Tuesday, 24 December 2013

Document2


Well here we are, another year older. Any light shed upon the black waters this year?

Mmmmm….we have started down the road of describing the Apiru and their characteristics. The Apiru prime agents have been fingered as the early adopters of Yahwehism. We will continue to explore this theme over the coming years, specifically fingering this character yahweh. It does like to be gazed upon its nether regions don’t forget. Remember anyone can become a jew, it is a life style choice, just ask Abraham or Moses of the nether region staring or any Khazar. Ask any bankster or scribbler of nonce sense. Ask any criminal hiding in the firebase at RCE/TA, the temple at RCE/LC, the slaving house at RCE/BS or in RCE/NY or RCE/BR.

As usual when standing at the razor edge of the still waters rolling and roiling up and down the erosion, the simple method reveals the perps and the reason why one almost alone, observes far removed from the next companion upon the infinite tide line.

Check the body count in their writings. Go on. Their sneak thieves may have torched all the libraries but they cannot help themselves accounting in their hubris. We are few the dead are many.

On another note it has also become apparent that the amount of effort going into the “breakYahweh civilisation” beloved of Dolan et al is gaining traction. Two things to note here.

One; the breakaway civilisation has been done before long ago and had to be stopped in its tracks by war in the 20th century.

Two; as I’ve said before. Show me a Civilisation 2 star cruiser captain and her invite for a bevvy off the Tannhäuser Gate and I might entertain the idea. To expect me to credit that the indolents and intergenerational thieves have the discipline to get themselves off world RATHER than waste all the wealth on private islands staffed by eunuchs supplying cyclotron separated narcotics and buttwelded ladyboys spying on us 24/7 is simply taking the piss. The human race advances despite these retards and their infinite machinations.

Which brings me to Three.

The fools that Herd our Attention Space, the gatekeepers of the HAS, want us to believe that life is just a brief flicker of light twixt two infinities of darkness. Hence the aided suiciding, ethics of killing in hospices and general organ stealing meme pumped by the pimps into our lives. We are to consider ourselves no better than animals, ergo the cute puppy and endangered species legend constantly dumped into our living quarters, our pens, by the MSM. No one on the MSM ever asks just who were the, drowning in money, phukkedwitz that shot all the wild life in the first place to make them endangered? From which intergenerational criminal families were they scions? From the same families that want us atheist and secular now.

Well clowns of the apocalypse, denizens of inadequacy, rationers of life and deniers of humanity you got it wrong when you failed the count zero.

The Turing fail will become more and more apparent as the simple concept of 3 from nothing is considered by us and emphatically denied by them.

Existence is an entangled event horizon joining two infinite expanses of light.

Every so often one of us lights up our stasis and we continue on.


Merry Christmas.

Monday, 23 December 2013

More than your life is worth.



It is always one of those flags that tips one off to a sleight of the false historical hand when we are reassured by carefully tenured, bought, hybrid historians that the origins of this and that, or the true events of whatever malarkey, are lost in the mists of time OR more hi-viz; that the records and documents were burned in one of the many and mysterious library fires, 9/11 et al, that seem to have plagued the world since the truth was deemed unacceptable by the clonomonoheathen.

In all cases one would find oneself removed from history completely if one stuck one’s broadcasting stikkybeak into the veracity of psyhistory that has been approved, never to be questioned.

You know the type of historical ending, dressed in hysterical rags being torn limb from limb by lions in the amphitheatre or just head shot in the theatre. Anyway it is all staged; this monmentalistheathenism, this blinding of the herd to the written word other than the wholly scribed holy which upon close inspection of full of perforations in its coherence.

Well when ever did a monomentalist need to be coherent. It’s not like it is written in law. The truth does not exist for ex-exitmentalist existentialists. No; the mentalist approach to herd cullcontrol is what is lawful. Seen any apology yet from the Vatican for all the dead persons the heathen on the seven hills caused? Seen any apology for the millions killed by talmudualists in the Soviet Union circa 1920-1950? No of course not, that is why the Soviet Union dissolved itself before any reparations could be claimed by survibobibors of the Ukranian Holodomor or the gulag survivors and their families. A hologrammatical error malarkey like that pulled by so called diamond shitters, untattooed tattooed and fabulist survivors of the, safe as houses, work camps, ripping off post war Germany, was not on the cards because the USofA corp infesting co-monoheathenreligionistas of the Soviet perp executioners intended to come back and steal all of what was left of Russia with help from the RCE/NY heathenbanksters like Goldmansukks. Goldencalves of Ba’al, typical mooing, lowing killerclowns of the so called monoheatheist Testaments and their monatheist negative, everything they profess is fantasy and everyone else’s real experience is denied.

Murderous reality deniers; the lot.

Mind you that is their mission; stamped deep into their DNA.

You know the kind, Vatican proscribed booklists that one would get burned at the stake for possession or reading, tsk-tsk, banned books in the TalmudicSovietSocialistRepubstakes and anything at all contrary to the fairy tales coming out of the flumes in the spiralling pyres over Auschwitzland and Soporibor. Jihadists destroying libraries and learning; bringing a golden age to the dead dhimmi. No one is to contradict the given WORD. No one is to think.

Given that the one common factor in all this collected human misery is the monoheathen in all their forms, one has to asks “Just how can they get away with it over thousands of years? “

Well I would proffer the theorem that we are dealing with a Lamarkian pathogen injected into the human spirit. Unlike Darwinian evolution, which is for the animals don’t forget, Lamarkian Kikery Theorem, remember anyone can be a kike just ask the killer Ashkenazi, just ask the degenerate Saudis, just ask an epicurean Jesuit curate, just ask an agronomist Maoist, Apiru is a safe life style choice, just like homicide. Always on the move away from the crime scene spreading their seed of destruction.

Through the study of the pathogen’s progress over time, it would appear that by the injection of Apiru inspired Lamarckian evil into the social body, the host will be turned evil completely without the need of selection, simply by the act of will to kill. Complimented by certain parasitical Apiru social traits, by the hermetic sealing of increasing parts of the social body through Lamarckian engineering the good will be killed, culled, slaved and indoctrinated. Through Lamarckian selection societies are changed by the will of the individuals of the heathen commune. Though appearing in history as individual, the Lamarckian actors are in fact communist and hive minded. Scribed history always emphasises these individuals as the commune seeks to enslave the free. Go and read some business theory or dialectic, consume some liturgy or watch the USofA degenerating into a slave state currently. Always the big name disguising the collective that will kill all before it eventually. Untying the world from humanity.

Some societies succumb more quickly than others. Within days, Aztec, within millennia, Teutons. Each gets its allotted treatment depending on the host’s response to full spectrum occult heathen intelligence gathering and the logistics to hand.

Although I wouldn’t piss on their books as far as veracity is concerned, one thing is certain.

The Môn heathen have been chosen alright, as vectors for the affliction of human destruction.


Now that we are getting somewhere with the Apiru question, their old boss is the next target of interest.

Monday, 16 December 2013

Some background H/T ZGR



Before we go on here.

"-Japanese Researches come closer to resolving metric space between Hilbert’s General Theory of Gravity and Shrödingers Quantum Mechanics
Very nicely done, congratulations to the Japanese. Perhaps the Japanese like the Germans and Russians are seen as far too brilliant and moral to be melded into the Anglo-Zionist world order and marked for generational extinction with Fukushima. Stalin had the Russians who merely wore glasses thrown in the Gulags and murdered to eliminate and genocide Slavic Brilliance. Nothing will change with these people until Christ comes back to divest them of the British-Israel throne.
David Hilbert was one of the outstanding mathematicians of the modern era if you’re not familiar with his works. He proposed 21 geometry axioms, the greatest influence in geometry since Euclid (325 BC).  Hilbert’s work on n-dimensional space, later called Hilbert space, proved invaluable for quantum mechanics. Today quantum mechanics is said to be a theory set in “Hilbert Space.”

At the InternationalCongress of Mathematicians in Paris (1900) Hilbert presented the now famous 23 which he challenged 20th century mathematicians to solve. In 1915 Hilbert discovered the correct field equations for general relativity before Einstein but never claimed priority.
As professor of mathematics at the University of Gottingen, outstanding scientists of the 20th century (Born, Heisenberg, Jordon, von Neumann to name just a few) studied with Hilbert. Hilbert suggested to Heisenberg that he find the differential equation that would correspond to his matrix equations. Had he taken Hilbert’s advice, Heisenberg may have discovered the wave equation before Schrödinger.

Still a lot more work for the mathematicians. Too bad the Anglo-Zionist murdered so many Slavs and Germans or no doubt this would have been solved decades ago. The world pays a price for the tribalism of the WASP and Jew and their conjoined Zionist /Masonic madness and their incessant hatred of Russians, Japanese and Germans. What was Fukushima but the hatred of the English Crown for the Japanese people?" ZGR

Sunday, 11 August 2013

I wrote my brother a note of naught last night.


It will never get to him, I remember, and the word is remuted. He and loved ones now on hodily.

Some of the detailed screme my horizon, acidic amidst the electric soup.
2 dayaways in a read hot bus with not a word in sight,

They are back, safe and secure but I am adrift, like the rift in my soul; sundered.

You will never read these words for they are cleared in the blue, blew.

When I held you, caressed you, held here you, I died against my agony, again. Thousands of miles awayed and yet the hourage was similar. Thousands of miles and the details are familiar.


Berate me for my denial of life, I live only for you.

Sunday, 16 June 2013

Lamarckian Kikery

The inbred thievery.

Thnaks and snacks to intergenerational inbred breeding stunted machines.

As we've had a gut full of their shit; they are creeping away in their lobby creepers, away, away, to safety, so expect heavy shellfire, gunfire and sniper here.

The lead pill pharmacy will deliver a prescirption to Yahweh, show me your ascribed ass.

Enjoy the phukkwittery of the kunts.

Deliver the raptor.

Saturday, 15 June 2013

Colderever on fever forever hiver.



Coming back online after a massive attack.

The heat is on and the burn is stoichiometric planted paint, play and plain as day en winter.

My white marred cranite face has been restotored. Albedocentric.

Met a new unfriend today and we discussed the shitnheaopp.

Having taken my girl to extortion of money harvesting phukkwittery disguised as piano theory exams. After shiting around the mindmincer streets that is travel in the U-Bend of UKplc’s taxi rank stink. What a fusued and confused clownery!!!!!, everyone!!!!! tramping the streets, after paying extortion to park cars and find the phukking dump. Dump. Fought through traffice again upon return. Returned after several hours to grumpy puppy coughee time at ss, the pleasure of PM Saturnday.

Then my secretive squirrel friend let me wind down and I slept thanks to my daughter. The secretive squirrel took the girls to stage school and I lay inquiet. No rest.

The girls were looking forward to this evening. Their buddy’s party this evening.  After I picked them up from school I let them get their stuff together here and then at the ss. After an endless age of mirrored immimicry I took them to their chum’s place.  Dropped them off and returned to the ss’ place to chew the best Weston’s and yak with the ss’ bro’.

Q tomorrow.

Now that I have asked myself and answered the unsought question, I can look at the slavers, criminals, pimps, fraudsters, psychopaths. The created clowns. And ask the final question. Who’s are these aliens’ slaves?

Pinocchio’s Apiru.


?

Friday, 24 May 2013

The Daze Decrease



How many false flags are you ignorant of?

This liar’s world of change and continuity.

How can I retell you that you are surrounded by hawsehole traitors?

And the day came. You received the great red lambda.

Small in our palms. Are you able you grasp the magnitude of the task? The impecunity of our instruments? The richness of our resource? The poverty of our out foe? Help me.

I almost decommissioned and flew my paying off pennant.

For you I am in line again, ranging.

Can you carry the blade?

Look at my hands. They are empty of malice.

Forever your.

Tuesday, 21 May 2013

Lula

found your funeral service which was secreted away..

Forgive me.

Enjoy

Tuesday, 7 May 2013

Cont from Apiru Clue?






Almost two and a half years since I last put thoughts to pixel on this matter and we can start to put together the evidence to prove my hypothesis that by looking as far forward as we can, we will eventually reach our past and the truth about who we are and what the affliction upon humanity really is.

As detailed in the little article above and as described in the “Babylonian Woe” we have a shadowy group in pre-history, phallus worshipping, driving dusty red donkey trains across the wastes.

From the Bisharee mines along the old silk route to Xian by land. From Arabia through Indus, through Siam to the land of Fu Xi and his I Ching. This is ancient and we are supposed to believe it is all lost in the mists of time. Well let’s get the forensic storytelling iCSi range finders into action.

What can we discern of the characteristics of this ancient “lost” bunch of travellers?

One clue is that the guards at Bisharee and the slaves shoved into the death holes were international. That is correct ancient Academi(Xe/Blackwater) secured the mines with heavy weaponry. The slaves were international from every corner of the ancient world and died on site. Someone transported them all there, guards and slave miners.

First characteristic then is a thirst for gold.

Second characteristic is a hatred of humanity, psychopathy and destruction.

Third characteristic is international logistics.

A little closer look at two points here.

Precious metals are always associated with slavery, death and secrecy. There is no way to separate these three factors. This is a religious practice, a ritualistic sacrifice disguised as the basis of international commerce. There was always a differential in appreciation of the value of silver and gold between East and West that kept the logistics trail profitable internationally. This thirst for the precious metals was the basis upon which the affliction, i.e. Homicidal Abrahamist mono Heathenism, spread over the world.

The question is; who is worshipping what?

International logistics. We are supposed to believe that there have been many “Dark ages” on this planet, not just in the west, floods, plagues, collapse of society. I will postulate that when ever any part of the planet was exhausted of precious metals, e.g.Western Roman Empire, the logistics trail simply contracted out of theatre and left the aboriginals to it, either redeploying or focussing on an already established penetration of a more recently targeted mark, i.e. after Rome fell India got it next, and never suffered any “Dark Age”.

One little quip is to note that in the well edited, redacted and fiction that is the comic book called the OLD TESTAMENT/TORAH, it is significant that the geezer who echoes down the censored millennia to us was told to build a large boat. You need large boats to transport the Nazi guards and soon to be dead slaves to the slaver gold mines. This reminds me of the fact that we are supposed to believe that the mysterious, no one seems to know anything about them, phekk off, Phoenicians simply disappeared after their ships, on secret missions, left the Mediterranean heading west. No one knows where they went!!!

Let us stop and summaries the characteristics of the activities identified so far.

International logistics, secrecy, precious metals, slavery, control of history. I will add one other that emerges from this list of traits, inbreeding, a corroralay of secrecy.

So back to our Apiru, what do we know about them?

They linked the cities of Mesopotamia, Uruk, Nineveh, Assur etc., taking whatever between the cities AND out with the state. We know that the temples were penetrated by an occulted driven collective who were determined to bring the state under monetary control. The use of the temple as cover for their attempt to bring all open systems, i.e. natural human commerce, into their closed system model whereby debt destroys the people and brings the people, penniless, captive under their iron control.

Were these secretive actors the Apiru, related to the Apiru or were the Apiru recruited to the cause?

TBC

Tuesday, 30 April 2013

Have you noticed everyone alive or dead, hates the yahwehist terrorists now?






Excepted the wielders of the wholly integrated, full spectrum, ancient weapon system secreted state, first divined in Babylon. The stewards of usury, for they are no muster, they are forever fearing servants diaspora’d in evil mission, who kill us, under license from their master. With all the false tokens ever created to remove those separated and abandoned weeds of freedom, agents of orange.

There are only two of us, those ignorant and those aware, the others who seek command of the darkness are foolishly seeking to co-opt the third. They issue from their faux fanny money machine a prophylactic to separate us from God. All the while blinding us with a golden shield and silvered onanist's mirror.

This idea that we are combating a New World Order is absurd. The ancient weapon system is structured through selfish, occulted, inbred, religious Lamarckian selection to reintegrate the old order globally, before they step off the plain this plane. Creeping slowly, generation after generation, across the pock marked gamete world, millennia after millennia. Reunifying through hidden ersatz finance. Remember that the trick is to exhaust you through work whilst importing stipend complaint replacements. Exhaust your leaders through war until everything is destroyed to start again, compliant.

Pleading for intercession from a thing which hates you is the most imbecilic mental disease that this weapon system allows you to indulge after displacement of your leaders. What ever was the reason that the prince’s of the church, living high on the hog, kept the lineage “Italian” until recently is clear now. Look at that semen drenched fuckhouse in Rome housed in money, as I mentioned before who would fuck the pope and get her knocked up, only in a piss taking semitic fuckhouse where no Italians lived. A Pole, A Nazi, An Argentinian!! Well the incontinent must have been secured in their opinion after they financed the death of hundreds of millions.

Only yahweists lived in “Italy”, only yahweists infested the seven hills, only yahweists collected all money in the north “Italian” city states. Only diseased yahweists stocked atheist communist Venice. All from the yahweist crapden of the Levant. Smuggled into Europe over hundreds and hundreds of years around the time of the geezer who went scrypto at the money changers. All self determited self fulfilling self loving hived mind.

This is a weapon of mass destruction funded to operate in every sphere of intercourse and human relationship until finally the world is ignorant. Taken from us by design, fiat the communist desire to atomise everyone and steal the wealth. Whilst underlying communitarian heathenism removes all of the newborn from this unifying toil. Look closely at the 3 yahweisms, all blood drenched, all death, all hatred, why? It is unified under one con game called money.

Homicidal confidence trick. Notice that for centuries the Babylonian scum suppressed the aboriginals here? Now it is all affirmative action telling everyone how fuckinggreat they are worthless, now the population is being replaced by drones. No one ever bigged up the poor people in this country 200 years ago, up until very recently it was STFU, comply and die, scum, but now they are gone, gunned down in designer conflict by the millions, the latest imports need massive support networks.

Whilst my ancestors died poor, starved, ignored, wretched, unloved. Lead pilled and terrorised by the state and the church. The purpled princes of Ba’al Hammon from Babylon.

WTFU God is free of this constrict of abrahamic fiction and evil.

Monday, 29 April 2013

Whiskey Yankee Zulu




Echo Foxtrot Growler

When I was a boy you would have gotten a good phukking booting in the balls if the idea of rationing energy via remote refrigeration shut down, had been mooted by you. I was warp driven and star bound, not stuck in the midden of the shit heap of animal framed toyed and farmed theft.

If you wander up to me today and mention space faring I’ll kick your phekkingfucking lid off.

Which bit of the stone aged multi 10,000 yeared and weather worned Lamarkian selection do you not get warned of?

As I described to my friends the creation of the second number, the number 3, they could not understand the topological metaphor that came before the yahweist shit, The killer  trangenderational godless heathen of so called religion. The subtle weapon system of thought as ripper. The interior minded hive of no thing but dead persons all over the world, as the systems get ready to deploy.

WTF do you not get? Have you seen the generations cleansed from Europe by a nonstop drive to reunite the world, we, the new born, once again, litter under the sun? And do you not see that the three so called great traditions of the psychopathic perversion are heathen, tailored to destroy like an unending contagion of death, humanity? WTF don’t you get? It is ancient and comes from the deep east, the Orient, the great archipelago.

Have you ever observed island chains?

WTF do you not get about the infinity, scribed into two, to make three?

We are in the nocturnal shadowed river, not the light, between two infinite incandesces. There is no boat man, Too is our burden to spark in the dark.

Heathen call.

Do you not realise that all is to nought here in the slaver blackened planet unless we wake TF up?

The heathen seek to reduce the horizon to no thing forever.

We are the line where heaven meets the sky.

Heads up, we are and never forget the incline they try to kill in our stilled remark.

Do you get it yet?

There is a heathen call, a Phukked D’Witzz Alarm., a claxon. The fools are now able to manage billions to death, their shatan has been training them in their perversion for thousands of years,

Heathen call!!!!!!!

The heathen are sparsed as never before they first were set sail as Noah. They are global net.

Inbred thieves of all and Phukked D’Witch. Thick and never seen unless in usury, luxury, forever cursed for they took then fired as bitches on the stage they do not know.

Heathen call. 

Thursday, 25 April 2013


Anvil and Raspberri sklaar



Coulnd give a fuck about the source, they are theives in drag.



Have you heard her fall? The beat on our truth, the peen, the heavy weight delivered true. Cut the gasket, with ballpeen handed, milk carton will suffice, we can devise from nothing. We are masters of the forge.

Ever had to carry the iron? Ever? It weighs so much that one forgets the mass. Ever watched a creep at work? Ever ? He is all ears and does nothing, while those who toil noise.

The mass that is free weighed.

On the Commimterest that falls on all knowinged no buddy’s business, our private thought, where no money grows, our self. Free of transactioned tax and returditude.

Ultradute in the fire.

Can you hear, here?

If ever one wondered about the lack of my concentration , to camp my pitch to their well paid, ever over fed, lactose intolerant, allergied fat Phukked D’Witz, make no mistake, I have them ranged and shot fallen. No mistake.

The stinking pile of rent seeking lying in slothed ordure that offers a front for pirate activity and gangsterism, Leonist shit heap, Trotskyist turd dump, Marxist pig swill, faecal useless sewer to the opened latrine of the world. Cash stealing cesspool, has had its days.

How can no one know that all the scheming at Dimona was stolen from the Reichsprotektorate. 1933 to 1953 all theft and death. Apiru caravan driving, red filtching of other people. Off their corpses, slavery, death and so called commerce. Traffic in dearth. Dry goods rationing rational killers. Look at their lack of deeds and the billions of dead in the caravan’s wake. Their claim to art and ubiquity is a mask of their poverty, perverted utility and spineless brained idoled indolent cushioned pervert’s bed. Always in their backs never at work in the fields unless subsidised and tamponed.

Just look at the shithouse, depleted for ever around, unknown to themselves. False fictioned, engineered clownunts. Immigrants from no where, evacuated in vast numbers, despite the deaths they called and administered in the fiction of their deaths. What a shit house, where all the arse holes we elect, as debt, bend their divorcée knees. Bend over for pissover. The clowns cannot do anything other than consume, shit and fuck away our days, shitheaped and forever heathen. Sly. Lazy, sleekit killers of humanity. Self styled chosen fuckedwitzz of the eviloid falsed god.

God bless you all, all the Ulstermen, all the South Afrikaans men, all the royal English men, the Cannuks, the Yankeez, the strides of Andzuk, well met by the 51st and the Welshmen.

OFM.

Too much walking and I tire in my weakness.

The hammer has struck, they have no fruit.

Heathen.

Tuesday, 23 April 2013

In the twine of our lives have my decryption of life.




We had chips, I vivified the last remaining non Chinese fish and chip bar here and returned to her joie de vivre, we enjoyed the simple odour and flavour, the salt and vinegar, no tomato, I left her to fill and then, selfishey, enjoyed the crisped remains of her remains, eyes to big for her belly. I was happy and left the wraps emptied.

How many years will it take to armour you, how many seasons to battle, so much shot peening to be done, to make you stand alone, invincible. Victorious, for that is how I named you. Alarmed and gentled in the fluidity of our quiet discerned, the love of the two who lay and brought you into this phase of non existence. How much care can be lavished, from both poles, unasked, unquestioned, given freely to you without debt, how many years until you catch fire?

Does the useless of this world not invite your mind to execute the perps?

My flame waxes and wanes, it gutters. How much time does it take to strike our flint? Your grandfather cleared mine fields in Korea, your grandmother suffered the poverty of life alone in Japan. Your grand father designed far flung ships, naval architect, and the one to whom you will honour and bear fruit, she scrubbed floors when younger than you, in love for you.

Where is your fuse to be lit and destroy the heathen?

Perhaps I ask too much, maybe I should shut up, forever to forget the endless lines of the slaves and poor who you, me, mummy-chan, the sires and bearers of our burden fought themselves, free, without aid nor prejudices.

Look at your empty hand and relate to me what you see. Show me your hardened main; let me place in your trusty palm the truth in this absurdity. Clear your view, observe the unseen enemy, descry the unlamented free fire zones. Keep to the deck, unchecked.

And fly into all the infiniite affection that is stored for you, awaiting uncorking on the topology where you will metamorphose.


Monday, 22 April 2013

Heaven is a weight and cannot support the metrics of my measured shoulders.




Scripted and sculpted in love, my phantomed feet contacted the ‘crete as I thought of all of you, in my free wheeling reverie. In the lush dry routes of our sojourn, aye in the seeded and fertilised ground of soil.  We walked in the gated momentum quantum uncertainty of the shine. Unleashed from the phramed staged play that is our heathen MSM GGT world. As unusual as a bog golf course, whole in one. Statistically alarmed by the unprobability of any event actually happening unless staged. Unarmed is death, the executionclowns await to deliver the Lead Pill Pharmacy to the weakened, unlicensed, soon to be erased from memorial.

Why do I call to you? You who died, newly born, Christened, in the arms of matter. Her tears striking the bloodied bed linen. I was dry antipodead birthed. I was lucky, you red and no more. Why did I not remember Mount Florida until our brother made me realise the frailty of my main strength, my unsupported hubris.

I had always recalled that day, overlooking the gorgeous City, stark and clear in the airy waves over our head; however I had only recollected the blood blue sky arching ceremony and whelming my minded ocular. The screaming sun high in the sky, belching and vomiting ersatz foolery. The arid taste of the flora spawn. I did not know, as we laid your tiny body to rest, expunged from my collection. What do I know? I blotted out the aid memoire, until our brother smashed the barrier to our grieve, your grave. Thank you Paul through the pain is unwashed away though my always forgotten day. Forgive me, two decades since the removal of my synaesthesia, 4 decades since you were rested.

To you and the unborn twins, we retain undiminished light in the dark of this tranquil metaphor. Allow me some license, you 3, I do not wish to deny for the 5 of our soul. I call on your strength and resilience for the fight to come. Give to me all that you would have been and grant me your love to deploy the care and alluvial deposit of our grief to affect a new construct of life. A loving layer.

To my orphaned friend I gave the, so like you, related.

How I do not remember that sunny day, as in a frozen daydream, I refracted the glazed stunning Nitrogen skied spectrum, enervating the entire flora to green, as I looked away and down on the banks of the City. Never to have seen your beautiful faces, 3 gone, outwits my witness. Give me the strength to collect my arms and unbleached myself from the sand.

Shield armed in hand, cast weapon, give me your fortitude.

Rested in peace, forever loved, I have opened my heart.

I gird my loins.

John Patrick; thanks to Paul’s infinite resonance.

I will two you my death.

Hand me a mirror.




And rotate me. Am I handed, never handled. Why is the centred petal of my centrifugal gyration, clocked or anti? Show me my silvered, reflected face, manmade.

Infinite and unbounded, sliced in fined relief, too more to comprehend drop my visage to splinter and fail. Janus façade faded hypothermia.

We talked. We talked of things we had and had not scene. We poured our libation in golden goblets and never stilled our swivelling eyes. Fevered in the rank of our enervated memory. Deceased and diseased, the head stones that he told me off.

I stare at the secreted flattened map, velveteen and bare on slate, how many balls in play? Who hands the cue?

Care was my care, I took point, I wasped my ears and fled my eyes, to care, too carriaged way, I pointed out the dead buildings where sloth money cares for nought, I felt the ground, and I smoothed the ripples of skinned approach and warned her of arrival.  Taken care is of no doubt against oncoming traffic.

I wished that we had, as unplanned as the journey was, struck past the most beautiful structure in the world. Where we never slept. In the woodened decided deciduous tarp and volatile skin where I saw the starling drown. I missed my future and we never had the opportunity to breathe the rich, dense, stanging, oliphactory timbered lumber of my peaceful slumber.

We may never return to this beautiful peace of land but I hope you understand its beauty reflected in my obtuse prose.

Sunday, 21 April 2013

Pleasant cats and spirited dogs.




As I dragged my noodles to lips, from my drybowl, I saw the linear A in my ear, upon my dark, chipped, blackened clipped, deranged, to my spastic, sticks, deadly spinning and ......

Do you ever live in the world of the eaten dead?

Canniballed and Ba’al Hammoned.

Where ever the dead are arranged we know the few heathen follow our finger fall.

yahweh, got any problems with my depiction of your death squads?

False and heathen

For once my command of the Queen’s English suffices

No full stops, no executed fall flags, count zero.

Tikka tikka tick tick fusion.



Watch the cultured inbred zoological garden that is the child molesting GGT English voice, of all hues, here in the centre of phukkwittery, The Smokistan. 

They no thing. Void violating GGT. A den of experted, exported, imported vice, no wonder it is getting demolished, the GGT Centre Ring of ringed and ring stung oratory can you hear the criesof the helpless whelps, farmed and groomed to fouled appetites. What does the GGT do apart from attack the helpless?

They are bred in eschewal schooling like money hunting Phukked D’Witzz at a drawers down credit gathering schakelogocal, untamed heathen shammed, shaham, in blacked feathers shaman, debt and rentier fest.

Tikka tikka, the long sought instrument of our shortened days awaits.

Tick tick IR tikka tikka fused.

As I wrote on your rotten corpse, paddy fields and bog. Where in my toil I have never met you, faced face to face, lucre infected schemed dullard sloth?

Watch out you heathen scripted GGT English encrypted.

Can you seen the speeling must takes I have wondered with false names?

I held here, her hand in my main, laboured and borne, broken with toil, I let her fade away as careless as one who never fails. What should have been within my caress, gentled in the sweetness of her scented mane, pine and jasmine. A lasted gasp as we fell asleep and she seized my breaking start, a fright, an alert, an alarmed moment. United movement. Forever the command of what I thought I knew and realised, false from fall, was never as my miniscule appreciation could apprehend. She soothed my rage and for the first time I slept untroubled in the depths of our quivering crest.

Can I repay the debt, the interest of your eyes upon me, the deeds? As the bluebells grew under my joy, I never thought there would be someone to capital the beauty of the flowers in the glades of my life, daffodils, crocus, dandelion, sweet garlic, the spectrum of the wonders of the woods, but you came.

Tickk tikka tick a tick, the stepped wheel of the sky chases around the slowing thermodynamics of this wold. Where no thing is brought under husbandry, the cold wold. I dreamed, streamed in the cooling radiation of the utter falseness that is the given down our throat.

What is the incredulity that the false educated fools do not understand about the fate of our people? Where ever the rains, reins and reigns fall the killers know their days are numbered. Yahwehist sleekit killers.

“Such were the funeral rites of Hector, tamer of horses.”

Saturday, 20 April 2013

We walked.




By mistaken choice I traveled, through the new born filled, tagged, fields, by dead reckoning, still snow naked and banked in the dry stoned shadow. So far and the hairs on my head greyed, I froze my glaze, hyper viscous to the vitrified earth. I remembered my friend who took me to Finsbury bowling, and I tramped my footfall, stalled. All gone but loved, all failed by love, ever missed and we walked. Through never before strode, by me, into the duck egged blue green, into life. They were all there, so many black. The road was, as I remarked to my fellow sole burner and later to my life, it was Romanesque. Surprisingly straight as a non scalar.

Did I graze your eyes when you, stilled, saw me? Am I phramed in our cominatagation? Into the green, verdant land, where peace and new life are gambling.

The next day I sat, if you know where I was, and looked at the nothing. What I saw was how it used to be when my existence was in shorts. The halt of all traffic, by uniformed authority, by common decency, by consent, as the Glasgow bus departed, on time, always, the great red building. Northward my peepers were dispersed, to the thriving market, and I watched the blue and the green, heading out of the Banked street, quieter were their flows, they could integrate with the ebb much more easily than the mainline, as they headed to the coast.

As we tired, my mistake, trying to zero in anti clockwise, left and left and left again. We watched the dust being driven by the farm machinery. So much snow in the previous week and yet so arid the ground. Activity was aplenty as the winding road, or rod, chains, cables meandered to the other edge of town, we were not lost but I had lost my bearings. Nothing could be done other than plod on passed the red handed, blackberry stained digits and palms of my foolishness.

I awaited, how many?

Those who are gone.

I found again, by accident, your funeral service Lula.

Van, Helen Steiner Rice, Lennon sung by Nail, Kiki/Carmelo Luggeri.

I surrender the fight
I have no desires
I am home again
Peaceful waters calm the restless fire

Wake me from this sleep
Bring me hope and prayers to keep
Our hearts cannot be divided
Where rivers meet

In dreams I wake
Steal away from the night
With no words said
Breathe the silence in the morning light

Wake me tenderly
Blood of my blood
Hidden so deep
Our hearts cannot be divided
Where two rivers meet

Never forgotten, always remembered, forever stored in my heart.

Friday, 19 April 2013

Open your occullar radiation braking sytems


I stood unalloyed, unalone, unknown, unrunthrough, and yet I steeped forward into the dirt and saved a gentle victim of my foolishness..

…much earlier had grazed the blackened  inferno. It was deep; so much that I stood for ours ,not hours, for ours in the arid coldness, freezing as only one can wish to be cold, hot as the mind allows, Scottish, unarmed but not unnamed allowing my optics to enjoy the millions of years of travel. I staid, alone, as pertinent and permanent, stood and gazed.

We had walked from home to home, passed and those past because I am a pukkedwitz. All the memories I cherish. All the days of chip pieces, all the days of scaring my family with blackberry hands, whilst still expecting my tomato ketchup laden bread, breathe. It was a long, mistaken journey, through unintentional remembrance.

I drank the love of my fathers and mothers. I loved them to severe and sever, not serve. I washed my eyes with the infinite blindness, I died too infintity, not beyond, thurst is id.

You; when you saw me, I knew.

When you saw me, that instant, when you cut me into two. I evaporated

Standing under the most beautiful city in the world. Why should I stature my thought? Here; there loved all the shadowed.

The skeleton, searing, seeing, sky, where the air dropped ablaze?

Looking at the structure utilising both of my unseeing documents of love.

Do not wave me Goodbye. I will guard your flanks with alacrity, always plowing and ploughing the infinite seas.

Metaphored and metamorphosed.

The Dirac seas are ablaze, 1 and 3

I don’t know if you are getting it yet,




this is what we

DO

I apologise for any offence to those who use their eyes.

I remember a kind man, who narrated all the dead, dreared men to me. He was under aged when the gunfire and sniper tried to end sharp, his flitting flying life.

8 guns.

In later life he unloaded a shit load of heavy weaponry on the shell shocked retards that never.


Ever were fools.

Wednesday, 17 April 2013

Five centimetres per second




I know you are never reading, either of you, here, so I will apply the metaphor to my unlikely hypothesis.

To be deployed only once, as my analogue censor’s sensor. Only ever to be experienced without anyone knowing the thoughts behind the one shot skill. Bone dry macadam, no cadence, no skid, just arresting high G. Waferfab micro footfall.

Fall.

The topological metaphor.

As usual it is an eclectic diabolectique, no thing changes, though we may live and expire.

Null, a spark of life, null.

Infinite light, a brief breath, boundless illumination.

One good. One evil. And we are the uniting infinite interface, the relic of the line, the death in life of our humanity’s vector. Form and from where all our numbers grow. First there was one and then there is three, all male, all immeasurable.

Guess where the yahweh money heathen spout their bounded, constricting, closed system filth, which part of the dialectic do they infest with their doomed pursuit of their heathen gold? Where do they execute yahweh’s will over our corpses?

Apiru clue to the existence of the heathen, the steward of the constant, red, dusty refugee, heathen called, evened, numbed and 6 magic numbered.

5cm per second, yes they fall at that rate, even here now the trees are blossomed.

Tuesday, 16 April 2013

Have you noticed that everyone has had a gutful of yahweh, ayahweh, aiyahweh and iyahweh now?




This is not a failing but a construction of the post eviloid world. Having been force-fed, waterboardretarded, ibored we are about to vomit out the crap. The fools do not understand the metaphor.

We are the sheen.

This iathing, this ithickas ishit, which is at the rotten heart of our intercourse, is now revealed to all as a ischytzoid ipsychopathic ihomopathologically bent ieviloid bastard ui iuabortion by one mistaken deceit.

iRCE/TA, where all the ayahwehist/yahwehist/heathenoid/aheathehoid piss taking monoheathenponzischemeing ivictims infest the iheathensoil, not toiling, but iwanking all over the charitable world. iWelcomed to it again after 1000 years. To be iyahwehist is iheathenism, to be iayahweihist id iheathen, to be iatheist on the stinking founderedfoundations of iahwehism is utter ibankruptcycummedim spiritually, morally and corporally mind ihived ilazy ibastard icommunism.

And everyone has had a belly full of its ishit, in the eye, even the thick as shit have noticed and the purveyors of its toxic spiritual brew, its noxious stew and murderous admixture of evil and fakery? Whether its nonsense is spewed by banksters or rabid holy men, pirates sheltering and shitting in stolen land or unthinking bone bags, it is deadly infection.

Every bone has had a belly full of iayahewist crap now.

Get ready for the retarded. Perpare, The iheathen love killing humanity under their cloak of vanity.

iShaven erected iapes?

Given the choice they will kill us all………………

Wednesday, 10 April 2013

Tea leaf





 Now then now then now then I am a naked ex-miner, down the pits and blinging in Londonistan. Note the well fed jowls unlike all the flock throughout the passed 2000 years? All DEAD.

Pay attention, note the stupid hats and the stupid crosses and the absurdity of it all.

Tea leaf, always.

Peter's penceponzischeming Ba'al Hammon worshipping Phukked D'Witz from phekking Patagonia!!! Where the monheathenoids play, safely, today.

Got the southern hemisphere yet?




Monday, 8 April 2013

We had traveled hundreds and hundreds of miles…




…and the thesis is forming.

The thesis is that ayahwehism and yahweism is atheism and nought killers of humanity.

As expected, as soon as you “touch point”, upon your return, tfl, one’s journey turns into a shit heap. This is a semitic affair.

It reminded me of the occasion I had to “touch point” the out of hours ?service?, Spanish not catered for in the omnicultural wordshit, windows tax, here in the shitJet borough, ten years ago or so.

As we awaited, four minus, our appointed time, never on time, but relative. As we watered their appointment they’re was a sudden opening of a secret door and a chosen wretch, screaming and babbling, was ushered , out of our siteline, in the waiting flocked membered room, cloaked and occulted, to the duty tribe doctored for immediate drugging.

An out of hours queue jumping special person, fleeing their minds, because the Lamarckian hand down cannot handle dick=versity. A holocaust ersatz remembered ashen treed limbic of the faux monied system. All the money ever created to buy and indebt everything but out of their ayahwehist mindhive. I especially remembered last Thorsday, as we traipsed past my Latin teachers’ old hovel, I pointed out at his Lamarckian wife going sparko at mass. Actor.

Lamarck is theoremarkc.

As soon as you arrive by metalled rail into the temple, all one hears are the priests announcing tanoi’d templed call, ziggurat even call, that there are “continuous improvements” to the “service”.

A little while later, as I troubled the tube carriage kick plate, I read the script.

1996.

That is when they, in debt purchase, contracted, brought the constricted new fleet into service, partly, bit by bit and since then they have been “improving” the service. I.e. shitting on the zoological, sterile struck, garden that is Gladstone’s “The Smoke”, rent seeking garden and cropped, murder minded borough.

Have you ever studied the lower primates infesting the tube system in London? The inifecated mind? The howling, word spouting hollow? The DNA starved asswipes sitting behind deadly airbags and safety systems designed to cull? Have you?

Which reminds me.

The rentreeking, money printing, Babylonian inspired scum are banging out.

This is banging out.

The shit house is ready for a good crash and burning, under watered shit.

Any doubt?

The dregs call themselves refugees but how small a portion is sundered; the River Orantes has long flowed into the Thames. H/T Juvenal

Thursday, 28 March 2013

Christmas 2012





The words are unabled and are unfit for the purpose I intend. I am mute and disabled; I am dead in the water, mobility hit. Where do I go now that I cannot describe my curse? Where? It isn’t that I have not found an answer; it is just not the answer I sought.

And yet an answer of import it is.

We flew out Christmas Eve and for the first time in 47 years and second time in 50 years, I spent my Christmas outside the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. For the first time in many years I would not be able to drift in the cold past the church upon the hill, where those I know, of love and goodwill, gather on Christmas Eve. I would also, for the first time, experience New Year far, far away. Thousands and thousands of miles away and as is my want, once over the White Sea, no reading material this time, I ordered up a double JD, a couple of tubes of Asahi and settled down to catch up on some movies.

The Sweeney, fantastic movie, though formulaic. The original Sweeney TV series was the best cop show ever, its corrupt pathos was sublime, forget it Yanks.  It had a rushed, auctioned sadness throughout its core, the central characters slowly being ablated by the searing corruption within which they tried to remain true. The ss has regaled me with many a tale filling in the background details of the things he has witnessed in The Smoke, The Sweeney’s stomping ground.

Battleship, bollox, though I did watch it all ‘cos I love the BBs and the BCs. I have spent many a happy hour drifting off to sleep rearranging the rebuild of HMS Hood so that she would not have cracked up under radar guided high velocity shot!! It can be done I believe, with the resources to hand in a poor, rickets struck, war state, like UKplc 1939, but the Admiralty would never have sanctioned the thought. So we died, in our hundreds, again.

A real surprise was End of Shift; I am never going to USofA corp. as a tourist, if that is even a slight whiff of LA! If I transpose The Sweeney and the known events in London as described by the ss, onto LA, well who could relax. Good movie though.

The gold nugget was Inception. I randomly selected it because I had trundled up to the galley to get my daughter a spicy sea food noodle and myself another JD and tube, when I returned to my seat it was next on the menu. I had no previous idea what it was about but for some reason have started to forget The Beach when it comes to Mr D’C since catching the western remake of Infernal Affairs in which he co-starred.

I really liked it for two reasons. One, it is pure Einsteinian relativistic, so the physicist within me was happy as Larry. Two, it is the only western movie, at least as far as I have seen, after so many disappointments like Strange Days, Johnny Mnemonic and The Matrix, that actually gets close to what Gibson was writing about 30 years ago, before he got turned. You can tell he got turned when he was invited to speak at DARPA etc., as a futurologist. Since then he has written crap. Phekking good movie.

Soon enough, after almost half a day in the air, we hit the runway, cleared passport control and we were on the Express to home. As always on these 21hr, door-door yomps, I do not sleep. The others snoozed as we sped along in the almost empty carriage and I stared out through the unpatina’d glass at the land flashing past, the woods, the tidy fields, the isolated paddy remaining from the farm land expropriated decades ago, the clear, clean roads, at the ordered landscape, early in the day under the clear blue, on standby, television sky.

Heading around the Bay through MC1. Soon Chiba heaved into view and if you know what I’m referencing that is where the Bio-Labs will be. A little later, over the Sumida, and there it is, the Sky Tree, will soon be dining with friends out this way, then through Tokyo, Kawasaki, Yokohama and finally our terminus, Ōfuna. Taxi home and Christmas Day spent honouring parents.

Any change since I last visited?

Let me list a couple of the things that have NOT changed, the things I love there. You can still plod through narrow dimly lit alleyways and side streets safely, locate the small sushi bar where our friends Hos and Colin took us all those years ago, find your half empty whiskey bottle, as left upon the picture rail 17 years ago AND be recognised as its owner!  

One can wander through gigantic shopping malls of such breath taking boredom to the male eye that only the girls could get excited about them. Your correspondent usually leaves them to it, with a rendezvous many hours in advance, and ducks into an electronics store, floor after floor of erototech., cameras of such beauty that a photo of any one of the things would be award winning, hour after hour of magical machinery. If the girls are still not finished purchasing whatever, the quantum emporium is usually next to a selection of noodle bars and eat the huge pile of curry, get it for free restaurants. Anyway one can always park one’s tired ass, have a quiet meal, a brew or two and admire your latest in newly bought 3.0. Try that near any Currys or Eurotech!!!

The temples and the shrines. We attended the New Year’s Day bell ringing at the local temple, we stood together, rang the bell and peace was to be found there. Unlike any church vessel after Vatican 2’s surrender to the heathen. No wonder Ratzinger has gone into hiding, the ZioNaziRatfaced Ba’al Hammon disciple. Any clown who can go to RCE/TA’s pirate base and call the terrorist occupants “our elder brothers” is a phukking agent of shatan.

Even in mid-winter the vending machines at the local railway station will give you an ice chilled 1ltr brew to help you on the way uphill to home.

So the down side?

Well electrical energy rationing is evident, the Sky Tree goes a bit dim after 9pm or so, and after twenty-five years of economic warfare waged against this society, it is still resisting the so called change demanded by the monoheathenoidYahwehistas (See “Have you noticed that everyone has had a gutful of Yahweh now?”) . Just like the Germans the truth is leaking out here. Real truth you troofers, not the managed shit fought over by phukk d’witz out here on the ausphart. Real truth about what really happened, about how ordinary people were slaughtered. After two big sticks and a 25 year designer collapse there is no sign of surrender. Indeed the opposite is the case.

This brings me worryingly to the second thing that only a lover of turning and burning things seemed to notice. The girls seemed to think I was imagining, but no. There was, for the first time in my experience out there, the sound of high performance, low bypass turbofans, flying over in two ship flights at dusk. Yank or JASDF? Couldn’t clock them but I heard them every evening out there.

We left on twelfth night for our return flight. As we passed Vladivostok I ordered up a triple JW, two tubes of Heineken and settled down to sleep the sleep of the contented.

Easter 2013

We will go north, hundreds and hundreds of miles and as is my want on these occasions I will take some reading material. Total journey time estimated at 8 hours door-door. However I fully expect that it may take a couple of days since this is the arse hole of the universe. What reading material shall I take, I had finished all my Lavenda and Tarpley by Feb. Fey is finished again as of today. It will have to be something I tucked away for a rainy day. Mind you I could reread Gibson again, Wintermute, Count Zero, Hideo and the well hard girl with the razor hands. Zion Dub. Either way London Euston-Glasgow Central then out onto Union Street and the No 4 bus home.

I forgot to mention that after we got off the flight in January and had our first “touch point” with UKplc again, it was a typical let down. Everything in the thousands of miles and hours and hours of preceding travel had run like clockwork but as soon as we hit London Underground, what a shitheap!

Anyway to the north we go however before travelling we will be visiting the site of the famous Child Molesting Centre (CMC). No wonder they are going to grind parts of it off the face of the Earth. Removal of evidence. Shouldn’t it be CSI’d as a crime scene? Isn’t removal of evidence a crime in the country? Of course not. There is no crime in this country. How else can you explain the lack of perps getting banged up for stealing all our money, rigging everything, causing mayhem, designed recession and open borders to criminals? UKplc; the non existent state.

Of course it exists for us. Have you heard the footfall adverts from HMRC, new director a glass ceiling breaking, Common Purposed failure, scaring the shit out of us, the individual tax farmed serf? Yet HMRC have no balls to go and drag the murderous corporates like Phux TV, KopheeFucks, anyBanks, anyConsultants and assorted criminals to cough up!! No wonder the lights are going out in this town!! Cuts, cuts, cuts and more cuts. The clowns tell us we will live to 100 years of age. Well I remember the poisonous GGT telling us 25 years ago from the very same CMC that we would all retire at 55years of age. We will never retire and all die in harness now, so expect to die young.

We travel north to honour parents, a short stay, minima has a dental appointment soon after Easter and we are to watch the last recording in the CMC. These are the bounds of our time frame.

Why do I mention the CMC?

A Greek Cypriot, the brother of a friend of mine, who is an architect, once remarked to me “ I am not a priest of the temple, architect” upon my asking why he hadn’t gone on to design “big things” like stadia and aeropuertos? There then took place a long conversation during which it became clear that only the selected few, forget inclusivity and diversity, got to design the skyscrapers, airports, major public buildings and assorted eye stabbing modern built environment. These are the new temples and MUST stand out from the local environment despite pretend regulations about beauty and local harmony.

These things are the new temples and must capture your eye. So they interrupt harmony. The easiest way is to make them hideous. Check the Scottish Parliament.

Oh and the system will always give award winning status to these things to keep the herd in its place.

As with all temples there must be an altar, you just need to be able to decode the architect/priest’s, in your face, occulted imperative to observe it.

Now then, now then, now then. Boys and girls can you see thealtar?

I’ll bet you the chronal mirages of abuse will haunt the remainder for ever.

So we’ll be in there tomorrow evening and then off we go.

On the way home I’ll be, as usual, staring out the window of the bus at the scenery passing by. The windmill farm should make interesting viewing. I wonder what the Scottish government is going to say in a decade’s time when the wind farms are asked to deliver and they cannot. How are they going to explain the phukkup? By that time the EU will have shut everything that runs on nuke, coal, oil or anything else they choose to outlaw, down. Remember the clowns running the EU are the same familial inbreds that advised Stalin on agrarian reform precisely to starve out the kulaks. What makes you think that they like you any more than the kulaks oh flower of Scotland? They have an unending hatred of the Irish; you’ve been protected by association with their pirate base in England. Once independent the clearances will start again.

Why do they hate the Irish so?

Well I got the answer to that by accident and as I said above I got an answer I did not seek, it is a very important answer though.

A little while ago the ss and I were discussing his time in West Africa, in the 60s/70s, he remarked that the graves of the priests showed how quickly they died for their faith. Mostly Irish, their headstones would, not unusually, indicate their arrival date at the mission. From their date of death one could see that 6 months was not uncommon.

One has to go back over 2000 years, way back to the Punic wars to even start to get you head round two things. The anti-Gaulic attitude of the semites and the reason why Petros went to Rome.

Most who read about the second Punic war will always concentrate on the Romans and never consider the attitude of the Carthaginians to their hosts. The independent pirate base that was established in the Iberian Peninsula by Hannibal and co., so as not to break the terms of the first Punic war, illustrates a constant theme over the millennia. If one thinks of the stereotypical racist white slave owner attitude to his black slaves we are always told is so representative of the plantation owner in southern USofA, then magnify that attitude by two orders of magnitude. Then one gets the idea of how the descendents of the Phoenicians viewed the Gauls of Iberia. This is the reason the Irish are hated so, they were demonstrably not semitic.

Do you see that blue area on the map at the top of this article? Those are ancient semitic lands. Interestingly centuries later they would become semitic again under Islam. We are supposed to believe that everything is a great big mystery, no one really knows who the Phoenicians were and where they went once out in the Atlantic. No one knows their secrets, which they kept all to themselves, of the dye. So many secrets, so much ignorance, so much waffle. Sound familiar?

One thing we can say though is that there is a definite signature, apart from making sure all non-semites never get anywhere near any secret, the smell of high financed death. Dead people everywhere.

Now then, Simon.

Do you see the red bit on the map above, the bit where the Roman’s lived?

Oh and just to quote myself from something I will bang out at the other shop soon,

“Unlike some who blog, at the moment do not expect referenced material here, this is not a paper to be peer reviewed by hive minded academic clowns, this is a fucking blog!!!

This is forensic story telling, history as read by me, making more sense to me, for the history we’ve been handed down, upon which we are examined, when examined closely, is deliberated fiction.”

Well then who do you think the fisherman went to preach to, if we believe the scripture?

Romans?

Nah, they’d been bred out by then. The native population of Rome was of mainly Chaldean, i.e. semitic, decent by then. Indeed by the time the western Roman empire fell, the Roman natives, the abos, had been bred out of the peninsula altogether. So when I see my old mukka giving it large on Easter Sunday I only see a geezer kidding on he means any of the stuff that we think of as Christianity. No wonder all the church ever did was go around murdering persons. It is Ba’al Hammon’s proxy.

BTW UKplc the mechanism was to send the Roman citizen out to fight in the army in foreign parts and out breed them at home.

WW1 spring to mind UKplc?

USofA corp. getting the vibe yet?

Anyway next time out we shall be starting to build a thesis.

Until then I wish you a peaceful Easter.