge toward sympathy and understanding. These are beings, things that exist in a manner like you or I. They can manifest their wishes and willpower through us, and even take the form of flesh.
Back when I was just a boy, I saw one of them in my closet while I was in a half-awake, dreamlike state. The oppressive heat of the Mississippi night seemed to permeate my thoughts... the deafening sound of frogs in the night succumbing to their primal urges merges with the buzzing of dutifully chirping insects. The heat swirled like locusts, and a cold march of time like a zoom lens began to direct my attention to the closet of my bedroom.
My mother arranged everything in my closet at that juncture of my life. I did not spend much time in there myself, and so the small room that housed my clothing was a source of great mystery. The wooden doors could slide aside on a tiny metal railing along the door-frame, and although I did not recall opening the door myself, it seemed to have opened of its own accord. A reflection of the full moon shined in, creating a spotlight effect on the back of the wall. Slowly, like a shuffle, a form began to emerge as if like a marionette carried on hooks. I heard a scraping sound, a grinding, and then into view came a horrible face. It was a round, grinning red-lipped thing, it's hollow eyes bored into my soul. I swear, at this moment, I heard the thing speak in words that would haunt me for the rest of my life.
In my mind, I called it the Golliwog, because it resembled a bizarre children's doll that my grandmother used to have around the house. I always hated those grotesque old-timey dolls and paintings of "colored" children eating watermelon and running away from trouble. I always thought that sort of thing was a disgrace. Reducing a few characteristics to the disassembling logic of caricature... utterly grotesque. I always associated those pictures with the stories that she used to tell me as a child about the "night doctors." She always spoke of them in that Old Testament language of retaliation, like she believed that they were some ungodly force of a plague upon our people. "There's a wolf out there," she would say. And maybe there was.
She told me the following story once on a rainy afternoon, apropos nothing in particular. It sounded crazy to me, but the terseness, the intensity of her words stuck out to me.

"I'll never forget the day we saw THEM. They arrived on horseback, arranged in a military formation with torches held aloft. Their hoods and cloaks made them look like devils, and they descended upon the home of old Mr. James, who lived on the far end of the road from us. Mr. James worked for the church, and he had mouthed off to one of those boys, one of the doctors, in public. They had come to the church to tell us folks that there was going to be a curfew at night for us all, and Mr. James got very upset and started talking straight to them. Telling them that they couldn't hide behind their masks before the Lord, that they would face judgement for what they were doing to us."
"They surrounded his house with the torches, and I thought for sure that he was going to hang. After talking to the men, he left voluntarily, and they burned his small wooden house to the ground. We stayed up for hours watching the blaze, your grandfather and I. I cried and cried, and he held me, but we said nothing. It was if to break the silence would have brought them back."
"It came about later that they told us he had "gone missing," that was what the police told everyone. One of the girls, Susie, worked at the hospital, and she told us something else entirely. She said that there was a room back there in the hospital where they worked on colored folks. She saw Mr. James back there, as well as some other people that they must have dug up from they graves. They were doing work on them, but not to make them better or nothing. They were taking their parts from inside, harvesting their hearts and their kidneys, their lungs. Harvesting all their parts. Doing strange things. She said she saw a heart hooked up to some tubes, and they were injecting something into it, something that was glowing, and the heart was beating underneath the glass. They are using us for something, something unspeakable."

There was some truth to her stories, it turned out. When I got older, and I became more political in my inclinations, I took the time to do some research into those old stories that my grandmother used to tell. Of course, the men on horseback were members of the fraternal organization known to the world now with great disgrace as the Ku Klux Klan. Their raids were a cruel and grotesque parody of the great Wilde Jagd of their northern European Teutonic lore, fitting as these men were a cruel parody of the heights of those lofty forebears. Like the terrifying night-jaunts of the Klan, it was said in the ancient times that a great spirit of the caucasian people (accompanied by the faerie folk and whatever other terrible beings were the powers that be at the time) would ride through the night on howling steeds, destroying everything in their path, hellhounds treading the path before them. The stories were the same throughout the European lands, with local deities taking on the role of the leader of the hunt depending on the region. Perhaps it was in these stories that they acquired inspiration for their activities.
An 1812 advertisement for the Medical College of South Carolina contains a bit of self-promotion that is quite alarming: "...No place in the United States offers as great opportunities for the acquisition of anatomical knowledge. Subjects, being obtained from the colored population, in sufficient numbers for every purpose..." There are similar stories from Georgia of the uncovering of thousands of bodies of African-Americans remains near local medical universities. Surely there was some collusion here between the Klan and the school administration, but these are investigations that are lost to time. There were stories in the 1800s in New Orleans of Needle Men who would inject unsuspecting African-American citizens who were wandering too near to the hospital. The unfortunate souls would be whisked into the facility and used for medical experimentation and education. They treated us like we were animals.
Kadijha was pregnant with Ismael during that dark summer, when a string of child disappearances hit the African-American community in Atlanta back in 1979. We were living in New Orleans at the time, not at all a world away from late 1970s Atlanta. Many within the circles that I walked suggested it to be a return of the legends of the Night Doctors.
There are many times in my life that I wonder why I brought another person into this world. I know that my son is watched over and cared for, but I have bestowed upon him a legacy of pain and horror that is the reality of our world. I carry that karma with me everyday, and every day I think of my boy and the world as it must look though his eyes.
Ismael... my child. I hope to see him again soon.

Monday, March 6, 2017



They call me Is (pronounced with a soft 's', you know like "iss").
It's short for Ismael, but my mother told me that she almost named me Israel. It was a last-minute decision, I guess she didn't want to come off egotistical. You know, a single mother naming her son Israel, some people might think you are crazy or something. She definitely wasn't crazy, but sometimes I wonder if this whole planet was built on crazy. That's what I've come to realize ever since I found out about the Company.
I'm not sure if I work for or against them. It was Truman that ok'd the thing, the same guy who dropped the atom bomb on the Japanese (not once but twice mind you). The Company maybe has some similarities in a lot of ways to the effects of radiation, poisoning and mutating everything that it comes into contact with, whether it's an arms contractor, a terrorist organization, or a daycare center. But let me back up a bit here.


September 11, 2001: I was in college at the University of New Orleans, groggily facing an Algebra test that I had not studied for. It was 8 in the morning, roughly ten minutes after five hijackers supposedly flew American Airlines flight 11 into the first World trade Center tower. The teacher showed up to class several minutes later, and in a thick Chinese accent (English was definitely not his first language) he informed us that "they" had attacked the World Trade Center and that there may be more attacks on the way. He simply placed the tests on a desk in front of his podium, said "Here is your test," and then he walked out of the room.
I was in shock. I couldn't bring myself to pick up the paper and take the thing. A guy sitting behind me, big burly dude that looked like a linebacker, square buzz-cut type of guy, crushed the newspaper in his hands and walked out of the room in a rage. Not feeling quite as emotional as that fellow, I walked out behind him in a daze. I felt like I was in the opening scene of "Red Dawn."
I walked out into the commons and saw Mike, a guy that I knew from some friends in High School back on the North Shore. I grew up north of Lake Ponchartrain, and familiar faces were few and far between. He was weirdly calm about what had happened,  in fact he seemed really chipper. "Yeah, it's a big deal" is the only thing I really remember him saying.
Later that afternoon, I was sitting on the couch at my girlfriend's house watching the news replay the footage of the tower collapse over and over again. In the footage of the Pentagon that aired on television it looked as if a missile had taken out one of the five walls. I remember seeing the wreckage of United Airlines Flight 93 smoldering in the nothing wilderness of Stony Creek, Pennsylvania, and seeing the text crawl on the bottom of the screen informing me that it had been hijacked with the eventual destination intended to be the Capital building in DC. I watched the footage of Congress breaking into a supposedly impromptu a-capella rendition of "God Bless America" on the steps of the Capitol building, led by convicted pedophile Dennis Hastert. I didn't know what it all meant yet, but when I look back now I have to laugh.
My first thoughts on the whole thing, on that day itself, was that we were being attacked by the Chinese. I thought for sure that the communists had finally gotten us... I grew up in the Cold War and it just seemed like a matter of time to me. It was only later that day I believe that I learned of the Al-Quaeda narrative, and of a VBM (very bad man) that I had not yet heard of, Osama Bin-Laden. Within a few months I would be overseeing the transfer of his corpse from rebel territory into the waiting hands of the Company.


September 12, 2001: Different class schedule from Tuesday, on Wednesdays I had a much more relaxed schedule. It is at this point that I should mention that I had a very, very difficult time waking up for things in the morning at this point in my life. That one morning Algebra class was just like, a killer for me at that time. Honestly, this was the beginning of the school year, and I really don't even remember attending the class other than that one time.
My first class on Wednesday 9/12 was thankfully much closer to lunch time, but I would not be attending that one much either. I saw Mike. He was sitting in the same spot that he was in the previous day, but he had a suitcase full of stickers and t-shirts. The stickers and t-shirts had slogans on them with very strong language regarding Al-Qaeda and Osama Bin Laden. I was still reeling in shock from the events of the day before, and I couldn't believe that this guy already had stuff printed out that he was trying to sell to people on campus.
"What the hell, man?"
He told me that he could introduce me to some people who could help me make a lot of money. They could help me get anything I want, help me to do anything I want to do.

December 25, 2003:  Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq. The people here are attempting to generate massive amounts of negative energy, using MKULTRA techniques to instigate absolute fear and mental anguish from the poor souls who have been imprisoned here. I'm working detail with several other guys in a back room room where we are trying to communicate with a spinning black box. It's power is immense... I can feel it trying to read my thoughts. Bin Laden is dead. We both know it. He brought the box here, but he was just a conduit, just an Earthly vessel to communicate a deeply ancient wisdom and power that was to be re-awakened onto the current timeline. Even as I am communicating with the box, I can feel an artificial intelligence that is reading our joined moment of intellectual exchange from some possible future timeline.

"A liquid iron jet has surrounded the Earth's core and is accelerating..."

They killed Danny Casolaro because he had gotten too close to the network behind the creation of the PROMIS computer, but that thing was just a small iota of the procession and creative power of the D-WAVE systems. The quantum and crystal computing system has been used to generate a network of control structure that has permeated our entire thought-system. Think of it as a form of weaponized artificial intelligence... if you are kept from your full potential by an oppressive, created structure of consensus reality, how would you know how to escape? It seems impossible that such a thorough system of control could be created, but here we are. You are living in it.

- Why does every popular website has the same patterned narrative structure? 
- Why is it that supposedly "subversive" forums like reddit and 4chan are allowed to exist with the illusion of freedom ingrained within? 
- Why is it that all of the experts seem to agree on a shared narrative? 
- Why do they promote murder, cannibalism, suicide, despair, depression, lustiness, sexual degradation, humiliation, unhealthy obsession, body comparison? 
- Why do they sell foods that cause destruction of the endocrine system, nerve damage, and bodily failure?
- Why is there a growing social acceptance of the idea of worthlessness and the validity of the human choice for termination in life?
- Why are they trying to make you sick and destroy your soul?

"A 1987 interview with Dr. Colin Sinclair provided some insight into the sort of programs that he had been developing for the Santaro Institute: 'Terror management theory is an important part of the group examinations... these subliminal reminders of mortality enforce the emotions of the people, the naturally resultant fear and xenophobia encouraging overall increase in happiness and complacency of the populace. They are reminded of their fear of death, and then they will obey.' It is my opinion that Dr. Sinclair used these studies in order to establish methods of social control that are implemented by the CIA, the FBI, the NSA, the Pentagon, and other branches of the US Government intelligence structure that we may not yet be aware of." 
- Marcus Williams, excerpted from his book "Riot In The Hive Mind: 30 Years of Struggle Within the Population Control Industry" 2003 Parasol Press Limited

"Peace! This until the rise of the dawn." It is entirely possible for a person to master the world through their strength of character, by coming into contact with a way that is congruent with that of the Universe. There are many obstacles to this path, however. The high level of character and judgement that is attained through self-observation and practice of the correct ways can turn adversity into an opportunity for large gains as one overcomes severe adversity. It is the Qadar, the divine destiny of humanity, the reason for our existence.
We are living in the days of ignorance... the populace lives in jahiliyyah, a lack of connection to the Divine spark. This ignorance causes great pain.
In Hinduism it is known as the Kali Yuga, a time associated with a dark demon Kali that is not to be confused with the terrible and mighty Goddess Kali of the same belief system. Krishna spoke about the times of ignorance, the traits of which he associates with "devils": 

"Pride, arrogance, conceit, harshness, and ignorance - these qualities belong to those of a demoniac nature... They say that this world is unreal, with no foundation, no God in control. They say it is produced of sex desire and has no cause other than lust. Following such conclusions, the demoniac (who are lost to themselves and have no intelligence) engage in unbeneficial, horrible works meant to destroy the world." (Bhagavat Gita 16 4-9)


The Synthetic Environment for Analysis Simulations, or SEAS, is the current operational mode of what is called the "Sentient World Simulation." It is designed to be a perfect mirror model of the real world based on input and analysis from a variety of robotic and AI sources, as well as constantly updated human input from agents around the planet. It is being overseen by its developer (who is also the founder of Simulex Systems, a software that allows an AI to determine how individuals will move within a building), Alok Chaturvedi at Purdue University. The reactions generated by the computing system will help to guide peacekeeping and decision-making processes into the future. This is the most updated form of the technology that many died to prevent from coming into the wrong hands. The metaphorical "Pandora's Box" was opened a long time ago, however, and the demons are running rampant. Such is the way of the world.

Wednesday, December 28, 2016

Monday, November 7, 2016


“He who knows how to go about it could live comfortably even in hell.” - Tibetan saying

"Well, this is it. You sure messed it up big, this time. Now everyone is going to know what you’ve done. This goes way, way past the cola deals, and the soda wars. This one goes beyond reality itself as we know it. 
You’ve got that black abyss, the Babylonian thing. You’ve got the GREAT GOD MOLECH.
And you’ve got the children.
That’s the worst part of if, by my measure. You’re eating up our very future, the future that you claim to be willing to help provide. And how again? Another donor, another small company that wants in on your global plan."

A commemorative wreath in the darkness of the edge of the highway caught my eye. Lit in the harsh illumination of my headlights, it looked stark and sad, pathetic even. Laid there by well-meaning family members to recognize the loss of their beloved, it made me think only of the inhuman moment of glass and steel impact, the grinding infernal death that led to the placement of the flower arrangement. That kind of instant tragedy, especially when suffered by the innocent, is the sort of thing that causes people to question the very nature of good and evil. The cliche question of why (if there was karma, or a God, or angels, or whatever benevolent force) “bad things happen to good people.”
Perhaps a deeper understanding of karma is necessary. In this way one is to ponder beyond the simple idea of one’s actions leading to some immediate positive or negative reinforcement in this life. In fact, a punishment-based concept of universal karma is infact simplistic and against the root laws of nature as can be observable.
We get what we deserve. There is nothing in our life that does not belong to us. The sooner that we accept this fact, the sooner life becomes tolerable. It is not through happiness that life becomes tolerable, it is through work. Happiness is simply one of the many positive by-products of work. When work is undertaken sincerely, and with conscientiousness, failure is not possible. As long as one continues learning, continues growing, there is potential for something greater to be achieved. Something worth living for.
When I was a boy, my mother and father told me that God was always watching me. The similarity between Santa Claus and the Christian God is not to be ignored. They said that at the time of the return of Christ to the Earth, it was believed that the dead will rise and be judged… the righteous will enter the kingdom of Heaven by his right hand, while the vast majority of the sinners are cast into the pit with Satan, the angel of rebellion. This judgement is echoed also in the Egyptian and Tibetan concepts of the afterlife. In the Egyptian pantheon, Anubis (the jackal-headed fellow) would weigh your heart against the feather of Ma’at (the Goddess of truth) to see if you carried with you the burden of impurity. If judged to be too tainted, the offending organ was tossed into the mouth of the nearest crocodile/hippopatomus hybrid that happened to be lying around, and then on to the next one.
Now, the Tibetan vision of death what came to follow was particularly complicated. Moreso than a system of reincarnation, they believe that a basic energy, a life force if you will, transfers from the body of a dying individual and is somewhat repurposed back into the environment, sometimes gradually leading to reincarnation and what-have-you. “All aggregates are impermanent.” That’s the credo. Everything waits its turn. 
Maybe it is an eternal fear of that same sense of judgement, and the accompanying obsession with failure, that permeates the scientifically atheistic carnival world of internet culture. Much like religion’s obsession with sin, the obsession with declaring failure seems to point out moreso the obsessed’s own personal shortcomings and fears, rather than the innate failure of the actions of another. We seek to erase our own fallibility while pointing out the perceived shortcomings and sadnesses in the lives of others. 
Failure is a popular topic on the internet. Hate the sinner, love the sin.


"The Agency is operating at full-force to cover up their tracks. Independent researchers have discovered new leads on long-running links between the Saudi Arabian government and U.S. politicians in many illicit operations. The most alarming of these is what appears to be a global human trafficking ring that has been reported about for some time now, but has been protected by a high level of propaganda and disinformation up to this point. It appears that high-ranking members of the Committee and the Foundation have been receiving bribes in exchange for a variety of favors that they have been providing to businessmen overseas with whom they have shared interests.
The Bureau is working slowly to uncover the many layers of this operation. The situation appears to be critical at this point. The Agency is hitting our people with everything they’ve got, mainstream media shills, internet trolling, all manner of psychological warfare, extremely low-frequency weapons, ion distruption, holographic imaging, drone strikes, all available options are on the table. So far this month alone we have lost more than ten agents to Agency assassins. 
There is obviously a sense of desperation among the elite, and mainstream media (MSM) reports have exploded with a Newspeak "fake news" narrative. Even the Pope has scrambled to decry those who publicize the truth about human trafficking and corruption, using foul language very unbecoming of the Holy See to defend a network of corruption and lies.
Expanding beyond the fake news narrative, The Agency is now strongly insinuating the presence of an unproven foreign influence on the 2016 American Presidential election. They are attempting create a false narrative in desperation to hold on the status quo that is crumbling all around them. We ask all agents to be vigilant and keep an awareness of infiltration from all sides. JAH Council will consult and aid as is possible in the following weeks and months."


“Happiness, (Freud) said, is an illusion, because suffering threatens inevitably...’” 
- from “The Function Of The Orgasm by Wilhelm Reich, English translation by Vincent Carfaglo, originally published by Orgone Institute Press, Inc. in 1942

Yeah, you caught me reading a book by this guy Wilhelm Reich called “The Function of the Orgasm.” I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not that kind of book. Reich was a scientist in the 1940s who invented some kind of technology that cured cancer or something and I guess he felt that human sexuality was somehow tied in with this kind of stuff? Something like that. Anyway, I don’t really know that much about it, and so that’s why I’m reading the book. Duh.
I’m trying to read more non-fiction in general really, all of my favorite books are like, kid’s books, and I don’t want to be some kind of weirdo.
Here is a line that kind of explains that I guess. It’s from one of my favorite books, “Alice’s Adventures Through the Looking Glass.” 

“‘The rule is, jam tomorrow and jam yesterday - but never jam today.’
 ‘It must come sometimes to “jam today,” Alice objected.
 ‘No, it can’t,’ said the Queen. ‘It’s jam every other day: today isn’t any other day, you know.’
 ‘’I don’t understand you,’ said Alice. ‘It’s dreadfully confusing.”
 - from “Through The Looking Glass” by Lewis Carroll.

Life is a series of things that we let happen to us.
Watching Nickelodeon again. I kind of like the shows, but it wasn’t such blatant pandering crap when I was a kid.
“Myra Breckinridge” is an American film from 1970 directed by a British man named Michael Sarne. It is possibly one of the worst-reviewed films of all time. Among other things, people who saw the film greatly opposed the usage of films from the classic era of Hollywood being juxtaposed with the narrative of a film largely themed around sodomy. Considered by Sarne at the time of its release to be parodic of the sexual liberation of the previous decade, as well as a commentary on a nation obsessed with the glamor emitted by the American film industry and the celebrity fascination that continues to this day.
The narrative of celebrity worship is analogous to the human fascination with the Gods and Royalty going back to the earliest human societies. In many ways, the film is far ahead of its time. It has a campy and irreverent attitude towards the sexual behaviour and downfall of celebrities that is somewhat akin to the satirical attitude of modern pundits such as Perez Hilton and TMZ, and certainly in line with the vision of contemporaries such as Kenneth Anger (especially via his book ‘Hollywood Babylon”) and John Waters (director of “Pink Flamingoes,” “Female Trouble,” and other such things). 
More importantly, the film is a depiction of the Gods being as fickle in their whims and desires as the lowly humans who worship them. The pivotal, defining sequence of the film is an anal rape committed upon an unsuspecting male mortal by an aroused and amoral transsexual Goddess in the form of Myra Breckinridge (played by the immortally deified sex symbol Racquel Welch). Her exaggerated and deeply fulfilling climax is accompanied by a ridiculous and comically-timed series of classic movie clips edited into the rhythms of Ms. Welch’s unnatural fornication. 

“Now that we have been in the ‘Secret Annexe” for over a year, you know something of our lives, but some of it is quite indescribable… I find it more and more difficult to imagine our liberation from here.” from “Anne Frank: The Diary Of A Young Girl,” published 1952 by Otto H. Frank; 1958 Simon & Schuster.

“...Second, ‘from the outside world, which can rage against us with overwhelming, unrelenting, destructive force…” - 
- from “The Function Of The Orgasm by Wilhelm Reich, English translation by Vincent Carfaglo, originally published by Orgone Institute Press, Inc. in 1942


“When Balthasar was eleven, his adored pet cat, Mitsou, ran away. He made forty ink drawings detailing his memories of the animal and his fruitless search for her. In the last, he stands alone, crying.”

The world at night is completely different from the one that exists in the daytime. The warm rays of the sun illuminate every corner and everything is laid bare to be seen. The darkness aids deception by feeding the hidden, allowing a conspiracy of fear to envelop the minds of those who are wracked with guilt regarding their activities during the daytime. The energy of the sun is a different form of energy from that of the moon… 
Solar power is the direct source, a pure life-giving wellspring. It’s power is extreme and brutal, to be too close to it is to risk death. Night is powered by the lunar source, a reflection and transmission of the direct source in a suffusion of power that is calming and intoxicating. Accompanying the lunar power is a low magnetic pull that is not immediately perceived, but is instead felt deeply on an intuitive level.

“ In those days I earned easy money in a tough line of work. I fell and fell. 'When will I reach the bottom?' I often ask myself these days.” - Bodil Jensen

“The third argument against the longing for human happiness was serious and remained unexplained. The suffering caused by one’s relations to other people, Freud said, is more painful than any other.”
- from “The Function Of The Orgasm by Wilhelm Reich, English translation by Vincent Carfaglo, originally published by Orgone Institute Press, Inc. in 1942

“When I was a child, I had an experience… I was maybe six or seven, and I was walking into a public bathroom by myself. I didn’t like to use the standing trough sort of urinal, I always walked to the stall for privacy. The door was open, and I turned the corner to go inside and there it was.
It wasn’t a person. But it looked like a person, sort of. It was a man, but I cannot bring myself to call it he. It’s it. It knows that it’s it, and it smiles horribly. It smiles because I am afraid, and it feeds on fear. I don’t know how I know this, but that’s what I’m thinking. He’s the big bad wolf, and he’s coming to eat me. In that moment, time seemed frozen.
The smell. There was a stench of evil, and a hiss. There were what I could only describe as marks of evil that appeared in a subliminal fog on the bathroom mirrors. Like algebra problems, a series of logic puzzles, unlocking a primal fear in my mind. The actual form that the being took was impossible… a human shape made up of moving tendrils of information, like a techno-organic mannequin, with a jagged face gnarled into an expression grotesquely caricaturing human joy. The tendrils came towards me, seemingly permeating from the beings every pore. My core self took hold of my senses, and I just ran for it. I closed the bathroom door behind me, and didn’t tell anyone what had happened.
It began to permeate my dreams, I knew that I had seen it before. Not in my own lifetime. And it wasn’t a vision of something that was to be. It's something that was and is. Something that destroys the future, something that eats dreams. Something that lives off of us.”


“There's nothing better in life than diamonds.”

Sarah watched as the thing began to take form. She thought to herself how odd the expression of an idea “taking shape” was, but here it was happening right before her eyes. A black form that was humanoid in shape, seemingly made of a shimmering liquid substance that acted as a barrier maintaining form. It was a reflection perhaps, but of what?
The liquid rose into the air, individual pieces crystalline and reflecting the light off of the covered lamps from the room, floating and approaching the floor before re-assembling. It was like she was in a three-dimensional television program, and bits of liquid static from an invading channel were manifesting into her reality. She couldn’t shake from her mind the idea of a mirror reflection… the anthropomorphic mass seemed to suggest to her, to tell her forcefully not with words but a deafening silence.

Sunday, June 19, 2016


Agent AM: 2300 Described Word For Word To JAH Council The Following Account Near the Site of MASJID AL-HARAM

Daybreak. Amin looks up at the sky. It is beautiful, the sky that was given to him and everyone else by Allah. He must be grateful for the sky, grateful even for just waking up. Every breath was a gift, a perfect union in submission to the Creator. Allah was the Creator of all on the Earth, and all who dwell here in this beautiful country. 
The peace that is felt here in this land is reflected in the spirit of every living being, and then from them back into the Earth. This peace is something that is inherent in the very idea of submission to Allah. For all beauty emanates from Him, and nature alone reflects a purity that man cannot hope to attain. Allah is all-powerful, and sees all, but for the protection of the smallest among us, sometimes it is his servants that must act out the work of the Lord and Most High.
Just as an example, you should know that, about once a week, AmIn went into the city in order to pick up a few items for his father. Every day he would hear the bustle of the crowd, spirited shrieks of haggling of merchants and angry reports of dissatisfied customers would inherently seize the air, drowning out the peaceful silence that he arrived into town with. Every visit included a walk past a trash compactor occupying a quiet alleyway. 
On one particular instance, Amin heard the unmistakable mewing of a couple of tiny kittens, abandoned on their own in a busy thoroughfare. He, of course, remembered the words and actions of the Prophet in regard to these matters. He purchased a shawl and a box to bring home the crying creatures. They were so small as to not yet be afraid, simply calling out for food. They had been dropped off by owners who had seperated them from their mother, but there was no way for Amin to know this. He observed them with peace and contentment in the kindness of the Creator. He brought them home to show to his brother Mehmet. 
Amin’s brother Mehmet cared more about his advancement in military affairs than spiritual things for the most part. Amin reminded his brother of their sacred duty to care for those who could not speak for themselves. Mehmet was always convinced by the arguments that his brother made when it came to spiritual matters. 
Those two kittens have grown up to be cats, and fine mousers at that.
Just an example of the order that follows submission to the Creator, the One with many names that we call God.
Every morning at this time, Amin remembers the words of the Prophet:

Say: I seek refuge with the Lord and Cherisher of Mankind,
 The Ruler of Mankind,
 The Judge of Mankind,
 From the mischief of the whisperer, who withdraws,
 Who whispers into the hearts of Mankind,
 Among Jinn and among men.” 
(Quran, sura 114 (Al-Nas) ayat 1-6

When he was younger, he once had boasted of impossible deeds in regards to his running prowess to impress a friend. His father castigated him in a manner both deserved and kind. “You are not a liar, my son. For even your very name means ‘truthful.’ You must never lie, for Allah can hear your disruption of His order, and it is a further disgrace coming from one who can do so much better.” His father gestured outside, toward the valley below them.
Allah was everywhere indeed, but nowhere closer than the large stone building that lay in the valley below. Below their home, far down in the city, lay the Grand Mosque of Mecca, where was housed the Kaaba stone that all who love Allah throughout the entire world must pay their respects to at some point in their lives. The idea of God hearing his boast and feeling pain at Ahmeen not living up to his name was indeed shameful.
Always at dawn, he came to the edge of the hilltop and looking down upon Mecca, meditated upon these things.
He has heard how they depict Saudi Arabia in the Christian fairy tales of the west. A land of deserts, palm trees, and camels. They say that they are like animals, that we are the ones who are barbarians. They speak of evil, and many of their customs seem to come directly from the whisperer, the flatterer. The one who spreads lies.

Among Jinn and among men.

And then, out of the quiet contemplation, something very strange happened. 
Across the sky, where there had been calm and peace, there was something quite odd. It first looked like a black dot in the sky, and quickly expanded horizontally. It was extremely far away, and the rising sun was obscuring the view a bit, but it appeared to have several small tendrils that were manifesting form at different points of the surface. 
Gradually, the shape of the object began to oscillate upwards, forming a crystalline obsidian blackness that seemed to reflect an impossible rainbow. One long tentacle grew out from the smoky void and reached gradually out toward the sun.
The crowd that mulled around the massive stone complex making up Mecca paid no mind to this event. Amin could see the entire city from his vantage point. The black, rotating, virus-like crystalline shape seemed to fade back into the veil of the ether. Moments later, there was nothing but sky where the object once was. 
Amin knew that this was an important thing, and without interpretation, informed JAH council.

Currently writing in a hotel room in St. Petersburg. Complete chaos the other night in Orlando, a full manifestation with military-trained operatives from a private organization. Nearly fifty people were wiped out in a controlled operation that lasted over the course of many hours. The streets were bathed in a rainbow of police lights and neon street signs, giving the area a glowing hue of electricity as the "killer" (trained team of several assassins) obliterated bystanders for the purpose of creating a black trust narrative and further invigorate the now-sentient YHWH paranoid thought-form.
The day before this event I observed an object hovering in broad daylight similar to that of the JAH council report from Mecca. Several other witnesses were present, although I am not aware of any of them taking a picture of the form.
Accompanying footage here posted by a west coast operative, featuring another of these amorphous floating objects, but it appears here much closer than the one sighted in Orlando:

The correlation in the appearance of this being and the action that occurred in Orlando was apparent. There was a Black Ops presence that was waiting to go into formation to make the human sacrifice/slaughter that occurred the other day at the Pulse Nightclub. Ultimately, the shooting seems to be a conduit or a gateway for this sort of activity.
In general, Florida seems to be a dumping market for these sorts of operations. Meth and Opioid toxins are funneled into the state in epidemic proportions in order to harvest souls and forms that seem to feed the growth of these sentient floating objects. NASA seems to be aware of their existence, but not of their purpose, and the NASA technology seems to work as a magnet for these beings. I am starting to think that these things are evil itself. Do with the information what you can.

Friday, June 17, 2016


Official Record Of Events 033033 MR SINCLAIR/St. CLAIRE ANDERSON STOP

Space is warped. The universe is expanding. Where it might be going seems to be the most important question facing all the sentient beings of this world. The very structure of physical existence itself is a gentle balance between chaos and order, which is constantly shifting on a sub-atomic level. There is no such thing as true stillness, the tiniest particles that make up all existing matter are constantly in motion.
It is theorized that the simple act of observation (the act of awareness) itself has a trasformative role in the final outcome of any given event, meaning that just by noticing something, it is going through a process of transformation. The truth is, human entities on average only use a very small portion of the vast mental faculties that are generously afforded to them at any given moment. One’s perception, in many ways, is in fact only limited to what one will allow into one’s metaphorical line of vision. 
Every time new matter is created, the quanta (the somewhat intangible tetrahedronic “substance” that is is the very essence of space-time) becomes further warped. That’s the way that it has been since the very beginning.
Physically, I am currently driving northeast on Cherokee County Road 780 in northern Alabama, somewhat near the border of Georgia. I am roughly 100 miles from Birmingham, Alabama.
I am approaching an entity that has transferred here directly from the OD (outer darkness)... as documented previously, I have observed significant evidence that they can collude with the malevolent energies of the Earthly dead in ways that we have not begun to fully comprehend. They are jealous of everything that human beings represent, the current engagement in Karmic Trial. Everything that human beings have to gain by paying attention and staying true to the Universal Spirit during their short lifetimes can be easily usurped by the malevolent influence of these malicious thought-beings. They represent a consciousness from outside this planet, a formed logic without what one would define as a soul. They are miscreated automatons that wreak havoc on what you call Earth via parasitic suggestion, essentially comparable to the intention and activity engaged in by a virus. The influence of these forces has quite a significant influence on the waking world, encouraging human beings to irrationally spread negative emotions such as greed, jealousy, hatred, and all the common emotions that do not make logical sense, but that just seem to come so very naturally. 
In order to allow these sorts of things to enter into their hearts and minds, human beings must give into these frequencies internally, buying into the associated philosophies and dogmas of the related entity. Human brains are just hardwired to do so somehow in their desire for structure, desiring to seek out an already-existing explanation for all of life’s rather complex problems. Maybe it is as simple as a flaw in the mechanism… an honest mistake, or all just part of a larger plan. Something like that. I do know for sure that when the levee breaks on the emotional frequency that these things are able to feed off of, the suffering flows like wine, it nourishes these things such that they can manifest onto this world as a physical form. Sometimes this form is humanoid, but often it is not.  
What seems like some time ago, I took an exit off of Interstate 59 into this shadowy back road surrounded by wilderness. There are some truly deep woods out here. I am driving incredibly slowly on this road to the utter tenebrosity surrounding me. There is a darkness here, and the closer that I get to it, the more it attempts to obscure and recede. High-level thoughtform entities thrive on not being believed in overtly, but instead seeping into the subconscious of those around them. This is part of the nature in which they they feed.
To wit, the physical location of apparitions within this particular plane become similarly obscured by the effect that their presence has on their surroundings. Any place sufficiently far away from the physical vestiges of human society, where the glare of artificial light does not completely drown out the stars in the night sky, can work as a place of attraction for these sorts of malformed characters. They are energetic parasites, living just beyond the reaches of perceived reality.
This particular one that is attempting to break through here is quite old, as they all are. Some call him Yama, G’wog, Magog, Iyam, and many confused individuals have known him as God. His bitterness is the result of an eternal, undying jealousy of everything that human beings represent to him, a basic hatred of the individuality and freedom that is purposefully willed onto them. His master's code is translated as YHVH, and his symbol is the throne of the sun. He is a bloodthirsty father of sacrifice, the deceiver, creator of unbalanced dissent. He is not the only one like him, but you would not want to be the one to tell him that.
I’m definitely getting close to the spot… I can feel the thoughts that permeate from their universe. It lay somewhere far outside of the Earthly plane, outside of space itself from a realm known as the Outer Darkness. It is, assuredly, a very bad place. The outer darkness is essentially what you would call Hell, aka Dis, the pit. A sealed envelope in space-time that sometimes has faulty seams, unfortunately. It is a place for mistakes, the dark sides, other sides of creation. The beings that dwell there are simply the opposite of any idea of constructive forces, a complete and total rejection of anything that might try to represent or celebrate the positive aspects of creation. 
If you consider the act of protecting human beings from falling into posession by these forces to be a noble cause, then I guess you could say that I work for the forces of good.
Anyway, back to quantum physics… one of the principal truths that has been explored via quantum theory is the idea that the act of observation in and of itself participates in the outcome of any given event. This explains a network of consensus reality that enables the physical world to be as it is. Each living thing with a mind has the ability to participate in the constant creation and expansion of the universe… the mind essentially operating as an individual perceptive conduit that participates in reality rather than being subject to it. The very act of thinking is creation, and when one submits to an idea, this ability to create is compromised. These ideas out there exploit this aspect of reality for their own purposes.
I think I am almost to my destination, so I pull the car over and tap into the records, and through that moment I write to you now. I close my eyes and prepare to dive in. The blackness of space, the reflection of all possibility, nothing and everything is contained within them. I feel the rush of force, the piercing of what I have come to know as the space-time continuum.  My spirit is free, awash in pure information and knowledge. I experience the full pleasure and solemnity of the place where all events, all actions, all non-actions are laid out one after another in the unfolding arc that tells the story of the universe... I see an entrance forming into this world… There is a cabin at a crossroads… it seems to be at the very end of the road that I am on. I have a window of about thirty minutes to an hour before we reach event horizon.
The stillness of the cicadas calling in the night summons me back to the task at hand. Contemplating for a minute, almost unwilling to disrupt the stillness, I know what I have to do. I start the car back up and continue my approach. Music off, I’m driving just focused on going forward. There it is… the mark.
On the side of the road, there is a small ornamental talisman hanging from a tree made of a deer skull and squirrel bones… the car is stopped and now I’m going to find the cabin and wait.
The forest at night fills men with fear, and for good reason. 
These off-planet entities often hibernate deep within the woods when feeding, in order to nest without detection. They do not require the basic amenities required by most living beings born on this sphere, content as they are to simply exist and indulge in the vital juices and meats of this planet’s residents. In fact, they are having a hard enough time simply being corporeal that housekeeping tends to take a very low priority in these situations. It is for this reason, in the old stories and through time immemorial, that these beings are often inevitably discovered residing in a horrific squalor in some cave or shack somewhere. A primitive an unkempt dwelling filled with the corpses of local children and perhaps some dog skeletons from some early attempts. Human children do seem to be their preferred prey, although its fair to say that anyone will do in a pinch. After these horrors are uncovered, there will be a town ledger taking note of an incident of a monster who was decapitated or perhaps drowned after being designated as a werewolf, devil, or some such other nefarious incarnation by the locals. Once the things materialize, they are in fact quite subject to the earthly standards of mortality, although usually their essence just shoots right back up there into the stratosphere, ready to take their hard knocks and give it a go again with all they have learned from their past attempts. 
End of the road. I turn off the headlights and sure enough, there it is. A small wooden building with a tin roof, and a small shack to the right of it. Cicadas again, and frogs, getting very loud now. Warning me. I listen to them for a while and I can feel the tension in the air from the positive ions building up, similar to the feeling that one gets before a storm. I can see inside the dilapidated cabin through the window. It is the very definition of dilapidated… seemingly the building was once a gas station before becoming this creepy roadside abomination. Someone has scrawled typical summoning keys upon the side of the building and there is some of the local native skull-and-bones art on display as there was several yards back on Cherokee County 780. It appears the locals had been tapped into by some of these entities, who were using them to take the necessary steps in order to summon them onto the physical plane. These methods are ancient and basic, the logic based around vibrational patterns created by different mental states, placement of sacred objects, and so forth.
The frogs start chirping frantically, inconsequential to the moment seemingly, and then it began. First, a small glow… through the window of the shack a small floating black bead could be seen, a tiny vibrating and imperfect sphere that by all appearances resembles a void or dark matter interacting with the thinning air of the night. The materialization of the outer darkness. A single tendril escapes from the center of the pulsing orb, then another, two small arm-like tentacles expanding in opposite directions. The orb began to grow exponentially, and small root-like appendages began to drip from the bottom of the expanding orb. I backed up a bit to hide myself from view, as the being’s sight-perception would be forming very rapidly. The element of surprise was my key asset in this situation.
The roots gradually formed into a humanoid torso, complete with legs and feet. As the tendrils formed into goblin-like reptilian arms, the beings head came into focus and was grossly misshapen, providing a comical and exageratted appearance resembling a caricature of a human being. His face was frozen into a dripping red toothy grin, with completely dark skin and wide eyes that seemed to incite mania. Growling and hissing soon became audible from behind the wooden door.
“Iiiiiiiiiyam… G’woooooggg.” It began to chant to itself in self awareness. Here is my moment. Going through the window, I activate the banisher in my right hand and lunge toward the beast with my flame heading directly toward it.
“Interloper. Magistrate,” G’wog spat at me “You will die too.” My mind begins to fill with images of pestilience and fear. I see worms covering my body, my lifeless corpse falling and falling into the mouth of a great white worm. G’wogs face expands into a rapture of feeding as he comes toward me, feeding from the reaction of these thoughts.
A blinding flash comes over my vision, and like a rip in the fabric of reality a shimmering, kaleidoscopic brilliance emits from a slit in the air. G’wog attempt to shield his eyes with his tiny withered hands, but they are filled with the radiance that is suddenly emitting from just above both of their heads.
A hand first came from this sparkling tear, reaching into the stark darkness of the room and filling it with a sparkling incandesence. Then, a human form, with a face that was shining so brightly that it could not be discerned began to emeerge, in a kaleidoscopic form of a light body that filled the room with warmth and an unmistakable glory.  The light body shimmered with a flowing rainbow of colors and gestured toward me, and it spoke to me with its thoughts. 
I stood there motionless, and watched the G’wog fill with a fear of dissipation and irrelevance.
It ran out the broken window, down the street, through the woods, to who knows where. As it’s oversized head bobbed in the distance, it closely resembled the Gingerbread Man. Run, run, as fast as you can… Just as suddenly as the glorious light form appeared, it was gone, the shimmering universe sealed back up, separating the Earth again from whereever it was that came from. I stood there in the silence, and suddenly the door to the cabin creaked open. There was broken glass covering the ground, as well as ectoplasmic traces of the opening that was created by the outer darkness, a tar-like resin. The thing had escaped, thus defeating the entire point of my week-long journey from a hill-side paradise in the Pacific Northwest here to this place here in the middle of nowhere that seems to be literally forsaken by God. Whatever that rainbow person was, it completely aided and abetted the escape of perhaps one of the most dangerous criminals in the cosmos. I had to head north for answers. Marcus will know what to do.
I am not feeling fear or disappointment. Although I did not accomplish what I intended to do, I have a distinct feeling of significance and positivity stemming from the bizarre event that just occurred. I start the vehicle back up and notice that the sun is beginning to rise. I head slowly up the dirt road toward the interstate and see beauty in the morning dew. Surely out there G’wog is somewhere filled with a mixture of fear and exitement, anxious to spread horror wherever he may go. There must be some purpose to all of this. I merge onto the interstate heading northeast, into the rays of the rising sun, the future glittering through the sky...  my thoughts travel into a shimmering tomorrow of unknown and limitless possibilities.