Fisherman, loggers with piercing eyes, and broader bumpus wit, fists that don’t quit for Friday night fury. The noise that shook the shore and the reef.
Beneath the mist, a hidden ship from the dark days of yore and the pirate and whore set fire to the oceans.
Where are these bygone days now, with liars in the throng?
Is the song being sung? Down at the wharf?
A forgetful somber piece.
Of days gone by and merry women long, for that hairy prince in from the wind.
Popping Smoke has been different than what I expected, it’s similar but different. In some ways the Epstein info fits perfectly, but only if you see TRUMP as the bookend PSYOP-PALOOZA to Covid … and like the Covid, Trump gives birth to tinier trauma monkeys/ops …
Remember, there’s more than two options with Epstein …
I am standing in two worlds, one world is circling the drain, the other is the flush
My God situation is still fucked, more on that: not a long one I hope … but here goes … a weirder place for me and Jesus and I’m still filled with a lot of rage that I drink away, each and every day
General Lee refused to turn what was left of the Confederate Army into guerrilla units, though some went off by themselves regardless … I think Lee made a mistake.
IF A GREAT SOUL HARVEST WERE NEAR, would we feel it beforehand like the waste heat from a trauma yet to come, traveling back in time, waking us to be ready … what if THIS is what YEATS was talking about in the SECOND COMING, that he felt the heat from a fire not yet, but soon …
What if the “turtle guy” from 2019 was a boy who cried wolf PSYOP, preparing the way for COVID:
This is WHY I tend to look to the shadows, the under-rock realms, the moldy corners … The stuff they show you behind clean glass is there for a reason, look behind the glass and the counter to the cracked door where a man in an office is snorting coke.
