Not Everyone here is going to Last

I have always been interested in World War 2.  At least from the age of about 4 or 5, when my avid reading interest was the comic Warlord.  Actually, I wanted to read it before I could even read and vaguely remember flicking through my first ever copy from the paper shop in Delves Lane, wishing I could read it rather than derive the story from the cartoon pictures alone.  How’s about that for an incentive to real education?  Ah what a comic, with stories of Sir Peter Flint, the British spy who everyone assumed was a coward, yet was off winning the war on secret daring missions.  Yet, amongst it all, my favourite story was Kampfgruppe Falken, the unillustrious story of a German penal group, sent on endless suicide missions on the Russian front, each of it’s members sentenced for miscarriages of justice, such as protecting their own men from inept orders of arrogant officers and each knowing death could and would likely come at any moment in the most brutal conflict ever, the Eastern front of World War 2.  Perhaps I can also now mention that I once won a fingerprint kit, for letter of the week in around 1982?

Around the age of 9 or 10, I came into possession of an atlas from 1920, showing a Germany with much greater stretch Eastward than it has nowadays, and it always gave me intense curiosity to imagine why those residents of cities like Konigsberg, now Kaliningrad, or Danzig, now Gdansk, might choose to surrender their German identity and become Russian or Polish.  How naive younger me actually was.  I simply could not process millions of people being dispossessed of their historic inheritance and worse, their lives.  Partly forgiven though, since what sane human could actually imagine that?

Well, now, as a sane human, I can imagine it.  Just fast forward to 2021.  Somehow, we have convinced ourselves we now live in safer times and this could not be repeated.  Yet, COVID passports appear and we cannot equate the similarity to the yellow stars of 1930s Germany.  Meanwhile, all of the people who lived and fought through the last conflict have died off, leaving a vaccum as far as shared societal memories and the possibility of warnings may go.

As a child of about 10, I owned a book called Hitler’s Propaganda Machine.  It seemed a bit too esoteric then to a boy who wanted to read about battles to the death, such as Kursk – where Germany alone recorded more casualties than Britain suffered in the whole war and imagine the Panzers in life or death confrontation with T-34s and T-85s at places like Prokhorovka.  However, when I was about 14, this book suddenly began to intrigue me and I fell into a spell, one of wondering how exactly you can persuade a nation of around eighty million people to collectively wage war on their fellow humans.  Certainly, the posters were impressive and artful, but alone I doubt they would have succeeded.  The huge budget additionally spent on films, universities, newspapers and radio all passing on an appropriate and coordinated message, assailing all senses, is what did.

It’s actually little different to today.  No different at all.  Now I get it, you appeal to the most basic appeal of the subconscious mind, using every medium at the same time.  Take, for example, this UK slogan of 2020 :-

Stay at Home.  Save Lives.  Protect the NHS.

Thanks to an ex-work colleague, who now does coaching and NLP programming, the slogan can now be viewed how the subconscious mind sees it :-

Go Out.  Kill People.  Selfish Bastard.

As it stands, I see thousands of people sleepwalking into injection, death and war.  I can do nothing to save them.  Actually, it seems more appropriate to be worrying what happens to me and those I care about when they begin to get desperate.  In that respect, it again turns into an absolute facsimile of what happened in World War 2.  Just that, well, no-one ever thinks that they will ever have to suffer what the German people suffered during those final years, as Russia invaded from the East and America / Britain, invaded from the West.

Someone will though.

I’ll leave you with one of the best examples of predictive, hidden-in-plain-sight programming, I have ever seen.  Yet, at the time I completely missed it and only became aware of it in early 2021.  A Satanic ritual, with Masonic references to Solomon’s temple, performed in Is-Ra-El, to a baying audience, seemingly unaware that they were and will be, the sacrifices being offered.  It certainly makes a lot more sense now than it did in 2019, when it was unleashed upon an unsuspecting and naive public.



The New Normal

I took a train journey to work this morning.  They’re normally quite mundane occurences, aren’t they?  However, this morning a hilarious, yet unnerving, incident took place. As it neared my stop, I headed for the exit.  Three women were stood ready to deboard in front of me, but keeping well back from the door.  The train stopped, the button turned green came forward to press it. Eventually the one in front of me huffed loudly, pulled her sleeve over her hand, pressed it and stormed off angrily.

All three were regulars and I became clear in that moment of my important role in being the regular button presser who normally gets to the door first.  The one time my passage to the door is blocked, it doesn’t get opened.  I assume because touching a train door button exposes you to all kinds of Corona ailments.  Some might say I’m chivalrous, others of a more cynical bent, that even in equality-obsessed Denmark, women still want men to do the dirty jobs.

Evidently,  people can’t think critically.  Touching a door button for one second is potentially life-threatening, but I’d guess their subsequent day is going to involve many touching incidents with much greater exposure risk.  None of them are probably given much thought, if any.  Welcome to the New Normal.

To extrapolate the trend the further, people distrust each other and outsiders could soon find themselves on the outside of life.  We’ve already seen Australia promise a return to freedom, as long as you take the injection.  Doesn’t sound much like freedom, does it?  Right now, most people seem to take it on trust that you’ve had your injections, you are one of us.  At some point, it will become clear who is and who is not, one of us.  I’ll just have to get my yellow star ready for that moment.  Still, when I’ve been shipped off to the “isolation centre”, or whatever new name will be given for the infrastructure now being built across the world, who will be willing to be open that train door?  I wonder what happened to him?  People may think, just for one brief moment, the way commuters often do of familiar passengers who suddenly fail to reappear into your daily routine.  Then comes the mental justification – he’s in a better place now, he wasn’t one of us.  From the moment I first saw him maskless, sitting  there drinking his tea, during the height of this major crisis I knew he was trouble.  We weren’t safe with people like him amongst us.

Yes, Us and We, the two most dangerous words in the English language.  You can use them to justify anything, whether it’s getting others to do things for you in work or democracy settings, or eliminating those who don’t conform to your ideals.  Most likely the ideals of someone you’ve never met that you’ve been gently programmed to believe are your ideals too.  Such is the world we live in now.

Sunshine Then Darkness

I haven’t written anything here for nearly three months now, but I had a dream last night that pulled several threads together.  It’s worth recounting here.

Set in some city, I’d wandered out from work for lunch.  The first thing that struck me was the clear blue skies and sunshine, as compared to the fake artificial LED light in the office that had immunised me from reality.  I wandered down the carless, pedestrianised street, skyscrapers on both sides and approached a tunnel.  Just before entering the tunnel, I looked up and saw 2 blocks of man-made clouds that turned into Egyptian hieroglyphics.  I was unable to interpret them, of course – I’m not Jean Francoise Champollion, who translated the Rosetta Stone in 1824.  Another man passed by and looked up, he seemed to understand them, but when I asked what it meant, he denied it was anything other than clouds and walked off, muttering something about tin foil hat conspiracy theorists.  I then realised it was the dislikeably untrustworthy Andrew Cuomo, governor of New York, who interestingly announced 33 new cases of Covid-19 back in March 2020.  Freemasonic links confirmed then.

As I walked through the tunnel, I became aware of darkness at the other end, despite it being midday and a moment ago, beautiful sunshine.  when I emerged, it was the darkness of night and the people were different – aggressive and to be avoided.  My unease was compounded a thousand-fold, when I looked up at the sky and observed two sources of light – one, a full moon and the other, a holographic, semi-transparent, disc-shaped spaceship, with a ring of Tyrian purple circling it’s widest point.  If the dream continued, I am unaware, but I didn’t like this environment.

Let the sun shine.  It is shining today and on my walk through the forest and fjord yesterday, I observed an abundance of rosehips, so I’m off out to go lie in it and absorb some rays then do some free picking of nature’s bounty.  At this point, I have no idea what I’ll make, but I’m beginning to realise I probably have to start preparing for a life without supermarket access.

And So It Is

And so it is, from 14/06/21, Denmark is removing the masks requirement across the whole country on everything.  Corona is fixed, the world can return back to normal.  Isn’t it wonderful?  We all got together like our WW1 heroes, Kitchener pointing at us “Your country needs you” and we answered that call, goddamit, we put down our takeaway Pizzas from where they were precariously balanced on our stomachs, downloaded our Coronapasses onto our phones and paused Netflix.  Then, oh yes, we answered that call, even if it meant leaving the sofa for a few hours and joining a queue to get some vague substance into us that someone once said, probably via TV, radio and newspaper, would make it all go away.*

If anything, this just clarifies phase 2.  So many stories lately planted already drilled it into your head that the unvaccinated are to blame.  Underlined for added emphasis, but the media, directed by the Tavistock Institute and whoever else, are cleverer in not even needing direct formatting of that nature to hammer it home.  Let me indulge myself with a prediction as to how it would go, that’s been in my head for a few months.

  1. To convince the public their efforts were not in vain, they needed to be shown they were winning.
  2. We give them that win, with a belief the virus has gone and they, publikum, made that happen through their mask wearing efforts and their joining of queues for PCR tests (please investigate Kacey Mullin) and then ultimately the jab.
  3. And then, we gradually announce some unexpected news.  Perhaps Grandma dies, feel that sadness and also, please forget that she got a few injections a little while ago that maybe had something to do with it.  Not hard to forget, most humans are like goldfish, you reach the far end of the bowl and what you saw at the beginning has long last apparent relevance.
  4. And then, we point over at those nasty people who never downloaded the Coronapas, along with those nasty terrible people who thought they were above being injected.  At this point, we should hesitate in our usage of the word vaccination, considering this injection is a genetic modifier, not a carrier of cowpox.  What is vacci, but Italian for cow, after all?
  5. And then, we let you get on with whatever self-justified action you feel is necessary to resolve whatever problem you emotionally feel you have.  Oh OK, we might say different via the media, but excuse us if the police are unavoidably detained en route.  Diana knows all about that one, doesn’t she?

I’ll leave it to Damien to clarify just exactly how it is, so it is.

  • Yes, it will make it go away, just not how you imagined it would.

You Can Take a Horse to Water

…but you can’t make it drink.

So it has been proven during the fifty years of my life so far.   Someone once mentioned to me that money is energy, which is a great way to look at it, since to me it’s always made sense to try and store as much of that surplus energy as possible to be utilised in the future as needed, instead of expending it on inferior experiences in the here and now.

I learnt the hard way that not everyone feels the same way.

Over the years, I didn’t just make investments for myself, but I even shared my excess energy to people I thought were important to me, but who in the long-term clearly didn’t feel the same way.  Some of that excess energy remains even to this day.  Perhaps its latency will be released on some useful and deserving project in the future.

Jim Rogers, the famous US investor, now based in Singapore, has a quote he often uses – that he only invests when he “sees the money on the table”.  in retrospect, I can’t help but feel that some years ago, someone saw the money on the table when they saw me.  Perhaps that’s a bit unkind, since I doubt they were even conscious of it, but it seems to be the way the world works.  A world of energy flowing from one entity to another, for seemingly random and unlikely reasons sometimes, but mostly going to where it’s intended to go.  Jim, for the record is an amazing investor but when you look into his past wives, his ability to identify undervalued assets with huge potential may not extend into every sphere of his life.

Knowing that the stored energy I invested was cashed in in 2018 for frivolities like foreign holidays in exotic destinations and consumer goods was a bit disappointing.  It’s a shame people didn’t have the fidelity to at least spend it on what it was originally intended for.  Perhaps the last laugh comes in knowing some of those assets have nigh-on doubled since then?   I bet the pension payment I made on their behalf back in 2016 is still sitting there gathering 0% interest.  Oh well horse, here’s the water, even if you’re not thirsty.

Do I sound down?  I’m not, I shall leave the Rolling Stones to express how I feel about it all, looking back.  For better or worse, we sometimes get what we need, not what we want.

There is an alternative end to the quote….but a pencil must be lead.

Fifty Years in the Making

It’s been over a week now since I turned fifty and a long, long while since I added anything here.  However, now feels like the time to rollover my personal private reviews into something public.

I knew 1971 was an important year and in recent years I’d begun to realise the effects it had on the unborn, the new born and the older me.  Let’s look at some at the major ones to put it into perspective of the era and the ripples that have persisted or turned into latent tsunamis as of 2021 :-

World Economic Forum – founded January, 1971

Decimalisation in the UK – February, 1971

Closure of the Gold window and introduction of the Petrodollar monetary system – August, 1971

Now it becomes clearer why I am so influenced by things that have led me to writing Gold, Silver and Freedom : The Greatest Theft Never Known.  My Mother tells me how the family would discuss at the time the collective robbery from the British people of pricing things at one pence before and after decimalisation, even though there were now only one hundred of them in a pound instead of the 240 there had been before.  I guess I absorbed some of it, along with the stresses of 1970s stagflation – officially a period when prices rise despite the economy struggling, joining the Eu in 1973 and lurching into a near-GDP par with Albania by 1978.  From my side, a young me certainly remembers how my favourite comic, Warlord, leapfrogged through 6p, 7p and 8p per issue in record time and how Tudor crisps drove effortlessly through the 7p and 8p barriers on their way to the memorable 10p high, when us kids lamented their unaffordability.

That young me also experienced Gresham’s Law for the first time, the general theory that bad money forces out good.  Learning that pre-1947 shillings, representing the new 5 pence coin, actually contained some silver, I spent the time scanning my change for any of these desirable coins, knowing their metal content exceeded the 5 pence nominal value place upon them.  Ah, had I only taken the same view with Gold Sovereigns in 1999.  No matter, the younger me was very influenced by monetary systems and history, without even necessarily realising it.

Now to the gist – something else happened that I only became only of yesterday during a music quiz with the family.  Ignoring that the brilliant Our Song was released that year, it seems Imagine, by John Lennon was too.  Those lyrics may have seemed positive, promising and downright fluffy back in 1971, but by 2021 they take on a more fearsome and negative tone.  Imagine no possessions?  Hold on a sec, I am sure I heard that somewhere else recently via the World Economic Forum as Welcome to 2030 : You will own nothing and you will be Happy.  Then, Imagine no Religion?   Fast forward to 2021 and yes, I can scarily enough, especially if someone found a way to remove the human soul and spirit.  That could never happen though, could it?

It’s about now that I realise the best Beatle was the incredibly underrated George Harrison.  The other two, the main ones we’re expected to remember and who are constantly rammed in our faces are the fakes, clever musicians, but whose souls may well have been bought.  Instead, I’ll go listen to this, also from 1971, the year of my birth, then another of my absolute personal favourites.  Which it actually turns out are from the very same album that is not even available any longer via the narrow CD-selling channels.

Gold, Silver and Freedom

Many years ago, I started investigating the world of finance for myself after following the official advice regularly regurgitated in mainstream media about how to save for your future. The very advice that saw many people’s savings decimated in market crashes that occurred in 2000, 2001 and 2008. My first book, How to Invest in Gold and Silver from 2006-07, was actually only intended for private consumption, but when the UK bank Northern Rock ran into difficulties in early 2008 I recognised the malaise as similar to other events in history and decided to release it publicly.

The reading and research continued. In 2019 and 2020, many signs began to appear that all is not well with the world, culminating in the Corona crisis and crash of 2020.

In August, I switched off all media influences and wrote my new 2020 book Gold, Silver and Freedom – The Greatest Theft Never Known. It brings together many of the jigsaw pieces, with some terrifying conclusions for the future we may all have to face, along with insights on possible solutions.

War and Propaganda

2020 has become the year of the pointless platitude. From #SaveTheNHS, to such illuminating slogans as “Eat Out to Help Out”, the government has been incredibly busy. As has media, in a more subtle way, working on everyone to establish a consensus solution to Covid-19. You are doubtless fully aware of some of the slogans being used out there, while being blissfully unaware of others that are being drilled into your subconscious.

For we are at war, or hadn’t you noticed? Everything about it screams so – the curfews, the rationing and the closing of non-essential businesses. Only that, well, the enemy isn’t aliens, terrorists or massed hordes of Huns, but instead a virus. A virus so awful it requires government to introduce new laws like knocking your Corona-infested house down and being able to intern you indefinitely under the Mental Health Act with the say-so of one doctor and a compliant nurse. Nurses are usually compliant when it comes to doctors, or so I am told.

So yes, step forward the pointless platitude. In 1914 and 1940, it was ones like “Keep Mum, She’s not so dumb”, “Dig for Victory” and “Your Country needs you”. I can’t help but feel the quality has declined somewhat, that going out and eating to excess is somehow considered good for the country, or that it is somehow equivalent to growing your own vegetables or joining the Home Guard, but there you go. While at the same time I would guess the costs have risen dramatically for the teams of advertising execs hammering this stuff out in the background. Actually, worth pointing out I’ve done my bit for Queen and Country during this war. Oh Yes. I went to the pub and, instead of just having a main, somehow managed to pack in three courses and a couple of English Ales. Why not indeed, when the whole meal was 50% off? Maybe I can tell my grandchildren about it some day.

I’m so full of pride for how we’re all digging in together to fight this evil enemy that I’ve done my bit by creating a calendar to help remind us what an awful wartime situation we’re all in.

COVID-19 2021 Propaganda Calendar

That certainly is something to tell the grandkids about. Think of it as an Old Moores Almanac of Corona. The whole thing is so predictable and doubtful, that it should be mocked. Hey, it may even be right about one or two of the months. No, if I do ever get to speak to my grandchildren, I’ll be telling them I went to work as normal, conducted a personal #SayNoToWorkAtHome campaign and avoided wearing a mask wherever I could. This year is that start of something much, much bigger. The end of the theft of our money and a ramping up in the theft of our freedom. More on that in a subsequent post, but fair to say I have been quite busy last couple of months and this calendar was only part of that.

Meanwhile, as we all know;

Life won’t get back to normal until we get a vaccine

I’ve heard this one Ad Infinitum since about June / July. How did that phrase get into your head? Yep, media has definitely been busy. Reminds me of another slogan, this time from a 70’s kids TV show.

“Why don’t you go switch off your TV and do something less boring instead?”

Hmm, the BBC drilled that one into my head 40 years ago and I still remember it. These slogans are very, very effective after all.

A Letter to My Country

Dear Great Britain,

Notice how despite everything, including the obvious signs of wear and tear, I still refer to you as “Great” rather than as a “United Kingdom”, but somehow united felt like even more of an untruth.   Anyway, the universe asked me to write to you, so here I am.

I love you and I hate you, both in equal measure.  Our relationship goes back so many years, you were there when I was born, there when I spoke my first word, there when I started school and there when I left it.  There when I graduated from university and there when I got my first job.   By that time, I was really liking you, I thought we had something special.  I invested in a nice house for us to share and further grew the relationship by registering my own company within your shores, ah such happy times for us both!

Then it went wrong.  See, I started to realise you weren’t as into me as I thought.  I lost my job in 2002 and you didn’t seem to particularly care.  You didn’t even want to know my children – calls to your offices said they would have to settle for foreign citizenship.  I felt unloved.  It all went wrong and in 2004-05 I left you, vowing never to return.

Like many a relationship however, I couldn’t stop thinking about you and the good times we’d had together.  It’s funny how time clouds the bad memories and highlights the good ones, isn’t it?  I still visited regularly, trying to keep the veins of our relationship open, just in case there was any chance we could ever reunite.  I even spent time digging deep into the distant past to see how far our relationship went.  As far as I could go, back into the 1820s, it was pure and if anything convinced me we’d always been meant for each other.  See, the other thing about you was that you shared more similar views on freedom, business and personal responsibility than others I’d met, like Denmark.   I could even try to overlook the way you’d cruelly treated my ancestors, letting them die at young ages in hard work that we can only imagine now, or forced them into relative poverty.  You were probably just immature and ignorant then, weren’t you?

In 2016, you asked me for your opinion on whether you should stay in your current relationship.  I jumped at the chance to give my opinion, just like many others.  Surely, I thought, you’ll regain your freedom and appreciate me in a way you’d never appreciated me before.  We might even move back in together?  My current relationship wasn’t too happy about this, but I’d accepted we were probably failing and pushed on regardless, clearly giving you my opinion and reiterating it many, many times to the point of boredom on those forced to listen.   Like the others you asked, we feel frustrated, angry and disappointed that you then ignored us and hoped we might not notice when you pretended to leave that relationship, but instead signed an eternally-cementing bond, dressed up as divorce.

Well, around that time I was having my own big life changes too and I began to believe there was a chance it could all work out for us.  I made my plans accordingly, setting up to DKexit, the same time you were Brexiting, knowing we would meet again some day.  What a mistake that has turned out to be.

Even after everything, I still visited you earlier this month.  If anything, it felt like that moment you see your first love a long time after a break up, and the sinking feeling in your stomach you feel as you realise she’s now covered in tattoos, has body piercings and smokes.  Where did it all go wrong?  I knew it was over.

Or thought it was.  There were still gaps in that family history that I needed to look up.  Walking around Whitehaven on a sunny afternoon, finding the sites where my ancestors had lived, got married and possibly died.  Well, that reawakened my love for you.  I could see past the tattoos, piercings and cigarette smoke, just for a moment.  Nowhere else in the world do I feel so reunited with the things that are so important – my family and my history.  You bitch.

I will say this though.  If we do re-enter a relationship, it’ll be more on my terms than it ever was before.

Send in the Clones

I alluded previously in passing to the Hollywood film Ex-Machina.  In case you missed it, the premise of the film is that a quirky I.T. billionaire has created a robotic human.  Visibly, it passes as a human but what he really needs to do is see if it passes a variety of tests from another human to be confirmed as a sentient being.

Subtle hints are there throughout about how illogical humans can be and whether it’s socially ethical to create a robotic human and mistreat it or use it sexually.  The subtext tells you exactly what to think.  The billionaire himself, clearly based on something Google-related, has cut corners and shown he has no ethics himself in exploiting customer data way beyond legality.  The tester, a social failure to some extent, believing that coming to the billionaire’s house gives him social status he has never had before.  Ah, us humans, how imperfect, with feeble emotions and needing to be replaced by something 100% logical are we?!?   Of course, the film proceeds exactly as you may expect, given the agenda.  The human tester, who doesn’t even realise he is part of the experiment, falls in love with the Robotic Scandic, Alicia Vikander.  I won’t spoil the ending, but needless to say everyone gets what they deserve.  Or what you are led along the path to think they deserve.

It’s a thought-provoking film, but what struck me soon afterwards is what was missing from the film.  The Tester is never allowed close to the robot.  All tests are conducted with a glass screen between them.  It’s quite a subtle but important omission, when you think about it.  Psychologically, most of what helps us decide if we like or dislike someone, can trust them or not, is non-verbal.  I read once that humans will sniff their hand within one minute of shaking hands with someone.  I can well believe it, what is gut feeling, if not actually based on exactly what it means.  While we don’t go sniffing around bottoms the way dogs do, we’re still mammals, still looking for and responding sub-conciously to the same cues.

What else is noticeably missing is facial expressions.  It took me longer to realise that.  The robot may indeed be defined as attractive, but is a woman who never smiles truly beautiful?  I doubt it.  Again, these non-verbal cues may be sub-concious, but it doesn’t mean they’re not an essential part of being human.  Not even smiles, but what about those other universal micro-expressions?  All of them related to emotions, negative and positive, but an essential part of human life and communication.

Start shutting these down and a large part of being human disappears.  That would never happen of course, though…would it?  Oh wait, it already has and is happening – think social distancing, handwash and wearing a mask.  Stick perspex screens up in the tills at shops, then one day, just replace the person serving you with a clone and as long as they can carry the interaction out in the correct sequence, how likely are you to even notice?  Then, eliminate the shaking of hands and insist that humans stay 1-2m apart.  That should stop you being able to pick up scents, or the existence of an aura.  Then, that just leaves the pesky problem of verbal and non-verbal communication between people, even children standing in soul-destroying distancing circles at school.  Stick a mask on them, now see how well they can read faces for what’s really being said as opposed to just the words themselves.

It was all so, so simple.  Millions of years of evolution suppressed, perhaps even destroyed long-term and people went along with it, cried for it even, to fight a virus with the same casualty rate as the flu.  Or so they were told.

Now, look around you now.  Examine those people closely.  Are you sure they’re all really still human?