From Dante to Dali: let’s melt down 3D

I was a funny kid. Not funny ha-ha, but funny weird. For one thing, I couldn’t be in the same room if the television set was on. I preferred not even being on the same floor, and was intensely grateful that our TV sat in the basement with the ping-pong table.

Something about the vibration. TV made me feel agitated, crazy. I didn’t want to feel crazy.

Plus, I was immune to advertising — advertising for females, especially, what we’re supposed to look like, what we’re supposed to wear, how we’re supposed to act. Mom would want to take me “shopping,” for a new outfit. But I’d whine, and refuse, saying shopping gave me a headache. Besides, “Why do you always care about the outside more than the inside?”

Except for expensive Jantzen sweater outfits. Somehow, I coveted them, craved them to the point where, when I reached 7th grade my mother finally got me one.

The one other exception from what I’ll still call “advertising,” though now I’m broadening that word from how it’s usually used to cover the whole world, my entire reality — was what the Roman Catholic Church did, to me. Catholicism was the net that caught this fragile butterfly, and then crushed her. The guilt-producing paroxysms of the Catholic church to curb, not just “bad” (usually sexual, in some way) behavior, but my very thoughts themselves cut the heart right out of my wild and precious life while relentlessly drilling that tiny conceptual prison the priests, nuns, and my own father insisted was the”one true religion,” with its litany of “true beliefs,” into my young, innocent brain.

I was a good girl, a very good girl.

Jump ahead to when I was 26, and my first LSD trip.

OMG! Not only is there one world, there is an infinity of worlds!

End of story. End of conditioned, brain-washed, brain-dead existence. Oh, it took awhile, but the end-result was this free spirit, free being, open to infinity.

I have a feeling that Jon Rappoport, with his recent series of articles in nomorefakenews, has revisited the sacramental revelations of LSD. His latest essays on straightjacketed (MSM) “news” are breathtaking in their clarity, power, and hilarity, metaphorically restructuring the perceived monocultured world of “the news” to the point where the courageous reader cannot help but release the standardized, linear narrative with its message of fear and the need for compliance that the ever-dwindling masses still allow into their hypnotized brains.

Check out the latest two:

Brian Williams, Scott Pelley, and Diane Sawyer: the three stooges

The worldwide Church of the Evening News

Now, to slow down a bit. If you find Rappoport just too much, too intense, then read this instead, a kind of step-by-step 3D primer on how to identify false flags, and in so doing, shift your entire conceptual framework to become, as Rappoport would advise, more Dali-esque than Dante.

The Art of Catching Government False Flags in Real Time

What is reality?

Answer, who knows?

And if you think you do, then you’re probably closing your mind like a camera lens, screwing it down to some kind of manageable circumference where you still — still! — think you can describe, define, control what’s going on inside it. But what if you can’t? What if the world just keeps opening, inside and out?

What if we’re all astronauts, at night, while we dream.