And…just like that Project BlueBeam is launched in Miami – where ten-foot-tall reptilians in shades of grey phased in and out of reality and the entire population of the Bayside Mall was shrieking and firing at them, but then they would vanish and materialize somewhere else. Shoppers said the creatures looked confused, as if they did not know where they were or why, but they weren’t hostile or frightened. The entire Miami police force turned out. Power was shut off to the mall and 61,000 houses in the neighborhood, and the Miami airport was shut down. As people left the mall, their phones were taken and photos and videos wiped, but a few got through. (ER: We understand there are competing explanations about this.)

 

 

It didn’t matter whether it was true or not, it was a magnificent distraction for the many-too-many, who were too entirely focused on the fact that our entire leadership class, in every sector – science, the arts, Hollywood, society, academia, hedge funds, famous lawyers – had all been raping tweens on an island in the Caribbean. And not only that, raping pubescent girls, knowing they were being blackmailed, and still doing it.

 

If on that list, you may not have been raping pubescents yourself, but you knew about it, went along with it, took his phone calls. Trust me, no gossip flies faster than ‘high society’ gossip; it is currency, as vital and required as your $40,000 watch. They all knew. They. All. Knew.

 

 

I met Ghislaine Maxwell in New York at a ladies’ lunch on the Upper East Side. It was held in a fancy-schmancy boardroom, where a prosecutor gal was launching her mystery series and hosting ladies likely to get her book talked about. Maxwell was riding high, her color and manner hectic, as the women pawed at her, and complimented her and she made dates with them, flattered them, laughed at their jokes. Met her father, too; we hosted him at the American Correspondents in London lunch, held periodically for the grand – and did they consider themselves grand – who had grabbed the brass ring of a sojourn rubbing shoulders with Royalty and History.

“Why?” I asked my bureau chief, trotting along beside him, “are you hosting a man considered by tout London as entirely evil and grotesque, and about to go spectacularly bankrupt?”

He shrugged. “For the story.”

“To say you met him, you mean.”

And here I am name-dropping.

Maxwell gave some sort of a talk, and then answered questions. We were sitting in a hollow square, and I watched Maxwell’s eyes flick around the table, evaluating each of us for price and utility. No human I’ve met bore more of a resemblance to a reptile. A few months later, on his farewell trip on the Lady Ghislaine, he was punctured in the neck by a needle, and tipped off the back into the black black water. A fitting end.

I knew his foreign editor too, a friend of Time’s staff photographer, and he’d drop by periodically. Nick was up all in the Russian spy business. Maxwell’s Mirror was hard left, and someone like Nick, from a second tier public school – (I’m sorry but that’s how they talked) – was definitely cool with fashionable spying for the Russkies or anyone else that would destroy the home culture. On our second encounter Nick asked me to carry papers to Israel, because Maxwell was famously Mossad, and I said sure, because I was young and fascinated by everything. The invitation was pulled when he discovered I wasn’t Jewish.

The point is that all those people a) had no ethics and b) loved, above everything, the realms of power. It is heady stuff that life, the exotic invitations, the people you meet, the money pouring out from every opportunity, the self-congratulation as the posh town car car pulls up to take you a private airstrip. I’ve been to parties where I’ve had to be flown, in the immortal words of Tom Waits.

As above, so below.

But not before. It wasn’t like this before.

I grew up in an almost Victorian culture, a leadership class, if you like. A Lithuanian friend says she was pretty sure my childhood was Edith Wharton’s filmed The Buccaneers, all frothy dresses and bouncing on four poster beds and tea parties on the lawn. No, it was waking up at 6 am in a boarding school at the age of 12, to find your shampoo had frozen on the bureau overnight. It was forced marches in ten below weather for two hours, it was prayers every day, three hours of prep every night, and one movie a week, but only if you hadn’t broken a rule. It was Spartan, it was shame the body, it was control yourself, learn how to manage yourself. It was Christian, but a disciplined, ordered, Christianity, where you learned that leadership was service. All summer long? Lessons from 9 am on the golf course to your 4 pm tennis lesson. This wasn’t pleasure, it was training. No lying around on the couch watching TV. Ever. Yes, there were parties, but their intent was to cement friendships, to bond, to celebrate, not to watch naked midgets on ladders solve equations. (ER: The latter ‘preference’ was allegedly Stephen Hawking’s when he visited Epstein Island.)

To lead was to serve was the highest good, the pinnacle of success. Self-indulgence of every kind was the thin edge of the wedge and the disappointment, the shaming was geopathic, endless. Every adult was in on it, the women just as exigent, if not more. They were the enforcers. Manners were complex, and you were punished if you failed to learn them. Of course, we rebelled, mocked, but in fact, I see now that those manners were used to make people feel good, gentled, included, not excluded, instead to ingather, to teach the ways of the clan that had over four hundred years, built sanity where before there was mayhem. The Great Commission. Every bit of training, which went on all day, every day, for decades, was always always shame the ego, refuse the corruptions of wealth. Sexual indulgence of any kind meant immediate, irrevocable exile. Banished. They knew. They knew what would happen.

We thought we could get away with it. That what had been built was so strong, it would prevail. Turns out it wasn’t. That we were two generations away from unsafe streets, from addiction crippling every family, from destroyed men and women, from fiscal and moral bankruptcy, the entire collapse of everything good.

 

Here’s a link to a tourist’s video of a naked boy climbing out of a window at Buckingham Palace, slipping and falling, so desperate is he to get away. (ER: That link doesn’t work. Here’s one from Youtube and Bitchute.)

 

 

That’s how they got us, whoever they are. Whether they are Marxists or the cartels or the Security State, they brought us down through our sexuality, the one thing that the Old Ones insisted upon, probity in your sexual relationships.

The thing about sex divorced from virtuous love is that you become desensitized, you need more and more risk to get high, you need younger and younger and younger. And then, you get babies with the umbilical cord still attached being trafficked for sex. Listen to this actress, Blake Lively describe how men get desensitized and what the end of that is, the babies trafficked with umbilical cords still attached. Watch her face twist in agony.

TIKTOK VIDEO LINK

 

Here we are, in hell. Once the taboos against sexual promiscuity or laxness were thrown over, we proceeded within a few decades to men raping babies with the umbilical cord still attached. And it is all over the world. The Evergreen that notoriously slammed its way through the Suez Canal, the biggest container ship we have made, turned out to be filled with children, over a thousand of them dead. Almost two thousand still living.

 

This is where we are as the human race, black, white, brown and red. We are selling babies to be raped. There are 40 million slaves among us, down the block, in every neighborhood, in every country. Most are sexual slaves. Our leaders rape tweens, and watch each other rape tweens. They rip off arms of children, skin them for pleasure or ritual. Younger and younger and younger. You are told, when captured you will be sold until you are useless and then your organs will be harvested. In China, you need an organ, you can have it in two hours, from a North Korean slave-woman.

Every man and woman on the planet is complicit. Right now, today, we are running the largest human trafficking operation in global history, orchestrated by Joe Biden and the Democrats through our borders, north and south.

Carlos, a soft-voiced Hispanic, from McAllum, Texas, quit as a child escort for the Unaccompanied Minor Program for Child Protective Services when he received an email stating that CPS was handing children over to the wrong people. And that was before the Biden Administration admitted that they have lost track of 85,000 children. That was before the six weeks of missing children.

“There’s no phone numbers for them, and the addresses when you go visit them, they lead to corn fields, parking lots, a strip club, a mall strip, anything you can think of other than a home. 85,000 confirmed missing. All we did was move children around, and the email stated we had over six weeks of IDs not matching, meaning that the person who showed up at the airport baggage claim to pick the child up was not the right person. So those children are not accounted for. That is from federal data given before the email went out, so the number is much higher than 85,000 now. In South Texas, there’s 249 shelters for unaccompanied children in the United States, and more than half of them are in the Rio Grande Valley, where I live.”

The people who pick up the children are supposed to have papers that prove they are the guardian or relative.

“The youngest I moved was three months old. How does that child tell you who his uncle in New York City or aunt in Chicago is? They are getting a lot more careful, now. Just a while ago, there were escorts near us they were were texting frantically, saying there are cameras at the airport, so watch out when you come here.”

The companies don’t want to lose the contracts.

“Last case, was supposed to be bring the child back. But, I dropped off children in Rhode Island, Vermont, Maine, Wyoming. And the word always is if I was stuck in DC, you are already in DC, you have to go further north, drop the child off at a shelter, or to the escort, even if they are showing signs of trafficking, just drop the child off.”

That is where we are as a culture. Forget the slavery of 150 years ago. Right now, today, we are using brown children as sex slaves, or organ donors.

During the first Trump campaign, people were saying Trump is the happy face of what’s coming, don’t vote for him, don’t listen to the voice of the people, next election series is going to be worse. The Biden regime is pure evil, forced-killing Americans by the hundreds of thousands with the poisoned shot, starting a war in Ukraine, borrowing twenty trillion dollars, loosing criminals on the streets by the millions, Congolese prisoners, mental patients from every shithole in the world crowding the border.

And our entire leadership today is preoccupied with the fact that they have been caught raping children and consulting with their Olivia Pope fixers to game it out. That’s how disgusting each and every one of them is. We deserve to be governed by lizards if we do not stop this from happening. We are losing our essential humanness – our ability to feel, to show compassion, to build a safe, creative, prosperous culture. We are descending into hell.

“Well, perhaps there is a simple answer, not an easy answer, but simple. If you and I have the courage to tell our elected officials that we want our national policy based on what we know in our hearts is morally right, we will preserve for our children, this, the last best hope of man on earth or we will sentence them to take the last step into a thousand years of darkness.”

This is Reagan, of course, from the opening frames of a Trump video released in response to the Epstein names, on Friday.

Every generation before us has made the right choice. Will we?

TIKTOK VIDEO LINK

Source

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