Friday, April 6, 2012

WHO MADE THE MOON?


WHY AREN’T WE ALL RACISTS?
         Temecula, CA – Having put out a number of political and music stories, it’s time for some third leg of my theme topic Triple Crown, the crown of religion. There are 3 reasons that call for this logic. It’s Easter season, Trayvon Martin/the proud to be white forward in my email box, and a video that I recently saw. To the fulfillment of my Jewish grandmother, Mary Belle Bowman/Daniel, who said to me long ago before I ever knew another side of life existed, this story is dedicated. Of my questioning about the future of things to come at the end times, she said, “Before the last days finish, all the secrets of Man will come to light. They will all become known. There will be no more mysteries.” Like the inexperienced character in Tropic Thunder, I looked at Granny and said, “Now what (the hell) does that mean?”
         Granny looked back into my eyes and said, “Everything” and chills ran down my spine. And now, Who Made The Moon?
         For this report we are going to need use of Mr. Peabody’s Way Back machine. “Ready, Sherman?”
Though we could start earlier, Gen 11 is our first stop. We see the whole of mankind gathered all in one place. It is the future home of Saddam Hussein, modern Iraq, but now is known as Babel to us, Shinar to them, dwelling place of all people after the great flood. We see kids playing, using wooden twigs to propel different color stained dreidels into each other like Rock ‘em-Sock ‘em Robots. Laughter is everywhere in the voices of children, for there are no pedophiles, molesters, or opportunists and no homeless. Overhead we see Abdul the rug maker testing his latest flying carpet for AJ, his map maker son who does his work on the best hemp available. And everywhere you look people are happy, talking, conversing in small groups; others are sharing tasks or doing the same tasks in groups. But what stands out the most as we gently hover in the Way Back is, everyone is a different color, shade, and hue.
         There are no groups of 2 of any of the same shade/color together. It is a strange sight to see from two hundred feet, about the same hovering height as Abdul. Dropping down we land and look for our ‘person of interest’, our poi.
         Walking through hardened sand streets with glazed sanitation ditches behind dollhouse-like buildings and houses, the image and landscape of Babel look nothing like the drawings we’ve seen in school books. Groups of people stand around low-walled circular ponds and stare at distant places untouched on the planet, like on a Flintstone TV.
         “Another commercial from our gods,” says the guy standing next to the broadcast channel. “We all know the edict but look around, Strangers. Such harmony now. It wasn’t like this before the flood. When might it be like this again? You know they tried to wipe us out, but now we have grown in numbers and enjoy our life here. We are beautiful, strong, at peace, and healthy. Our children are happy. We all speak and seek the same goals. Payback!”
         “Who do they think they are? We’re not slaves. We came through the flood didn’t we?” he continued. They may have engineered us but we’re going for our independence. Freedom! Stranger and brother, for you bear a resemblance to us, just different. What do you eat where you are from?”
“GMOs, mostly, but what is this edict that you speak of?”
         “To be fruitful and multiple. Bullshit! Those fucks just want us to mine the planet and work. We just got through a flood, for Man’s sake. We want some ‘me time’. Just leave us the fuck alone and we’ll handle it from here. We’re cool. We‘re all friends and related, and we have our laws/rituals. What do we need with the gods? The ones upstairs.” He pointed upward, toward the full moon which was visible in the day sky.
         “You make a good case. You most certainly do. What’s the plan?”
         “Glad you asked, Kind Sir. Follow me.”
         As we turn to follow our new friend, a person in the crowd makes eye contact and we see a flash of light. The face belonging to that set of eyes instantly registers in the Way Back computer’s memory file. Our guide walks ahead of us and we follow. We round a corner, go down a block, then make another turn and walk to the outskirts of town. In front of us, hundreds of people work. They are working on some type of tall construction project.
         "Ta-Ta! Our latest launching platform.”
         As we walked closer to the over 300 foot mass, we could see a huge earthen mound covered with a lattice of metal interlocking around it, like a stuffed Eiffel tower.
         “Latest?”
         “Yes, we launched our first flaming arrows from a shorter, smaller tower and managed to bring down some of their craft but now we’re going to destroy their base of operations. Come and let me show you the drawings.”
         We walked over to a hillside bluff that had been cleared and looked at the picture drawn in the bare dirt. The drawing clearly showed two distinct planets. One was obviously the earth but what was the other one?
         I point and say, “What is this place called?”
Our guide looks at us with a quizzical expression and says, “There. It is the moon. That is where they live, those gods in the moon. They eat this stuff that looks like green cheese all the time. Disgusting!”
         “But this time we will end it.” our guide points to another part of the large drawing and to what looks like a giant ICBM.
         “Wow!”
         “That is our Nike, the largest flaming arrow that we have ever assembled. It will be our divine charioteer, bringing us victory, glory, and fame through strength, speed, and triumph.” Then the guide paused and stepped closer. “Please strangers, offer a sacrifice for us, for the ones we face care naught for our wellbeing, only what we can do for them. And they are more cunning than a fox. You have no idea.” At that the guide motions where we can barter for an animal sacrifice, though he adds, ‘a female human offering would carry a lot more power’.
        We thank him and start to head back to the Way Back when the hoodied man with the bright twinkle in his eye appears suddenly in front of us.
        “Future men and women, may I come aboard your travel craft?”
        “Yes you may. How is it that you know we are from the future?”
        “You are from the end of the future. I am a messenger.”
       “An angel?”
        “A messenger. There is much that has been kept hidden from you in the future and much that is revealed to you in your time. This journey is to help you, as you say, connect the dots.”
        The dials spin and lights flash in the Way Back, and then we are hovering above a mechanized platform attended by humanoid looking robots. One of the leads starting speaking,
        ”I have returned from the after-flood earth with this analysis. They have multiplied immensely and refuse to disseminate for the replenish agenda. Furthermore, they are as one family and one mind. They work as a family, a cohesive unit. They follow the same program because they are built from the same source code. Even now they plan an attack here. If they are victorious they will spread like an infection. Because they are no longer a pure collection, their intentions will always be to dominate and control based on the self-importance of the few. Prepare to initiate Operation Fresh Start.”
        The messenger says, “Now we go to see the start of the impurity in the collection.”
        We pause over a pasture this time. Under a mighty shade tree atop a small natural hill lies a young woman. Close to but not next to her is a serpentine male.
        “From their mating will come Cain, the evil bloodline. In your time is the height of their power for evil allowed because evil follows the law, the law of being evil through death. Evil would ultimately eliminate the species since Man is not immortal. Man exists through cosmic tampering. Speaking of which, let’s return and see what is happening in Babel in the latest cosmic tampering.”
        It seemed that instantly we were once again about two hundred feet about the colorful crowd at Babel. Suddenly a craft appeared and flew above the crowd. Beneath the bottom was a horn shaped object. The strange instrument started to emit a myriad of sounds with their corresponding and applicable color.
        As the colors of sound washed over the people total amazement gripped the crowd. As if in a trance, analogous groups based on related skin color started gathering, drawn only by sight of one another. From above it looked like a slow swirl as the group colors spun out to form small tribes to wander off. The building of the city was left off. Gen 11:9.
        Though this scenario may seem a little ‘tin hat’ at first, when you take into affect the preceding video and others like this one, the long history of UFOs in art, the fact that many older people did not believe the moon landing actually happened in 1969, 911/Loose Change, JFK’s assassination, Gulf of Tonkin Incident, Roswell, crop circles, etc. and that the moon always faces us with the same side, how trippy is it to think that not only are we not alone, things could be exactly as Shakespeare declared, “All the world’s a stage, and we, but merely players upon it.” Indeed!

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