Chapter Five (the long one) from my upcoming book:

(Don Croft) #1

Five: Exoskeleton

Orgonite is entirely harmless. If that weren’t so, there would be no grassroots, global, gifting network; this essential, planetary healing work would be left in the hands of a few talented folks, as was the case with Dr Reich’s powerful, but potentially dangerous cloudbusters. ‘A few talented folks’ would never get it done because winning any war is a numbers game, and the bad guys’ genocide wishes might have been granted in that case.

‘Gifting’ is what we call distributing simple, orgonite devices, (usually homemade), in the environment in a systematic way, to initiate and sustain positive energy transformations. ‘Orgonite’ is the energy-producing material that is basically made up of resin and machined-metal waste. This simple, powerful material was eventually developed from the earlier findings of Dr Wilhelm Reich, who called the trans-dimensional, subtle, energy matrix of the universe, ‘orgone.’ He invented that term after scientifically discovering that the energy released during sexual orgasm is pure, creative force. We like to honor his life of education, healing, ground-breaking research and selfless service by using his term for the energy matrix, which others have named ch’i, prana, life force, animal magnetism, odic force, vril (!), etc.

Until we all came along, the What To Think Network had essentially erased Dr Reich from public memory, a process that was cemented within a decade or so after his death, when crackpots and scholarly pedants, rather than serious researchers, had felt obliged to carry his banner. These are among the sorts of people he detested when he was alive, strange to tell. The other class of villains he named, besides sycophants, fake scientists and mystics, were corporate business types. I think the only mystics who were popular the West in those days were Theosophists, so who can blame him? Now, his work and writings are being resurrected, due to renewed public interest in orgone, and that’s very gratifying to many of us.

Dr Reich was a sweet natured, unshackled, self-effacing genius and productive scientist, who was able show us how to consistently and systematically apply the creative force of healthy orgone to achieve widespread, beneficial results. When the What To Think Network was taking him down in the early 1950s, after he achieved wide acclaim for improving the weather and curing cancer, they tried to make him look like a sexual deviant, but he publicly recommended monogamous heterosexuality as the only healthy expression of this essential human drive.

In fact, when he was the favored protégé of Sigmund Freud in the late 1920s, he was expelled from the communist party because, after discovering that the ‘angry workers’ who attended the rallies were mainly angry because they weren’t having sex with their wives any more, and after counseling many of them to resume sexual relations with their spouses, they just didn’t feel angry any more, so lost interest in supporting communism.

For that matter, Freud blackballed him in the 1930s because Reich was successful at healing mental illness; Freud was only concerned with analyzing it, as you probably know. Freud’s analytical skill found a proper outlet, finally, when he headed British Secret Service’s Tavistock Institute, the world’s premier brainwashing institution, in the late 1930s. Fortunately for us, Dr Reich was driven out of Europe and the psychiatric profession, and then put his first efforts into researching the characteristics of orgone and applying his knowledge in the US.

The day before he was murdered by poison in a federal prison in 1957, Dr Reich handed a manuscript to his sixteen-year-old son, Peter, who is still around, apparently. The book allegedly has a full description of how gravity works. That was a day before he was to have been released from prison. He was railroaded through a kangaroo federal court, on account of his healing successes. There have been many, many casualties in the Federal War on Healers, since the mid-1930s, but those casualties have always been on our side until now. Before the American courts were handed over to a London corporation, by FDR and a treasonous Congress, the American Medical Association simply hired the Mafia to dispatch genuine pioneers, in then healing arts and sciences.

The spontaneous, grassroots campaign to heal the world and end tyranny with orgonite distribution and orgone-tossing, (predator safaris), is indeed, a numbers game, not a talent show. The arena where the more gifted few among the network can shine is in the creation and intelligent use of potent interactive devices, which usually include orgonite. Reputable, skilled psychics can gather intel for our mass-murderer hunts, and can accurately analyze the effects of new inventions and perhaps help find applications for them.

The prize takers, though, are the ones among us who simply distribute the most orgonite because every war’s object is to take and hold territory. Disabling the death energy matrix in any territory takes real estate away from the occult/corporate pirates, who polluted it in the first place. It’s much the same way we get rid of parasites in the body with micro-current, when we use a zapper: ionize the parasites’ immediate environment, and they can’t stay there and exploit it any more. Blasting key predators in occult/corporate hierarchies is like destroying the parasites in the body with micro-current.

The emergence of the proprietary approach to healing with orgonite might be a matter of timing, and the time may be near when people who have special energy-related talents can network properly and internationally on a very wide scale, thanks to the internet. We’re just the vanguard at the moment.

In the formative years, most of the people in the network who were promoting proprietary devices were disreputable, but in recent years most of the inventors have been team players and self-effacing, (meek). The most dramatic work will get done by masses of committed, ordinary folks like me, distributing simple orgonite devices to other people, after we’re done disabling the millions of death transmitters on land and on the seabed.

This summer, (2006), we intend to have a few proprietary devices in use, conceived and artfully crafted by Jeff McKinley, to have on hand to suppress any HAARPicanes that get generated, in spite of our best efforts to disable the weather warfare facilities. Dave Emmett in Barbados has been instrumental in getting it done in the Caribbean region, beyond the US.

The genuine aficionados are pretty spread out: Kelly McKennon and Ryan McGinty in Washington State, Cesco in Iceland, Tetsuzi Moriwake in Japan, Jeff McKinley right here in our little town, Carol, D Bradley in LA, Tracey Ann in UK, Eric Nagal in the Phillipines, Kizira Ibrahim in Uganda, and vo Joanna in Brazil to name a few and many more gifted, inventive, cordial and committed people will probably show up before long.

Cesco, an accomplished, young multi-media artist, as well as inventor, developed a unique, three-dimensional coil form, which many of us have been using to enhance our interactive devices. His site is Carol and I feel that small versions of his coil were instrumental in suddenly stopping the seismic activity at the Yellowstone Caldera, when we buried twenty-six earthpipes, (most of those had the coils in the orgonite component), around the hundred-mile perimeter of that caldera, in October 2004. A massive eruption was imminent, then, which threatened to erase human civilization.

The September day after we left our first batch of orgonite, (made by Jeff—we were staying at a campground when we arrived in Florida last fall), just beyond the surf in the sea near us, some surfers at that beach saw some black-backed spinner dolphins swimming very close to shore, in the spot where we’d dropped the orgonite. The local pods are bottlenose dolphins and they’re grey-tan colored, so the spinners apparently came from somewhere else. These smaller, black-backed dolphins got the name because of the way they like to spin, as they leap out of the water.

A notoriously friendly member of the bottlenose dolphin pod had been murdered in Jupiter Inlet, some years before, and the pod wasn’t seen until Jeff recently had the experience on the beach, which I mentioned in the previous chapter. Carol recently saw spinner dolphins in the Loxahatchee River, a mile and a half inland from Jupiter Inlet. She was driving over a bridge at the time. Tossing orgonite into the water has turned the inlet blue-green again and full of fish, after many years of being polluted and lifeless.

Our first direct encounter with the spinner dolphins happened in mid-December, during our first gifting sortie out of Jupiter Inlet, which is when we found and disabled the dozen or so new underwater transmitters, directly to the northeast. In fact, the pod was hanging out around the last underwater tower we gifted that day, about five miles out. We ran out of orgonite there, (we later returned on New Year’s Eve to disable the few remaining towers beyond that point), but Carol tossed them a couple of ‘dolphin balls,’ which she makes especially for dolphins and we keep on board for these occasions. Several reputable orgonite vendors, including <a href="……/a&gt;, <a href="……/a&gt;, <a href="……/a&gt; and <a href="……/a&gt;, make and sell their own excellent versions, by the way.

Steve Baron and crew, in Toronto, meticulously made and distributed thousands of dolphin gifts to people around the world for a year, before we got started here in Florida. I think that generated a lot of momentum for this project. Steve generously sends us hundreds of those at a time, which we deliver to the cetaceans and share with other gifters. Steve also enabled Georg Ritschl of to gift along the entire Indian Ocean coast up to Zanzibar.

It may be that the same pod which has been showing up at the end of most of our local gifting sorties, also greeted us once near Key West, where they specifically asked Carol to lay a line of orgonite along the shore to block the radiation of a ‘weather ball’, at Key West Naval Air Station. We did that on our way back from gifting the sixty miles of reef, that day. If you ever come across a radome on your sorties, please gift it! They’re all particularly heinous components of HAARP weaponry, in addition to whatever legitimate radar function they might also serve. Surprisingly, it only takes a couple of towerbusters to neutralize one of these horrors, if you can get within a quarter mile or so, otherwise you’ll need to toss a lot more towerbusters out farther away, hopefully surrounding the facility. The most dramatic effect we got from disabling a weather ball, was when we erased a creepy looking, dark conical field around one near Spokane, Washington, with a couple of towerbusters. The entire atmosphere lightened up, for several miles around, right away then. It’s amazing how much bad energy these domes can throw out.

Carol’s gone to Hawaii a couple of times to swim with the spinner dolphins, which frequent a bay on the Kona coast of the Big Island. If you want to meet dolphins you don’t need to pay for a tour. You’ll get better interaction, (especially if you take them some orgonite), any day and for no charge, if you just swim out into Keelakaua Bay. That’s where Captain Cook first landed in the Hawaiian Islands.

Rockefeller-funded environmentalists, (Nature’s Conservancy), are trying make it unlawful for you to swim with those particular dolphins, but I don’t think they’ll succeed. Short of that, they’ll probably continue to try to scare people away from those wonderful healers. They go out in boats to terrorize swimmers—no kidding! Strange world, eh? Just ignore the environmentalists, when you go there.

One of those environmentalists swam with the dolphins on the sly, when the rest weren’t watching, and Carol encountered her on the beach on her way to swim with them one day. The woman was weeping uncontrollably and told Carol, ‘I had no idea!’

The Florida spinner dolphins show up for us in odd places, including the shallow Indian River, behind Hutchinson Island, (about thirty miles north of here), when we laid some orgonite along that waterway from the south. Later, when Jeff and I laid a line of towerbusters for forty miles from Jupiter Inlet, past Palm Beach to Boca Raton and back up the intra-coastal waterway toward Jupiter, the spinner dolphins showed up as the sun was setting, and we’d just tossed our last towerbuster—that was in a narrow part of the waterway, a few miles south of Jupiter, on our return leg.

That time, they let us approach much closer and Jeff and got a couple of Carol’s dolphin balls ready for them, as I slowly drive the boat in a circle. As per Carol’s instructions, when we saw the dorsal fins we immediately slowed the boat and turned toward them. When they changed direction we steered the boat in a slow, tight circle and they paralleled us about thirty yards away. Right after the second ball was tossed, we saw an upwelling of water right next to the boat, as from the flip of a dolphin’s tail.

Carol said that this pod has never been close to people, and that it may be a month or two before they’ll invite us to swim with them.

The pod that our African cohorts recently encountered near Mombasa were a little shy, as David Ochieng noted in his report, which is on, but I bet they’ll be able to swim with this pod when they return, because they suddenly appeared and swam all around the boat quite close, after Mrs Odondi felt inspired to toss out some orgonite.

David and the group’s local guide, (‘beach boy’), got into the water with the dolphins the first day out, but the pod vanished after David lost his balance for a bit, and made a splash. I suspect that their next trip to Mombasa will include many more people, by the way, and I hope to get them a digital camera for a graphic record. Judy Lubulwa Mwangi and the other new gifters in Nairobi, may want to go along with our Western Kenya cohorts next time.

I love the way Africans can network, and Kenya may soon be the showplace for gifting’s power to heal the environment and society. Uganda, where the first Africans took to gifting and cloudbusters, is already so nice that it’s harder to track the improvement there, but Kenya is in dire straits, so the observed results of gifting are more dramatic there.

When Carol’s grown kids, Nick and Jenny, came from Idaho to visit us in early February, Carol dragged the tailored boat down to Key West, and took them out to Sandy Key, which was the terminus of our 40-mile reef-gifting run a couple of weeks before, when we encountered the spinner dolphins.

Sandy Key is the place where huge sailing catamarans take groups of snorkelers from Key West to tour the reef, several times a day. It is six miles west of the island. Cosgrove Shoals, another fifteen miles west along the reef from Sandy Key, is where people normally go from Key West to swim with bottlenose dolphins.

Another place nearby is Bimini, which is directly across the Gulf Stream from Miami, about sixty miles. That dolphin pod wasn’t seen for an entire year, before Steve Baron showed up there, last year, and tossed some of his dolphin gifts in the area, then they showed up immediately, eager for contact and perhaps more orgonite. They probably knew he was coming before he knew he was going—we can’t begin to fathom how deeply telepathic, aware and savvy these creatures are. The professional dolphin-tour proprietor forbade Steve to drop orgonite into the water from their boat, so he hired a boat and did it on his own, which is when they showed up. A lot of environmentalists are misguided.

It may be the Cosgrove Shoals dolphin pod, which showed up at Sandy Key right after Carol tied to a mooring buoy at Sandy Key, and they obviously wanted some up-close interaction, because they were swimming close by, all around, and under the boat, in that crystal-clear water.

I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a dolphin’s dorsal fin break the surface nearby but it’s a little daunting the first time. On Carol’s excursion to Sandy Key that day, her son, Nick, was the first to spot them and he yelled, ‘Shark!’ which fairly terrified Jenny, his younger sister. Carol was reluctant to get in the water because she didn’t want to cause her kids more anxiety, but they tossed some balls, at least, and got a healthy dose of dolphin love for a half hour or so. As soon as another boat came into view, the dolphins vanished. I had stayed home to start writing this book.

If you’re energy sensitive, you can find underwater death transmitters by scanning the horizon for eruptions of DOR from the surface of the sea up to the sky, at around low cloud level. From a distance, the area just looks smoggy to anyone else. If, like me, you’re not particularly energy sensitive, you might have to trust that the dolphins will eventually take care of those, if you toss enough orgonite out. Just like with The Operators, though, it’s probably not productive to second-guess their agenda. The towers closer to shore might be causing you some angst, but the massive death transmitter arrays in the deeper water, farther away, are much more threatening to the dolphins and whales, we believe.

When you get to the ‘eruption’ site, you’ll likely see a tower, an object or at least a dense concentration of fish, close to the seabed, on your sonar scope. Fish, as I mentioned, don’t seem to discriminate between DOR and POR and they generally congregate around underwater structures, anyway. When DOR prevails in an area, though, very few fish are found swimming in the open water.

Dolphins show up on ordinary sonar scopes, (‘fishfinders’), as very large fish, because sonar bounces off of air chambers in sea creatures, and dolphins have lungs, so the chambers are much bigger. Affordable fishinders show fish and objects as symbols, not photographically.

If you’re not energy sensitive, just toss a towerbuster every half mile or so, throughout the smoggy area in a grid fashion. Use your GPS to track distance and direction, if you’re like me. You’ll probably see the smog disappear before you even head back to port.

Sharks don’t have air chambers, by the way, so they don’t show up on fish finders. Sharks go where the fish are, like robbers go to banks, but they won’t be seen where there are dolphins, don’t worry.

Jeff had been taking orgonite out to sea on his surfboard, before we moved back to Florida, and once a five-foot long spinner shark leapt out of the water directly in front of his board, as he was paddling out. I would have been daunted, but he kept going.

We had assumed that these underwater transmitters, northeast of Jupiter and St Lucie Inlets were set up to discourage dolphins from approaching shore, especially since we saw a Navy, (may have been Chinese according to what Carol was seeing psychically at the time), destroyer, idling in those waters about five miles offshore, the first time we gifted the ocean in September.

Lately, Jeff saw a ship idling in those waters during the night, every night, but we later figured out that those transmitters seem to relate more to an occult activity, affiliated with the nuclear power plant on Hutchinson Island, 30 miles north of us. We’ve been doing more work in those waters and gathering more intel. Whatever was done from the ship has apparently failed to take effect, because there’s still no persistent smog out there. The towers are all on a shelf that’s around a hundred–sixty feet deep, and within easy range of divers.

A week after Jeff tracked that ship’s nocturnal activity, he and I took a load of towerbusters to drop parallel to the beach along Hutchinson Island, which is twenty miles long, and to particularly gift in the vicinity of that nuke. A ‘diffuser’ is shown on charts, extending on the seabed for two miles out from the beach, east of the nuke, which is quite close to the beach. The south end of the island is St Lucie Inlet; the north end is Ft Pierce Inlet. The nuke is approximately in the middle.

Indian River is what the body of water behind the island is called, though it’s technically a long, wide lagoon, not a river. It’s part of the Intracoastal Waterway, which is a connected system of channels, canals, estuaries, rivers and inlets that starts in Canada and goes all the way along the East Coast, around the entire Florida peninsula, and along the Gulf Coast all the way to Mexico. It’s been a handy gifting asset for when the seas are rough, because we can arrange for the seas to be behind us, during the sea-gifting legs, and return to the boat launch facilities on the relatively flat waterways. The Sylphs seem to like it when we gift the waterway because some of the brightest ones we’ve seen have showed up during the inland legs of our sorties. Manatees are seen in greater numbers on the waterway soon after we gift, too.

There were no fish at all on our scope along the way, north of St Lucie Inlet, and the water was quite opaque; a sickly chartreuse. When we got to the diffuser, a couple of unhappy-looking Feds were in a boat, anchored close to the beach in the rough water. They weren’t even pretending to fish. Their boat was bobbing in the roiling, brown water that was coming up from the diffuser, and drifting north with the current. That water looked just like the Mississippi did before people gifted it, in fact—opaque, bilious brown. The sea bottom in that area is white sand, by the way. I bet those two guys got pretty sick because even though Jeff and I still had a lot of orgonite in the Zodiac, we still got a dose of radiation sickness from being there just a few minutes. We dropped several towerbusters along the diffuser’s length, then a big Holy Handgrenade at the end of it, which is two miles from the beach. I was wearing my Harmonic Protector, which may be why I didn’t get as sick as Jeff did from that. Jeff wears his on gifting sorties now.

An ‘HHg’ (Holy Handgrenade—I named it after the device seen in MONTY PYTHON’S HOLY GRAIL) is a cone or pyramid-shaped orgonite device, four or five times bigger than a three-ounce towerbuster, which has a fancier crystal in it and a simple, cone-spiral coil. The shape, mass, crystal and coil get you more bang for the orgonite buck but they’re a little more difficult to make, so we get most of the jobs done with simple towerbusters, which can’t be beat for creating synergistic effects through distribution, after all.

On our way back to the boat ramp on the Indian River from Ft Pierce Inlet that day, we saw a persistent smog bank that had just formed at cloud level southeast of the diffuser, in the vicinity of the new underwater towers, and there was a sometimes-flashing UFO weaving in and out of that suspended, dense yellowish-brown energy field, appearing and disappearing. Carol told us that this visible energy field was a thought-form that was generated by people underground at the nuke plant, using the deadly orgone radiation produced by the reactor itself. Before long, that smog bank disappeared. I think the UFO was being used as a last-ditch effort to keep it alive. We’ve often seen flying saucers attempting to save deadly energy fields, and sometimes they ‘refuel’ at the larger death transmitters and along high-tension lines. This is pretty common, actually, so keep your eyes open, if you want to get your own evidence, okay?

We saw a similar, but less dense, moving-against-the-wind smog bank develop, months earlier in the same spot right after we gifted the backside of that nuke, in the Indian River. That one was moving like an enormous flock of birds, which may indicate that it’s a ritually-generated thoughtform, (bear with me), that’s sustained by the DOR from the nuke plant. Remember that the bad guys use DOR to get their destructive, parasitic work done, similar to the way that we use life force, (POR), for our healing work. One application of thought-forms is to influence the minds of entire populations, which might be why we sometimes feel relief when we leave the US. Carol mentioned that the thought-form being fueled by that nuke plant, may have been used to prevent the people in the area to waking up to the reality of the damaging effects of nuclear radiation. When people aren’t dumbed down, they’re more likely to take notice of skyrocketing cancer rates in their area, for instance. Ordinary commercial nuke plants cause cancer in endemic proportions, for about forty miles around, as Dr Reich discovered in the early 1950s.

I once saw one of those enormous forms moving up into the sky from an Air Force base, north of Sacramento, California on one of our gifting expeditions, and when I asked Carol what it was, she said, ‘I’m amazed that you saw it, too!’ She told me it was a nuke-sustained thought-form. The reason I could see it was probably the same reason anyone sees smog: positive-charge static field that causes toxic, (dark; solid) matter to remain in colloidal suspension within the energy field. Orgonite in the vicinity generally ionizes these energy fields, causing toxic colloids to drop quickly to the ground, and neutralizing much of that in the process. Orgonite cloudbusters do this in the upper atmosphere for many miles around, and you can point a cloudbuster at any smog bank, if you want to see it disappear in a few minutes.

My lovely second wife, ‘X-2,’ had worked at Seabrook Nuke Plant for fifteen years, before I met her in 1996 and from our conversations I gathered that very, very few people who work in nuke plants reach retirement, because they most often die of cancer, long before that happy, lucrative eventuality ever comes around. It’s not a problem to shield from the effects of nuclear radiation, but it’s impossible to shield from deadly orgone radiation, which extends, relatively unabated, for forty miles from an average nuke, and is most severe closer to the source, (the reactor).

I think that a nuke plant is the ultimate parasitic creation of the occult/corporate world order, because it kills lots and lots of people from a distance silently, gradually and undetected. They found a way to do it within neighborhoods, more recently with the new death towers, which mainly broadcast deadly orgone radiation. Think about how evenly these nuke plants are distributed across population centers, especially in Europe, and note the sky-high, cancer death rate, in those areas closer to the nukes. Now, factor in the countless thousands of smaller, unregistered, nuke generators underground, which power the new death tower and HAARP networks. The bad guys clearly intended to cause most of us to have untimely cancer deaths.

It’s the DOR that sickens and kills people in the area, of course, not nuclear radiation. Nukes just happen to be the best way to generate DOR, which is perhaps why there are so many of them now. Your power bill didn’t go down, by the way, in spite of the Nuke Cabal publicist prostitutes’ enthusiastic claims that your power bill was going to be dramatically reduced—remember?

Your power bill also didn’t go up, when millions of death towers suddenly sprang up all around the world in the fall of 2001. That’s because the new, unregistered, underground nukes are powering up all of that new weaponry. They’re all on their own underground, power grid.

Carol and I found out, in the Namib Desert east of Swakopmund, Namibia, that distributing some orgonite around a nuke-waste dumpsite immediately gets rid of the persistent smog over the site, which might mean that it’s also transmuting the waste itself into harmless material. A full life of ten minutes is preferable to a half life of ten thousand years, I think. The European nuke cabal dumps a lot of its waste in sparsely populated places around the world, like the Namib Desert. They probably just dump most of it at sea, when nobody’s looking, which is yet another reason for us to give orgonite to dolphins, of course. These are some of the corporate folks who fund the environmental movement, which is why schizophrenic poseurs, who want humanity, (all except them, of course), to die, so that ‘the beleaguered goddess’ may thrive, won’t ever mention it.

Inexpensive free-energy devices, made in every city, town and village on the planet, will soon do to the poisonous nuke industry, what they will also do to their Siamese twin, the Petroleum Cabal: why would anyone need to buy electricity or burn gasoline under the circumstances? These mostly-simple inventions are already made and proven, and many have been around for over a century, contrary to what Colonel/Agent Bearden has been claiming in his charming, but enervating, narcotic techno-babble obfuscations. Cheap zappers are going to do the same thing to the Pharmaceutical Cabal, the hospital gulag archipelago and the bloated, rotting Western cadre of wealthy serial killers, (MDs).

Obfuscate: to make unclear; bewilder—from the Latin root that means ‘darken.’ As our discernment gets sharper, we begin to honor the instinctive feeling of revulsion that comes up when we encounter disinformants, even the charismatic ones. If we all had the discernment of dogs and little children, we’d be ahead of the game by now.

According to French historian, Jean Markale, the Middle French root of the word, ‘obstacle’ means ‘devil.’ The disinformation cadre on the internet who make up the What To Think Network’s rear guard, ‘strategic retreat,’ campaign, have been a formidable obstacle to discernment for struggling sleepyheads, but they’re ultimately just a challenge or test for the more persistent among us, I think.

How are we going to take down the Gold and Diamonds Cabal? We could decide to trade with seashells, which certainly have more real value than dollars do, so maybe it’s a non-issue. When the French left Haiti they took all their gold, so the Haitians agreed to use little dried gourds from a rare tree and that worked as well as gold. They still call their currency, ‘gourds.’

That behemoth on Hutchinson Island was the first nuke plant that Carol and I ever gifted. That was in November 2000, and we found it in an interesting way. We had just arrived in Florida from Pestilence, Texas—oops, I mean, Port Aransas, a place where the Gulf of Mexico was beleaguered by constant red tide. Why we didn’t think to toss orgonite in the Texan Gulf, in those days, escapes me at the moment, especially since we expressly gifted a major vortex and Atlantean relic, on the coast to the north of Port Aransas. As I said, ‘common sense’ is an oxymoron. We intend to get over to the Florida Gulf Coast pretty soon, and end the perpetual red tide near Sarasota, though.

I was lying on the beach at Ft Pierce Inlet State Park getting some sun, and had the Terminator zapper on my belly. Carol saw a huge amount of blue orgone streaming up, out of the Terminator, which indicated to her that something not far away was generating a massive amount of DOR. Looking around, she could see that the source of the DOR was to the south. As I mentioned, part of the function of orgonite is to transmute ambient DOR into healthy, positive orgone radiation. When a source of DOR is nearby, orgonite puts out more POR. This principle is the essence of how we’re undermining tyranny, by neutralizing its poisonous infrastructure.

The next day I made a small orgonite device at our RV campsite in Ft Pierce. We drove south for ten miles from that beach, and there was the nuke, right beside the highway. Carol saw brown energy extending to the horizon in all directions and she felt nauseous, but when I put the orgonite device in the bushes, as close to the nuke as I could safely manage, the brown energy field shrunk to a spher, whose outer limit was at the orgonite device. She felt fine again, too. The sky instantly became brighter and small, white cumuli began to form, all around us.

That was our very first effort to counteract the effects of deadly technology. Before that, we had only put orgonite in a few vortices to heal them and to get their energy spinning in the right direction. That was a month before we invented the orgonite cloudbuster.

We got our first intimation of that curious transmutation principle several months earlier, as we were driving past the nuke plant next to I-95, north of Portland, Oregon. Carol was driving her car behind the Zapporium at the time, which had a lot of orgonite in it. As we approached the nuke from many miles to the north, a huge fountain of energy erupted from the back of the Zapporium, and it increased until we passed the nuke plant, then decreased gradually for many miles past it. A year later we tossed a bunch of orgonite in the water next to that plant, and it was de-commissioned soon afterward. Ooops. I don’t think I’ll be arrested for printing this, because we’ve disabled scores of nukes since then, (mostly unregistered ones), and told about it with impunity. Lots of folks have been doing this, in fact, and so can you.

During the following May, as we were driving through an area of Eastern Oklahoma, where tornadoes were being generated by HAARP arrays, Carol was driving her car behind the truck and frantically signaled me to pull over. She said that the cloudbuster in the back was throwing out so much orgone that it was obstructing her view. I moved the CB so that it was pointing out the front windshield of the truck and then she could see the road again. We plowed a tremendous blue furrow through the dark, HAARP muck in the sky, that day. That was six months before the death towers sprang up, all over the planet and changed the equation a bit.

The orgonite device we left in the bushes at the Hutchinson Island nuke plant was likely found and removed, of course, because in those days we weren’t as aware of the constant surveillance we were no doubt already under. Gifters, these days, know how to block surveillance tech and discourage pavement artists, (the ‘spycraft’ term for professional spies who follow other people discretely). Jeff gifted that nuke again a couple of years ago, but whatever it is that people are doing underground was apparently neutralized on our last gifting sortie there.

Our very first environmental ‘gifting’ effort was on my big brother’s and his wife’s, (Jim and Melody Croft), heavily-wooded property in Northern Idaho in the summer of 2000. Melody, who is psychic, felt troubled every time she passed by a particular spot along a trail on their land, and Carol said that an elemental is discontented about something that had transpired there, and wanted redress from humans, who had caused the imbalance, before my brother bought that particular piece of property. We tossed a few ounces of orgonite in the bushes, and after that Melody said it felt good to be near that spot. Carol talked to the elemental and told us that he was ecstatic and grateful for the perpetual energy gift.

We apparently chased some parasitic aliens from a nearby, pinched vortex after that, restoring the vitality, form and proper spin to the vortex. It was the first time I clearly saw an alien, in fact, and he wasn’t pleased. Pirating earth energy isn’t only done by human parasites, of course—just mostly done by human parasites.

In January 2002, another level of environmental gifting produced the ‘flying dolphin’ confirmation, when Rick Moors put the first orgonite device into the Pacific Ocean from a jetty, at Redondo Beach in LA. Sea gifting became Carol’s and my main gifting interest, after she had the extended interaction with the vast pod of rough-tooth dolphins off Costa Rica in December 2004.

Right after Carol’s experience in Costa Rica, a series of confirmations started being reported from all over, including more than a few first hand accounts of human-dolphin interactions involving orgonite.

For example, Eric Carlson, who lives in Boston and was vacationing/gifting extensively in South Florida shortly after that, tossed two orgonite towerbusters out into the surf, during a walk along Miami’s South Beach. Within a few minutes, a manatee was seen where he had thrown the first one, and a blue whale nearly beached himself, a little later, in the spot where Eric tossed the second one. The whale’s historic visit was filmed, and it made the six o’clock news, though nobody knew what Eric had done, and he was as surprised as anyone by what happened.

One of our challenges, as gifters, is to recognize the genuine miracles that happen as a result of our efforts. I think we’re conditioned to believe that miracles are only real if there’s a symphony orchestra, or angelic choir in the background, like in the movies.

A few weeks later, two beluga whales were seen swimming around in the Delaware River, sixty miles upstream. That was widely covered by the media, too, and those small whales interacted with a lot of people, who went out in boats to see them. A gifter in Pennsylvania contacted us to say that he’d left a lot of orgonite in that river, just upstream from there, where the water became too shallow for the whales to swim.

A beluga whale that was seen in the Thames River in London, by British Secret Police Headquarters, wasn’t as fortunate, though his companion apparently escaped being captured and murdered, at least.

In May 2005, I spent the day riding on the ferries in Puget Sound, tossing specially made orca gifts over the rail, from Orcas Island to Seattle. Orcas hadn’t been seen in recent years, and I wanted to see if they’d come back for orgonite during the following summer. A pod of orcas showed up in Puget Sound, 30 miles south of Seattle, near Tacoma, after a fellow who lives and gifts in the Seattle area tossed two dolphin balls in that spot. The appearance of that pod made the news, too.

My first cetacean encounter was with a beluga whale. He was in a tank at the Vancouver Aquarium, where I took my family in 1988, after we moved from Saco, Maine to Mt Vernon, Washington, an hour north of Seattle. This circular tank’s top was about three feet off the ground, and you could walk around it.

As I was passing by, the little white whale raised his head out of the water and looked directly at me. I felt compelled to approach him, and when I got close he spit a stream of water in my face and then quickly turned with a flamboyant splash, which also got me wet, and swam away on the surface. I guess that was a sort of baptism. That was a period in my life when I was just starting to break free of the occult/corporate treadmill—I hadn’t yet started my own business and I was still being severely abused at home by my spouse; yes, I was a typical, programmed sap.

My next two cetacean encounters happened about a week apart in October 1995. I had just lost my family to a horrific divorce court, after being maltreated by a profoundly unhappy, psychotic, predatory woman for 22 years, then publicly cuckolded, then divorced by her. Wham, wham…wham!

That turned me into a grieving wanderer, barely sane, but, as I said, when The Operators can’t lead us to our destiny, they might drive us. Even in the worst of my torment I knew it was all preparation for something that I’d eventually be doing. I didn’t have a clue what that could be until years later. Sometimes we just get strong intuitive hints, when we’re passing through that valley of torment, and I think those come from The Operators, as a token of their mercy and encouragement.

Initiations take a lot of forms in this life and if you’re lucky yours aren’t that traumatic. When we sharpen our instincts we’re more likely to be led to new awareness, rather than driven. I’m not complaining; just stating some things for the record, so maybe you can get your self-empowerment work done the easy way, instead. The following tale can be an object lesson for you in this case, grid willing.

I’ve never been happier or more productive than I am right now, and my future looks bright, but if X-1 hadn’t slept around and then divorced me, I’d no doubt still be with her and couldn’t have begun the work that Carol and I are doing now, because X-1 constantly sabotaged my efforts to develop myself externally, and I chose to just take it, rather than stand up for myself—well, until the end: the day after I gently took a stand, she told me that she would divorce me, which she did after another year or so of torture. If you’re married to an incorrigible saboteur, you have my deepest sympathy, but if you won’t stand up to that one in an appropriate way, you’re not going to move ahead, either. Why wait until you die to earn your freedom?

I simply assumed, in my ignorance, that the purpose of life in this transient world is to go through whatever torment, imposition and strife is meted out, with as much contentment, faith and detachment as one can develop, in our short span of years. I later learned that this is the same luciferic, dualistic, mental programming, which enabled the Church of Rome to create the dark ages in Europe, so that personal attitude is anything but innocuous. The way I was, I’d have been one of those bystanders who didn’t lift a finger to oppose the tyrants who rounded up innocents in twentieth-century Germany, Russia, China and Cambodia and herded them to the killing fields, but I’m getting a whole lot of satisfaction, now, from effectively standing in the way of their American counterparts, who dearly want to do the same thing here, now.

I’ve always known that our best personal, spiritual achievements are usually the result of having successfully acquired genuine detachment, which is usually gained through trauma. I loved X-1 in spite of her constant abuse, and I wanted to keep our four kids from getting the worst of it, so I allowed her to direct it at me. I’ve never, before or since, encountered anyone with such deep and sustained hatred as this gal had displayed toward everyone who was close to her.

The fact that a life of personal sacrifice, as epitomized by Father Damian in the Molokai leper colony, and also by parents of severely handicapped children who opt to care for them personally, is an honorable one muddied the waters for me spiritually. In those cases there was simply no other option except to expend one’s own life energy, in order to sustain others. I would have stayed with X-2, of course, if I hadn’t been cuckolded and cast out, the latter being done under the auspices of the Federal Reserve Corporation’s court and leg-breakers.

I was a fool, though, for not taking the children from her by reporting her physical abuse toward them, and there’s no getting around that. I won’t make excuses for myself. What I knew was at risk, if I took that course, was that the Child Protective Services agency in our county, in cahoots with all of the judges, were in the business of kidnapping blond, blue-eyed children, when any report, (real or false), of abuse reached them. Our kids all had those physical features, so they’d have gotten top dollar, on the open market. I thought I was in a no-win situation but, with hindsight, I really ought to have taken the abusive mother to court during the early part of the divorce process, and done the deed for the sake of my children, regardless of the threat.

In an old, Persian poem, by Rumi, there are two young lovers, named Majnun and Layli. Majnun has lost Layli and seeks her everywhere. He goes through untold suffering and danger and, pursued by watchmen, (cops), he scales a garden wall, throws himself down on the other side, exhausted, and finds Layli. It’s a good parable that describes the process that one often goes through to find a new truth or level of awareness. This illustrates how one properly feels about seeking truth; it’s a drive as essential to humanity as the drive to find a mate, in fact—more essential, really, since we can all be happy without physical love, but nobody can be dynamically happy in complete ignorance.

Thanks to the ‘hundredth monkey’ paradigm, which I believe is valid, when enough members of a specie get to the comprehension of a new truth, everyone else automatically gets it, too, more or less. The new truth that my own suffering eventually led me to, is that ‘the meek are inheriting the earth,’ and it’s likely that you won’t have to slog through the pure, personal hell I had to go through along the way, to this realization. You’re welcome!

I had completed a seaworthy little boat, during the year after the separation, prior to the divorce, when I was living in my funky little sign shop on the outskirts of town. After I failed to sell the successful business, (I couldn’t bear to see her with her boyfriends, because I still loved her, against all reason), it seemed logical, in my torment, to eventually just sell off the equipment, and take my boat on a trailer to warmer seas—a familiar, remembered comfort during my youth in the West Pacific Ocean, that looked pretty appealing in my debilitating torment. Being on the water tends to heal us.

The reason I couldn’t sell the business, is that almost nobody was able to do hand lettering any more, and my reputation was built on my creative talent and my hand skills, not on the computer-generated vinyl signs that had come to dominate the sign industry during the previous decade. I did that work, too, of course, because ‘work no due; no work due.’

If I’d been able to sell the business, I could have set up again in an area far enough away, that I could see my kids without having to run into X-1 and her tag-along beaus, every day. It was a pretty small town, after all, and I just couldn’t seem to get detached from my torment. Much later, after I stopped desiring X-1, I realized that it wasn’t the boyfriend thing that was stealing my energy; it was simply being within her convenient reach that bled me out, etherically. That never happens accidentally, folks; it’s intentional. There are some people in this world who thrive on stolen energy. I bet you know one or two of those, because they usually assume positions of authority or influence, within the receding social and institutional paradigm. X-1 eventually married a multi-millionaire, for instance.

Some guys can tough it out and re-create their lives under those circumstances, but I simply lacked the strength or skill to do that, frankly. Every contact with her, even on the phone, left me as vitally flat as though I’d been assaulted with a cattle prod.

D Bradley is going through that, right now. Even though he, too, was cuckolded and cast out of his own nest, where he had been a stay-at-home, loving and watchful dad to his four little sons for six years, he stays nearby, living in his pickup and giving all of his money to his Ex, who has the support of her well-to-do parents and, presumably, her lover, who is allegedly a successful architect. I know he loved her as much as I loved X-1, but maybe the phenomenal personal discipline and training he acquired in his youth from Torkum Sassarian, one of the dark masters of the Great White Brotherhood, is actually an asset right now. In that case, the training was designed to make him a good research tool for the dark masters.

The Feds made sure he could never get employment, have a passport, or re-establish a capital-based business, after he turned against the Great White Brotherhood, and was later shot and killed by a government-employed sniper at close range, in 1999.

On top of that, the occult/corporate machine are doing their best to erase him from public awareness, again, so I hope you’ll purchase some of his peerless orgonite wares from his website, Also, download and watch his free, half-hour documentary film, “CHEMTRAILS: CLOUDS OF DEATH”, from or He never intended to make a nickel on that film, so it will always be given away.

I was rather consigned by circumstances and my own weakness and instability, to live in my car and travel around, painting signs for subsistence, too depressed to stay in one place for more than a week and too poor, at any rate, to have a home. During that time I encountered an enormous, hidden segment of society that I’d been unaware of: ‘deadbeat dads;’ fellow wanderers—the new hobo class. This is the sort of thing that can ha


(Don Croft) #2

The demise of my family wasn’t personally directed at me, of course. I simply chose to take all of that personally, which is what eventually motivated me to fight this insidious tyranny, after spending a few years seething with impotent rage against this lawless, commercial court system and X-1’s accommodating treachery.

The alternative, (the easy road, psychologically), would have been to consider myself a ‘deadbeat dad,’ like millions of other hopeless men, and continue to live in my car, until I could parasite on some other poor, discarded schmuck who ‘stands up’ to help pay for my upkeep, in his children’s home, while I send all of my meager earnings to X-1 and her then-current john, who was sending all his earnings to an ex-spouse, ad nauseum, but I’d rather live the rest of my life without sex or companionship, than stoop to playing ‘musical spouses.’

By now, can you see how surreal this National-Socialist family dynamic is? Do you see why I consider ‘common sense’ and ‘conventional wisdom’ to be oxymorons? How bizarre, heartbreaking and tragic do you reckon future historians will find this sad, national calamity to be?

By the time January 1<sup>st,</sup> 2000 came around, I still wasn’t deeply committed to destroying tyranny. I simply felt that it was about to reach its zenith: an overt prison colony after roundups of dissidents, into summary execution facilities and bloated concentration camps, all policed by Russian and Chinese ‘UN Peacekeepers.’ I worried that this might suddenly prevent me from being able to take care of my kids, so I moved back to be near them, and made tentative plans to get them into nearby Canada, at least, if things fell apart. By then I’d built a seaworthy boat again and they were just across the water from Vancouver Island. I discussed it with their mom and she wasn’t opposed to it, which I knew could mean just about anything. She promised not to have me arrested—I was still stupid enough to believe that she kept promises, which might have caused her and her then-current husband some private enjoyment.

It wasn’t for two more years that I discovered, with Carol’s timely help, that the end of parasitic, corporate tyranny might be accomplished through the intelligent and timely distribution of orgonite, the magic bullet. A couple of years later, we inadvertently discovered that we could routinely interfere with occult/corporate mass murderers, who were in the process of planning ‘terrorist’ events.

A couple of weeks in a corporate jail cemented my resolve to dedicate my life to ending the rule of parasites. The humiliation of being thrown in jail for a non-crime is, what made it entirely personal for me. ‘Whatever lights your fuse,’ eh?

In my manipulated ignorance, I was afraid that tyranny would jump to a new, overt level at midnight on December 31<sup>st</sup>, 1999, so a couple of months before that, I parked my homemade camper and twenty-four foot motor skiff by a friend’s machine shop in Anacortes, Washington, next to the waterfront. My kids were living in that town by then. I’d been living in Oregon for a couple of years before that, and I wanted to be available to them, just in case, as I mentioned. I had been promised by a pedophile, kidnapping judge in that county, that if I was ever seen in Washington, I was going to go to jail for being a ‘deadbeat dad,’ but I knew that the cops didn’t care about my being there unless X-1 made an issue of it, to that particular black-robed criminal.

I’d moved up the economic ladder, from living in my car, to having built a lovely camper shell onto the back of a 1972 Ford pickup (I traded sign-work for the pickup in Nevada) and a nice, sea-kindly skiff of my own design. The latter could plane at ten mph with a five horsepower motor and a full load, and was stable and dry in rough water.

But I still wasn’t yet making enough money to have a proper home for my kids. I think X-1 and her then-current husband, (a retired Navy officer), also felt that there might be chaos on January 1<sup>st</sup>, 2000, because they had me arrested the next day, when it was obvious that no computers had crashed. An hour before the cops showed up to haul me away, early that Sunday morning, those two went by the camper on rollerblades, paused to look at the license plate and as they were moving away X-1 turned and gave me an enigmatic smile. If I were a little smarter, I’d have left right then, but being that close to X-1 for the past few weeks had made me a little punchy from lack of energy, so I wasn’t feeling too sharp.

I’d been by their house to get the kids, in the previous couple of months, for daylong excursions, though more often than not, they changed their minds by the time I got to the door, and wouldn’t let me take them.

I had told them where I was staying, but they apparently wanted to make sure I was still there that day, so the cops wouldn’t have to hunt for me. I think X-1 relished the stupid smile on my face, as I waved to her that morning. As I said, I’m a slow study, sometimes.

I had participated in a firewalk in Seattle at midnight on Friday, December 31<sup>st</sup>, 1999 and there was still soot between my toes, when I was impersonally tossed in the county slammer. Two more major, personal initiations within two days! It was getting easier, though, because I wasn’t particularly depressed any more, and I was starting to have a life again.

My kids’ then-current step dad, who was an okay guy—just a dedicated Pajama Man, who was engaged in playing ‘musical spouses’—showed up in court with his wife and their lawyer, to try to induce me to sign away my parental rights, which I refused to do, of course. It was funny that the corporation pretended that I had parental rights at that point, but at least I didn’t give it all up voluntarily—they took it from me. I’d be a real chump to formally agree to that sort of thing.

Before a year was gone, she took this john to the cleaners, after he got a large settlement for a minor auto accident, then she divorced him. She likes money a lot. That poor schmuck is probably with another gay divorcee by now, or the one after that, and still playing that stupid game, just to get regular sex. PJ folks usually drop their cues, and continue to play ‘musical spouses.’

I lost most of my body fat during my fifteen-day ‘hunger strike’, and felt pretty trim when I got out of there. I think it would take a month in the slammer, or on a yuppie fat farm, to take off my current, 50-pound spare tire.

I noticed that there were only a few real criminals in that jail; most of the guys in there were ‘guilty’ of vague non-crimes, and the strangest part is that they all assumed they were guilty, simply because they were in jail. A comedy writer can’t invent anything funnier than that.

The few real criminals in there, stood out in sharp contrast to the majority. It’s just like the way discarded, but responsible fathers who fail to recover their economic autonomy and become involuntary hobos and suicides, most often assume that they’re ‘deadbeat dads.’

Talking to those not-guilty jailbirds, most of whom were quite young and on their way to prison, was a pretty bizarre, but enlightening experience and a lesson in how pervasive and effective mind control and the What To Think Network is, among PJ folks.

That jail, like every other one throughout the Land of the Free, gets $300 per night from the Federal Reserve Corporation, for every occupied bed, and all county judges in America get to keep thirty percent of whatever fines they’re able to levy. That’s a pretty good incentive program that the Fed offers these treasonous jailers and judges, don’t you agree? There are no strings attached to all that federal money. The money is the string that ensures that there will be no local, state political or economic autonomy for the duration.

A friend of a friend who is an ex-cop, came to visit me, when I was in there, and he promised to help me turn the tables on X-1 in court on my own, without a lawyer. Visiting the jail must have been a little uncomfortable for him because he was nearly beaten to death by Sheriff deputies in there, a couple of years before, and then they tried to throw him off of the top of a nearby tower. These unlawful courts and their gun-toting leg-breakers don’t take kindly to anyone invoking the rule of law, as this brave man had done successfully, and is probably still doing.

The particular judge who had me incarcerated, is deeply implicated in a long-standing, murderous and lucrative kidnapping ring, with the local Washington Child Protective Services staff, and a couple of psychiatrists. I knew that from before, when I met several parents in that county whose children were stolen in that courtroom. Knowing about this, in fact, made me even less inclined to give the government money, after he publicly humiliated and attempted to extort me.

I stood in front of a packed winter courtroom that midwinter day, in an orange, short-sleeved jumpsuit, in shower shoes, with my arms manacled to a leather belt around my waist, one arm being held by a Sheriff Deputy. I ignored the cheap prostitute who called himself my ‘court appointed attorney.’ On my release they presented me with a bill, $335, for his ‘services,’ which I threw away, of course.

I didn’t have the heart for the kind of sustained courtroom confrontation that this well-meaning ex-cop was recommending, though, and I knew it would make my kids even more miserable from their mom’s increasing abuse under the circumstances, which would likely turn into physical violence, more and more, as the tables started to turn on her.

Besides, I knew that these heinous courts consistently favor the more abusive parent, after all, so fighting that system to get a little justice would be exhausting, and I only had just enough energy for survival when I was that close to X-1. That gal sure knew how to steal my energy! Here, again, I was being a fool, of course. The right course of action would be to accept that man’s help and fight her for custody of our children for their sakes.

That fascinating man had induced the US Navy, (the only lawful executive agency in the county), to threaten to blow the back wall off the jail in the neighboring county, to get someone like me out of custody. The jailers hurriedly let the guy go, at the filthy judge’s behest, and all of the charges against him, which were exactly like the charges against me, were dropped. This county didn’t have a navy base in it, unfortunately, or I’d have leapt at his offer to help. Quick resolution would mean that I could take care of my own kids again, far enough from their mom.

That ex-cop really knows the law. He still limps from the beating he caught in that jail, from ‘His Horror’s’ assassins. I made sure he got a zapper when I got out, at least.

I just can’t eat in captivity—I wasn’t actually trying to prove anything. I knew they were watching me closely and would have force-fed me, if I gave them a chance. Those uniformed sociopaths live to exert their will on helpless prisoners. So I sat at the table at every meal with the other prisoners, after accepting a tray of food, then when the jailers weren’t watching me any more, I gave away my food. I got pretty popular there, without ever having to bend over. The jailers did manage to poison my water, apparently with a little bit of toxic metal powder fed into the pipe, but the zapper and orgonite took care of that within a few weeks, after I got out.

Those two weeks would have been another kill-shot to my ego, if I hadn’t gotten some timely personal guidance from James Hughes in Ashland, Oregon over the previous two years. More about him, in a bit.

My kids’ step dad at the time was also a divorcee, and sent all his earned money, along with much of his pension, to his ex-wife and her current husband, so he was feeling the pinch in the ‘musical spouses’ game, and apparently wanted to pass the buck along to me, with his wife’s active encouragement—nothing personal in it from his end, I think. It’s a good thing for my kids that their mom was earning plenty of money at the time by doing something she loved, because this john was perpetually on the ropes, financially, and never really adjusted to civilian life.

If you’ve never been grist for the divorce mill, it’s likely that you feel a little condescension or prejudice toward me by now. I don’t wish the experience on you or anyone, for what it’s worth, and that was the primer, after all, that set me on my current, more productive life path, so I don’t regret it much. There’s no getting around the fact that I made a couple of bad judgement calls by not fighting to get my kids, though. Doing the right thing is almost always the harder choice.

Note that very few men divorce their wives, and in most cases these men are wealthy jerks who just want to play house with post-adolescent females, or else they move the mom out of the home, so that they can bugger their own little boys and girls. They can generally afford costly but supportive lawyers and judges who are also pedophiles, most likely, and they just want the convenience of not having adult witnesses around.

The courts invariably take their side, of course, and usually tear the kids away from the victimized moms, and bestow them on the abusive or neglectful fathers. If you see kids’ pictures on posters these days, it’s likely that the Feds are pursuing discarded mothers of conscience, who have rescued their children from abusive fathers, with the help of the new Underground Railroad. Yes, this supportive network really exists, and these courageous women are rarely found, even by predatory CIA psychics.

You won’t ever see this reported on the What To Think Network, of course, because you’re supposed to think that their mothers, whose pictures are always shown along with the children’s, are criminals.

A couple of years before my divorce, I had the privilege of being able to help put a pedophile in prison. He was a neighbor, whose ‘platonic’ wife spilled her guts to Melody, my sister-in-law. I confronted him about what his wife had said, and he admitted to the crimes, blaming the little girls and boys in the process—no kidding! The guy was so complacent and arrogant that he apparently thought I wouldn’t do anything with that information.

When a mother in another town accused him of molesting her boy, whom I’d recently seen this guy with in public, (NAMBLA isn’t a joke, folks), I provided the testimony that got him sent to prison. The prosecutor and judge were on his side in court, (are you surprised?), and if it weren’t for the persistence of the detective who took my testimony and presented the evidence for the record, this pedophile would have been released by the black-robed pedophile on the other side of the dais.

That was just an average day in a typical county courtroom, though typically pedophiles are set free. The only time they get punished is when the media or an aggressive cop gets involved.

National-Socialism breeds this sort of institutional abuse. The pedophile neighbor had just sold his lucrative business and was on his way to live in Mexico. You might have heard that pedophiles have a much easier life there, entirely free of prosecution.

Until this happened, all the western democratic liberals, whom this guy chummed around with, would tell you that he’s the sweetest guy in town. After it happened, many of them visited him in jail to offer him their condolences and told him how sad they were about his ‘temporary sickness.’ Cultural schizophrenia prevented them from feeling the same sympathy for the large number of little boys and girls, whose lives he had poisoned forever, of course. In spite of what you might have been told, some emotional and psychological wounds never heal. The way courts tend to let pedophiles go free is another one of the calamities of National-Socialism, the relentless destroyer of positive standards of behavior.

I don’t keep track of what this fascist bureaucracy claims that I owe them on behalf of my children, because I just throw the unopened letters away every month. Our zapper distributors occasionally get threatening letters from the State of Washington, but they pay us off the books, so they, too, throw the letters away.

I do know that they’re still charging me top dollar for all four kids, even though my older son is 27, my older daughter is 25 and my younger daughter just turned 18. At eighteen, the obligation stops, according to them. I don’t cry, ‘foul!’ to that unlawful agency, because I won’t acknowledge their jurisdiction. Also, I’m aiming much higher: the timely destruction of the foreign corporation, which owns and operates all of the courts, bureaucracies and cops in America.

Six years ago, when I committed to destroying the Federal Reserve Corporation, I didn’t have an audience. I do now, and I acquired the audience by fighting tyranny effectively, which means I’m on the right track. If you feel that it’s time for us to create real government in the world, you can take heart from my continuing success and survival, and maybe that will inspire you to start gifting, if you haven’t done so, yet. Genuine empowerment is within easy reach for anyone, now.

I know that many people who gift don’t really care about what I’m saying about the family courts, (another oxymoron), and that’s good, actually, because it’s another bit of evidence that Carol and I didn’t start a personality cult or a political movement, both of which are repugnant to us. I have developed a moderate bully pulpit, though, and I wanted to finally get my story on the record, to be read by as many people as possible because, 1) I need to short circuit a future attempt by my enemies to destroy my reputation; 2) if you, too, have been marginalized by National-Socialism you’ll now, perhaps, feel encouraged to finally take some positive action, that will vitiate centralized tyranny.

I know that the sewer rats would like to tell you that there are skeletons in my closet; there’s nothing in my closet these days except clothes and a loaded gun. It’s better that you hear my personal history in my own words, I think, than their version.

I know something about the magic of the published word, because this network grew out of a few inspiring, substantive reports on the internet. The distribution of orgonite will continue to undermine this tyranny, whether the gifters are aware of the depth of the occult/corporate world order’s corruption and tyranny or not. I’m giving plenty of new, usable and empowering information in this book to people who haven’t been tracking our progress on the internet. I hope that everyone who reads this will feel inspired to make and distribute some orgonite.

This book is my short, concise view of the significance of our discovery, and includes some of our experiences and observations gleaned during the process of disseminating that information. I assume that anyone who has felt inspired to buy this book, can break free of the restrictive protocols of the What To Think Network and overcome the vestigial herd instinct.

Critical, creative thought and open consultation, are what will enable us all to find and apply solutions to the outcome of millennia of destruction and exploitation, by the occult/corporate world order. Identifying the problems is a logical first step to finding solutions, of course. Most of the eggs in the What To Think Network’s basket are designed to prevent us all from thinking critically, and consulting with each other. They’ve made distraction into a fine art.

The parasites know, even if most people choose to remain unaware of it, that the victors will be the ones who have generated the most energy. The bad guys’ energy is characterized by decay, deception, debt and terror and it’s all founded on the ‘sucking’, fraudulent energy of the mostly-Europoid Pajama People’s fears of poverty, reprisal and loss of freedom. Most of this world’s prosperity is only experienced by Europoids and a few Asians, after all, which is why genuine teachers and activists have always been the main targets of the What To Think Network. Orgonite’s influence is the direct opposite and its creative, life-giving energy is abundant, synergistic and perpetual.

It’s not much of a contest, really, because our devices absorb and transmute the bad guys’ energy, just like turning on a lamp in a dark room stops darkness. The trick to winning is simple distribution.

The scam that keeps the Europoids and prosperous Asian countries in line, is the programmed assumption that prosperity is only possible at the behest of the occult/corporate world order. Carol and I are starting to prosper well outside the boundaries of that paradigm, as are many others, so I think that scam will be put to rest pretty soon, especially if all those free energy device inventors acquire the gonads to share their discoveries. Even the sleepiest PJ person would leap at the chance to stop paying for gasoline, heating oil and electricity, of course.

Positive orgone radiation, which is perpetually produced by orgonite, calms fears, raises hopes, makes the atmosphere and water clear and vital, reverses deserts, generates opportunities for prosperity and creativity, increases harmony, by discouraging predatory and parasitic behavior and, not least, helps people have restful sleep, free of nightmares and characterized by lucid dreaming.

Can you see that there’s no contest in a struggle between their energy and ours? This is especially true when our technology turns their nasty energy into life force.

Compare your empowering lucid dreams in the presence of orgonite, with the schizophrenic, waking dream-state of the Pajama People that’s enabled by their programmed, psychological addiction to the What To Think Network. Your lucid dreaming is just one of the signs of genuine empowerment and progress, and with enough orgonite out there, even the PJ folks will unwittingly acquire some of that!

Some western democratic liberal Europoids, who pretend to be awake, angst over whether the penal system will be privatized. The What To Think Network’s easy ability to tie these folks’ attention up with non-issues was best demonstrated by their months-long focus on Monica Lewinsky, via droning NPR newsreaders.

The entire government, at all levels, was privatized by FDR’s Raw Deal in the 1930s, with the introduction of National-Socialism, under the auspices of a European corporation. All of that inoperable, incurable cancer that now calls itself the US Government has been a contractual subsidiary of that European-owned company, the Federal Reserve Corporation. Since the mid-30s, nobody in America has owned property, because all of that was handed over by FDR to that corporation, as collateral. I bet you didn’t know that. Your property taxes are rent, and if you stop paying those taxes, you’ll be evicted from their property, even if you paid off the mortgage.

Americans ARE property now, (probably owned by Beijing, technically), though only on paper, of course, and in the minds of taxpayers and What To Think Network subscribers. Example: you can’t get the title to your car or property when it’s paid for; you get ‘certificates of title.’ The corporation retains the title, and if you won’t pay unlawful taxes on the property, they’re simply taken away from you. Where’s the freedom in that? Freedom to ‘pay tyrants or be punished’? You and I never had a voice in how revenues are to be collected and spent, unless you have alleged property in a town in New Hampshire. Isn’t that taxation without representation? That’s what the American Revolution was fought about so, shouldn’t that bother you now?

Politically, things are ten times worse, now, than they were then, don’t you agree? The main difference between then and now, though, is that we can get rid of tyranny without a shooting war. We can do it by simply no longer supporting the corporation, which owns the US Government and, allegedly, you, me, our property and our children.

In August, 1995, as I was leaving with my dory in tow, after having sold my equipment for pennies on the dollar, I told X-1, in the presence of the cocaine addict who began playing father to my kids at the time of our divorce, the previous October, that she and I were just going to have to take turns supporting the kids, and that whenever she wanted me to take a turn I’d find a way to do it, but that I just wasn’t going to send her any money for a while because I was nearly out of my mind with grief, and couldn’t stay near her any more—it drained my energy too much. I told her that I needed to have the energy to earn a livelihood and maybe even re-create my own life, so that I could eventually take my turn and provide a comfortable environment for them. Really, I was in such deep doodoo, because I didn’t stand up to her a year before that, and fight for the custody of the kids.

The cokehead, who wasn’t even holding up his end in the ‘musical spouses’ game, eventually sought greener pastures, since it was clear that X-1 would be unsuccessful at extorting me to be his meal ticket. She had just sold the house and shop and was renting an extravagant home, but right after I left, they moved into a less ostentatious house, because I obviously wasn’t going to be paying her rent any more. The home and the big shop behind it, (both were on a landscaped double lot in a nice neighborhood), had developed a lot of equity, so I knew my kids weren’t going to miss any meals for a while, and my conscience was clear on that count, at least. Even as an alcoholic she was mindful of her purse strings, which is probably why my replacement had been stealing my kids toys, videogames and recreation equipment and selling it all to get money for his own drugs. I found out about that much later. I’m glad I didn’t know that at the time, because I don’t think I could have been as detached.

I was finally economically stable enough to resume my responsibilities in the fall of 2001, seven years after the divorce, but I was still unable to bear the thought of sending X-1 money, (her business was doing very well, thankfully), because it still felt like extortion to me, and I was forbidden to visit them by the corporation.

Based on her past performance, and the fact that my kids weren’t lacking anything, I felt pretty sure that none of that money would go to the kids. It burned to think that I would essentially be rewarding her, for having trashed my life and abducting our kids, with the corporation’s blessing.

So, I rather sent my older daughter a thousand dollars a month during that time, so that she wouldn’t have to work when she was in college. She was at Brandeis University on a scholarship. It’s a tough school, so having a job on the side would have meant less time for studying. When Bevin graduated from that Boston school in May, 2003, I bought her a used car and gave her as much startup money as I could, and she’s done very well since then.

I gifted X-1’s house and neighborhood in Mt Vernon, Washington, in May 2004. They had moved back to that town from nearby Anacortes, (where I was arrested in January 2001), after she discarded her second husband. The cops had been tipped off by someone and were trying to find me that day, so I played cat and mouse with them during that neighborhood and high-school gifting sortie, which was kind of fun. My second daughter, Nora, was going to school there, at the time and it was only a couple of blocks from the house.

I think the Feds tipped the cops off, because I’m pretty sure X-1 didn’t know I was around that day, because she was far off, with her new, wealthy boyfriend. By then, I no longer had a driver license, so I was easy meat for cops. I’d thoroughly gifted the fortified court/cop-shop/jail complex in town two years before that. That corporate fortress was my temporary home in January 2001.

X-1 moved out of that house a couple of weeks later, onto the summer estate of the guy who owns the nuke plants. They lived in Seattle together until he married her, then he built her a mansion on a mountain that he owns, in a tourist area.

I sure didn’t expect such immediate, dramatic results from that gifting sortie, but it’s good to never underestimate orgonite’s potential, of course. I was especially glad, because after that I could visit my kids anytime, after they let me know whether she’d be visiting them or not.

When the mom moved out, our very responsible 24-year old son, Arian, moved into the house to take custody of the two teens. I’ve been sending them twelve hundred a month since then, and until Carol and I moved to Florida last fall, I visited them as often as possible—a pleasant, scenic, four hundred mile drive from our home in Idaho. I’ve always loved the Puget Sound area, and it’s too bad that I can’t go there without risking corporate imprisonment.

Every time I went to see them, I risked going to jail for a month. That judge really didn’t like me, especially since one of his would-be victims offered to help me beat that rat in his own nest. It’s curious how sanctimonious a black-robed pedophile like that judge can be in his own courtroom, backed up by a parasitic corporation that only owns debt, (represented by that gold-fringed admiralty flag), and rules America by extortion rather than by law.

My two teens chose to come live with Carol and I for a few months, in the summer and fall of 2003, when their mom was still at home, but they didn’t care for Idaho much, so they moved back to Mt Vernon.

Right now, I’m spending $1400 per month on the teens, one of whom, Nora, just turned eighteen and is enrolled in a prestigious haircutting school in Seattle. She loves the experience and hard work, and that school guarantees a high paying job, after a year of training.

The mom is generously paying her tuition and the rent for her little apartment. She spent a thousand bucks on nice furnishings for her, too, but is leaving it up to Nora, (me), to take care of her other expenses for now. Nora got a part time job, so we’ll play it by ear. I’m sending her a hundred per week until I’m sure she’s comfortable and has everything she needs.

Nora’s the one who was my psychic lab assistant, when she was nine and twelve years old, and I was making and experimenting with orgone devices, but still living in my 1980 Honda Civic, (the seats on those cars recline enough so that a tall guy like me can stretch out properly). I was using a friend’s cabinet shop, early on, and had a tiny apartment in Ashland, Oregon when she chose to come live with me for a few months, at age 11.

That move was against her mom’s wishes, but someone had kindly let Nora know that she was then old enough to choose which parent to live with. It was when she was in Ashland with me that I learned about orgonite and started experimenting with it, with Nora’s timely help.

Nora had gone through death at age five. She had ingested a visiting friend’s stash of Nutrasweet, which put her into a long-lasting, mild epileptic seizure. I was at work at the time, so her mom frantically took her to the hospital, where an incompetent doctor injected so much poison into her, that it stopped her heart. She was airlifted to an even worse hospital in Seattle, (I think ‘Children’s Hospital’ is called that because of the median age of the doctors there), and revived, though she stayed in a coma for a couple of days. We were sitting with her when she came out of the coma—it was cute; she opened her eyes and leaped into my arms—and we quickly abducted her from that Gulag, immediately followed down the hall by a little female doctor’s noisy and threatening protests.

X-1 became lucid for a few days after Nora’s recovery, thank God. If I’d been home at the time, I’m sure I could have convinced X-1 that our nearby chiropractor friend’s competent help would have been a wiser option, and that he would have quickly stopped the seizure. We later learned that an icepack on the head stops those aspartame-induced seizures.

The little serial killers, (MDs), while Nora was still out cold, had tried to coerce us to put her on dopamine. Yikes. She had fewer and fewer seizures until they stopped about a year later. The ice packs always pulled her right out of them. We didn’t pay the $17,000 that the hospital charged us for that fiasco, of course. That would be like paying for the bullets that the National-Socialists used to shoot your grandfather.

Going through death made my daughter intensely psychic, just like Danion Brinkley describes, but she never spoke to me about it until four years later. Nora had been relentlessly hammered by her mom, every time she mentioned a psychic observation, which is why she almost immediately stopped mentioning it to everyone else. When I returned to the area, when Nora was nine, she described the blue energy that was coming out of one of my new orgone accumulators, and I immediately recognized and was deeply grateful for her gift. That was the first time anyone honored her gift, so she spilled her guts after that, and we were close partners in research. Her classmates and teachers at school had hammered her as relentlessly for being psychic, as her mom did. Mt Vernon isn’t a fun town to live in. When she was in Ashland, Oregon, with me later on, the school kids and even her teacher were supportive, as were James Hughes and Dorothy West. That’s a pretty cool town.

I’m continuing to pay my older son, so that his sixteen-year-old brother, Cameron, can have a nice home. Their mom sends them money every month, too, and it’s kind of nice to have a quasi-cooperative arrangement with her by now, though if she ever saw me she’d want to get me incarcerated, of course. Number One Son works full time. I give my younger son, Cameron, two hundred a month, which he saves, because he’s also earning some money creating commercial web pages with Nora’s nice former boyfriend, Decker, who stayed behind in Bellingham, when she enrolled in haircutting school in Seattle. I feel very proud of Nora and Bevin for having stable relationships with their guys. What are the odds?

I send them postal money orders and sometimes deposit money in their bank accounts. I won’t keep records because it’s nobody’s damn business but ours. My kids would all back me up, if it came to that, which probably won’t happen. They’ve all got consciences.

I was their dad and also their default mom in their formative years, because their biological mother went into daylong, often-violent psychotic rampages upon waking, most days. Imagine living twenty-two years of that, with very few lucid breaks. Looking back, I can see that it was a lot like taking care of someone suffering from Alzheimer’s, though now I realize that she could have behaved differently, if she’d chosen to. She threatened suicide once a week or so, usually in front of the kids, each of whom she stridently blamed for her unhappiness, when I wasn’t around to blame. When I was still in the home, they didn’t take that to heart much because I reassured them that they each rather made me happy by just being alive. Fortunately, most of the younger kids’ formative years passed while I worked out of the home, and they spent more time in the shop with me than in the house with their mom. I took a lot of breaks to play with them and to take them on outings.

It was X-2’s brief periods of relative calm and lucidity that kept me hoping that she was going to mellow out someday, but by now I understand that people always choose whether to behave like predators or not, in a given moment. We’re all thoroughly programmed by the What To Think Network and psychology professors to assume that predators are somehow just victims of circumstance. Strange culture…by extension we’re also deeply programmed to ignore, wink at or even enable the dynamics of the predatory behavior of politicians and corporate executives.

I hope to be making enough money by the time my youngest finishes high school, to pay for art school for him. I also want to help my older daughter go to grad school at Harvard, when she’s ready, though her current employer will likely foot the bill. She lives and works in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Like any parent might, I’d love to buy them all houses someday. Haven’t you noticed how National-Socialism rather made the Europoid Depression Babies, my parents’ generation, into niggardly wealth addicts? Not many of them help their kids much, because they were spiritually poisoned by the National-Socialist dole in childhood. Their own parents did everything they could to make the Depression Babies’ lives better.

In America you commonly see Depression Babies with million dollar homes, $200,000 RVs, a new Cadillac every year, and bloated stock portfolios, who won’t help their children and grandchildren with groceries, when they’re in poverty and working their butts off.

I once met an Alaskan Indian woman, who had never been around whites until she went to Bellingham, Washington, to go to high school. In her culture, the old folks were treated with respect because they were generally wise, kind and generous. She experienced severe culture shock when she encountered National-Socialist Europoid Depression Babies’ obnoxious, noisy, schizophrenic and self-gratifying behavior.

<p class="MsoListBullet" style="margin-left: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in">I think the peak of National-Socialist surreality, for me, happened when Carol and I had rented a campsite at the RV park in Ft Pierce, Florida, in November, 2000. We were coming back from a restaurant at around 10PM and the road to our campsite was blocked by hundreds of Europoid Depression Babies doing the hokey-pokey in a conga line. It looked and felt, to Carol and I, like a staged, seething National-Socialist rally in 1935 Berlin, and we were incredulous. Yet another initiation for me.

We enjoyed hanging out with some of the Quebecois old timers at that campground, at least, who were openly friendly and curious instead of paranoid and prejudiced, as was the case with the hokey-pokey aficionados.

A nice development of being cast out of my home, years ago, is that I’m making more money by now than I’d probably ever have made as a sign painter, and it feels good to finally be able to help my kids. I wish I’d gotten this kind of help, when I was starting my own life. Most Depression Babies, my parents’ generation, are curiously unable to give anything away, and they reflexively invoke the [Really!] Great Depression whenever their children or grandchildren express a material need. It’s a good sign that my generation and the following ones are less niggardly, I think.

When I was in Uganda, I met and talked a lot of people across several generations on our gifting sorties and I got a chance to closely observe how my Ugandan hosts related to their own families and cohorts. I noticed that everyone in extended families helped each other materially, as much as possible; there are no beggars on the street, even in the capital, and nobody is starving, though the country is quite poor. I noticed that the devastation, bloodshed and starvation that followed ‘independence’ for a generation or so there, didn’t cause anyone to become stingy or self-seeking, the way my parents’ generation are, on account of National-Socialism’s birth, using the Great Depression as an excuse for their infantile behavior.

Ugandans also don’t have any social programs, other than the token but mostly sincere efforts by a few foreign governments and charity organizations.

If I get rich before the old world order collapses, I’ll pay whatever amount of blood money is necessary to get the Federal Reserve Corporation off my back, but only if it’s paid to X-1 directly and she then calls off that black-robed pedophile and his leg-breakers. She can do, anytime, with a pen-stroke, of course. If the Federal Reserve Corporation is destroyed before that comes to pass I’ll just use that money to help my kids, instead.

I’m only willing to pay blood money, because she’d then be less able to psychologically torment our kids. Whenever they see me, if she finds out about it, they pay a price in the form of their mother’s enraged torment and abuse, if she’s off any of her meds.

I can go on living and prospering outside the system, otherwise, and I can go anywhere I want with my World Citizen passport. Of course, all bets are off if the bad guys just decide to shoot me in the head, or toss me in a prison or mental hospital, (the ‘thorazine shuffle’ is a new phenomenon among political prisoners on America, which will also puzzle future historians), but where’s the fun in life if there’s no risk?

I wonder why so many people just cave in to the National-Socialist corporate parasites. The PJ folks’ bending over and grabbing their ankles, en masse, for the Federal Reserve Corporation—the ultimate Bubba—is the only thing that keeps those parasites fat and contented, and the masses enslaved; that and the Red Cross blood-banks, of course…

You might still assume that I’m just a malcontent, if you’ve read this far and I’ve offended your sensibilities, but if that’s how I’ve impressed you how do you explain away your own deep-seated fear of running afoul of this admittedly parasitic system, and your feeling of powerlessness in the presence of this corporation’s clean-head, black-uniformed leg-breakers? Do you really think that’s the proper way to live in this world? Do you honestly believe that you’re free?

I remember when people, at least Europoids, in America felt comforted by the sight of police rather than intimidated. That was before Depression-Baby-enabled, wholesale slaughter got started by the corporation in Vietnam, though.

Are you as genuinely happy as I am? I don’t think real happiness is possible when one is attached to an illusion of security. My false sense of security vanished in a moment when I stupidly lost my children to the lawless American court system on their mother’s whim but the experience forced me to either recreate my life as a sovereign person or go the way of the new hobo class and endure a meaningless existence as one of the faceless disenfranchised, playing musical spouses and living at subsistence level at the whim of yet another rudderless female.

I know that most white people in America call themselves free while they’re really just voluntary corporate slaves; voluntary taxpayers. They’re afraid of the new, omnipresent, black-suited, jackbooted cops in body armor but they can’t put a finger on why that is. This fear is schizoid, frankly, so it usually translates as racial prejudice, even in suburban towns like mine where there’s no violent crime but the cops are omnipresent, aggressive and decidedly ‘apart’ from everyone but donut vendors.

The automatic result of destroying this poisonous corporation—thus returning political and economic power to the states and communities, as nature intended—isn’t anarchy; it’s freedom and prosperity. Reflect on that, then observe the PJ folks as they numbly genuflect to this treasonous, parasitic National-Socialist regime and their horrid, jackbooted, KGB/STASI-led Homeland Security Abomination.

The trick is to get the deed done, without violence, before this Nazi agency is instructed to start openly enforcing the treasonous Patriot Acts. In that case there really would be a brief shooting war, throughout the land and I sure don’t want to see that happen, do you?

Then, while you’re still rightly angry about this terminal political cancer, make some orgonite and deftly distribute it around the perimeter of the fountainhead of corporate rule in your community, the fortified courthouse/cop-shop/jailhouse compound. If you’re particularly resourceful, maybe you can hide an orgonite muffin under a black-robed pedophile’s own bench.

Orgonite gets through metal detectors, undetected, every time.

It would be a hoot to be in that predator’s courtroom/rat-nest after that, I think. The dirtier the predator, the more unhinged he gets when orgonite is close to him, as a rule. Later, I’ll tell you how Carol took down a notoriously predatory and felonious county prosecutor, in his own courtroom, barehanded and from twenty feet away. She made history that day, a year or so ago, and many folks have been replicating those happy results since then.

Have you noticed that there have been no ‘terrorist attacks’ since the feds blew up the WTC, almost five years ago? I agree that the demolition of the levees in New Orleans initiated a blatant, federal terrorist attack on the city’s black population, but in that context they blamed ‘nature,’ not swarthy men from the Middle East. Even so, the increasing talk about ‘terrorism’s threat’, on the What To Think Network, has become more and more strident, since the feds blew up the World Trade Center. In fact, by now all of that is just like the ‘doublespeak’ you read about in the book, 1984, when you were a kid.

What’s not so funny is that Congress and the fake President have been generating legislation that has exceeded even Hitler’s and Stalin’s bloodstained fiats. Thank God they haven’t dared try to enforce most of that! If American’s weren’t armed, all of it would be in force, and those waiting concentration camps and guillotine chambers would be engorged by now.

Hitler had to get the Germans to voluntarily disarm, before he could institute his draconian measures successfully. He did it by burning the parliament building and blaming terrorists, (commies in that case), for it. Notice that people, except the expiring Depression Babies, are no longer as stupid and gullible as that generation was. Fortunately for the rest of us, the Depression Babies’ numbers are so decimated by cancer, Alzheimer’s, strokes, heart failure, arthritis, diabetes and alcoholism that they’re no longer a potent political force, as they had been in their prime—during the Cold War and Vietnam Conflict. Now, they’re mostly so firmly attached to Medicare’s poisonous teat, that I doubt they’ll be heard from, politically, again.

That’s poetic justice, as far as I’m concerned, and it’s recompense for their blind, schizophrenic devotion to serial killers, (MDs), within the parasitic National-Socialist paradigm.

I assume you realize that you’re not ‘safer’ because the Feds increased the power of the federal government, after they blew up the WTC, and openly instituted even more intrusive surveillance and monitoring of all Americans. The new airport Gestapo make everyone feel uneasy, even the Europoid Pajama People and Depression Babies. Have you noticed? People are avoiding air travel in droves, because they don’t want to be publicly humiliated at airports. The airlines can’t afford to feed passengers on cross-country flights any more, due to critical loss of revenue, so many passengers are bringing coolers as carry-on luggage.

The ‘deadbeat dad’ issue generates almost as much raw emotion and summary judgement, among PJ folks, as ‘abortion,’ ‘skinhead’ and ‘pedophile’ do.

You could be a saint, a hero, the composer of a symphony, or the savior of your people, but if slanderers’ cacophony leaves you wearing an unflattering label, that will be all that most people will remember about you. If you try to defend yourself under those circumstances, it would be just like answering loaded questions, such as, ‘Why do you beat your wife?’ or, ‘Did your mother ever catch you masturbating in the closet?” The What To Think Network will do their best to guarantee that you’ll be seen as a pariah, if you’re a genuine pioneer who won’t be owned and controlled by the occult/corporate order. This is how the What To Think Network quickly gets rid of honest politicians, by the way. There aren’t any more honest, national politicians. See how thorough they were?

In a worldly sense I’m not remarkable or particularly gifted, but I’ve earned a good reputation through honest means and I wish to keep it and hopefully improve it, so maybe a stitch in time saves nine, in terms of preserving my reputation from media slander, in coming days.

I told X-1, nine years ago, that I would make her famous but that I’d never take her fishing. That was after she produced a bowlful of freshly-killed intestinal worms. They came out of her during a colonic irrigation, while she was zapping for the first time.

I keep a photo of some of those worms on the homepage of I got the photo from her after her first zapping session, during a self-administered colonic irrigation. She had been ingesting anti-parasite herbs—the finest on the market—for several months without producing any visible results. Her business was giving colonic irrigations to people, and she was happy in her work and thriving, as I mentioned.

When I asked X-1 to do that zapping experiment she said, ‘Nothing you make could be any good!’ but she zapped, anyway, and I have a fine public record of the results that’s been helping me sell a whole lot of zappers, over the years. Dr Hulda Clark has claimed that zapping won’t kill intestinal worms, but even before that experiment I had become convinced, by consistent evidence and testimonials from many customers, that just using a zapper around the clock for a few days kills them all.

X-1 is still trying to give me the business in a similar way, but it’s not working out for her because I won’t play by the corporation’s rules. Carol and I were married during our travels in a county courthouse where social security numbers still weren’t required for the record, so the Federal Reserve Corporation, therefore this National-Socialist regime, considers us unmarried. They hate to even hear the word, ‘common law,’ even in the context of marriage, so I’m not worried about them invoking that. It’s just like the way MDs in the West mostly hate to hear the word, ‘parasite.’ In that case, they are parasites, of course, and you apparently hurt their feelings when you say the word.

It’s all about the s


(Don Croft) #3

Dave Emmett pointed out to me that this is what Henry Ford specifically said–

"It is well enough that people of the nation do
not understand our banking and monetary system, for if they did, I believe there would be a revolution before tomorrow morning. "



(Don Croft) #4

Dave Emmett kindly pointed out to me that this is what Henry Ford specifically said–

"It is well enough that people of the nation do
not understand our banking and monetary system, for if they did, I believe there would be a revolution before tomorrow morning. "