First a little “history”. In about 2003-2004 I had the privilege of working with a group called FLO – Free Land Ops. I don’t need to go into all of that here, but suffice it to say that it was all about those three words: free, land, OPS.
I’ve been reluctant to reference Andrew Anglin’s material in any of my TopSide posts, because even to me his views are a bit radical. For example… the way he expresses his views about most women are a bit over the top, though I do empathize with his views and wonder what abuses he took from b*tches that so firmly established them.
Nevertheless, this article sums up exactly the way I view this Buttigieg guy’s Slave Land Ops. Gird up your loins and read it.
Appointee Buttigieg isn’t missing in action. He’s – uh, let’s say actionable. He doesn’t care if he loses his job – which he will, he doesn’t even care if he doesn’t get paid – which he won’t. He’s an “Operator” for the Nebadon World Order. He’s in an etheric place to stop the FLO of milk by pretending to breast feed with fake BOOBs. THAT’s what all this is about – not your frickin’ Christmas, Americans. It’s about the future of the children. It’s about the future – and past – of The Rail System.
"Furthermore The Bride’s train won’t be muddied with the likes of those who practice these disgusting things. Her Rail System shall be clean for the Lord Bridegroom and to His satisfaction or cold feet shall walk the ley lines until it is." THE BRIDE GETS TO DECIDE
So, here’s what’s happening: I am giving that office, all it’s authorities and all it’s BOOBy-traps to one more competent, until he sees fit to hand it over to The High King – which he will. He’s nobody’s Secretary. нет. No. He’s a Florentine Merchant, and one of my Ex’s. We parted on the most favorable terms in all of history.
Intermission
Americans. Please stop worrying about your Christmas this year. Get creative! whether those containers get offloaded or not. Make your gifts, cook together, take your masks off and enjoy each other’s company. Be grateful for what you have and stop expecting flows of milk from kidnappers of children. Adjust your thoughts now, or you’ll likely find yourselves with the same fate as them. See this situation for what it actually is: a hostage situation, and DO something about it.
I can almost smell those lilacs.
Kin 49: Red Planetary Moon I perfect in order to purify Producing flow I seal the process of universal water With the planetary tone of manifestation I am guided by the power of navigation
Beige ORI. Red plus Green makes Brown Note.
Update for 10-20-21: I was asked to pause this post for a time “or else”. Uh, well, no. Here’s my response. Did you notice that the Tesseract has been replaced? Yes.
While Christians were going to Church today, and golfers were conquering holes, Gramps and I were going all-in on the River Card. But, we aren’t gamblers.
Gambler golfers, I’ve seen your Flop houses, so now I’m going to call you at The River card.
Rarely, do I ever show my hand – even in the muck. But today, I’m making an exception. I’m holding the NUTS. All of them – and yours.
Golfers, don’t be gamblers. THIS IS YOUR MESS TO CLEAN UP! Who’s on the Dealer Button?
You share the same waterway that your Flop houses do. And using the excuse “It’s downstream of us, we’re enjoying this pristine environment upstream, why should we care? After all, we’ve paid hefty green fees to someone else” isn’t going to give you a winning hand.
To whom? TO WHOM? Not me, not Gramps. Yet we’re picking up this trash after your flops. And really, why should we?
Do you want to continue chasing little balls around those greens on MY LAND? Then I’m going to need to see your proof of stake. Do you need instruction on how to do that? Learn from Oregon’s Solv-it mission. Behold:
Intermission
I need to say something not angry here, but I’m not particularly inspired at the moment – except this:
The Sue ZOO key: “I don’t think I’ll give them Blue Steele though. Can’t give away the [CIA] shop.”
Zoolander. Nice posing for your PayPal windows. You had me fooled for a minute, and that’s difficult to do nowadays. But your “truth” became lit up when you advocated on Twitter the use of a very French device of medieval blood-letting. Welcome to the 21st century, dude. We don’t use those devices anymore. Why? you may be asking. Just this. Now pay close attention “mystics”.
WE MUST PROTECT THE CHILDREN’S DREAMS AND IMAGINATIONS!!!!!!!!!!
…just as I prayed fervently to St. Michael the Archangel at a berm in front of His Roman Catholic Church some years ago.
Get it? How do you expect to permanently end suffering on this planet when you advocate gore-ish nightmares from the Dark Ages!? We’re in DreamCatcher mode now not nightmare streets mode. You are too far beyond mystic for me Jean-Claud.
And this is the business end of this message – we’ll just get that outa the way first, then we’ll get into the narrative. YOU ARE NOT, NOR ARE ANY OF THOSE IN YOUR LINE WELCOME ON ANY OF MY TRIANONymous LANDS. Not in France, not in Portland, not in Colorado, not in California, not in Las Vegas, not in Arizona, not in Dallas AND CERTAINLY NOT IN SOUTH DAKOTA. Be very careful where you tread now. ..
You called a Blue Steel look, and it’ll find you, Uruk-hai. Latitudinal Squeeze.
STING, the THE Blue Steel (not the inferior CD STEELE dossier. No mas dossier)
Sue McLaughlin is my sister as well as Gramp’s and my Accountant for VANGUARD – a New ZEALander. She’s been missing on Facebook for a while. Why is that Jean-Claud? I need to know, and I suspect you have some answers. We shall see.
Additionally, I have a message for that other pretty and charming Australian whose name I won’t ever say again. Why won’t I say her name? Just this:
“When there are many words, sin is unavoidable, but the one who controls his lips is wise.” Proverbs 10:19
Intermission
Anna Bel Mersch-Ford was a grandmother of limitless unconditional love. Her family immigrated to America from Germany. As I recall there were 10 Mersch children; Anna, Lena, Catherine (married last name Beverly who moved to Spokane WA and shared a 3-13 birthday with me), Josie, Mary, George, John, Frank and the other's names I can't recall. Anna couldn't have children of her own, as she had problems with mis-carriages, so we weren't related directly by blood. When she was about 40s, she and her husband who was my Great Uncle Joseph Ford, adopted my mother Shirley Lee from his sister after losing their first adopted daughter Peggy. Shirley's mother's name was Helen who lived in Montana. Apparently I met Helen when I was very young, though I don't have a clear memory of it. Who was my grandfather? Nobody would ever talk about him or even mention his name. Was this because he was a rapist called Hearst? I wonder, as I meditate on Deadwood - and my "doctored" birth certificate.
Shirley grew up in Denver with her adopted parents and became a ballet dancer in high school (East High Angel? Code name Chantilly Lace?) when she met the Sith Lord incarnated then as Adrian Michael Haskins. Adrian's father looked like Humphrey Bogart, so I've been told, and his mother Margie is the reason for the war on Butter. She somehow legalized the creation of Oleo Ranch's margarine.
Shirley became pregnant with me by Adrian, and as a family we moved into the second floor of an old apartment in Denver - Kearney St. The apartment had a balcony outside the kitchen window which is where we would take our parakeet named IKE out for fresh air. Two hamsters also shared our abode; Mutt and Jeff. I remember being home-schooled early by her with flash cards when I wasn't attending Pre-school at >>Small Fry. (Really, me a Pisces, and him a Fisk, huh)
Adrian was a chess champion and actually played against Bobby Fischer in a Master's Tournament. I was there with him on his shoulders as he walked around. He put his dragon finger up to his lips and told me to "shh". I responded by mirroring him. I was about three.
One day Shirley was caught stealing a bag of groceries, as Adrian felt his chess playing was more important than supporting his family. So Shirley divorced him.
Then on another day, she drove her '40 Ford to an Anunakene's Phillips 66 gas station for a fill-up. That's where she started to get tangled with the SWANK's. Gene Swank was pumping gas (CB handle Gas Pump - "always pumping Ethyl - keys to the Pegasus" - personal: this Rule 34 shit disgusts me). His parents lived in Littleton, CO near Geneva Park. They were originally from Hannibal, MO (the "show me" state). Hiram Russell Swank and EULA Penelope Gomer - Gene's decode: End User License Agreement, a penny and measure of WHEAT (wheat penny license agreement) I suspect that she was also a VRIL - that hair.
So, anyhoo... these two got "married", then the three of us moved to Englewood, CO - Clarkson Street in 1966 - near some Ivy League school named streets; Dartmouth, Yale, Harvard, Cornell et al. Sometime later Gene started calling Shirley a BORG because she constantly had a camera pasted to her face, taking movies and still images of me doing everything I was doing, then taking the film for processing to SKAGGS Drugs. The BORG Queen. Ok, how did he even KNOW about the BORG so many years before the Star Trek series was even broadcast? The only way I can figure, is that he became a valuable asset of ONI - he was a Navy guy.
The next part of the story is a bit sketchy for me as I only have Etheric pieces to put together. My Super Soldiers have given me many clues into this through Theta Group. As I have been able to surmise, DD Eisenhower made some "deals" with off-world reptoids, an 80 year treaty in about 1940 to trade human "meat" suits (skins - Golf reference?) for tech. How was this even possible? I think it's because they also promised him a President's job of the U.S. Corporation - and a Tunnel connecting Grand Junction (Union Pacific Railroad hub) with Glen wood Springs and Denver. Additionally, his offspring would have a microphone to secure his legacy. There were reverberations in Shirley's and my dream states - or should I say nightmare states, but that's ancient history and not worth digging into now, since that Eisenhower "deal" expired on December 21, 2020 in SPITE of the existence of the Eisenhower Tunnel.
All I ever wanted was for everyone to be able to eat brioche and drink living water - and the pressings of >>actual<< grapes. Read on.
The Eisenhower/Johnson Tunnel is closed energetically as I post this. Shipments to and from the DandyLion Field will be halted then metered, measured and mitered to their final destinations.
IKE struck a nerve – I FELT IT, and still do. The Tempest is being aroused, and it won’t fit in a teacup.
Intermission
Tarot by Janinine(spelling intended – you can connect the dots yourself, Yankton). This part is breaking my heart, but I must do it. I’ll recover, as I always do in these situations. Since my first incarnation as a star-configured humanoid – an Elvish one (Galadriel), and including the one known as Jean d’ARK, I have always been a female – as it always shall be. You were wrong about that. So glad I didn’t pay real money for that “reading”. I just shared my Umbrella as compensation (AEGIS), but that’s being removed from you now.
You’ll start releasing my grandmother Anna Bel Mersch-Ford’s essence immediately. She and Lena from Lenora shall be going back to their German family where they belong. You should have accepted my offer of a Medicine Wheel for your new home. Sorry.
My name is Kathryn – and Spirit Who Flies in the Wind.
Hello Moonraker. Proof of LIFE and ETH block 12965000
Commodore April. I chose not to activate my Papal (spelling intended) plastic because I’m brushing my teeth with activated charcoal and washing my dishes with Blue Charcoal. Besides, the fees were too high. Also, I just had a spin cycle on the Moonraker.
Hat colors like shirt colors are a choice. I sat in my tiny condo (which I’m grateful for btw) on a 5 year old $300 ASUS laptop (also grateful for that) thinking about what I would have done had I been one of those lucky ones who got “too many” comps.
This is my thinking process – a thought experiment:
A huge financial institution has just allowed an exploit into their otherwise benevolent and beneficial system.
I’m in the right place at the right time.
As I always do, I would “pay it forward”, because there are others – in my own sphere – who have zero comps, and this causes an imbalance for me resulting in my current non-optimal living/office conditions. Everything and everyone is connected. Mitakuye Oyasin https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mitakuye_Oyasin
I’m keeping the comps, passing many of them along to those who need them, then re-investing the remainder for future gain.
End of thought experiment.
I once paid for a used Roadmaster bicycle with money from a wallet I had found on my walkabout. I paid more than she wanted for it because I also gave her one of the first paper hearts I had ever folded origami style, delivered in a gossamer bag. Her name was Jennay(sp?), and she had a PIT Bull which created an instant and persistent heart connection between us. But that bicycle was important to me at the time and so was my walkabout, which on that day was a visit to deliver a medicine wheel to St. Michael the Archangel Roman Catholic church in the LaPRADA area of Dallas. All of this happened because I had kept money I found in a $ETH BOT-kin wallet and didn’t return it. There are other components to this story, but that stuff is too “gray hat” for this discussion.
After I had put the bicycle on the bus that I was taking home, she sent me a text thanking me for the paper heart. I said “you’re welcome” and mentioned that I would love to see her again – which I still do.
ONLY The Hatter gets to decide what color my hats are – and I get to decide what color my shirts are.
Mr. COMP. I invested seven years of my time in Las Vegas, NV which was eight years too many. Allotta comps were paid out to whales from allotta casinos during that time. Are you a gambler? You have gambled with the IRS which is an illegal entity. If you are more aligned with Casino culture, then you should probably be closer to them at their headquarters in the Rings of Saturn. We don’t do sh*t like that here on Earth.
“I’m sorry, i’m sorry, sorry” is what I hear, and my heart goes out to you, but The Auditor said it’s too late. Sorry. Hoʻoponopono
Intermission
Update for clarity
*tears. I'm getting some feedback: "Grandma, you're being too harsh!"
How do you know that, young one? How do you know that the Rings of Saturn aren't an absolutely amazing place where Mr. COMP wouldn't feel more comfortable?
Furthermore as a human I can legitimately add this perspective. Now pay attention children. We all make slips of the tongue and we say things we later regret. It's part of the human experience. But we can easily avoid foolishness like this by asking regularly for higher guidance.
What you accept to be true for YOU at CORE level will eventually bubble up through your words – online and offline. Watch over your heart with all diligence, for from it flow the springs of life.
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