The Big Bass Drums of War are Booming


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The Big Bass Drums of War are Booming

Dog Poet Transmitting…….

May your noses always be cold and wet.

Double, double, toil and trouble, Petri Dish boil and Petri Dish bubble. Let’s see, massive global economic failure, more so here, less so there, counterpointed with continuing revelations of massive financial malfeasance by the major players, check. ZATO, Zionist Atlantic Terror Organization, is in Chicago and so is Larry Silverstein’s orc cousin. Rahm Anti-Emmanuel is in situ at the big board, check. The big bass drums of war are booming as the false flag is looming, check. MeK operatives are in place, while the man in blue is in your face, check. Yes, something is up. All the highly placed Zio Ogres are talking about Iran’s last chance to stop doing what they’re not doing, or face the wrath of those who are doing what they say they’re not doing… check… check… check… same sex mate! (post dated, insensitive bon mot announcement in the retroactive).

Once again the image of the horny goats, which piss all over themselves, prior to coitus, raises its hoary head. It’s not sex that has the cannibals all in a fever. It’s the smell of blood. They want it so bad that they literally can taste it; these prehistoric sharks in the water, these bipedal piranha. Tearing, rending and burning, yes precious, that’s what they likes.

Visions of metaphorical sugar plums dance in my head. I have a dream! I’m dreaming of a secret weapon that leaves a sea of fused glass right where it ought to be. I must apologize for that brief interlude of a red hazed insanity. The world has gone mad and there are none of us untouched. I dream of the Earth swallowing them. I dream of the plug being pulled on their powers and deceptions. I dream of them running into the desert and crying out for the stones beneath their feet to cover them; for the mountains to fall on them. I dream of a face of wrath, confronting them no matter which way they turn. I dream of surgical precision that finds its way into every boardroom and bank, every institution, where prostitution is the commerce of the day. I dream of them being marched up the thirteen steps, dressed in fishnet stockings and plastic miniskirts. I dream of a man with a scythe, whose features are concealed beneath a hood, who pulls from his voluminous sleeves, a parchment upon which a litany of their crimes are inscribed. I dream of the words taking voice from an invisible source and thundering in the air with steroidal THX. I dream of wild eyed beings on snorting horses, galloping out of rents in the fabric of this twisted reality. I see the gleams dancing on their metal breastplates. I hear them crying out in an unknown tongue. I see the Earth opening and the faces of thousands upon thousands of animated dead, crying out for their company, like the final scene in Ghost.

I can smell the foul Eau De Crypt wafting from their reeking forms. I can sense their malevolence for all living things. Nanotech maggots from the realm of Cthulhu, climb in and out of their empty eye sockets, along with dung beetles and carrion lizards. They know their end approaches, but from where? Half of them denies this inescapable truth and half of them knows that something has gone horribly wrong and it’s not just them. Their apologists wring their hands, “masters, what can we do? We sold out our nations and gave you our children as blood sacrifices and you are not pleased. What is the matter? Please, take my wife”.

All the signs indicate some kind of mayhem is on the near horizon and that means in the next few weeks and days. I suppose this all deserves a kind of ‘bent out of shape’ admiration. They just keep on keeping on, killing stealing and raping household pets. If there is something nasty and infernal that they can get up to, they are already working on it. There’s something sexual about it all. It’s that kind of sexual excitement, where the passion is ratcheted up so high that something unintended is guaranteed to happen. It could be something like that premature ejaculation thing that makes serial killers a little angrier than they already are. Well, these are serial killers. It could be something like an intensity toward congress, with nothing but impotence below. It could be just one of those things where it isn’t going to work, unless metal skewers and painful restraints are employed. Given that perversion is their normal, it’s all too likely. I can see them masturbating over the images of burned and smoking forms of Palestinian children and well, any children they have the means and opportunity for, the motive is longstanding already.

Does some of this seem a little over the top, or a lot over the top? It isn’t. In fact, it is worse than what is being said here. Anyone with the impetus to do a little research, can come up with crime after crime, some of them on a ginormous scale. The body of evidence covers more square acreage that the AIDS quilt. Only a very few people are saying anything about it because… those in a position to reach a wider audience, do not have the necessary confirmation that someone has their back AND they wouldn’t be saying it very long in certain locales, which was the point of taking control of the media in the first place. The acquisition of so many critical things has been accomplished because there really is a conspiracy. You can see it playing out in real time AND because they control the currency printing presses. Amstel Rothschilds quote says it all. But you can’t say these things and shouldn’t even call attention to them because it’s anti something or other, even though they admit these things themselves.

Uh oh… here comes the shadow Masons and Illuminati that are pulling all of the strings of the hapless pawns. Wait a minute… who founded the Illuminati? I give up. None of it is in my hands anyway. I’m just an observer passing through. Got no plans on coming back here, especially given the time frame. They are marching to perdition (cue, “Marching to Pretoria” or “Marching to Zion” as you prefer). We be marching somewhere nowhere fast. They are leading themselves into the desert, after having created a desert. They’ll be getting vinegar from rocks and manna from scorpions.

The race is on. Will they plunge the whole world into a global conflict or will they be stopped by someone or something? Will those in a position to turn upon them do so? What is going on and who is doing it is not in doubt. It is no more in doubt than who was behind the Afghanistan and Iraq incursions or who did 9/11 which set them up in the first place. I can hear the sighs from the Kumbaya crowd. “Please, can’t we talk about something else”? Talking about something else is like wishing to be somewhere else, while somewhere else is being wiped out by the ones we are talking about.

It must be nice and convenient for the new age crowd and their solid awareness of advaita. You can walk around in your fantasy landscapes, unified with everything and money in the bank. No one on that circuit talks about these things because then they won’t let them on the circuit. No one talks about these things on stage, because they won’t let you onstage except, sometimes, some people do. The thing about awakening, is that it forces certain considerations before your eyes. It is the purpose of the awakening to begin with, to bring your attention to certain things. This is another reason for that race against time. Meanwhile their financial voodoo has got Baron Samedi tripping around behind the walls and the dropped ceilings and making things hot for the ones who brought it all about.

What’s going on behind the scenes is way more dramatic than what is happening in front of you. There’s a force loose in the moment that is pulling levers and pushing buttons that vested interests don’t want pulled or pushed. There’s a joker in the deck and the joker works for the big dealer who owns the house that we play cards in. Everything is arranged for the purpose of demonstration and an unfortunate demonstration it is, in various locations, where the demonstration is committed to ‘go down’ a particular way.

About now, the finger pointing is going to start in earnest. Sewer rats are scrambling all over the place trying to squeeze just a little more out of the system before they hightail it out of town. They’re in the position of a monkey, with his hand in the vase, holding on to the avocado or mango that he wants and can’t let loose of. In The Apocalypse, there is a point where things begin to speed up and the curve of descent becomes much sharper. There is where we are. Things can be held together with chewing gum and duct tape for only so long. Sooner or later the whole stinking mess comes apart. Unnoticed by many, a new world is emerging for the purpose of continuance, in those case where continuing is in the cards.

If there were an Ides of May, we would be entering them now. The next three weeks should see the world transformed in all kinds of ways. “I’m no prophet and here’s no great matter”. Still, I must say that the multiplicity of signs are pretty intense. That little Kadima maneuver certainly smacks of a sooner rather than later time table. Of course, the longer you wait, the better defensed are the people you are intending to destroy for no legitimate reason. Then again, I am certain that there are things the aggressors don’t know. Oh, there are a whole lot of things they don’t know and then there’s all that scurrying around in haste, as if so many things had to get done real soon; something to think about when you’re alone in your room.


4 Reacties op “The Big Bass Drums of War are Booming

  1. Step Vaessen, oud NOS Journaal journalist blijkt al jarenlang te werken voor een aantal geheime diensten (CIA, ASIS). Haar man kwam er achter dat Step haar zoon gebruikte om wapens door te laten in Indonesie en was daar mordicus op tegen. Volgens Wayne Madsen is haar man Andre Bentlage door de CIA gezelfmoord..:

    Al Jazeera has a long history of inserting it’s spies into Indonesia at the behest of the Bush and Obama criminal administrations, and Vaessen has been their point spy for many years. She has collected intelligence for the Dutch and Australian intelligence agencies for even longer.

    Vaessen, under the cover as an Al Jazeera “journalist” facilitated ASIS in the importation and distribution of automatic weapons to both sides during the conflict.

    Using her son as cover and a human shield, Vaessen shamelessly places her child in harm’s way to comoflage her nefarious spy activities and any “mother” that would do this to their child is the personification of evil, a demon in the Satanic services of her CIA masters. Stories have also circulated here that when her husband André Bentlage learned the exact extent and nature of her spying activities in Indonesia and threatened to expose her he was murdered by the CIA and a story concocted to portray him as a manic depressive that committed suicide, a standard CIA cover tactic for assassinations of individuals that must be silenced.

    Vaessen’s most recent attempt at destabilizing the Indonesian government will be released in yet another Al Jazeera hit piece on the Indonesian palm oil industry, proclaiming it a threat to the environment and a major contributor to the bogus “global warming” scam designed to prevent emerging ASEAN economies from advancing and prospering.


  2. Al Jazeera (eigenaar de emir van Qatar) berichtte bij het begin van de oorlog tegen Lybie de groffe leugen die door Westerse kranten gretig werd overgenomen dat Khadaffi containers met viagra vervoerde voor zijn leger om vrouwen en kinderen te verkrachten. Dit leidde tot de no fly zone in Lybie die het begin van het einde van Khadaffi’s regiem inluidde.


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