T – 3 . . . or is it T -2? I guess it depends on how you count. The rocket (but whose rocket?) is about to lift off, or burn up on launch.
Kamala Harris resigned her senate seat today.. I guess she does expect to be sworn in on Wednesday. And wow! I guess Biden and Co. did dare to enter the locked in Capital grounds for a rehearsal today, but: A fire broke out, forcing evacuation . . . But then it turns out the fire was quickly extinguished. So I imagine the “rehearsal” went ahead as planned, with Tom Hanks as MC (what? he’s supposed to be dead already, executed for pedophilia!) and Lady Gaga, another controlled “celebrity” (dead too?) to sing the national anthem. Oh yeah, I forgot, there are doubles and clones walking around, adding to the general mayhem. Who is a clone? Who is a double? Is the fumbling sleepy pedo Joe Biden we see a used up clone or a boring double?
As I write this I note the state of my own mind. And frankly, it’s over the top exhausted. Not brain fog, exactly, but rather, shall I call it brain lockddown? All sorts of videos, many of which I listen to during my insomniac period in the middle of the night, all mush together in my brain. What I remember without taking notes are just bits and pieces of flotsam floating in the void.
Let’s see now, where and when did I see the announcement that because of some Scotus decision just prior to when the November 3 election drama began, Trump can now invoke . . . let’s see what was it now? Geez . . . it’s gone! Something about how fraud vitiates everything. That if the election (still in the future, then) turned out to be fraudulent, it would be declared null and void. Something like that. . . Oh, yeah, I remember posting that phrase before . . . hmmm. . . where? . . . I root around the dutiful daily posts I’ve done during this prolonged, seemingly endless Grand Finale — to what? to the Deep State? To the Republic? To Donald Trump? To the U.S. Corporation that vitiated the Constitutional Republic in, when was it, 1871?
I found the post. Here’s what I said back on November 12th.
Geez! So long ago, and a daily update ever since early November, trying to make sense, good sense, clear sense, of my own preferred narrative, which gets more and more complex, buttressed? cluttered? with both more and more (fading) background material as well as new “evidence” I look for on, mostly, still! twitter. Because of course, Twitter did that disgusting purge. And so I and thousands of others moved to Parler. Which went down within days. (And yesterday said it would be back up again soon!) I still haven’t managed to figure out how to sign up for either Gab or what is it, “Telegraph”? No. Telegram. That’s it.
So I stick with my Twitter news feed, furious. But there’s still good stuff there. For example, this, pasted over to Twitter from “E” at Gab:
“Hope springs eternal.”
Yep. A part of me tending towards cynicism, but even so, that’s where I’m at, asking hope to spring eternal, again and again. . And of course, much of my “findings” turn out to be total malarky, which I discover (or do not discover) the next day, the next week, etc.
The real malarky: I thought back on November 4th, that within a day or two everything would become clear. That off-the-charts election fraud was so obvious it was laughable, and would be proved. Or, a week or two later, I hoped, within a day or two the Supreme Court will rule in Trump’s favor. Or, within another day or two, Sidney Powell, or General Flynn, or Rudy Giuliani, or Project Veritas, or yet one more whistleblower, or, puleeze . . . Julian Assange! —or another one of the familiar or newly discovered heroes I clutched to my hurt heart . . . Like JFK Jr. ( I still hold on to that one, still see it coming true.)
Lately, it’s been Simon Parkes (who I have followed for years, but not in this highly politicized context), Charlie Ward, Charlie Freak. But then “the two Charlies,” as they called themselves, briefly, split, with disappointment on Charlie Freak’s part as to something Charlie Ward had said or done. But geez! Charlie Freak is a “flat earther”! So forget him! Ridiculous! Really? Who knows? If this prolonged agonizing experience has taught me anything, it’s that layer upon layer (of what? Truth? Gossip? Paranoia? and everybody’s favorite, “Conspiracy” (invented by the CIA a way to diss those seeking truth after the 1963 Kennedy assasination; or wait, was it after the 1947 Roswell UFO crash?) is being revealed, exposed, obliterated, all in a blink of an eye.
And of course, there’s Robert David Steele, who in today’s post mentioned that Mike Adam’s recent dissing of both Simon Parkes and Charlie Ward (and himself, by implication) is disgraceful; that he, Steele, will remain loyal to them both, despite “mistakes,” he says, each has made, regarding “Q.” P.S. once in a while, I do start to listen to Mike Adams, and if he’s in his usual fearful mood, I stop. But twice lately, he’s been ebullient, like today, when he claimed, “I now know what Lin Wood knows.” Today, he also actually noticed that his emotions are jerking him around . . . Well, good! Join the human race!
Wow, I notice, that I’m especially riveted to the divisions that appear among the commentators I want to trust; my interest verging on prurient gossip! (In that I’m like my mother, not one of her finer traits). And of course, I notice that most of my preferred narratives center on how one or another person will save us, with intel that proves crucial to straightening out this confusing, heartening, disheartening morass — Once. And. For. All. Or that he will help save us, or she, or “it” will help save us . . . On and on, as one more possibility, one more “path to victory” flushes down the toilet, despite the 5D chess prowess of my biggest hero of all, Donald J. Trump. And my second to biggest hero (for now) Juan O’Savin, who, at least for me, came out of nowhere, seems to know a hell of a lot, has a sense of humor — and, is he JFK Jr. At one point I looked up the fingers in JFK Jr.’s old photos to compare them with those of the mysterious Juan who never shows his face, but he does appear shorter and pudgier, I’d say, than JFK Jr, though John John’s fingers weren’t that slim back then, i.e., hey did seem a bit thicker than the rest of his physique. (Now THAT’s some rabbit hole to fall down. Wasted 15 minute of that day intently peering. . .)
Oh yes, and then there’s those with seemingly paranormal abilities that I hang my hat on: Magenta Pixie and Utsava. However, I do notice now that Utsava gets pissed with the thought that Biden might actually pull it off (but temporarily, says Juan O’Savin).
One after another labyrinthian pathway or rabbit hole, turning this way and that, gathering evidence from this place or that, “completely disproving” (joke) this or that, on and on and on.
Damn. Frankly, it may be that I’ve reached the end of my attempts to “figure out” what is going on. At least for today. My left brain is, frankly, fried. Worse, I hardly sleep at night, due to both cat and dog needing to go in and out incessantly. Are they picking up on the frequency? Mine? Yours? Ours? ‘
I’ll just leave you with this, a Kerry Cassidy tweet. Look into it. I did. Strange.
Oh wait . . . This has been on my desktop for weeks, just waiting for me to use it. Now’s the time.
Oh wait . . . my son just sent me this! Here we go again, Ann. Just slow down. Breathe. That’s it, long breaths, deep in and out and in and out . . .