Carol got a little roadster last month–an affordable (barely) two seater convertible that’s fun to drive, looks cool and uses a lot less gas than our Jeep. I encouraged her to reward herself with it when she saw it on a used car lot in Stuart, Florida, north of us. We had saved up some money, so the monthly payments won’t stop her fun.
I’m making a Succor PUnch for that car, today, and we’ll keep it running, plugged into the cigarette lighter. We keep two more running: one in the Jeep and one in the house. When we go out in the boat we have one running in the little cloudbuster; I might call that CB a storm buster, rather.
Ever since I turned D Bradley’s SP on in Van Nuys, California, that day in May, 02 (when we were literally surrounded by feds everywherwe we went until the moment we turned the thing on in his car) I’ve remained astonished by how well a SP blocks electronic and apparently even satellite and video surveillance.
Carol and I had been taking the SP from the Jeep when we went out of town in the little car and it was pretty stupid of us not to do it a few days ago when we visited the nuke plant on Hutchinson Island to check on the progress of the water gifting Jeff and I did offshore, there, in March. That nuke’s been an incredibly hard target and we’d all seen dark, swirly thoughtforms in its vicinity until our last gifting sortie there in March.
At that time, Jeff and I laid out a large number of TBs along the shore for many miles and especially along the length of the ‘diffuser’ which excretes brown, muddy water in a straight line for two miles directly out from the nuke, which is not far from the beach on that narrow, long island. The weird part is that the cooling ponds from which the water is apparently taken are fairly clean by now, thanks to a lot of orgonite tossed into them. We gifted the water along the entire length of that island on the seaward and inland side in January and we threw a lot of TBs in along the channel that led to the little blocked harbor close to the nuke on the inland side.
When Carol and I approached the nuke from teh south, a few days ago, we began feeling pretty sick and the walk to the beach, just north and ‘upsteam’ from the nuke plant, was excruciating. It felt the same as when we hauled Gert Botha’s little cloudbuster up to the vortex on that big mountain in the middle of the Namib Desert in DEcember, 01.
We took a good look at the water, just downstream from the diffuser, whose marker buoy was nearby, and saw that it had cleared dramatically. By now, that water looks like the water did at the beach near us where we first started tossing orgonite out for the dolphins. That beachwater near us now looks as clear and vibrant aqua as a pristine tropical island’s lagoon. lLast fall, when we started gifting, it was sort of gray and murky due to the beach sand, there, having been dredged from offshore. Lots of tourist beaches are made of dredged sand, by the way.
We both knew we were under scalar attack by the feds this time. When aliens throw energy at you it feels about the same, or worse, but they’ve got slicker weapons, I think.
When a psychic is under assault this way he/she can only maintain–it tends to reduce psi ability by distracting them with pain and discomfort, so it takes an extraordinary effort for them to get out and look around under the circumstances. That night, during the ‘MASH’ chat session, Dr STevo conducted a remote healing on her and we helped. Before, the sewer rats were hitting her in the heart chakra with psi and scalar assaults and lately their psychics have had to do more preparatory work becuase the scalar attacks were becoming less effective. They hit her in the first and sixth chakras during the last couple of attacks. I think it’s pretty easy for these traitors/murderers to kill most patriots, this way, but the orgone capacitance factor of gifting has made us all very, very hard targets for them and I doubt they’ve come to terms with this, yet. If we don’t ruin their agenda from the top down, who will?
It was some distance from the nuke, coming home, that Carol spotted a black pickup truck a discreet distance behind us on the highway, keeping up with us but keeping a few cars between us. We blasted the snot out of the two occupants and started feeling better, right away. By the time we got home the truck was gone and we felt just fine; only had slight, residual headaches. In that case, it seems clear that the scalar weapon was trained on the car, using GPS tracking devices, probably in teh dashboard. We’ve all got plenty of these in our cars, homes, workplaces and perhaps elsewhere around us and I don’t know of anything besides a Succor Punch that can block their signals without our conscious involvement. It goes without saying that if we had to put a lot of thought and effort into blocking surveillance we wouldn’t get much of that done, so the SP really gives us an edge and forces the sewer rats, who are omnipresent if you’re a threat to the world odor, out into the open.
Today, when Carol goes to STarbucks to finish her dolphin report, she’ll be taking along a new Succor Punch. She found out, as I did when writing my book, that she needs to be away from distractions in order to focus on writing. She likes their frappucinos a lot, too, and Starbucks has a nice ambience.
One of those is under construction just down the road but she’s been going to one in NorthPalm Beach, about three miles south of us. The parking lot of that strip mall has a lot of Bentleys, Lamborghinis and other exotic cars in it–a cultural antrhopologist’s delight. Usually, upscale Florida parking lots just have a lot of Cadillacs, Mercedes and Beemers in them.
Yesterday, we stopped there on our errands and a very obnoxious man was in there–center of attention. He was a curious study–about my age (late fifties) short reddish hair, cheap watch, stocky, a loud raspy voice, indeterminate style of dress, and he said, smiling, to the fellow filling his order, ‘YOu better get that right, or I’ll have to break your keecaps.’
I assumed he was just trying to be sociable but as we were walking out, Carol said,‘You know what he is, right?’ I said,‘No,’ and she said, ‘Mafia hit man and he meant what he said–he was picking up a drink for his boss and he’s required to taste it first, in case it’s poisoned.’ Just then we passed another middle aged guy, sitting on a stone bench in the portico; swarthy, white shirt, dark tie, dark pants, dark glasses, sitting very still, looking straight ahead and talking quietly on a cellphone. She said, as we passed him,‘That’s the guy’s boss.’ We run into a lot of mafia people down here. They’re kind of like feds, but without the ‘above the law’ attitude. They don’t feel threatening, the way the feds to, and they only harm other criminals, mostly. The Homeland Security Abominations, many of whom are apparently Russians, harm everyone BUT criminals
Later, we were getting a license plate for the little car in the county government building, south of there, and we had fun carrying all our metal throughthe metal detector without setting it off, thanks to the Harmonic Protectors. I had to go back to the Jeep to get the insurance card and as I was coming back through the metal detector one of the guards, an older guy with a gray crewcut, stared at my torso as I went through and creeped me out a little bit. On the way out, I asked Carol to get in his head and she said,‘He’s KGB, also draconian–didn’t you notice his head and his accent?’ I didn’t, in fact, but apparently he had the characteristic bone ridges on top of his head.
I need to pick up my cues better. Florida’s a lot of fun, especially if you hang out with a good psychic.
~Don
