Our Coastal Caribbean Ogonite Adventure

Francisco of orgonita.eu in Spain and I went to Belize in December to set up offshore trusts and bank accounts to protect us from the escalating threat to both of our livelihoods and physical freedom by the Old Parasite. Along the way and while in Belize we tossed a lot of orgonite towerbusters to kick the Old Parasite in the pants some more. Why wouldn’t we? The good news is that we seem to be the only orgonite makers whom the Old Paraasite is now intent on destroying. ‘Trouble’ is just another word for ‘fun’ in this context.

We intended to get this done in Costa Rica but traveling on the sea in a small, open motorboat was so punishing that I was just too exhausted to continue past Belize, which is the closest country where this bank/lawyer stuff can be done the right way. Doing it online wasn’t an intelligent option because it’s nearly impossible to know who one is dealing with, that way. We’re quite comfortable with the people we did business with in Belize City. We chose women because we believe that women in business generally work harder and better than men do and seem to feel more personally accountable. There are notable exceptions but we’ll probably never meet any of them.

I invited Francisco along for three main reasons: a trip like that is just too risky for me to feel confident by myself; this is very timely for him as well as for Carol and I; he’s got experience on the sea in a similar boat. It turned out that having him along provided many unforeseen benefits, not least of which was close companionship with a fellow etheric warrior. I had a lot more fun in the little Mexican ports along the way than I would if if I were alone because he’s fluent in Spanish and has an engaging personality. I think he also got plenty of useful confirmations about his gift for seeing and sensing subtle energy.

The road trip across the continent in mid-winter from Northern Idaho to Florida’s Atlantic coast was eventful and for me it was more stressful than being on a rough sea. While I was driving in Southeastern Montana we got caught in a blizzard. I lost control of the car and trailer and we slid sideways down the highway at one point. No damage was done, fortunately, and we had to duck into a motel for a few hours to wait for the storm to pass.

When we left I was penniless and my credit card had very little money available because for several weeks before our departure the Old Parasite had been slamming us by stealing money from me in the mail and from Western Union payments. During our month-long absence they continued to assault our business so that Carol was unable to both pay the bills, keep our meager savings intact, and keep putting money on my credit card. The savings got even more depleted. Carol and I experienced more federal sewer rat boilerplating in that period than all the rest of our time together combined but I’m not sure, yet, whether they hate us more for getting the trusts and tank accounts or for gifting the big blue hole. It all seems to have stopped now that we’re back in Idaho but we’ll see.

For most 65-year-old guys this enforced relative poverty might be a big issue but most 65-year-old Americans are already paying for suicide on the installment plan with their MDs and have piled up a good retirement nest egg that will likely be used to pay off the successful MDs and associated institutions during the untimely dying process. I don’t mind being broke and when the Old Parasite thrashes me it kind of tickles because I know I’m hurting them worse than they’re hurting me. The only thing that bothers me about my relative poverty at the moment is that I’m unable to help the East Africans capitalize their operation for now. Christine in South Sudan was given $1800 (a fortune, there) by the very grateful Nubians for a motorboat to fish and gift with on the Nile, for instance, and that only covers half her cost. I think she’s sacrificed and suffered more than any of the (surviving) others on account of this work and it really hurts not to be able to help her in a timely way. Gifting the Nile River probably produces profoundly powerful effects on the Old Parasite since so much of the bloody, old corporate Europoid sorcery foundation is in Egypt along its course. I’m eager to see the effects of that on the moronic masons who enable genocide abroad and the exploitation and murder of millions of Western children, for instance.

The day after Francisco and I got back home in Idaho we participated in one of Dooney’s chat sessions and the psychics found that the Old Parasite had gotten a lot weaker in terms of being able to keep our businesses outside of general public awareness. They had let up on our other close business associates (including Dooney and her mate, Dr Stevo) many months before. That was particularly encouraging to us because as far as I know Francisco and we are the last orgonite sellers to be hammered around the clock by these pasty old secret-handshake pedophiles in their ‘high’ rituals. The non-human ‘out of towners’ that regularly (according to what reputable psychics have witnessed) help them also appear to be much weaker.

Every day, until we finally put the boat in the water, we met new challenges for departing in a timely way and I won’t bore you with the details but when I finally stepped in that boat and we pushed off from the dock I felt tremendous relief, in spite of the fact that I hadn’t made a 400 mile crossing in that boat, before. The longest distance we travelled between landfall in it was the 80 miles between Palm Beach and the Little Bahama Bank in the summer of 2006 to bust up that huge, perhaps ancient underground weather weaponry complex that had been fueling this terrorist Washington regime’s hurricane agenda against the population. That was the last stage of our successful hurricane-elimination campaign. We bought this boat in 2005 for that project, soon after the Parasite threw their very last American hurricane at us.

I prefer to sail but my little 19-foot sailboat wasn’t ready for a sea crossing. Because Carol and I were forced to stop paying most of our people for their labor in 2010, due to the effective and increasing assault on our business over the past four I’ve had no time to work on the sailboat. I just couldn’t put the trip off any longer on account of the mounting threat to our freedom and this lined up well with Francisco’s similar situation. The Zodiac is extremely seaworthy and dry, other than wind-blown spray; otherwise it’s kind of crazy to do a sea crossing in an open motorboat. Before the trip, my nearby friend, Troy Weil, of classicrowboats.com, who had built my gorgeous, Ian Oughtred designed Caledonia Yawl sailboat years ago and is skilled with everything to do with boats, overhauled the Zodiac’s electrical system. I did everything to ensure that the motor would keep running and I brought along a 5HP Honda outboard on its own stern mount in case the big motor quit. We were almost always close enough to shore to reach safety with a 5HP motor.

We were both afraid, of course. I can’t get a US passport, though, and Francisco couldn’t afford to fly so we both had good incentive to travel by boat. My fresh world citizen passport needs to get a visa stamp in order for me to use it for departure in a US (Gestapo) airport so this was another incentive for me to travel abroud without a US passport.

We decided not to leave the car and trailer in Key West because I remembered that the marinas there were very busy and didn’t’ have much storage space so we put in 20 miles to the east at a marina on Cudjoe Key. I paid a month storage fee for the trailer and they also ended up kindly storing the car for me for a low fee. Before we left the marina’s channel the motor suddenly quit. We were exhausted from the road trip and I hadn’t slept the night before so our brains weren’t entirely engaged, yet. It finally occurred to us that we needed to prime the motor by squeezing the fuel bulb in the boat’s stern, then it started up and we began our voyage. At that point most of my stress just fell away, in spite of feeling a little apprehensive about the crossing to Mexico. It was mid afternoon by then.

The sea was quite rough but the winds were favorable and we maintained an average of 15 mph in those conditions. Carol had suggested that we start tossing towerbusters in the sea when we got close to Cuba so we did that a few miles east of Havana’s longitude. We saw the city lights on the horizon. That began a little after sunset. Francisco was seeing two walls of dark energy parallel with our course: one to our right and one to our left. He was quite disturbed by it, which was a good sign for me because I felt confident that we’d use all of our orgonite productively. I hadn’t realized that he was so sensitive to subtle energy. We later saw hat there are two cables on the seabed between the US and Mexico along that route and we were traveling right between them. Cables on the sea bottom are now typically incorporated in weather warfare infrastructure, like all the old TV and radio broadcast towers also are…

Both of us got seasick on that crossing but I had the foresight not to eat anything that day, so I only puked water and only once, right after refueling around the midway point. I’d brought along all of my aircraft fuel containers, which fit snugly on the Zodiac’s foredeck and looked tidy. Sitting in the pitching bow in the middle of moonless night and putting each of those eleven containers in my lap to transfer gas to the boat’s 60-gallon tank below the deck made me a little queazy.

When the sun came up we could both tell that the energy had improved. It felt pretty bad during the night but Sylphs were already showing up in the sky around us. We were treated to a good view of Cuba’s northwest coastline, then about 50 miles from Mexico we were mobbed by a dozen or so spinner dolphins, who kept even with our bow and crisscrossed under it in a water ballet. I stopped the boat after a few minutes in case there was an opportunity to swim with them but they then disappeared, sad to tell. They showed up a few minutes after we tossed the last towerbuster for that project.

I’d built a sturdy and lightweight bed for the rear bench seat and rigged a rain cover for it. When the wind-blown spray or rain prevented comfort on the bed it was easy and quick to roll out that cover. The conditions were usually so rough that the only other relatively comfortable position on the boat, at least for me, was to be supine in that rack, which I designed to hold me snugly. Francisco, who is smaller, rattled around a bit in it. The driver’s bench is too small to accommodate two sitting people for extended periods but when the navigation was tricky I always asked Francisco to sit with me and monitor the two GPS devices. We spent 25 hours getting to Isla Mujeres, just off Mexico’s Yucatan coast near the ‘corner’ where it turns south along the ‘Maya Riviera.’ Isla Mujeres is a short distance from Cancun.

Francisco got a comfortable hotel room in town and I slept soundly on the boat at the public dock. I toyed with the idea of trying to use my World Citizen passport there but using any passport required about a half day and visiting a round of five bureaucrats so we declined. We were happy to learn that traveling in a boat didn’t involve any unpleasantness or even interaction with authorities in Mexico. The Old Parasite’s US Coast Guard, on the other hand, turned out to be quite menacing toward us–more on that, later.

My initial plan was to do three equal crossings: one to Mexico; one to Honduras and then on to Costa Rica–around 1,200 miles total. We didn’t decide between the West Coast or the Caribbean coast routes until the day we left. I asked Carol which she preferred and she felt that the Caribbean route (half the distance of the other) was safer so we went that way.

The boat carried enough fuel for each of the three legs but I hadn’t counted on how exhausting that sort of travel is. I made a similar crossing in a small, half-open sailboat in 1995, even spending a couple of days in a hurricane, and it wasn’t as tiring as 25 hours of hard pounding in rough seas in a motorboat. That sailboat crossing pretty much canceled out my natural terror of being on the open sea in a small sailboat, at least. I prefer sailing. To cope with that in 10995 I sailed out to sea for half a day, then sailed back again. That worked well. I was a lot more terrified during my first solo flight in 2008. I think the key to sailing on the sea or flying is to determine whether the fun and the feeling of accomplishment outweighs the terror.

It was easy for us to agree to rather travel along the coast and to stop at the end of each day in a port. The Maya Riviera extends about sixty miles south along Mexico’s Caribbean coast and then the two suitable ports along the route to Belize are a hundred miles apart. The Belize boundary is about 200 mile from Isla Mujeres. Francisco was pleased to observe that someone had evidently flipped all of the death towers and weather weaponry in the heavily populated coastal areas we saw and in one small area in the middle of the ‘Riviera’ where there are no buildings there were scores of death towers and weather weapons, which he said also looked like they’d been flipped with orgonite. I love it when gifters are so thorough.

We stopped in a very swank port at the south end of the populated coastal stretch but couldn’t buy gasoline, there (only diesel for the rich folks’ mega-yachts) so we pushed on toward the first port we could find on the GPS, Punta Allen. It was getting dark, though, so we opted to just camp onshore a few miles before we reached Punta Allen. We navigated through a conveniently wide channel in the reef and after dropping Francisco off on the beach with a tent and bedroll I anchored nearby in the shallow lagoon and got ready for bed. The sun had set by then. I was about fifty yards from the beach and in the dusk I saw Francisco with a couple of guys who looked to me like they were holding fishing poles. I couldn’t hear them, so I waved and went to bed. In the morning when I picked him up, Francisco told me that those guys were soldiers with rifles, who told him that we were on a military reservation. Thanks to his personal charm they were convinced that we were just weary travelers, passing through and they allowed us to spend the night. I’m sure we wouldn’t have been teated as kindly on a US military alleged property. Maybe we’d have been sent to Guantanamo and tortured, now that the rule of law has completely broken down in the USA.

We had to go back out to sea to get to Punta Allen, just a few more miles farther. Getting through the reef to the port (a wooden pier) was tricky and each GPS had been remotely tampered with during the night so that our indicated position was about a quarter mile ‘off.’ There was enough daylight to clearly see the surf breaking on the reef, fortunately, and the GPS at least showed us the shape and direction of that slightly crooked, natural channel so we reached the pier safely. Francisco got a room in a little tourist hotel and the next morning we bought twenty gallons of gas and I asked a mechanic to check the motor. He instructed us to go around to the the other side of the narrow peninsula to his dock, which involved some tricky and picturesque navigation through very shallow water and mangroves and I’m glad I asked him because the fuel filter was already a mess and needed cleaning. He added some injection cleaner to the tank, too. We enjoyed that port so much that we visited there on our way back, too.

On those two nights I watched the sky for awhile before I went to sleep. It didn’t rain either night, fortunately, and the tropical breeze was quite comfortable. There were a few approaching rainclouds but the little orgonite cloudbuster o the boat dissolved them before they reached me. I saw a few UFOs which were probably beyond the atmosphere. These are typically seen as moving stars, as Reich described. They’re obviously not satellites because satellites don’t emit light and just a little while after the sun goes down they also can’t reflect sunlight. Try it. When they change direction it’s a little bonus for the observer and when one will aim a cloudbuster or Succor Punch at them (I think one has to also boost when aiming a SP) one will probably be rewarded by seeing the stars light turn dull, turn to colors, then eventually wink out. That evidently only works on the parasitic species’ craft; the ones who materially and immorally support the Old Parasite in our world.

Sylphs persisted long past sunset on that moonlit night but we noticed on other nights that Sylphs disappeared quite fast when the sun went down on a moonless night. Francisco wonders whether sunlight or reflected sunlight is needed to create and maintain these captivating sky sculptures. Let’s keep watching and sharing data about this. Channelers need not participate but data from reputable psychics is always welcome. On those two nights I noticed that the high clouds, including Sylphs, were moving from south to north but the lower clouds were moving from east to west. That apparently indicated a change in weather ahead.

Carol had dowsed the map and asked us to gift all of the little islands near the coast if possible and Francisco was fairly horrified by the energy he saw from those uninhabited islands along our route beyond Punta Allen. It felt pretty rotten to me, too, but the most stressful thing to me was motoring along with the reef in a downwind position. We made sure to keep at least a mile away from the reef so we would have time to deploy the spare motor in case of problems. I didn’t have enough anchor line to prevent us from landing on the reef because the ocean was quite deep right next to it. The Zodiac carries a plow anchor, 30 feet of chain and 200 feet of strong anchor line. To anchor securely in rough conditions one has to be sure that there’s several times more anchor line length than the depth of the water. The purpose of the chain, which attaches to the anchor, is to ensure that the anchor is pulled more or less horizontally in order to really dig into a soft seabed. I once (1972) anchored a boat in the Virgin Islands and the anchor got stuck on some rocks about sixty feet deep. I had to swim down to free it and I didn’t wear a mask so my vision was blurry. I wondered at one point why the white sand bottom suddenly got obscured on my way down and a companion on the boat said that a gigantic manta ray swam right beneath me.

There were only two convenient refueling ports between Isla Mujeres and Belize and the second one is Xcalac, a hundred miles beyond Punta Allen. The ‘X’ is pronounced as ‘Sh’ in the Mayan language. I love that name and we really enjoyed our time with the people we met in the ports. I secured the Zodiac to the town pier for the night and Francisco found a nice room and also met a fellow Catalan who lives in that town and is a realtor. Lots of locals were fishing on the pier well past dusk and there were several magnificent frigate birds, competing just overhead for thrown scraps, like seagulls normally do. A pelican, which epitomizes my vision of personal flight, was so tame that one of the fishermen was feeding him by hand. I think that pelican lives on the pier because I think he’s the one I also saw on the pier on our return trip.

That night, the little cloudbuster wasn’t inhibiting the rain clouds, which increased in frequency and most of my night was spent under cover.

In Francisco’s breakfast conversation with local fishermen the following morning he learned that there’s a smooth-water passage to Belize City that’s possible through a channel across the narrow coastal peninsula on which Xcalac sits. The channel is at the national east-west boundary between Mexico and Belize and on our way south that day we missed it and ended up on a coral head, bending the propeller blades. Some Belizian fellows in a nearby boat told us how to find that channel and then things got easier. A thick rope was strung across the channel, just below the surface, so we had to get up some speed, turn off the motor and raise the propeller to drift over and across it. We didn’t see anyone onshore at the facility.

The advice Francisco got from a local fisherman/guide was that in order not to constantly hit the shallow coral formations with the propeller along the first few miles of the route to Belize one had to lower the engine all the way. This made no sense to one of the fisherman’s American customers until the American learned that raising the propeller on his fishing yacht actually caused it to reach deeper into the water because this also raised the bow, so lowered the stern. Lowering the propeller also lowers the bow as much as possible, so it raises the stern. We tried both ways and can confirm it. The Zodiac’s propeller got a little more bent that day. even so. Because that long channel was so shallow I opted to return to Xcalac on the way back from Belize in deep water rather than to risk damaging the prop some more. The route also made some sense since we were returning to Mexico from Lighthouse Reef, where we gifted the giant blue hole–evidently a primary earth vortex.

I’ll end this report here, since the next report will deal with gifting in Belize. I always encourage some of my fellow-gifter correspondents to break their dense reports up into paragraphs as a kindness to our readers. It’s a kindness to me, too, and I often break it up for them in an email before I can read it without getting vertigo. I don’t think any of us are too old to learn this courtesy and a part of being an effective etheric warrior is to be able to express ourselves clearly.

Thank you a lot you and Francisco for the good and life changing report.


I will write a bit about my first impressions on this trip. First of all i must thank Don and Carol Croft for their generosity and help that they always have given me. They are marvelous Souls! It was great to be invited in this adventure and meet them in person as was also very special to be able to meet Dooney and Stevo in their wonderful home in Montana and get to know them in person outside of the chat. I also had the pleasure of meeting Chuck in Florida and glad to see he is right in his “ salsa” there and doing good.

When Don asked me to join him on a boat trip from Florida to Costa Rica on his motorboat, i didn’t think twice to join lol Of course later i was reminded thru the trip that when you look at a map and what you do while traveling that route are two different things. Looking at a map is much more comfortable!

Just to cross the whole US by car is an adventure on its own. Thousands of miles! But crossing the mexican Gulf with a open zodiac is probably one of the most amazing things i will ever experience in life. I guess one has to be “ crazy” enough to do that or as Don mentioned, one weights the enjoyment against the fear and decides weather or not to go thru with it.

I experienced the same sabotage as always right before leaving the trip. I found someone at the last minute to take care of my dog and house while i was away and it turned out well. Sales dropped to nothing. Alexa ranking of my site changed like crazy to “not so popular” numbers. The tax gestapo tried heir best to steal some more money…and a Kangaroo court hearing was convened by two corrupt cops and judge to sue me for not wanting to give up my natural and unalienable rights and also constitutional not to search my car without proper reason, a warrant and due process. But we know how that system works.

To see Don in action is great! he has some b#lls and i would to love to have his adventurous spirit and stamina to carry these trips at his age. There s a nice balance between crazy and safety in him and i always felt in superb hands. He took most of the effort feeling responsible for a good and safe outcome along the way.

When the boat was in the water, his face completely changed to a relaxed and happy sailor face lol You can tell he enjoys being in water more than driving the car.

I had only being in the sea at night inside of a big ship from a ferry line, never on a motorboat so deep in the blue. When night came, Don asked me to take the boat. i felt like, oh… let s see how this is going to work out! But since he was trusting me to do it, this gave me confidence i actually could.

Until the moon comes out, i had to guide myself thru any starts in the sky, if any, and you cannot see much of the ocean but rather one has to feel it. The waves very strong and high and had to adjust the speed down many times cause surfing on them was like the boat was a bullet being shot forward or maybe like a roller coaster ? lol

Anyhow, my mind went into the zone and remained concentrated, thoughtless and enjoying this new experience until the night was turning into day. Later on the trip i joked to Don in one of our very tough rides that maybe it was actually better not to be able to see the waves and the sea under similar conditions lol One goes thru it but there s not the visual perception , you see? As long as i was driving in rough seas i would be ok but the minute was my time to rest, man…did i puke! the rest of the trip i would grow more or less accustomed but before we returned on our last stretch i decided to get some sea sickness pills which worked wonders. i would take one every 6 hours but going past 3 pills the after effects on body-mind would be little too much but 1 or 2 was fine. Don proved to be able to bite much salt as only good rough sailors can lol

Another joke i made later is comparing sailing to making love. Sailing is like making love, one must glide into the waves in perfect resonance so that the sea, oneself and the boat are one, in this case it would be more like a threesome lol

When we arrived in Mexico i think we both realized the actual effort needed to reach Costa Rica and keep a decent timetable going. I guess it wouldn’t matter much if one has a few months to go down and back up freely but the trip was only going to get tougher because the wind/sea conditions would not be ideal on our way down.

I was happy to go along the coast from that point on in such a way that we could stop on land anytime we needed to. Another thing i discovered, or at least it happened for us, is that traveling by boat is such a sensational feeling of freedom! no airport security crap, no long lines, no controls… We stopped simply at any dock, at any port and pretty much you were free to move in town or do whatever. Of course one is supposed to report to the port Marina but even the times we tried, most of them were either closed or simply there wasn’t any at the little beach villages we stopped at. Since we would normally stay the night to refill gas and rest, we continued the next day to a new place and so on. The only time we were molested was very near the coast of Florida by the coast guard and that is another post all by itself when Don opens that can lol Someone at this point is playing games with my visa status by the way and i will report, with graphic proof, which way i feel that scam by the Department of Homeland Security and Customs border patrol is going. I am sure they will enjoy it!

At the beginning we did try to follow thru the process to stamp Don’s world citizen passport but we realized it involved talking to 5 different authorities so we waited until Belize to try it out since we stayed longer there.

Don is very supportive of one’s abilities and he constantly challenged me to feel or see by his questions during the trip.
Carol had dowsed many spots to be gifted during our trip and the main areas were the space between Cuba and Mexico and any islands we would see on the way down.

This was confirmed by direct experience. I was seeing 2 definite dark walls of energy to our right and left of the boat which continued for miles. it may be that we would be advancing right in the middle with the load of orgonite and the little CB pointed forward so maybe this was creating some split? It could also be the seabed wires Don talked about cause there were many little energy needles of different hues and located at very regular distances along the dark energy walls.

Another confirmation was seeing many uninhabited islands or some of those with just a lighthouse or one or two buildings were all giving off bad energy. i think all of them had always some death tower on them. Most of the coast in Mexico i felt was gifted by someone. Those places are easier to reach and someone seemed to have made a great job at it.

It was also great to watch the little CB clearing storms ahead of us, providing some dry corridor to go thru. A few times the storms might have been too great and ongoing to affect them with that little CB but in general a moving CB was providing great results.

The most dangerous part along the coast was the reef, rocks and depths. Easier to avoid when one knows the areas well but not so easy as a first time visitor, specially if one of the GPS’s is showing you sailing on top of land! lol

It was great he thought of bringing an extra one to double check. We had to cross the reef anytime we wanted to dock hence one must know the proper spot where to cross it and have the skill to keep in line with that opening as the surfs are taking you forward. Doing it at night is more exhilarating and Don got us thru those spots every single time without incidents. One can see the boat remaining s around the reef as reminders not to make a mistake there or your are done!

As for the people we encountered along the way they were simply super nice and helpful every single time. Many were curious to see the boat and ask where we came from under not so good sea conditions sometimes and most of the time they asked about our yatch or sailboat to which we would reply: No really, we travel with this one! lol

I am putting together a video about the trip. 10 videos were erased from my Cam, exactly the ones showing a weeks time of gifting around Belize. A superb 5 minute video with the dolphins just inches from the camera, dancing and swimming along was also deleted from Don’s camera.


Hi Don and Francisco,

What a cool adventure and great storytelling that reminds me of Castenada a bit. Look forward to what video and images that were salvaged. Nice work at the Great Blue Hole!

ok, finally i finished the 1st part of the video CARIBBEAN COAST GIFTING

This is the 1st video i have done by myself fully and tried to made it more dynamic than the lengthy Canaries one. I hope you like it.

There will be a part 2 which will explain our return to Florida from the Blue hole in Belize.


Edit: I uploaded a bigger resolution version so the url has changed.

Outstanding! Dos Quixotes sobre la barca loca!


Thanks, Harold–‘Crazy Boat,’ indeed Cool

It was impossible to find a public marina in Belize City but during our hunt we gifted the city’s shoreline and produced some astounding, positive effects in the atmosphere, as you can see in the film. Unlike Mexico’s Caribbean coast, we didn’t see evidence of any gifting in Belize so every day that we gifted during the following week we were treated to the requisite observed confirmations.

The first place we went was to the little drawbridge downtown that’s close to the river’s mouth because when I was in Belize 20 years earlier I stayed at an old hotel on the other side of the bridge which has a secure dock behind it. The water level has apparently risen since then and we were unable to get the boat under the bridge. I knew from before that nobody operates the bridge often enough to expect to get through it on demand so we hunted for a marina. A couple of hours later we found one several miles from the city and the manager called the five government agencies in the city who were required to give us clearance. Belize City is built on an estuary so it has a lot of shoreline. I think people realize the ocean is in the process of swallowing it because it takes much longer, now, for the streets to drain after a heavy rain. New Orleans is pretty far below sea level at this point, as is Venice.

Four of the officials signed us off and we waited until late evening for the fifth, who was the immigration official. He’d never seen nor heard of my world citizen passport but remarked that it has all the features of a regular passport. After lengthy discussion, including quite a bit in Spanish since he appreciated an opportunity to practice it with Francisco, he stamped my passport. I was ecstatic but the official had second thoughts, so called his boss. He then asked to keep my passport until the following Monday (this was Saturday night) and asked me to show up at the immigration office then for further instructions. Francisco’s Spanish passport got a visa stamp.

We took a taxi to the city, paid for a motel room for a week and rented a car the next day. For the next couple of days we assumed there would be no problem and we made tentative plans to fly to Costa Rica and do our banking and legal business. I have no doubt that Costa Rica honors my passport. At the immigration office, though, I was quite disappointed to see that the visa stamp on my passport was voided and I was told that Belize won’t recognize that kind of passport. I was given a 30-day visitor’s permit, though. When we were waiting for officials at the marina a big, white pickup truck with a fed in it parked in view of the office and the American was on the phone for many hours until the immigration official left, then he left, too. One easy way to tag a fed is that they’re almost always on the phone when they’re surveilling gifters, just so you know. So we knew the American felons were already at work, trying to prevent Francisco and I from doing our work.

We made good use of the two and a half buckets of remaining towerbusters that week. We rested, then on Monday we did our immigration business; on Tuesday we initiated our legal and banking business and traveled to Belmopan, the inland capital of Belize, and gifted the city; on Wednesday we flipped half the death towers and weather weaponry in the western half of Belize City; on Thursday, we gifted the rest of Belize City and the area around the airport, which had some of the worst weather weaponry in the country.

On Friday we finished our bank/legal arrangements and traveled to Orange Walk, an agricultural city near Mexico, which is the only area of Belize that has a high murder rate. 20 years ago there was essentially no murder rate in the country but there’s always been a lot of petty theft, I think. Francisco felt sure that the murders were drug related and that the police were involved. This typically happens in any country where American influence and ‘help’ increases. Belize is a British Commonwealth country so even though it’s in Central America it’s taken awhile for the ruinous corporate Washington regime to get their hooks into it. The British hooks had to be dislodged a bit, first. We flipped all the death towers there and spent a lot of orgonite on the copshop so we look forward to seeing whether the crime/murder rate will go down after this. Orange Walk’s nickname is ‘Sugartown.’

To get to Orange Walk we needed to drive past the airport again and we noticed that a portable death tower was parked beside a roadside death tower in the area–a fine confirmation for our previous day’s success, in addition to the rich atmospheric confirmations. On the way back from Orange Walk later in the day we saw that the portable death tower was still there but a brand new death tower had been planted right next to the flipped one. The construction crew were just leaving and taking that portable one with them. I filmed it and this is one of the few substantive film clips that the secret police didn’t remove from my camera in Montana, later. Francisco included it in his film.

Another noteworthy event, that day, was that when we took a side road to hunt for a reputed Mennonite community (to gift) we passed a village where Francisco was overwhelmed with nausea and foreboding. We drove around until we found two places which he felt were the sources of the problem: one was a small house on the outskirts of town and the other was the town church. After we distributed some orgonite in both places the feeling was gone and since the unpaved road toward the Mennonite location was getting rougher and rougher we decided to abandon that target in the interests of time and ammunition supply. We hadn’t reached Orange Walk, yet.

I had asked the ladies in Dooney’s chartroom on the previous Sunday whether they felt that it was worthwhile for Francisco and I to detour to the big blue hole on our return from Belize and they were quite emphatic about getting it done. We had saved a few pieces of orgonite for that target.

We filled the tank and the deck fuel jugs (120 gallons, total) and headed toward Lighthouse Reef, the big coral atoll 60 miles east of Belize City where the blue hole is. I’d been checking weather forecasts for days and the trip was supposed to have been quite easy but before long the wind increased and shifted to directly in our path, so it was a slow, rough and exhausting trip that lasted until late afternoon. Fortunately, the path across the reef at the north end, which has a settlement, was wide and deep and we tied up at an abandoned dock for the night.

The wind kept increasing during the night, which was also not in the forecast, and as we attempted to reach the blue hole (12 miles south) inside the reef as instructed I banged up the prop, again, and since it was early enough in the morning the fishermen in the settlement hadn’t left, yet, so we asked about hiring a guide to take us to the blue hole. One of them needed a ride there, anyway, to meet up with some mates on one of the tourist boats and get a ride to another island, so that conveniently paid for his services and he took us around the leeward side of the atoll and then along a tortuous passage through the coral to our destination. By then the wind was blowing quite hard, which caused the water to be too murky for pleasant diving but Francisco was keen to get in the water and film the event from there. Before he got in the water we asked our guide to toss the first piece of orgonite, since the vortex is in his country.

There was no immediate positive confirmation but we got a definite impression that someone was furious at us and frustrated to the point of apoplexy and it felt inhuman; draconian to me. Apoplexy is a terrifically descriptive word but I like the non-medical definition: sudden fit of paralysis and dizziness. The medical term indicates a busted blood vessel in the brain. ‘Pop’ goes the weasel.

The negative confirmations increased for the rest of the day but just as we were transferring our guide to the other boat, about five miles from the blue hole on our return trip we pointed to a sudden burst of Sylph activity above the big storm that had just formed over the vortex and he also took note of it right before the increasing lower cloudcover obscured it from view. I think he was a little spooked.

Under the circumstances it didn’t’ look like we had enough time to reach Xcalac before dark and the rest of the day (we left Lighthouse Reef around noon) we encountered the roughest seas yet; it was quite debilitating, partly on account of the unabated wind that constantly threw salt water at us from the side and also on account of having to constantly dodge breaking seas. The waves reached around 14’ and the horizon was obscured much of the time. The Zodiac is safe enough even in those conditions but when a sea breaks right beside you the boat can get a lot of water onboard and a couple of times when we weren’t so attentive the boat was turned almost vertically on her side. The other thing to be wary of is coming off the top of a steepening sea because the boat will become airborne for a couple of seconds and then slam violently into the following trough. In a motorboat fuel efficiency is achieved when the boat is planing, which means one has to go faster than ten miles per hour. This isn’t a problem in smoother conditions.

This trip has really made me appreciate slower and more docile sailboats.

For the entire afternoon we felt the fury and frustration of whomever or whatever we had angered by restoring the health of that major vortex and this feeling was so strong that we both wondered whether fixing the blue hole vortex/portal wasn’t ultimately the main purpose of our trip. Sometimes the Operators will apparently influence gifters to do something important even when the gifters only figure it out later on. Following hunches is often a process like that so some of us learn pretty early that the commitment to follow our hunches is much more important than to figure out why we’re doing something or even if we’re doing something worthwhile. I think this helps us refine our characters by developing real faith.

We made our way back to Xcalac on the sea side and reached there before the sun went down. Again, both GPS devices erred a quarter mile or so but there was such heavy, breaking surf on account of the wind that the reef was clearly shown so we just avoided the surf on our way to the pier. My main worry for the entire trip was about avoiding landing on a reef and disabling the boat, since to return to the US any other way without a national passport might present some unpleasant problems for me. Fortunately, one can travel all along the coast of Mexico and probably most other countries in a boat and never have to deal with the authorities.

A lot of our trip involved traveling through open water, out of sight of land but when we had to travel along the coast I made sure that we were at least a mile away from the reef so that we could have time to deploy the spare outboard motor in case of engine failure. Dropping anchor wasn’t usually an option since the water along the reef was deeper than the length of the 220’ anchor line and chain.

The next day on the water wasn’t quite as rough and we reached as far as Puerto Herrero, a remote fishing settlement with a wide but shallow channel through the reef. I tied up to the wooden pier and slept on the boat and the wind settled down during the night. The little cloudbuster broke up all the little rainstorms before they reached me, so I never had to put the rain cover over me. Francisco rented a room above a little open cafe with a sand floor.

In the morning the wind had abated but the seas were still high. I had to relearn about not moving through a shallow channel directly against the seas because even though we were moving slowly through the steep swells the boat was vertical at the second or third sea, fore and aft, then I met them diagonally after that and zigzagged through the channel. The weirdly steep seas on that situation are generated by the tide moving out through the channel against the direction of the wind. Francisco was a good sport about the ‘unusual attitude’ of the craft, fortunately.

We hoped to reach Isla Mujeres that day and we got an early start but even though the sea was much smoother and the winds favorable, a weird, dark storm formed directly in our path and the wind shifted to directly ahead of us, slowing our progress. The wind increased, too, and the storm expanded so that it took us half the day to get through it. We felt sure that this was artificially generated, presumably by those defeated and frustrated offworlders. We got some pretty ugly confirmation of that a few days later as we approached the Florida Keys but after this storm the seas were as calm as predicted and we had a smooth, relaxed and quick passage to Cozumel in the afternoon.

Cozumel was a much easier goal than Isla Mujeres, another sixty miles farther, and we reached there early enough in the afternoon to explore the possibility of replacing the propeller. At the main marina we met a charter fisherman who introduced us to a good mechanic and the next morning he put a good, used prop on the boat and changed the gear oil for us. We spent three terrific days on Cozumel to rest, eat tasty restaurant food, shop and get ready for whatever might be in store for us. We’d pretty much decided against returning to Key West from Yucatan because we dreaded another 25 hour passage like the first one so we shopped with the notion that we were going to be traveling the much longer route along Mexico’s Gulf coast to Texas, instead. There werent’ going to be many well-stocked groceries along that route.

The ‘tasty restaurant food’ idea can become pretty important when one travels this way. I had brought a supply of adequately satisfying and nourishing raw cuisine that I’d made in my Excelsior drier before we left. I supplemented it with canned fish, mainly to deal with the physical stress of the trip. Francisco kept himself supplied with bread and butter & some fresh fruit along the way. Some rodents got to the last of my dried food in Belize but I found other good stuff for the trip. We both enjoy the raw chocolate I make in the drier but I didn’t have time to make a batch of that until we got back to Idaho. We ate in a wonderful Catalan restaurant, called ‘Barcelona,’ a Catalan restaurant in Belize City and I ate tapas for the first time. He was skeptical but the painted sign was artfully done and I told him that this is usually strong evidence that a business is reputable. Francisco enjoyed conversing in Catalan with the couple who owned and operated it & he bought a loaf of their incredible bread. We also ate at a good Indian restaurant in the city, which my mate also approved of and he’d spent 8 years in India so I reckoned he’d be a good judge. On Cozumel there are some world class restaurants, including a little breakfast place, El Corazon Contento, that we got deeply fond of. I would rename it, ‘El Estomago Contento.’ Maybe this stuff means more to me than to most people. Carol’s the same way, fortunately.

The trip to Isla Mujeres as as easy, fortunately, but when we checked the weather reports we saw a stationary high pressure system halfway along the coast to Texas which was characterized by constant rain and high winds. That night, some charter fishermen gave us more detailed weather forecasts and recommended crossing over to Key West because there was going to be several days of uncharacteristically calm weather, partly enabled by a standing high pressure system farther north across the Florida Peninsula.

The engine began misbehaving on the leg to Cozumel. It didn’t actually start running smoothly, again, until after we bought some expensive gas at a marina in Key West to move the last 20 miles back to Cudjoe Key, where the car and trailer were. I think some of the gas we bought in Central America was dirty. It only began running roughly when the boat was slamming into head seas and when seas were smoother the engine tended to run smoother. All of that was a bit stressful and after we left Mexico for Florida I prayed that we wouldn’t have to to go Cuba for emergency repairs Wink

I was so excited by the prospect of an easy passage back to Florida that I wasn’t able to sleep all night but I had to talk Francisco into it the following morning with the help of one of the charter fishermen, who showed him a reliable forecast and told him that he’d do the trip if he were in our shoes…

We left around noon. An early start wasn’t important since we’d be spending an entire night on the ocean. The seas were as calm as in late summer that January day and when we got to the spot where the dolphins had happily ‘mobbed’ us on our first passage it happened again, perhaps with the same dolphin pod. I knew not to stop the boat, this time, and they stayed with us much longer. This happened three more times in the next 30 miles and with three other dolphin pods. I slowed down so that they’d stay with us longer, in fact. I’d never seen so many. Typically, when we saw the first one we could look around and see a dozen or more of them, all rushing in our direction. One time, I saw a dying fish that had been bitten almost in half by one of these dolphins so that meant, to me, that racing along with the boat was more important to them than a meal. Francisco filmed most of these events but those segments were all ‘expropriated’ in the night by the government felons, unfortunately. My favorite segment, which I showed my mother in St Louis on our return trip, was when dolphins were leaping up to touch Francisco’s extended hand while he held the camera in the other hand.

The energy along Cuba’s northwest coast where we had distributed towerbusters felt wonderful, unlike it was when we were tossing the orgonite on the way to Mexico. It was dark before we reached the vicinity of Cuba. A few hours after the sun set I took a nap because the sea conditions were smooth enough for sleeping. We were about a third of the way to Florida, then. Before I retired, though, I saw a white light behind us and turned our navigation lights on just in case we were in the path of a faster boat. After an hour or so, though, the light was gone so I turned our lights off, again. On Francisco’s watch I assume the same light showed up very close to the boat and it was suspended just above the water, about fifty yards away. It was obviously not a boat’s light and it shifted over to the other side. I think he can and will describe the event much better than I can. Before I woke up from my three-hour nap the object(s) came even closer to the boat and was tracking us under water for awhile. At some point during his UFO experience the horizon disappeared. I only experienced that one time–in August, 2006 while gifting a vortex shortly after dawn in the Gulf of Mexico with Jeff McKinley in the same boat. We had left port in the dark in order to get a lot done that day. That time, a bunch of big dolphins showed up around the boat, practically commanding us to get in the water with them but we didn’t do it, strange to tell. The energy of the place had us in a weird funk.

The sea was still fairly calm when I took the wheel and I, alone, witnessed what followed. I didn’t want to rouse Francisco in case there was trouble ahead; we both needed all the rest we could manage. There was no moon that night until around 4AM but in the tropics the starlight is bright enough to illumine one’s surroundings and the clouds adequately enough. In the starlight I saw another weird, very dark storm forming and spreading out, directly in our path.

That night was the weirdest of my entire life, so far. The weirdest day of my life was when Don Bradley, Ryan McGinty, Carol and I gifted Devil’s Punchbowl in Southern California: a favorite satanic blood ritual spot for the corporate world order, many of whom actually showed up at dusk.

At night, I like to steer toward a star that’s low on the horizon. In the daytime I often pick a cloud on the horizon to steer toward & I pay close attention to the clouds ahead in the night as well as the day. The big screen on the GPS was easy to navigate with but it’s nicer for extended hours to look out toward the horizon.

The little boosted cloudbuster that I made (under Carol’s direction) for the boat in 2005 usually clears a path through the smaller storm clouds, as I mentioned, but I was a little dismayed to see a small storm being born just above the horizon ahead and a little to the left. The rest of the sky had lovely scattered clouds and no rain.

That storm expanded steadily out from the center but it looked like I had a chance to go around it so I altered course slightly to the south, toward Cuba. As the thing grew, though, I had to keep steering further south so at one point I decided to just go right trough the middle of it, which would put us back on course toward the Dry Tortugas (the west end of the Florida Keys–the nearest landfall)

By now, the storm had formed a distinct dome and seemed a little un-natural. I had kept close to the edge of it and quickly entered the dome through what looked and felt like a big mouth. The ‘lip’ was quite distinct and as soon as I got under it I saw, above us, a dark toroidal shape stretching around the dome’s ceiling as far as I could see. At this point the moon had risen and enough of the light came through that part of the cloud for me to see the weird feature above me.

Before long, though, not even the moonlight penetrated and the boat was in complete darkness. There was no wind under the dome so the sea was calm but I felt disoriented, as though time and gravity were affected. Francisco, whom I didn’t want to waken, had felt this effect while he was watching the underwater UFOs beside the boat earlier. The horizon disappeared, then. it was too dark for me to make out a horizon inside the structure. The motor misbehaved intermittently since leaving Isla Mujeres but as soon as I got under the dome it ran badly immediately and did so the rest of the way to the Dry Tortugas. At least it wasn’t getting worse, though our gas consumption increased and our speed diminished.

If memory serves, it took a couple of hours to get through the dome and toward the other side the moonlight was reaching through the cloud and there were a few breaks that enabled me to see stars, again. A couple of those stars were moving erratically. I saw an isolated bank of fog underneath the cloud and just above the surface of the sea. It looked like a group of miniature cumulus clouds of varying height and I’d never seen fog like that. The bottom of the fog bank was about 50 feet above the water.

It was good to finally be out of there but when I looked back at it in the moonlight the other side of the storm looked just as bizarre as the side I entered and there were a couple of banks of ‘cumulus’ fog beyond it, too, and also climbed up the steep edge of the flat-surfaced structure in places. I took a couple of good photos but those, too, were later removed from my camera in Montana that night by the federal felons. I’ll never forget what it looked and felt like, though and I wish I could do justice describing it.

Dawn was approaching by then and I could see a massive storm front approaching us from directly ahead. The reason the sea had been so calm for the entire trip was because a high pressure system had stalled hundred of miles north of our destination, which is why we took this route. This rarely happens in winter. That system had suddenly moved south, or someone had moved it. The worldly weather warfare we’ve seen is less impressive than some evident offworlder-controlled weather warfare that some of us have expeienced on our ogonite-flinging excrursions. If this were their world we’d probable be a lot worse off than we are. It’s our world, fortunately Wink and they seem to operate under a lot of constraint.

Another reason we decided on that route was that the federal felons who were trying to track us evidently assumed that we would return to the US along the Mexican Gulf coast to Texas. We’d told Carol that we were planning this and the NSA monitors everyone’s (outside of China) electronic communication, after all. Another high pressure system was stalled along Mexico’s Gulf coast about halfway along our planned route and that system was also characterized by high winds and constant rain. Anyone who’s done extensive gifting at sea has probably become aware of the Old Parasite’s easy ability to churn the sea in our path with weather weaponry from a distance. That’s the worldly warfare aspect. It lacks the pugnacious, furious edge of this other, weirder stuff, which actually feels personal.

On the way to Belize, Francisco noticed that the days following our contact with Carol through the satellite messaging device were rougher (much higher winds than forecast) than on the days following no contact. Bad conditions that are not in the forecast another common feature of weather warfare and it’s the consistency of this effect that is the best evidence that it’s intentional and not random or natural. The solar-charged Succor Punch in the cloudbuster was evidently enough to stop the feds from tracking us, otherwise, even through our GPS. They did manage to put the GPS ‘off’ about a quarter mile for most of the trip, though, which added a bit to the challenge of navigating through a couple of natural (irregular) reef channels.

Somebody evidently knew where we were, though. By the time I entered the maw of that weird dome I felt pretty certain that draconian were tracking us. Francisco and I didn’t discuss the UFOs we saw earlier until much later. We didn’t talk a lot on the boat, mainly because I don’t hear well enough over the engine noise. I never expect or even particularly want people to believe what I say about offworlders and our experiences, by the way, Psychics generally have an easier time considering stuff like this because they often see entities that are invisible to the rest of us. I’ve seen non-humans a few times and when it happens it seems entirely natural and normal so i tell about it that way. I’ve assumed for a long time that the infantile, luciferic ideologies (freemasonry, theosophy, rosicrucianism, gnosticism and all of the affiliated secret handshake rebellions) that the corporate order is founded on is enabled by offworlders, some of whom look like devils, after all, and feed on human degradation, hopelessness and misery, sort of like how the banksters feed on presumed, fake indebtedness. Carol’s always felt that the veils between the seen and the unseen are dissolving and that it’s just a matter of time before even the Pajama People will commonly see non-human offworlders. I agree with her because, after all, if I can see this stuff anyone else can, too. I think the approaching demise of the post World War Two USAF/CIA/Nazi UFO-denial thought control agenda will help us all put an end to the ancient rule of parasites. I’ve encountered friendly offworld non-humans so I’m looking forward to extending my own circle of friends and coworkers.

The wind picked up and came from directly ahead of us and a dark bank of clouds, covering the horizon, was in our path. The rough conditions soon woke Francisco and we were only about seventy miles from the Dry Tortugas so at least that felt encouraging. Even though we had to slow to a crawl on account of mounting head seas we could keep the boat planing, which is the most efficient way to spend fuel and we had enough gas to reach port. he temperature also dropped, though, and the wind was blowing the tops of waves into our faces and torsos. I don’t want to make you as tired as we felt by going into much detail but it took us about 12 hours to reach port and during the last half of that I had to zig zag into the wind like a sailboat to make very slow progress toward our destination on account of the increasing violence of the seas.

The Dry Tortugas are a little group of coral cays (keys) that are about fifty miles out beyond the long, shallow reef that borders the rest of the Florida Keys. The reef would ordinarily dampen prevailing winds but this wind was still coming from the direction we were traveling in. The then-new American government built a fortress on one of the Dry Torguga keys just after the War of 1812 as a garrison and naval port. President Lincoln turned Ft Jefferson into a labor camp for deserters after he had forbidden capital punishment for desertion early in the Civil War. There was a lot of desertion and draft dodging, then. Now it’s a National Park and museum. We camped there for the night and one of the park rangers kindly gave us six gallons of gas, which would enable us to reach Key West, 80 miles to the east and the nearest port where we could buy fuel.

The storm had abated quite a bit during the night and we aimed for Key West, making moderately good progress in rough conditions for a couple of hours, then noticed that a Coast Guard cutter, about five miles away, turned in our direction. There were several other boats in sight but I assumed that the Coast Guard were waiting for us to show up, as they also waited to arrest Carol, Jeff and I in 2006 after a particularly productive orgonite tossing excursion in the Bahamas. We ignored them as they followed us for the next half hour, about a quarter mile behind us but Francisco gave them a ‘thumbs up’ at one point, just in case they were just worried about our safety. The sea was pretty rough, after all, and we were in an open boat.

Another little Coast Guard gunboat with several commandos approached us from the other direction, though, and we were told to stop because we were about to be boarded. After asking if we had any guns on board and getting our negative response, they left and the cutter’s boat came alongside. They quickly handcuffed us and began questioning us.

We were in that condition for the next five and a half hours while the cutter’s captain evidently called every federal sewer rat agency to find out what ought to be done with us. At the end the officer on our boat simply said they had no reason to arrest us but they wanted us to follow them into port, anyway. This is also what happened in 2006 but in that case they detained Jeff and I through half the night. They let us go when his sister, a lawyer, showed up at the locked gate. We listened to the watch captain call every conceivable police and sewer rat agency to request that we be arrested. They all declined, evidently. Back to the present story: We had told them that we now probably didn’t have enough gas to reach port because we’d drifted many miles in the opposite direction during our molestation and the sea conditions had become worse than before. It was no fun to be treated like a felon but for the entire time that we were in handcuffs Francisco and I were relishing the opportunity to tell about it, here. At least we were visited by dolphins, saw magnificent Sylphs and the sea calmed down for several hours, only getting rough again toward the end of our incarceration, which means that if they hadn’t molested us we would have had a much more pleasant trip to Key West. These fellows wondered out loud why they were bothering us by the time we were released.

When a government overtly persecutes harmless white folks like us it’s a cause for celebration because the Old Parasite much prefers to oppress white people covertly; parasites always fear exposure and for some reason the Old Parasite is more afraid of whites than any other demographic of our species. It would make more sense to me if they were afraid of blacks, at least in America, because American blacks are much closer to being fed up with tyranny than whites are. These Coast Guard mopes, who occasionally do good work rescuing people at sea, are clueless, of course–not bad people but just willing puppets for the Old Parasite. I think their commanding officer was just too eager; a dog seeking a treat and she was probably told to molest us. I’m told by a reliable source that the military in Germany are finally wising up and refusing to participate in a present NATO threat against Russia. Why can’t military people in the alleged ‘land of the free’ also get some sense?

After an hour of following the cutter with a couple of mopes on board we were released and the captain was guilted into giving us five gallons of gas, which happened to be just enough to take us the rest of the way to Key West that night. We arrived quite late and didn’t feel inclined to hunt for a berth, so we tied up and slept at the fuel dock, directly across from where the same cutter was parked about a quarter mile away. In the morning I put five gallons in the tank, which was more than enough, even with a rough-running motor, to go 20 miles to the marina on Cudjoe Key, where we launched the boat. Before we had traveled a mile the motor ran worse and then quit. We managed to start it and got ready to put the spare motor down to get back to port but the boat suddenly ran fine and we fairly raced back to Cudjoe Key on the flat water between the reef and islands.

Having made a similar long trip in an open sailboat 20 years before, I had assumed that it would be much easier in the Zodiac but now I know that sailing is preferable. Flying would be even better but I’ll need to get my Joe Cell working in the aircraft that I’m now building in order to make an airplane trip to Central America worthwhile. I can’t be refueling often enough to risk arrest. I’ve also got floats for that plane and the route is familiar. I’d love to be the first guy in the world to have a free energy aircraft. At this point I don’t think I’d get murdered by the CIA for reporting my use of free energy i because it feels to me like their old, bloodstained free energy technology barrier is about to burst, finally, soon after which we can all say, ‘Bye Bye, Old Parasite.’