Nov 062012
 

I find myself suddenly in a dark pit, illuminated only by scattered fires and glowing lava pools.  I fumble with my phone, but there are no bars.  I start recording…

Me: Wow, it’s hot!  And what is that smell?

The fiery pit is large and barren of life.  Despite the overwhelming heat, the center of the pit appears to be frozen and covered in ice.

I search through the dense, noxious vapors when suddenly I am startled by an old, filthy, bent, solitary man in rags standing in a mist and staring upwards towards the center of the pit.

Old man: The odor is a mix of sulfur and decomposition.  And it’s always hot in Hell.

His descriptions seem melodramatic, but they certainly fit.  I slowly work my way towards the wretched figure.

Me: Who are you?

Old man: I am the great Greek philosopher, Plato.

Out of courtesy and pity, I attempt to conceal my skepticism.  I smile at the old man, but he continues to look away.

Me: If you are now in Hell, then I’m not sure you were such a great philosopher when you were alive.

Momentarily irritated by my comment, Plato continues in a practiced, haughty tone.

Plato: Transformed into icy granite, I am frozen for eternity with my gaze fixed upon my master.

I look around and see no one else in view.

Me: Who is your master and where is he?  I don’t see anyone else here but you and me.

Surprised by my questions, Plato indignantly responds with a booming, though trembling voice.

Plato: My master is none other than Lucifer himself!  Bow to his magnificent beauty as he towers before us with majesty and power in the center of this very pit.

I carefully follow the old man’s gaze towards the frozen center of the pit.  It is empty, save for a large pool of ice.

Me: Sir, you are mistaken.  There is no one else here in this Godforsaken place besides you and me.

Plato is unsurprised.

Plato: You lack discernment.

I won’t argue with him there, but I cannot help but begin to question his grasp on reality.

Me: You are also not made of stone.  Here, let me help you sit.

I step towards the miserable figure when he suddenly erupts, halting my progress.

Plato: No!  It is you who are wrong!  Do you even know what today is?

Me: It’s November 6, 2012, Election Day in my country.

Plato: By the numbers it is 11:6, a day for the occult invocation of the uncompleted Tower of Babel.  The old order was torn down on 9/11/01 — 9/11 is an inversion of 11:6 — the Tower was completed anew on 1/4/10 and the final chapter before the birth of the New Order starts today, 23 days after my master fell to Earth a second time.

Numbers.  The occult loves numbers like 2,717, the secret height of the Burj Khalifa, which I had derived directly from the proportions of the Georgia Guidestones months before the Burj’s true height was publicly known.  2,717, the first Greek number skipped in Strong’s Numbers for the New Testament, a number that some say foreshadows the Antichrist, a number that corresponds to “make waste” or “to be made desolate” in the Strong’s Hebrew Concordance. 

One of the most diabolical examples of Georgia Guidestones numerology involves the Magnitude 9.0 Tōhoku, Japan, earthquake that claimed nearly 16,000 lives.  This massive disaster struck Japan on March 11, 2011, exactly 11,311 days after the Georgia Guidestones monument was officially completed on March 22, 1980.  The number “11,311″ in day/month/year format (“little endian,” which is most commonly used around the world) or year/month/day format (“big endian,” which is used by the military and also in Japan) can be written 11/3/11.  This corresponds to March 11, 2011, the actual date of the earthquake.

Furthermore, the earthquake occurred exactly 9 years, 6 months after 9/11/2001.  Treating these dates as vectors and adding them together we get: [ 9, 11, 1 ] + [ 3, 11, 11 ] = [ 12, 22, 12 ] or December 22, 2012, the day after the end of the Mayan calender, or, more appropriately, the first day of a new age.

However, regarding the old man’s last assertion, try as I might, I cannot contain my laughter.

Me: Are you saying that Felix Baumgartner is Satan?

Plato: Fool!  Ceremonies on the mortal plane open portals within the spiritual realm.  You claim to be an expert on the Georgia Guidestones, so how many days will it be since the day the monument was completed until December 21, 2012, the Mayan Day of Destruction?

I’m startled that he seems to know who I am.

Me: It would take me a few minutes to figure that out with no computer here.  My phone has no signal…

Plato: You should already know the answer.  It’s 11,962 days.  Does that number look familiar to you?

Me: No.  Let me think; I have an app on my phone that might help.  11,962 is an unusual number since it has only two prime factors: 2 and 5,981.  Why should I know more about it?

Plato: Your country uses many codes, this is one of them.

Me:  Codes?  Yes, it does look like a Zip Code, but I have no idea what community it corresponds to.

Plato: It is the code for Sagaponack, New York.

Me: Really? I recall Sagaponack was listed as the most expensive small town in the country.  The median house price in Sagaponack is over $4-million!  I think Jimmy Fallon lives there among the 500 or so residents; it’s a tiny place.

Plato: Who?

Me: Jimmy Fallon.  He is a comedian who appears in credit card commercials trying to convince a baby to take money.  The baby keeps throwing the money back in his face.

Plato laughs uncontrollably for several seconds before recovering himself.

Plato: And you still do not understand?  You are being mocked, ridiculed!  That baby has more wisdom than you!

Me: I guess I do not understand.  Please explain.

Plato: Sagaponack is the home of Lloyd Blankfein…

I turn white and my stomach tightens.

Me: You mean the CEO and Chairman of Goldman Sachs?

Plato: Yes.

Is December 21, 2012, a financial doomsday that will bring down the world’s nations, or does it have some other significance?  You need to answer that question yourself.  What I will tell you is that The Georgia Guidestones, 9/11, the Burj Khalifa, Ted Turner, Goldman Sachs, the Mahdi, today’s elections, earthquakes, storms, riots and the war to come are all part of the same ceremony that balance on the fulcrum that is the date December 21, 2012.  And it is all made possible through an illusion.  Your money holds no value, but its illusion of value has been maintained by your world’s insatiable love for base, material things.

The moneychangers are the rulers of your world and now they plan to bring it all down through a final series of Grand Illusions.  They will wipe the Earth clean, disposing of billions of human lives, and, using the benefits of high technology, erect a New World Order for their master, Lucifer.  This New World Order is a society I designed thousands of years ago; I am the architect.

My head spins with this information.  It is hard to dispel, but I don’t want to believe it.  If all he says is true, then a supreme irony is that at least part of the Georgia Guidestones project was not funded by money, but rather paid for with gold.  Last summer, my wife contacted the publisher of Common Sense Renewed, the companion book for the monument.  The aging publisher told her that the book was paid for anonymously using South African Krugerrands, gold bullion coins.  More ironically, the publishing company is located in Mason City, Iowa, a town founded by Freemasons.

I reach out my right hand to help the old man sit, but I slip on the icy ground and grab his arm for support.  His arm is frigid and hard and unyielding like rock.  I look at his face closely for the first time and his eyes are gone, clawed from their sockets.  The life I saw in him has vanished and his form has been replaced by a crudely hewn granite statue.

I step back in terror when I am suddenly gripped with pain in my right hand.  The color drains from it and I can no longer move my fingers.  Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a massive figure looming overhead.  Unmistakeably, it’s winged Lucifer, frozen in the center of Hell.

But he’s melting and his huge head pivots towards me.  I recognize him!  How could I be so stupid not to have known sooner?  I must warn everyone before it’s too late!

But I can’t move.  My feet have turned to stone as has most of my body.  I only have a few more seconds before I’m completely rendered in granite.  Maybe if I shout loudly enough, someone will hear me.

Me: Lucifer walks the Earth again!  His name is…

 ========================

For more on the sinister Georgia Guidestones monument, please see here, here and here.

Jul 232012
 

I don’t know where to start. There’s so little left, so little in my heart. And what’s the point? No one will read this; there’s no one left.

No, I don’t know that. I can’t think that way. I’ve got to go on. I’ve got to get back home somehow. My family might be okay. They MUST be okay.

I’ve got to write to keep up hope, to keep believing that all is not lost so that I can find the strength to get back home.

 ~~~~~~~~~~

It all started only three months ago in July. That’s July, 2012. I was at the London Olympics. I never thought I’d be in the Olympics, not at my age. I turned fifty last March and only took up archery five years ago. Somehow, I managed to make the U.S. Olympic Archery team. I barely made the team, but I performed well enough to get me to London and get me a full set of crappy, Chinese made USA Olympic outfits.

I was on the field that night during the opening ceremonies when suddenly the music stopped and most of the stadium lighting shut off. We had rehearsed the whole thing the night before and we all knew that something was wrong but none of us were surprised because nearly every aspect of the London Olympics had been buggy so far.

After a few seconds Katy tugged on my blue Ralph Lauren blazer. “For an old guy, you look cute in that little blue beret,” Katy snickered, “French and a little constipated, but awkwardly handsome.”

“Gee, I thought I looked more like a balding Che Guevara,” I muttered quietly in the nearly silent stadium. Meekly holding up my right fist so as not to get too much attention, I stiffened, clicked my heals and continued “Viva la revolucion!”

“Uh, I think that’s more like ‘Southern Nazi’ than ‘classic Cuban revolutionary,’” Katy remarked. “Yeah, I need to polish my Argentine accent a little,” I admitted. “Argentine? I thought Che Guevara was Cuban,” she asked. “Common mistake,” I replied, “Che was a ‘citizen of the world’ as the pretentious rabble like to say today. He got around a lot.”

“But now that you mention it, you do look a little like Che in some of his later and less groomed years,” Katy mused, “Not that I know much of anything about Che Guevara except what they taught me in high school, and you can see they didn’t teach me much.”

A member of the USA women’s archery team, Katy was a sprite of a young lady, barely topping five feet tall and just over one-hundred pounds. We both had competed earlier that day and the archery bag she carried that night was nearly as big as her. Katy believed in being prepared and her archery kit would make the Green Arrow envious.

At eighteen, innocent, full of life and with long blond hair and blue eyes, she reminded me of my oldest daughter who had just turned fifteen. Katy approached everything with joy and wonder and her wide eyes had never been wider than during the opening ceremonies that terrible night.

And despite being weird and downright creepy at times – the 13 Illuminati pyramids encircling the stadium overhead were just the beginning – the opening ceremonies were a spectacle to behold.

“Do you think they just found the mother of all computer bugs?” Katy asked about the breakdown of the opening ceremony. “That’s my guess given their dismal track record,” I grumbled. I ‘m an old school computer programmer by trade and I don’t have much patience for computer glitches.

But just at that moment, the relative silence of the stadium was shattered by an ear splitting roar. The black sky was simultaneously lit by a rope of fire overhead, followed by another and then another. By the third instance, it was clear that three fighter jets had passed only about a hundred feet over the stadium. A smattering of applause and cheers arose from the confused crowd who assumed the nearly supersonic planes were part of the opening ceremony.

“What the hell was that!” I said to myself. By that time, all heads were turned skywards as the nearly one-hundred-thousand people in the stadium were obviously thinking that same thing.

As the exhaust trails from the three jets thinned enough to see the sky above, a bright light directly above the stadium came into view. Slowly and gradually it appeared to be growing in intensity. Soon it became obvious that it was some kind of craft descending steadily towards us, but still far up in the sky.

The lead jet was closing quickly on the craft when a barely visible, violet light suddenly connected the two vehicles. At once, the jet plane careened off in a violent spiral causing the two trailing planes to abort their approach. The lead fighter twirled frantically for several seconds before exploding into a ball of flames like an enormous Fourth of July firework.

Immediately, panic gripped the crowd, but few if any people tried to leave. After all, everyone had been told ad nauseam that the stadium was the most secure place in London. At that point, I felt Katy squeeze my arm. “Don’t worry, this is probably the safest place to be in the world right now,” I reassured her.

As if on cue, the stadium PA crackled to life cooing a soothing, aristocratic, British female voice. “Thank you for joining us tonight in a global celebration of the 2012 London Olympics. We are currently working through minor technical difficulties. We are grateful for your patience.”

At that moment, four full batteries of Rapier missiles came to life in a deafening peal, launching sixteen rockets screaming straight upwards towards the still steadily descending light.

In only a second or two, the Rapier missiles had already reached halfway to their target when a subtle violet ray of light strobed each one from the UFO. As with the downed fighter jet, all sixteen missiles spun wildly out of control and exploded within a fraction of a second.

Flaming debris began to fall upon a wide area of London surrounding the Olympic stadium, but fortunately nothing struck the stadium itself.  The PA system stirred again. “London welcomes the world to the 2012 Summer Olympic Games. We continue to be working through minor technical issues and we fully expect to have them resolved shortly. Thank you again for your kind patience.”

The confusion caused by the grossly understated second announcement only served to deepen the terror now engulfing everyone within the stadium.

“For the safety of others as well as yourselves, please remain seated and calm. For your continued inconvenience, complementary food and drink will be served for the remainder of tonight’s ceremonies,” the PA lady continued.

Another wave of confusion swept over the 2012 London Olympic Stadium before the arena’s video screens came on bearing the image of Queen Elizabeth. “We are most terribly sorry for the apparent delay of tonight’s ceremonies, but I assure you that you are safe and we are progressing as stated. Please return to your seats, relax and enjoy tonight’s festivities. Everything is under control, and everything you have seen is as planned,” the Queen calmly announced.

Amazingly, nearly everyone returned to their seats and waited while an army of ushers distributed food and refreshments. Likewise, most of the thousands of athletes on the field returned to their positions, sitting now on the ground or in folding chairs. The stadium soon glowed from countless smart phone screens as people updated their social networks, emailed friends, phoned home or filmed the ongoing spectacle.

All the while, the light above the stadium slowly grew larger and larger.

After a few minutes, the various video screens around the stadium lit up again and music began to play. Images of the British Royal Family flickered across our faces. The Royals were singing a bizarre song. The lyrics were unmistakable since the video was captioned with them.

 And did those feet in ancient time.
Walk upon England’s mountains green:
And was the holy Lamb of God,
On England’s pleasant pastures seen!

And did the Countenance Divine,
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here,
Among these dark Satanic Mills?

Bring me my Bow of burning gold;
Bring me my Arrows of desire:
Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold!
Bring me my Chariot of fire!

I will not cease from Mental Fight,
Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand:
Till we have built Jerusalem,
In England’s green & pleasant Land

 “That’s Jerusalem by William Blake,” Katy stated matter-of-factly, “it says so on the program we got yesterday.”

When the song completed, the video screens went black and the stadium was silent briefly before spotlights all around the area pierced the darkness and illuminated the skies overhead. The crowd released a collective gasp as the full outline of the UFO could now be plainly seen. Hovering silently just a few feet above the stadium, the light on the craft was only about thirty or forty feet across, but the vast ship engulfed the night sky and exceeded the dimensions of the stadium itself.

A gentle violet light pulsed once from the entire surface of the enormous ship and London fell into darkness. Even the thousands upon thousands of cell phone screens in the stadium went black. The only illumination visible in the area came from the craft above our heads.

Through the white light in the center of the massive UFO descended a gold shuttle that looked somewhat like an ornate, horseless carriage or chariot. Wheel-like appendages at the four corners of the vehicle crackled with static electricity as the conveyance set down softly on the large stage located at the north end of the playing field.

A door swung upward from the center of the landed craft and out stepped a towering figure in a hooded, white robe. Gliding slowly toward the center of the stage as if almost weightless, the being stopped and removed his hood revealing a bald head that was both shocking and beautiful at the same time.

The creature, roughly nine or ten feet tall, had pale, white skin and more closely resembled a giant Greek statue than a human. In fact, he looked very similar to the alien engineers seen in the recent movie Prometheus.

The light from the hovering ship overhead grew brighter until it was like midday in the stadium. The video screens came to life again, this time filled with an image of the creature’s face. Staring directly into the camera with unblinking, blue eyes, the being uttered three words in a slow, deep, booming voice that resonated strongly within my chest: “I am God.”