As always we begin with flowers. From our garden.

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Greetings y Saludos

This is an essay where I compare Ahriman to termites in the human soul.

The idea came a few days ago when I watched a short documentary on Yacouba Sawadogo, a Burkinabé farmer from the north of Burkina Faso.

In 1980 the Sahel belt of Africa suffered a drought that lasted for twelve years. Millions suffered and there was mass migration to the cities. Sawadogo had a vision. He would restore traditional methods of farming and water retention to the barren lands.

The first part of the story is the resistance he faced from the local villagers in the beginning of his work. They called him a madman and then one day they set his newly reclaimed forest on fire. I was shocked to read this (you can look up his story here.)

I was further astounded by his use of termites.

Sawadogo was an original ‘Permaculturist’. Permaculture is a modern, and very excellent, system of land design, but we should not forget that many of its methods have been in use for millenia.

Sawadogo went back to the traditional zaï method of water retention and added a few techniques of his own. Zaï pits are half moon holes, about four feet wide and a foot deep, placed facing the downward slopes of the rolling hills of the Yatenga region. Because they retain water the zaï pits enable sorghum, yam, millet and other local crops to grow during the dry season.

Sawadogo’s innovation was simple. He dug holes in the zaï pits and filled them with manure which he mixed in with palm fronds and leaf litter. The manure attracts termites, which, feeding on the manure, then burrow into the surrounding soil to create the feeding trails that lead to their nests. When the next rainy season arrives, instead of running off the baked-hard surface, the water collects in the catchment pits, sinks down and penetrates the surrounding soil through the termite tunnels.

It was Sawadogo’s genius to introduce the manure system which produce termite water channels. Along with which he had the courage to continue his vision against ferocious local opposition. Now he is a hero and the recipient of many awards.

I don’t know much about Yacouba Sawadogo, but I am inspired by his persistence.

If I shake my head in disbelief as well-educated liberal Americans refuse to look up into the sky and see the chemtrails, how much more do I not comprehend the stupidity of the Gourga villagers not to see the benefits of Sawadogo’s invention. Instead they fought against the very thing that would bring them the most desired and essential commodity of all: water.

It makes our local Bay Area chemtrail ignoramuses seem more normal. (Well sort of.)

And then there’s the termites.

Arriving in Australia, termites were the enemy. I learnt to dread the scutti-scuttle sound that loomed up from nowhere when you were sleeping. Come morning you realise there’s termites under the wall, or the floorboards. This was an affliction requiring bouts of fumigation or, if you didn’t catch it quickly, extensive wall removal and renovation. Of course, as we shall see, if you live with the land properly you design better houses and don’t use chipboard.

It was different in Burkina Faso. Reading Yacouba Sawadogo’s story, I had a Eureka moment. I was immediately converted to appreciating the amazing termite family. They burrow through the hardest desert soil to create underground tunnels for next year’s rainwater to soak into the ground. I now love termites. How incredibly useful they are. And how every part of Nature serves a higher purpose, if only we listened more.

It is the thick, dry, compacted heads of human beings that is the problem.

How often do I tell you to think like a rainforest? All life is there!

The City of Berkeley, once the tripping ground of free wheeling hippies and the origin of the Berkeley Free Speech Movement, is now home to the most woke, ex-liberal, oh-so-politically correct ignoramuses in all of America.

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

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I will speak of the four arch demons to show how this works. Lucifer, Ahriman, Sorath and Ognath of the Assuras.

The pride of Lucifer tempts the educated into the arrogance of ‘rational centrism’, which is science without spirit. Later this becomes scientism and a dogma that puts their belief at the centre of the known universe.

The hardened soul is a perfect ground for Ognath who bores into the woody brain to create channels. But here it is not life-giving water that trickles into the bored-out channels of the soul, but Ahriman. The Prince of Darkness secrets the sticky poison of deception into the deepest parts of the soul.

This is a river of lies so smooth and so oily that the rational mind finds itself so well lubricated that it creates more and more fantastical theories about any and everything, theories so glittering and brilliant that they dazzle the viewer with the deception that there is nothing beyond Maleti, nothing beyond death and, most of all, that there is no such thing as Spirit.

Last of all arrives Sorath.

Sometimes in the desert a tree can be so eaten out by termites that it crumbles at the first touch.

This is the moment Sorath is waiting for.

The institutions of the Anglo-American Ruling Classes are the earthly home of the Ahriman and Sorath. They nest, so to speak, inside the deathly atmosphere of banks, pharma corporations, the Military Industrial Complex and most of all, the spiritual fumes emanating from the CIA, MI6 and Mossad.

Either Sorath will have his day or, lawfully, lovingly and peacefully, we will remove the Anglo-American Ruling Classes. The Kionist Manifesto is dedicated to the latter option.

The Grenaissance that follows will send the four arch-demons back into the cosmic depths. They will still affect earth, or try to. Humans cannot destroy evil, we have to transform it.

We can face evil from without. That is our cosmic task. But when the human being is riddled with demonic termites from within, there is no room for spirit in his soul. And without spirit we will never achieve victory.

We need Yacouba Sawadogo to dig some zeal-pits in the dry and stony minds of the well-educated liberals.

Blessings

Steve

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Glossary Maleti: A worldview based solely on the limitations of mass, length and time (ma-le-ti.)

Metaleti: A worldview with no limitations of earthly failings.

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Yacouba Sawadogo on his moped

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

After three months it’s gunk

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Greetings y Saludos

Bad normies. Bad, bad normies.

Talking to Jane about chemtrails the other day was a nightmare. I got a lot of replies from people who said the same thing: The blank, stony look. The repudiation of evidence that is staring you in the face. The excruciating stupidity of the well-educated middle classes. The wilfully determined ignorance of the normie.

Turns out I’m a normie myself.

For weeks I’d been noticing small specks of disintegrating green plastic all over our garden.

Our chimney sprang a small leak during the March rains. My wife went to the hardware store, bought a 10’ x 12’ tarp and the next day we lashed it round the chimney with bungee cords. This morning my wife suggested it was time to remove the canvas chimney cover.

Now it turns out I’m a chemtrail spreader, right here in my own garden.

As I began to unravel the tarp from the chimney, clouds of puffy, grey dust wafted up from the disturbance. In other words, microplastic. Look at the pictures. What you can’t see is the tiny gunky bits. And the dust.

The sun does not like plastic. And so the sun attacks. After a few months the plastic goes Biblical and does a ‘to dust thou shalt return’ routine. Unlike the mortal coil, which, when shuffled off, delights the worms, plastic, along with its creator John D Rockefeller, is diabolically inspired. Which is why it is attacked by the son. (Out of the sun, plastic lasts longer, but within a few years all of it turns to gunk.)

The odious grey dust to which the sun reduces all petroleum derived concoctions is a highly toxic chemical. As such it, and its properties, belong to the realm of arch-demon Sorath.

The dust released by the chimney tarpaulin and the aerosols released by jet chemtrail tankers might be of differing chemical composition but they are both highly toxic. Both are gunk.

Multiply my tarpaulin experience by a billion people also dumping plastic. That’s a lot of pollution: millions of tons of toxic dust going into the atmosphere every day of the year.

Which means that as I’m releasing tarpaulin microplastic and the tanker jets are releasing nano particulate aerosols, then, gunk for gunk, I’m no different from the aerosol jet tanker. I’m doing what normies do. I’m a spreader.

I’d like to think I’m not a normie.

At least I recognise what I’m doing.

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A year ago the shiny green chimney tarpaulin left Shanghai on a Mega Super container ship and arrived in Los Angeles. After going through the distribution chain we bought it three months ago in our local hardware store.

Now it’s gassed out into the atmosphere.

Within three years of arriving in America, ninety percent of all Chinese imports arriving in Los Angeles and New York will be landfill, microplastic and toxic gas.

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

It all began with John D Rockefeller.

In 1900 the ruthless oil magnate summoned his executives to a meeting and told them.

We now control ninety percent of the oil and petroleum business in America. But that is not enough. Gasoline for cars is profitable but crude. In ten years I want products in America to be based on the chemical derivatives of all the petroleum that comes from our oil wells.

In 1920, along with son John Davison, the Rockefellers engaged arch-propagandist Eddie Bernays to make Americans buy products out of desire and vanity rather than out of use and necessity.

The picture below shows the COSCO Globe arriving in Felixstowe UK. Meditate on the image for a moment as you consider that in three years ninety percent of goods inside those containers will be landfill, microplastic and toxic gas.

It is for this reason I am creating the special Crime of Rockefellony.

Normies will be as equally disinclined to learn about Rockefellony as they are to look up in the skies and observe chemtrails. They will learn soon enough when, after Brevolution and Eurolution, the ruling classes are brought to justice.

Rockefellony is the act of creating products that

• Unnecessarily replace already existing goods

• Corner the market and create monopoly

• Replace existing products with prices that do not reflect enviromental and other downstream costs

• Replace existing sustainable products with chemicals that are highly toxic.

• Drive natural and homeopathic products out of the market in favour of allopathic chemical medicines, including vaccines.

• Use propaganda (TV advertising etc) to dupe the public with desire and not genuine necessity.

Next year I will devote a number of chapters of the Kionist Magicfesto to RUCCA, or the Ruling Class Crimes Act. It will be part of the Nuremberg 2.1. Rockefellony will be one of many new crimes introduced to deal with ruling class perfidy.

Have some sympathy, though. We were all born normies.

Meanwhile I will be turning my attention to the twenty-five year anniversary of 9/11. Expect some interesting new insights.

Blessings

Steve

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You can’t see the microplastic

»»»»»» but go »»»»»»»

Ah, but I had to end with a flower!

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

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Greetings y Saludos

I didn’t mean it to, but this follows from my last stack. Only today the chemtrails are not so pretty. In fact they’re awful. And I’m on my way into Fairfax to get organic veggies.

Over the last week the skies over West Marin have been the worst I have ever seen them. Not a Nebraska style gridlock, but worse. A grid has logic to it, like a guy mowing the lawn. Here in Marin, our skies have been pure, crazy chaos. No rhyme-or-reason chaos. A crazy Rorschach blot of messy off-white puke signifying demonic possession and the savage destruction of beauty, as a patchwork chaos of stripey gunk, wispy-wooly gunk, going-round-in-circles gunk and a splatting piss-drench of toxic gunk billows across what we used to call the sky.

As I pull into the Good Earth Health Food parking lot I’m confronted by the confirming absurdity: Three active chemtrailers, clearly visible to the east and south of Fairfax, each flying down one side of a triangle, so that the sky is full of a pure, five mile long white equilateral triangle, a real Pythagorean triangle, that is, the sort when you leap out of the bath and scream Eureka!

Chemtrailers doing Pythagoras. That’s deliberate. Someone plotted that on the three flight coordinates. Three trailers, same altitude, same rotational direction. That’s Eureka for chemtrail dystopia.

I pull into a parking bay and in the next space over is Jane putting bags of fresh green organic produce into the trunk of her Volvo. Jane’s a friend of a friend, an accountant, who used to come to Wu Wei before the plandemic.

As I get out she sees me and smiles.

Oh hi, nice to see you, long time!

I’m in the aisle between the cars so I stop to let her finish with the groceries.

After closing the trunk, Jane turns to me, all happy and full of beans.

Isn’t it a glorious day! We’re so lucky to live here!

Yes it’s lovely here. But, er, uh... I wave my hands to the sky... Look at all the Chemtrails.

The good mood turns to ice.

You know how to spoil things, don’t you? Can’t you just enjoy a beautiful day?

She moves aside to let me pass and I turn back to face her.

But look... look at the mess in the sky... and the triangle...

A cold look of contempt wafts my way.

I’m not interested.

The Volvo pulls out and I’m left standing with the hard finality of hate. Like the portcullis of a great medieval city dropping shut with a huge metallic clang, the closed mind of a normie drives away for another lucky-to-live-here day amongst the glorious redwoods of Bay Vista Chase.

Indeed, all is glorious in the great city of Mogodon. Down at city centre, Official Narrative Plaza is thronging with iHappy crowds and the bells of the great iNormie cathedral are ringing joyfully and tolling out:

Not interested... not interested... not interested...

As the Volvo drove away I stood there feeling like my face had been slapped. Jane’s wilful gut-punch of ignorance was a kick in the teeth against everything wise and gracious in our universe.

Two days later, the snap-shut clang of not interested... not interested... not interested... is still ringing round my brain.

Sometimes it’s hard to explain ruling class depravity. But with Chemtrails, the evidence is in your face. Just look up. The skies are a complete and utter mess.

Hello, anybody home?

This is where George Carlin does his tweety-tweet, phee-phew look and tiptoes across stage whispering and nooobody wants... to knooow... and nooobody wants…

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

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On a personal note.

In a couple of weeks my wife and I are going to Australia for a month to take part in my son’s marriage festivital.

In true Aussie style naturalism, it’s a bush wedding. A small group of family and friends will spend three days in the rainforest camping next to the creek. In the ways of the rainbow camp collective, everything is organic, brought in and made in harmony with mother earth. Other than a few guest tents, everything will be built on site. I am part of an early arrival team that will dig out clay and stones, construct the baker’s oven, build the deejay hut, collect moss for the bridal throne, mark out the ceremony space with a circle of stones, build the shit pit and much else besides that I can’t think of.

There will be culture, respect to land, sharing, live music, jams, ecstatic dancing, bush walks, swimming in the creek and lot’s of good food. The nuptials take place on the third day and—I can’t wait to see this—the bride’s wedding dress and the gown for the groom have been made out of eucalyptus leaves!

Our plane lands on the twenty-fifth anniversary of Nine Eleven. There are two further letters to the First Nation Elders that are pending. Plus missives on how the lineage of Ahriman and Sorath ties in with the current plans of the cabal. As always I have much to talk about but there are times when ruling class depravities have to take a back seat. As well, I will be without internet for a week so expect limited hangout (hmmm... did I just say that?) with haikus, poems and sonnets—always on point of course—to sustain you while I have a great time being a happy dad in the rainforest.

Love and blessings to you all.

Steve

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

I want this design on my next cappuccino. Pretty, no?

And I won’t forget to put flowers on your grave

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

Government Health Warning

The following poem contains ideas known to the Sate of California to cause holes in the Official Narrative.

~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

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The Second Amendment

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A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms shall not be infringed.

Well regulated Negro patrols, being necessary to the supremacy of Free Americans, the right of white people to keep and bear slaves shall not be infringed.

Genocide, being necessary to the Manifest Destiny of America, the right of settler colonials to wage extreme war on the peoples of the First Nation shall not be infringed.

Light on the hill, being necessary for the export of democracy to Montezuma, Tripoli, Mexico, Vietnam, Iraq, Libya and beyond, the right of well armed Marines to invade anywhere shall not be infringed.

A military-industrial complex, being necessary for the profits of rapacious capitalism, the right of America to wage full-spectrum democracy shall not be infringed.

Doctors prefer camels, camels prefer cowboys and cowboys prefer cigarettes—the right of a well deregulated advertising industry to underestimate the intelligence of the American public shall not be infringed.

The myth of Nine Eleven, being necessary to the National Security State, the right of the people to be called conspiracy theorists shall not be infringed.

A well regulated people, being necessary for the War on Terror, the right of the State to terrorise its own citizens shall not be infringed.

A well vaccinated American public, being necessary to the suppression of critical thinking, the right of children to be born autistic shall not be infringed.

Well regulated memory loss, being necessary to the exceptionalism of American Democracy, the right of educated white liberals to make no difference shall not be infringed.

A well regulated Official Narrative, being necessary to uphold the power of an Imperial State, the right of the people to be clueless about the real history of their country shall not be infringed.

An Orwell regulated Empire, being necessary to the security of the free world, the right of America to keep and drop Atomic bombs shall not be infringed.

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

Inspired by Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz and the late William Blum

~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

Naked ladies in our garden

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Butterflies,

interrupted

by the bomb

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Bashō, your tatami mat

was turned to ashes

at Hiroshima

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Buson, try false flag

and seventeen syllables

scream out Pearl Harbour

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Issa, just lovers

and cherry blossoms,

no ashes in Kyoto! *

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Orange glow

sunset like no other

butterflies in the river

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Kaga no Chiyo,

today the Buddha,

what Buddha?

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Today the butterflies

cannot dream

of dandelions

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Today Sorath

crushes Rebel Christ,

what Christ?

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Today the butterflies

flit to and fro

and dream of Rebel Christ

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

* Henry L. Stimson, U.S. Secretary of War during World War II, insisted that Kyoto be removed from the atomic bomb target list because he had spent his honeymoon there.

~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

A Palestinian man sits desolated on a couch in Anzah, Jenin. Today, Mon 27 July 2026

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Greetings y Saludos

This is a quick stack. I’m actually taking the day off to catch up on some paperwork, but I just watched (yet another) video of destruction in the West Bank and just have to write about it.

I usually start with a flower but the photo of a man sitting on his couch in Anzah after his village had been bombed and razed was heartbreaking. I feel sick and nauseated to the core of my being.

Imagine. Suppose it’s northern California. Suppose you live in Napa and you own a vineyard. And then one day ICE, or some other military power, foreign or otherwise, drives in with bulldozers and a platoon of rabid soldiers who are all frothing and seething with hatred for you, for your family and for all the people in Napa. They shoot your family, bulldoze your house, the barns and the vineyard and then tell the rest of you to go to a concentration camp down in Bakersfield.

Think about it for a moment. What does it feel like?

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The current savagery in the Middle East did not start on the Mossad-Hamas invasion of 10/7. What did begin then was the round-the-clock porn-and-fetish TikToks of IDF violence.

This is not how the Palestinians see it. For them, the Nakba began in 1948 with the first wave of ethnic cleansing, an event scrupulously researched and written up with damning evidence by Ilan Pappé in his book The Ethnic Cleansing of Palestine.

Ilan Pappé is entirely correct. But that is not how I see it, or rather I see more, because 1948 is only part of a much bigger story.

The twenty-four hour 4K pixel porn-fest of lingerie, baby-cry drones and the daily carnage of bombed out homes is grotesque. If you are not asleep (or a diehard Zionist) you have to be living in apocalyptic rage. Often you want to puke.

But stop for a moment. Two points.

First. About the rage. Strong emotion reduces your capacity to think. Slow down and think it through. Why is all this footage coming through? Why is it allowed? Yes, cell phones, citizen journalists and all that. Sure. But we also know how efficiently Empire and its high-tech cohorts can control the flow of information when and how they and it wants.

What follows is graphic and brutal. Be warned or skip the paragraph.

I have often said that Empire is increasingly not just announcing its intentions but is being more and more brazenly open about its acts of wanton aggression. Not because it can’t hide its atrocities—it can—but because it wants to cow you and bow you down with a demonic war dance of sadistic posturing.

The round-the-clock war porn footage coming out of Gaza, Lebanon and the West Bank is nothing more than the giant soldier of Empire first straddling you, getting out its dirty penis and then masturbating its filthy phosphor-burning cum all over you.

Unpleasant, certainly. But we have to go further. The sickness of IDF soldiers parading killed women’s lingerie is the collective sickness of the West. Of Europe with its colonial past. Or, as I say in my letter to First Nation Elders, the sickness of the White Man.

War porn needs to continually shock you in order to make you feel powerless. And then—if somehow the dumbing down doesn’t work—to so enrage your feelings that your thinking becomes muddled and cloudy.

Point two.

Take a breath. Think long and broad and then go deep into context. I have repeatedly said that the current imperial atrocity in Gaza is the logical result of four hundred years of Anglo-American settler colonialism. In fact, go back five hundred years. Let’s include Spain as well.

If you don’t take in the broad sweep of Tristory it is possible to become affected by a subtle form of anti-semitism. (In darker moments, I sometimes wonder if this isn’t deliberate policy.) Watching the atrocities playing out in Gaza it is easy to start hating the Israelis, the IDF, and, by worming-into-the-psyche extension, the Jews as well.

Take a breath. Friends, let me tell you something.

We are all Israelis.

Go back to my stacks on Guatemala and Peru. I wrote extensively on Pedro Alvarado and Pizarro. In Lima one day I found myself in front of a huge iron statue on the outskirts of the city walls. Being my first day I had no idea. The massive statue exuded certainty, triumph and implacable will. I was staggered. Right there was the secret.

The Force! The war-horse! The war-horse is the Force!

Pizarro on his giant, fire-breathing, Inca burning and Gaza bombing war horse. In front of me was the demonic ogre, the iron-willed, grim-visaged soldier of fortune. I was staring at the cutting edge of Empire.

Friends, burn it into your souls.

From Pizarro to Gaza is five hundred years of unremitting imperial savagery. The names, the countries and victims change. The carnage is the same. The Empire is the same. The Cabal is the same.

Stop seeing so-called history as a long and muddled mosaic of random events. Behind the bits-and-pieces narrative they teach you at school lies a ruthless agenda being vigorously pursued by a ruthless ruling class cabal.

And behind the cabal and the oligarchs lie powerful demons who guide and inspire them: Ahriman and Sorath.

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Think of a plant in your garden. It has roots, stem, branches and leaves. At the top of the branch is the growing tip. This tip contains the force that, year by year, pulls the rest of the plant upwards, outwards and into new leaves and branches. If the bush is too big and you want to stop further growth, just nip off the growing tip with your garden shears.

At the current time in Tristory, Israel is the growing tip of Empire. However barbaric the daily Instagram carnage may seem—and is—to your crying eyes, remember:

It’s the same barbarity of the conquistadors unleashing attack dogs on the Mayans.

Along with all the other atrocities. If they had had them, the Spanish would have used drones and phosphor bombs. Same with the English against the Pequots. Because they’re heathens. Or today, Because they’re animals.

The demonic world likes to reverse reality. (Those who protest the terrorism of Empire are themselves labelled terrorists. Etc.)

Empire reverses Mother Nature.

If Israel is the growing tip of Empire, it won’t do to nip Israel in the bud. It won’t work. Another bud will shoot up somewhere else in the world. Empire is relentless.

The situation reverses itself. The way to deal with Israel is to deal with the Empire that lies behind it.

Which means the only way to deal with Israel is to completely remove the Anglo-American Ruling Classes. When Brevolution takes place in Britain and then spreads to Europe with Eurolution, the cleansing of the European Spirit Tree will automatically make the poisoned branches untenable. The ‘nutrients’ of war, armaments, hate and propaganda will be unable to sustain their growth. And the growing tip we call Israel will wither away and fall to the ground.

No less for the Israelis as the Europeans, redemption will be painful.

The world has to learn the reality of karma and trespass. We incarnate into one culture (tribe, nation, group) this life and in the next life we will be born somewhere and some culture else.

This is another reason not to be racist: what you hate in this life is what you will be born into during the next. Deal with it now—or later. Your choice.

(Later life means being hated and oppressed by those you tormented in this one.)

On a practical level—a poet can be strategic after all—there will be a small rump of ex-Israelis in the new nation state of Palestine (with its safeguarded Jewish population) who refuse to accept forgiveness and redemption. They will likely join with a diasporic Mossad to become a new world wide Spectre-Smersh mafia. But this is a story for another day.

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In the next stack I will get back to my Open Letter to First Nation Elders.

It is stressful writing. As an ignorant white guy, what do I know? Not much. Nothing in fact. Plus I’m taking a risk of ‘cultural appropriation’ and much else besides. Please comment if I get it wrong, but be gentle, I’m doing my best. There is a point to it. And a vision.

And I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t feel Spirit calling me.

Love and blessings

Steve

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Of course I have to end with flowers. Life is beautiful, no?

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

A flower to start the day

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The American Dream

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The Masonic Goddess cast her beacon flame

across to Europe’s teeming shores. For human rights

and liberty the huddled masses came,

but dreams got vacuumed up by empire’s might

as robber barons shot and stole their way

across your worker’s rights. But on you dreamed

as teevee gleamed: you poor today

tomorrow rich, then hollywaddle screened

the mighty mojo, beamed Bernays and fried

your brain with koka-kola, Camels, cadillac

and jazz for one great Coney Island ride.

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Successful they, who sell back what you lack.

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The barons own the dream. And they achieve it

because you have to be asleep to believe it.

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(Respects to the late, great, George Carlin)

© Steve Devas

fearlessarts.substack.com

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Dear Elders and Spirit of First Nation America

Once again I’m with you up in an Idaho pine lodge staring at a circle of Elders looking at me impassively.

I’m not too comfortable. I’m going to break the Culture Study rules. I know very little about your culture and yet I’m going to put you on the line.

Note. I wrote the above sonnet a few years ago. (I would like to create one specially for you, but they take ages to write!) The mistreatment of the American working classes has something in common with that of the First Nations. It’s hard to compare suffering—yours is far greater, I think—but towards the end of the chapter, you’ll see that both groups got taken in by the power of television propaganda. And it also begs a point: could a natural connection be found between your people and the working classes?

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There is much resilience in your peoples, and lately I see that it has been growing. When I look around the websites of your reservations, I find community halls, schools, sports halls, photos of tribal dances, ceremonies and gatherings, gardens and in some cases large acreage of productive farmland.

This is excellent and you have much to be proud of.

But as I read the runes I have to ask:

Are you sure you haven’t become Americans?

Jean Paul Sartre introduced authenticity into Western philosophy. But you don’t need Sartre to arrive at the idea of self-autonomy, soul-authentic and spirit alignment. Authenticity is innate.

But first, what about the White Man?

The White Man is not authentic. He cannot be. The American White Man lives in the Big Lie, the four hundred year lie of Indian slaughter and black slavery pretending that America is one nation under God, the Light on the Hill and the world’s greatest democracy.

George Carlin called it out. The American Dream is a fraud. The reality is this:

America is one nation under Ahriman and Sorath.

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I began this letter on the Fourth of July because I couldn’t stomach going down to the vintage cars, the hot dogs, the Cap’n America floats and all the happy, flag-waving American patriotism.

July Four is patriotic amnesia. What is clear from the parade is that the religion of America is America. The Wu Wei of ‘our great nation’ is the American Way of War.

Psychotherapists like to quote Jung and his work on the shadow, but they don’t like to analyse America itself. The truth is too shocking. As people have doppelgängers, so do nations. If you live in denial, the demons take over.

Ask Americans to tell you about the School of the Americas, and they’d be stumped. A university for democracy? A summer camp for baseball? In fact the School of the Americas is the Georgia campus where you go to learn the American Way of War. The place has since been renamed WHINSEC (Western Hemisphere Institute for Security Cooperation) but the teachings continue. Among other things, the syllabus includes subversion, police brutality and torture. Almost all South American dictators were trained there.

Americans refuse to look at their shadow. They prefer the American Dream.

The closed-mind niceness of middle classes. Educated, clever and incapable of seeing spirit, they will not know.

America is possessed by Ahriman and Sorath.

These two powerful arch-demons have stolen the soul of America. Watch the George Carlin routine where he circles his finger around his head, then tiptoes across the stage going, phee phoo, phee phoo, you guys didn’t notice did you?

George Carlin knew Empire in his bones. He called it out.

And nobody noticed, because without soul you cannot recognise Spirit. And neither can you recognise its absence, which is spiritual vacuum, the dead soul-space of the shadows.

To be authentic is to be in possession of Spirit.

Americans lack Spirit. Genocide in Gaza and Spirit are incompatible. Living in the great July Four-ever Coney Island ride of flag-waving, F-16 flyovers and Top Gun patriotism, Americans are incapable of recognising that their country is possessed by Ahriman and Sorath.

They are also blind to the Spirit of your First Nation People.

Dear Elders, the good news is this. It is your job to reclaim the lost spirit of America, both for the First Nation and for the White Man.

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But first I have to ask: How authentic are the peoples of the First Nation?

I am searching for Spirit.

Looking around First Nation websites I see the houses, the roads, the sculptures, the murals, the log cabins, the adobe houses and many visible signs of cultural renaissance. But I want to ask you: how separate is this from mainstream America?

Suppose that one day the rest of America magically vanished, leaving only your built communities. Imagine that. My question: how successfully would your people survive? The power supply, the goods and chattels you use, the automobiles, the snowmobiles, the chainsaws, the toothpaste, the food and a million other things. The whole supply chain, gone in a puff of imaginary smoke.

And then your cultural practices. If White Man disappeared, would you all go back to the culture as it was in 1600?

Life and people change. Much of the First Nation has evolved in response to the subjugation brought about by the savagery of American settler colonialism. Being able to survive has been a triumph for your people. But what about your way of thinking? Your stories, your inner narrative, your sense of self, your soul pride and the way you stand with Spirit?

How dependent are your cultural practices on the surrounding—and no doubt suffocating—embrace of American referential propaganda?

Are you selling culture? As postcards, as native art, as dance performance? Does the existence of your culture depend on the fact that it exists in a mirror? The mirror of indulgent mythologising by academic and textual constructs? Can you exist without the need for subconscious validation by mainstream America? The totem pole at the airport? The city centre mural? Hiawatha hanging in the state legislature. And that exquisite indulgence, the final hand-me-down of White Man recognition—being ‘included’ on a postage stamp?

Are you authentic? Or has the vibrant, bustling First Nation township become another American suburb, one that is ‘colourful’ with its murals and log cabin community centres?

Have you been Stockholmed?

After four hundred years, have you given up spirit and bonded with the oppressor?

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

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Some years ago I was house-sitting in Costa Rica. The place was tucked away in the rainforest, and, as it was monsoon, there wasn’t much to do. I picked up the first book on the coffee table. Over the next few days I read it from cover to cover.

Navajo Code Talkers, The Warriors tells the story of how the Navajo were recruited into the US Marines to pass messages between base and advanced units. The Japanese were unable to decode the Navajo language which meant that the Marine forward units could safely receive messages instructing them how best to advance up the hill. It is widely acknowledged by military historians that success at Iwo Jima could not have happened without the Navajo code talkers.

Looking at the event purely as battle, I salute the courage of the Navajo code talkers. In fact I salute all the soldiers, friend and foe alike. The Navajo, the Marines and the Japanese defenders all fought and died bravely. Years later the Navajo code talkers received a Congressional Medal of Honour.

But as I read the book a deeper story unfolded. Many Navajo families had suffered population loss due to forced relocation into special schools so they could be indoctrinated into White Man culture. The ones left behind were marginalised, discriminated and—irony of ironies—forbidden to speak their native language.

And then what happens? In 1943 Uncle Sam barrels up to the Pueblo, stands in the main square and eyes the crowd. Taking the cigar out of his mouth, he growls:

Boys, I got a swell job for you young braves. If you speak your language you can join the marines. Yep, be a hero, get good pay and America’s going to love you.

And so the youth of the pueblo lined up at the recruitment tent. As I turned the pages I was astounded. The young Navajo warriors were joining the army of the Savage Way of War, the same army who, for the last three hundred years, had hounded their people, bled them, raped them, poisoned them, starved them and genocided them.

Poverty makes for difficult choices. As well as ignorant ones.

It is certain that seventeen-year-old ‘Little Deer’ Lee Colston did not know what a false flag was. He was poor, hungry and out of work. The past was past, and here was Uncle Sam with his swagger, his Sherman-tank growl, his fat-cat wallet and an offer to join the American Dream.

Nobody does oppression like the Americans:

The John Wayne pistol-shot bullseye clap on the back; the instant buddy-buddy, yes-siree, you’re one of us handshake, the Coney Island hustle, hey, son, I got an inside tip on the American Dream, you want in?

And descends from on high: the breathless, slo-mo American flag drifting over the mesa in full, wide-pan Hollywaddle-sunset me-Bumppo you-Chinga happy ending promise as the great bronco-bucking dream-catcher flags and waves over the tall spiky yuccas, the sagebrush and the silent blue agave. Rippling and waving, high and proud, the American Dream dispenses its stars and spangles across the dusty mesas and the dry arroyos. The wave of the wand. The Coney Island promise of koka-kola, Cadillac, brass-band, big oompah, big parades, big-city poor-boy dreaming I got it made, I’m on the up escalator no looking back, I’m a hero now on the right track, gonna meet a blue-eyed blonde and eat a Big Mac, crave it, wave it, the blue-eyed blonde is just for me, gonna be fine, gonna sign on the line and get a brand new uniform. Oh yes! And then the last great shout-it-out cooee thrill, the thrill that finally, White Man is gonna buddy up to me with his recognition, his firm handshake, and he’s gonna honour me, see me, and treat me like a real man, because I’m a warrior, I have my traditions and I’m proud to defend my territory, my Diné homeland.

And so Lee Colston did what any young man would do, he signed up for war, pay and uniform. And because, deep inside, he was still a warrior. And maybe, just maybe, a blonde at the end of the rainbow.

No disrespect. I would have done the same.

The Coney Island ride to Stockholm, blondes and fame: The Americans make it easy to sell your soul.

Even after genocide.

We have to face the facts. After three hundred years of savagery against their people, the Navajo Code Talkers signed up for the American Way of War. Two years after Iwo Jima, with your stolen Leetso, the Americans perpetrated what they had started on Navajo lands:

With the unspeakable savagery of their settler colonialist ways, the Americans atom-bombed Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

Dear Elders, Lee Colston could hardly have known the facts.

As well as savagery, the American Way of War is grounded in deception. A year before Iwo Jima came the so-called Day of Infamy.

It is correct to call it infamy, but it was not Japanese infamy. Pearl Harbour is the American Way of Infamy. Lies, lies and more lies. The American elites initiated the Pearl Harbour attack. It was a deliberately instigated False Flag to bring America into the Second World War.

At the root of the American Way of War is the wilful stupidity of two hundred million liberal, well-educated Americans. They have the power to see but do not. To this day they refuse to believe that Pearl Harbour was a False Flag. Or Nine Eleven. Or the Pono-Covid Plandemic. And much else besides.

And so every Fourth of July they purr like stroked cats sleeping in the lap of the American Dream. They wave flags, they cheer and they celebrate the enduring Americana of Empire with its rock bands, kids selling lemonade, vintage cars and the wonderful hospitality of open-house barbecues on the front lawn. The enduring woke-up niceness of liberal America—people who would do anything for you, except wake up.

Dear Elders, have you joined them? Do you purr at every faint praise of recognition? Do you believe it? Have you gone to sleep?

Have you become Americans?

George Carlin ‘got’ Empire. And with his brutal, savage wit, he called it out:

The American Dream—you have to be asleep to believe it.

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All this from a white guy living on stolen Miwok land. And there’s more to come. Sleep well. Tomorrow I’ve got a feeling you’ll be back for more.

Blessings

Steve

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

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Addendum

Peter McDonald • With great pride, one of the last Navajo Code Talkers discusses his secret role during WWII

4 minutes. Worth watching.

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

Roses from our garden

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Dear Elders and Spirit of the First Nation of America,

Welcome back to Fearless Arts Café.

Yesterday I summed up the four hundred years of war waged against the First Nation people of North America. Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz calls it the American Way of War. First begun by the English, the Savage Way of War—as I shall also call it—was continuously refined by America.

Before I can go on to propose a vision, there are further facts to face, ones that go to the root cause of evil. Behind the outward politics of the Anglo-American Empire, dark spiritual forces influence human beings, especially those in positions of governance.

Dear Elders, you have your secrets.

I have heard that the Gods of Old taught you this: In the high mesa, in the lands of no rain, there are dry and waterless valleys you should not enter. These are the places of Evil Spirits. And you obeyed. The Elders of the past made sure none of your people walked there, or dug the earth, or tilled the soil.

Then White Man came. He entered a forbidden site. Though it is not your name, I will call this place of evil Death Valley.

The White Man didn’t listen to your traditions and didn’t heed your warnings. Without care or thought, he walked into Death Valley. He couldn’t feel the guardians; he couldn’t feel the warning. But deep down he could feel the energy. The bad spirits spoke to him. And he felt the call.

I have heard that Leetso is the name you give to the yellow earth of Death Valley. And that you also say that Leetso has bad spirit

According to my traditions, there are two evil spirits in the Valley of Death and white men listened to them both.

The first death spirit is Ahriman. The north-south ley lines of Rocky Mountains create intense magnetism. Through the impulses of magnetism in motion, Ahriman inspired Thomas Edison to create electricity. This was a defining act of spiritual defiance. Edison created electricity and then pushed it through a wire to create light in his vacuum bulb. This is dark alchemy. Electricity is dead sunlight. By manipulating iron with magnetism, the inner light of primal matter is sheared away from the hidden sun and turned into the pseudo-light of the Edison bulb.

America is the Empire of Electricity.

A hundred years after Edison, the White Man came to Death Valley and took away its substance. He took your stolen Leetso back to a squash court in Chicago. There he performed even worse alchemy. He split the atom. A few years later the White Man came back to your desert lands and turned his black magic into a giant fireball.

Sorath is the second death spirit. It is he who worked through Oppenheimer to create the Atomic Bomb.

The uranium came from your lands. From your Leetso. Your people dug it up. The bomb was detonated over your land and the radioactive fallout unleashed by the explosion spread all over your communities. It is a contamination that is with you to this day.

Dear Elders, your spirit guardians said: Do not enter Death Valley. But the White Man didn’t listen. And now two immensely powerful adversarial spirits have been summoned from the deep. I speak from my tradition, but I have a feeling that your cosmology would find an equivalent to the dark spirits I call Ahriman and Sorath.

In addition to Electricity, America is the Empire of The Atomic Bomb.

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

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In the world today there is almost no understanding of Ahriman and Sorath. By working spiritually through sleeping human beings, these two diabolic beings are destroying the planet.

From quantum computers to guided cluster drones, it is Ahriman and his electricity who empowers the Savage Way of War in the field of missiles, bombs and other explosive weaponry.

Ahriman also rules over human beings because he is the master of deception. The lies used to support Empire grow more duplicitous with every passing day. We should also speak about the Savage Way of Deception, because, along with false flags, war always needs false testimony in order to induce ordinary human beings to kill their fellow men. War is never in people’s interest, but they are either too asleep or too fearful to see through the fog of deception and brainwashing.

Starting with England in the 1600’s, the Anglo-American Empire has relentlessly pursued Russia through propaganda, lies and fearmongering. As we speak NATO is pushing Russia down a dangerous path of provocation.

It is Sorath who rules over the end result of the Savage Way of War: the nuclear bomb.

NATO is playing a game chicken with Russia in Ukraine. Ahriman uses his greasy treachery and his endless tricky details to promote the war by a thousand cuts, death by a thousand pin-prick incursions, with each one bolder than the last. One by one, rules of engagement get broken as NATO pushes Russia towards a non-negotiable point of no return. With a patience that is stretching thin, the Kremlin has so far declined the NATO game of MAD poker. Ultimately the Americans are also cautious; their long-term strategy is to overcome Russia with a land war and hope that it doesn’t go nuclear. For this reason they are prolonging the war in Ukraine for as long as possible (just like they did with the Iraq – Iran war of 1980) so that the Slavs on both sides destroy each other.

The Anglo-American Empire desires to expand and control the whole world. Currently the Middle East is the eye of the storm. In its Dimona army base Israel has ninety active-use atomic bombs and, in my view, the Zionists are far more willing to use them than the more cautious Russians, or even, in spite of a few mad generals, the Americans.

In order to understand the problem of Israel two important facts need to be known.

The devil has many facets. Sorath is the ancient Sun Demon, the Antichrist.

The second point is more contentious. The state of Israel is in spiritual violation of Solomon’s ancient wisdom. In the Song of Songs, Three Sacred Oaths are given verses 2:7 3:5 and 8:4. (They are very similar.) You can read them in King James’ Bible. Like the others, the first reads:

I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, by the roes, and by the hinds of the field, that ye stir not up, nor awake my love, till he please.

These seemingly erotic verses have occult meaning and are written as direct proscriptions in Ketubot 111a of the Babylonian Talmud. The command is simple:

Israel is forbidden to organise itself as a political state anywhere, at any time.

The land round the Jordan Valley is the solar plexus of creation. Deep in the earth below Jerusalem the counter force of Sorath has always been at work but until now the full force of his ferocity has been blunted.

Dimona and the Balfour Declaration changed all that. The Sun Demon has been woken. The Beast stirs, sniffs and growls. And then, like hot, sticky tar, the implacable hatred of Christ bubbles up from beneath the Negev and injects its Savage-Atom fury into the radioactive miasma of ninety nuclear warheads.

Violation of sacred law brings serious consequences.

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

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The land-lust of the American Way of War has reached its logical conclusion in Gaza.

Everything that has taken place over the last four hundred years of European conquest is being played out with the same vicious, racist and methodical brutality. What the English began with the Pequots in 1637 has not ceased; on the contrary, the brutality grinds on. The only difference is that the savagery has morphed and become more subtle, more asymmetric and that the lies grow bigger and more blatant. With nightly opium-bombing by television, the brainwashed masses are kept in the dark and remain continuously willing to go to war with people who are, if they only knew it, just like themselves. Today the Anglo-American Way of Savagery is being flaunted daily on Israeli television as an entire nation promotes and celebrates pathological barbarism against the original inhabitants who, like the First Nation Peoples before them, occupy the lebensraum of imperial ambitions.

In a small ersatz nation of nine million people, the Savage Way of War has brought the world to the trip wire of Armageddon.

Below the Negev sands Sorath is licking his lips.

The ancient demon of Baal and Moloch has come back to the birthplace of Rebel Christ. Behind the world of television and Eddie Bernays propaganda, he spits, mocks and taunts human beings:

You have no spirit; you have no power. Come, join me in damnation. For is it not said: Hate is love? Freedom is slavery? Oh humans, know you not that damnation is salvation? Destroy! Destroy! Believe in me, oh hackable animals, and I will turn earth into the death star of the eternal machine.

Every night the ghoul of Dimona rises out of the desert sands and whispers into the ears of the psychopaths in Tel Aviv:

You are the chosen ones! You are the masters! You are the people of the talents! Go forth and conquer, for the world is yours! And if you cannot have Empire, if you cannot have Eretz Israel, then you have the bomb. Use it! Use the Samson option. Let the Goyim perish! For if you cannot have it, then no one else will. For my damnation is salvation and I will be with you forever.

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

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Dear Elders and Spirits,

The White Man broke sacred law and stole the Savage Atom from your lands. Since that time the black alchemy of modern science has unleashed a force that appears to be unstoppable.

Israel is a tribe of the White Man (at least from your point of view.) They colonise another people’s land and commit genocide. And by their presence in the ancient lands of Galilee they violate Sacred Law, as is written in the proscriptions of Ketubot.

I know little about your ways, but I will venture to say: You are the wisdom keepers of the land and you knew that Leetso, the substance of earth in Death Valley, was an evil spirit. You kept the Law. White Man violated the Law.

The Savage Atom is out of control. The Empire is a madman.

What now? There has to be a way forward.

You have ancient wisdom. Can you help me find the way?

Blessings

Steve

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

Orange flower and bee

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Greetings y Saludos

I am continuing to evaluate my fourth year of Substack since I began in San Miguel de Allende in June 2022. As always the goal is the same. The only way out of the impending social and political abyss requires the removal of the Anglo-American Ruling Classes. The Kionist Manifesto is a textbook for the loving, lawful and peaceful Revolution in Great Britain that I call Brevolution. In turn this must spread across Europe to become Eurolution.

For years I have asked myself: what about Revolution in America? How will that come about?

Today, on Sat 4 July, the way appeared.

Talk to the Elders of the American First Nation Peoples.

What follows is an open letter to the original Spirit of America. The letter will be in two parts and will form part of the early chapters of the published manifesto. Today’s first part will be longer than usual but it’s too important to let it be anything less than what Spirit calls for.

The glossary will follow at the end of part two.

Love and blessings

Steve

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An open letter to the Elders, and the Spirit, of the First Nation Peoples of North America.

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Dear Elders of First Nation America

I’m asking for your help with Brevolution, a Revolution which will begin the world wide removal of the Anglo-American Ruling Classes.

I’m a white guy living on Miwok land in Northern California. I’m not certain that you will read this. Why would you? But I’m going to write to you anyway.

Beyond the suffering, theft of land and humiliation of the last four hundred years it should be obvious to you that the same empire that brought an end to your way of life is also bringing the world to collapse. The recent increase in war, lies, general madness and depraved sexuality have unleashed a tumult of wickedness that can only end in a world catastrophe.

You could observe this outcome and think to yourselves:

Let it be, we have our reservations. We know how to live off the land better than the white man. Let him suffer the karma he deserves.

If so, read no further. I don’t blame you. And good luck.

But it’s possible you might have the patience to hear my quest. I am appealing to your spirit, your generosity and the wisdom of your ancient ways.

I am asking you to help bring Empire to an end.

In other chapters of the book you can see what the vision is and how we will remove the Anglo-American Ruling Classes. After Brevolution we will have Grenaissance and La Bella Futura. As I always point out, it is a Revolution that is lawful, loving and peaceful.

The call of Revolution is for Europe and America to put their house in order. As Elders you would have no respect for people who have no pride, even as enemies. On the one hand our people have done terrible damage to your nations. But on the other I have to say there is much that is good living in my people. I want to suggest to you that, if Tristory will just give us a chance, we may be able to make amends for past wrongs. And while we can look to righting the past in practical ways I think the far greater part of restoration lies in creating a new world of Trivitalism, Grenaissance and La Bella Futura, a world where our peoples can cooperate, inspire and work together for a spirit-future where resources are shared and there is justice for all.

I would like to see First Nation People smile again.

Who doesn’t smile at the birth of a child? Yes,but I speak of a smile that comes when a great burden has been lifted from your back.

But I also want to see a smile that comes to everyone on planet earth, because, let’s face it, most of the world needs a break. Millions are suffering from the oppression and rapacious capitalism that is reducing the world to rubble, ruin and poverty as we speak.

Let the world smile again. And let’s have fun.

For this to happen we need world Revolution. Removing the Cabal is not an easy thing to do. The elites will do all they can to cling onto their ill-gotten power. For various reasons, mentioned elsewhere, I think my own birth country has the best chance of having what I call Brevolution. From there it will spread to the rest of Europe with Eurolution.

How it comes about in America is what I want to talk to you about.

I never thought I would write a letter to First Nation. When things fall into place in surprising ways, you know Karma is at work.

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I have led a long, well-travelled life and lived in many countries. Twelve years ago I met a lady at a funeral in Los Angeles. Romance ensued and we got married. I made another geographical leap and came to San Francisco.

Over twelve years of living in Northern California I never met a native North American.

In the first year of the Pono-Covid Plandemic I began writing the Kionist Manifesto.

Since it is my fate to be writing this from America, from Miwok country in Northern California, I also have to address how Revolution might come about here in the USA. For several years I had no idea how to make it happen.

Three months ago I began reading Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz’s Loaded. I followed up with An Indigenous History of America. Reading the latter I was introduced to the concept of the American Way of War. I was deeply moved by Dunbar-Ortiz’s masterful storytelling and was shattered reading about the wilful destruction of your people.

And then a month ago, as my wife and I were driving out of Novato, we passed a sign that said Miwok Park.

Over the years I have often passed the park and had the thought: I’m living on land that was stolen from the First Nation; at the very least I should get to know my local Indian culture. This time, with Indigenous History in my mind I said: Let’s stop. We have to visit.

The museum is a small house with two rooms of exhibits. Mostly photographs and a few implements. I was very impressed with the system for cooking acorns. It was hard to believe a wicker basket could hold water and not leak, let alone be filled with boiling water and not disintegrate. But it does. The Miwok cooks put the acorn gruel into the wicker basket and then, with a hazel stick wound into a kind of open paddle, they lift out a red hot stone from the fire and place it carefully into the acorn gruel. The stone cooks the gruel and the resulting porridge can be eaten directly or turned into pancakes and other types of bread.

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

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Today is Saturday 4 July 2026.

I woke up at three in the morning. Suddenly an idea leapt out at me. I have to speak to the Elders. I have to write you a letter. That is the way forward.

This year it’s the Semiquincentennial. It’s after breakfast now and down in the valley I can hear the rock band starting up for the annual parade. With the Miwok people on my mind, it is a destiny moment. Today I have to begin the New Revolution in America with the People of the First Nation.

My thesis is this. I believe it is you, the First Nation Elders along with the Spirit of your peoples, whose destiny it is to remove the American Ruling Classes.

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But first, a little about today. I live in a little valley full of winding lanes, pines and redwoods where the people are kind, sweet and loving. Until the Plandemic that is, when I was asked to leave the village. My better health was a threat to their vaccine cult. A few years have passed and that’s all over now, but I haven’t forgotten.

Today they are waving flags, eating Fire Brigade pancakes and waiting for the vintage cars to roll down Willow Avenue. Most of them have college degrees and, being liberal, they have Wounded Knee on their bookshelves. Back in the day they opposed the war in Vietnam. So they know about Empire. But do they? Actually not. It’s wet knowing. Selective knowing. Cognitive dissonance knowing. Later on I will talk about Fiery Knowing.

Here is a clue. My village is full of people, especially women, who get passionate about favourite liberal topics. I’ll leave out Ukraine and Black Lives Matter with all the front gate flags fluttering with their progressive virtue outlook. A conversation starts about Iran and immediately they say, Oh but Mahsa Amini. They go on to tell you how backward Iran is. I say but, wait, how backward is our country? What about the School of the Americas, Agent Orange, the Guatemala genocide and the unprovoked attack on Iran? But they can’t engage. If they do, the discussion goes straight to the trigger shot: Oh, so you want women in Iran to wear the Burqa?

Logical fallacy. Reality collapse. Smart people. Ruled by tribal instinct.

And the ladies go back to flag waving for the anniversary of the best country on earth, the Founding Fathers’ Declaration and self-evident truths of Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

This is why I am not down at the parade. It’s time for Revolution.

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Unknown to the colourfully dressed Captain America Semiquincentennials down in the valley, the Founding Fathers had the pursuit of a far more ambitious goal than Happiness and the pursuit of Liberty on their minds back in 1776. The Ruling Classes always work with layered intent. The Declaration of Independence is a wonderful document and makes for inspiring reading. But, deep down, the huddled masses are not who the Founding Fathers really care about. Underneath the fine words, the Framers dreamed of Empire. The quarrel with Britain was not just about taxes and trade. It was about who is in charge of Empire and the Framers’ desire to transfer the imperial mechanism from London to Washington. From England to New England.

The English Puritans may have not been fully aware of the deeper structural message when they first named the new colony New England, but as the colony grew and became prosperous, the new proto-American gentry fully understood the implications.

By 1776 there were many reasons for independence. Again intentions are layered. Outwardly the reasons make perfect sense: taxes, trade restrictions, slaveholders concerned about abolition, anti-authoritarianism amongst the masses, new patriotic pride and more.

Beyond these reasons is something that history doesn’t talk about. There is an occult force behind the drive for Empire. In further chapters of the book I will talk about Ahriman, Sorath and the influence of Freemasonry in the political and economic evolution of modern human affairs.

The first two English incursions on the great land of your forefathers came at Jamestown in 1607 and then, with the Mayflower, at Plymouth in 1620. These initiating events represent the two-pronged attack of raw capitalism (at Jamestown), combined with the corrosive and Ahrimanically inspired Puritanism (at Plymouth.) The latter, the voyage of the Mayflower, had on board men who were well versed in alchemic and hermetic literature. Public record (such that historians care to talk about it) indicates these people were utopianist New Jerusalem millennials. Through misapplied practice of Kabbalah they were carrying the Ahriman and Sorathic impulses that lie behind high-degree Freemasonry.

By 1776, the driving spiritual force behind the various Framer factions was Freemasonry. High-degree Freemasons knew very well why the Thirteen Colonies were called New England. It is sometimes said that dark occultists have to ‘indicate’ their plans.

America was to become the real New England.

Thousands of miles west of the original Jamestown and Plymouth settlements lay a vast untapped continent, full of arable land, minerals and untold natural resources. Rather than a tiny little island on the edge of Europe, this was the continent that promised to bring about the real English (British) Empire, the one that would later become the American Empire.

But first it had to be conquered.

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The subjugation of the First Nation Peoples was, and still is, the American Way of War.

In her books, Roxane Dunbar-Ortiz draws from the extensive research of John Grenier in his book The American Way of War. I haven’t read it, but along with Dunbar-Ortiz’s explanations, the title tells you all you need to know.

Beginning with the Pequot massacre, The American Way of War is one long, self-righteous, brutally waged war of My Lai atrocities.

In Loaded, Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz goes on to tell us that the Second Amendment is not just about fending off King George’s Redcoats. The Continental Army would do that. You can choose between the Official Narrative or you can read between the lines. Knowing how the Ruling Classes cover their tracks, close reading indicates the Second Amendment is an unstated but explicit instruction to the landless settlers of the eastern seaboard: Go west you huddled masses and take all the land. A well armed militia was essential for creating the American Empire. To get the land they had to go out and kill Indians. And when you take people’s land there is no mercy. The killing had to be ruthless, surgical and efficient.

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The American Way of War that began two hundred and fifty years ago today was always going to be messanic, brutal and never ending. It is a war that never stops. After a hundred and twenty years, when the so-called Wild West had been subjugated, the American Way of War had to expand. The first target was Spain, whose colonial possessions offered rich pickings for a fast expanding American economy.

In the Philippine War of 1899–1902, American army officers who had fought against Apache and Sioux modelled their counterinsurgency campaigns against Filipino resistance on their previous Indian wars using the same methods: forced relocation, concentration camps, scorched earth, torture, starvation and targeting women and children as legitimate body counts.

The period from 1945 to 2006 is well documented by William Blum in his aptly titled Killing Hope. In Vietnam the so-called ‘accident’ of My Lai was part of a much larger CIA-run black op. Douglas Valentine in his book The Phoenix Program, describes the terror methods used by the CIA to destroy the spirit of the people of North Vietnam.

The arc of Anglo-American genocide runs from current events in Gaza, back through the massacre at My Lai, the counterinsurgency in the Philippines, the Battle of Wounded Knee all the way back to the Pequot Mystic River Massacre of 1637. (To name only a few.)

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In 2002, Colin Powell held up a vial of talcum powder in the United Nations as the reason to perpetrate another American Way of War, the second invasion of Iraq.

But Colin Powell has more to hide. As a major in the US Army, he was ‘tasked’—the order was never explicit, but he knew what to do—with the initial process of covering up the My Lai massacre. Ultimately the story broke, but Major Powell was successful. There were dozens more My Lais in Vietnam, none of which were reported and none of which are known about. Along with his superiors, Colin Powell dished up My Lai as a Limited Hangout. When the story broke there was much anguish in the media. After grinding through thousands of column-inches of newsprint, the righteous, soul-searching Official Narrative ended up portraying the event as an unfortunate mishap in the heat of battle. A slip-up in the fog of war.

The perfect Limited Hangout came with its attractive feel-good hook line. Sometimes America makes awful mistakes, but, gee whiz folks, we’re honest about it. And then, would you believe it, somehow the story of slaughtered women and children in a far away rice paddy gets a further makeover into an American style good-news happy ending. A rosy glow for all those greatest-nation-on-earth flag wavers. We have got an amazing, accurate and robust free press that holds the government to account and always makes sure America admits its mistakes. And a major war atrocity gets shuffled down the feel-good memory hole they call the Seven O’Clock News.

My Lai atrocities were systemic policy all throughout the Vietnam War. Terrorism is the default way of subjugating people whose lands you have no right to take.

Americans munching hot dogs, waving flags and watching star-spangled fireworks are deluding themselves.

The Constitution is an American Dream, a free ticket to give the huddled masses something to believe in. Talk to George Carlin if you don’t believe me.

In Europe and America democracy is largely semblance. Is democracy worth saving? You know the answer is yes when you see it being undermined by the ruling classes. Even in its weakened, attenuated form, why are governments banning political parties and candidates that they don’t like as we speak? Sometimes voting can make a difference, especially in local affairs. So don’t give up on it.

On the other hand Professor Carroll Quigley, author of Tragedy and Hope, will tell you democracy is a carefully curated hoax. Every four years you can exercise your choice to bring about specially selected policies designed to inflame passions while not interfering with the long term interests of the Money Powers. The more emotive the policies, the more the masses can jump up and down in agitated dispute. And make little or no difference.

America is not, and never was, a democracy.

Ignorance is no excuse. Democracy, Light on the hill and American exceptionalism is a lie. The hot-dog, spangles and flag waving patriots down in the valley are cheering for the big, fat, enduring My Lie of Empire.

The My Lai way of war.

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

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Dear Elders of the First Nation. I can imagine being invited into a log cabin somewhere in the forests of Idaho so that I can explain my vision to you. I see a dozen of you, grave and dignified, sitting in front of me. You nod, you listen and you gaze back impassively.

I pause. There is a long silence. Finally one of you speaks:

We know all this. What is your point?

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

Rebutting Ahriman by gazing at flowers. From a garden in Berkeley.

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Greetings y Saludos

Welcome to my four year anniversary of Fearless Arts Substack posts!

I began with a post from San Miguel de Allende [here.]

It has been a long and eventful four years. The world situation does not seem to improve but, as we shall see, there are reasons for this. If we keep Spirit alive, the difficult times challenge us to take action. With the best poetry and literature at my disposal, I will continue to inspire you to think like a rainforest and blaze into the world with your torch of Fiery Knowing. While always facing the reality of Evil, I will continue to demonstrate that there is great hope for the future.

I want to thank you all for being on this journey with me.

I also want to thank my paid subscribers for taking the initiative to donate without being asked to do so. Your generosity is much appreciated.

For new readers, the Fearless Arts Café is the home of the Kionist Manifesto and the Kionist Magicfesto. The goal of the manifesto is Brevolution, which is to lawfully, lovingly and peacefully remove the Anglo-American Ruling Classes.

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I began the new year with a resolution to pivot into more direct focus on removing the Epstein-Empire Classes, following with detailed descriptions of Grenaissance and La Bella Futura which follow after Brevolution.

The attack on Iran derailed this initiative. That it did so is quite understandable. I think I was right to try and unpick the world-changing geostrategic implications of this brutal and unprovoked attack on a sovereign nation that poses no threat to other countries in the region, or in the rest of the world.

But that’s not how Empire works.

If we say you are a threat, that makes you a threat and we have the right to attack.

Haiti and more lately Cuba are two outstanding examples of this style of long term imperial tyranny, but there are many others.

It may be that the current peace talks, the so-called Memorandum of Understanding, are a subterfuge for further attacks on Iran. On the other hand maybe the money powers don’t want to shut the world down just yet. I try to read the best reports available and, honestly, I don’t think anyone knows. We are living in an immense and tristorically unprecedented fog of deception. While you can’t see the fog it nevertheless acts like a real weather event.

A fog does not have to be insurmountable.

Every day the Pacific North-West is full of fog, usually in the morning but sometimes lasting until mid afternoon.

Often when I go on my dawn walk I trek up through dense shrouds of wet, muffled whiteness. You never know how high it goes. At the Tam Watershed I get to the summit and some days it is still impenetrable. But there are other days when, over a stretch of only twenty yards, I emerge into dazzling blue sky with nothing but an ocean of white below. The villages don’t exist anymore. I’m on an island with a few mountain peaks rising up on either side. The Nagual has opened. It is incredibly exciting.. As I look over the valleys on both sides the fog is so thick it is like sea. If I was a child—which I am at this point—I would be certain the rumbly, puffy, chunks of rolling white were made of cream. Or sheep’s fleece turned to water. In the muffled silence all things are possible. And then I realise: I’m on the Lake of Avalon and any moment now a wooden boat with a tall prow will row out and there is Merlin standing in the middle with his hand raised looking towards me with a silent commanding gaze.

Maletian science says that meteorological conditions create rain, fog and clouds. I don’t disagree. However there is a deeper truth behind earthly phenomena. Gaia is a living being, the soul of earth. Every moment of the day distant cosmic forces arrive at the ionosphere and meet elemental forces that, at the same, arise from the substance of the earth. Gaia of the Earth dances with Spirit of the Cosmos and the result is weather.

Those nice guys on television won’t tell you this as they tell you whether to expect rain or not. But old maps give a clue. On each of the four corners you can see cherubs blowing out little clouds. This is indicative of powerful hierarchies, Cherubim and Seraphim, acting on the world on an hourly basis.

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In addition to the normal Gods of evolution, there is another force acting on the world, one that is becoming increasingly more powerful. I have often told you about the dark spiritual entity called Ahriman. In a previous Substack article [here] I described Ahriman as the father of deception and spoke about his intention to usurp the role of Rebel Christ in a ‘coup d’esprit’ to become the ultimate false prophet.

I gave you a number of reasons why I think 2030 is a likely date for Ahriman’s appearance on the world stage.

Rudolf Steiner said that when Ahriman appears as a world leader he will deceive millions of his followers by giving them a small window of insight into the spiritual world, but in such a way that nothing adds up. It’s as if he were to tip a million piece jigsaw puzzle over the world. Everyone would get a small dazzling jewel of insight but they won’t be able to connect with their friends and neighbours. It is a Tower of Babel gift. People will insist that their own ‘insight’ is correct and disagree with everyone else because they can see that they are wrong. The world will be looking at a pile of jigsaw pieces which they don’t know how to put together.

Since I wrote the article last January, I began to realise this is already happening.

I am going to name Ahriman’s weather descent as the Fog of Perfidy.

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We live in the most propagandised century known to human history. I think Ahriman’s incarnation is signalled by what can be experienced by our higher senses if our heart-thinking is open: a toxic fog of deception. The ruling classes have always lied, deceived and engaged in false flags, that is a given. But I think above and beyond the normal course of political intrigue something new has recently entered into the cultural atmosphere, a huge and venomous cloud that combines with chemtrails to create a permanent state of darkness in the etheric aura of earth.

And so I describe the worldwide descent into thousands of different opinions as the Fog of Perfidy.

Naming is powerful. It makes real that which is only dimly perceived. For the last few months I have been feeling increasingly pulled apart by the two hours of research I do every morning. As best I can, I read ten to twenty news reports, all of them known and trusted sources. I don’t know if it’s just me, but recently I have been finding an increasing divergence from any common ground, a universal centre of worldview that can be used to frame each new event as it comes in on the wires. It seems everyone is affected by ‘the fog’.

As Yeats said, Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold.

Truly we are living through this now.

But we should not be surprised. Now that I have named it we can see that Ahriman is already ‘subcarnating’ into etheric weather patterns. We can look at this as a kind of ‘ponobaptism,’ a sign of Ahriman’s looming incarnation.

(In further stacks I’ll be looking at another series of subcarnations: Ahriman’s descent into the quantum world of electricity, computers, viruses and nano-technology.)

Ahriman wants us to get confused, even by things that are nominally true. Keeping up with the 27/7 news cycle is like living inside a washing machine that every day spins a little faster. It’s a frog boiler. At what point do you go into terminal burnout?

The solution is simple. Take a dawn walk and look at the problem from above.

That’s why I described the fog that envelops me on my morning walk to the Tam watershed. The thick dense mist rolling in from the Pacific Ocean is alive with beautiful nature spirits.

The morning fog is the antidote to Ahriman!

As are all aspects of Natura, Gaia, Dessa Persephone and the hard working elemental beings out there in the woods and fields of the countryside.

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Today I have named the Fog of Perfidy. It is a problem we all face. Even if you only call it TMI, Too Much Information, you can be sure Ahriman is a work trying to drive you into burnout and confusion.

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To conclude.

The problems facing planet earth have long and deep roots that go back millennia and extend into the spiritual world. These more cosmic viewpoints are where I shall increasingly focus my writing. Without a firm vision of La Grandeur we face the Ahrimanic problem of not being able to put the pieces together.

(Geo Engineering is a major problem we face today. In previous stacks I showed how Black Magicians destroyed Atlantis when their ‘water magic’ got out of control. There is a lot to learn from our deep past.)

I won’t entirely ignore the daily round of absurdities, aka the Fog of Perfidy, but I will put it to a test: What difference will this news make in a year’s time?

I will write a few more chapters on the pivot moment offered by a four year anniversary of Fearless Arts Substack writing. This will give you an idea of where we’re headed in order to bring about a successful Brevolution.

Note: Due to reader requests, from now on I will be putting a new word glossary below every Substack chapter.

Love and blessings to you all

Steve

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

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Glossary

Tristory is true history, or real history

Maleti is a worldview based only on mass, length and time (ma-le-ti) A maletian is a person who does not consider anything real exists beyond that which can be measured. After death comes nothing, because only mass, length and time are the determinates of what is real.

La Grandeur is the great vista of creation all the way from Ancient Saturn to the future planet of Vulcan.

Brevolution is the world revolution that begins in Great Britain. This is followed by:

Grenaissance is the great European revival of arts and culture.

La Bella Futura is the wisdom based tri-vital culture that leads the world into the long term co-created evolution of human beings and Gods.

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

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The photo is as fake as the games. Both authored by the same entity.

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Tibetan Lama:

you mean they go to war

over a ball?

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The games are fun to watch. But be clear about what you are being sucked into. Who is acting behind the scenes?

If you’re a little stuck in gorgeously framed Massie close-ups, try, er... hmmm... scratch-scratch...

Golden Calf.

Rebranded as the Golden Sun.

Kicked around in faux-heroic war posturing.

That which is sacred shall not touch the feet.

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

Dandelion at dawn on Solstice. All Creation is here. Feel the love.

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Who Apes The Man Must Shape His Fall

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Two methane molecules once blindly met,

and over slime and primal soup they dined.

There was that spark, the blinding type you get

on dates. Oh wow. They started humankind.

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A ruse of Ahriman, a tale that rapes

the soul, a story spirit cannot sing,

for Man was called from angels, not from apes,

shapeshifting quarks or atoms on a fling.

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Delusional are they who push such schemes

and pitch survival’s only fittest find

is DNA. Dream on. But know these dreams

hold power for the future of mankind.

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Believe such schemes and in exact reverse

you will descend—to apes, pigs, worms and worse.

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Greetings y Saludos

Happy Summer Solstice.

Good news from the Fearless Arts Café. Hamlet is our new dishwasher. He is very proficient with his ‘Tis thought that makes it so, which is how he gets the Ponoquarium of Spectacular Evil to be so clean after we’ve had General Pinochet, Fauci, Dick Cheney or some other execrable ghoul sloshing around in our Cup of Knowing. I’ll explain more about this in a later stack.

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I made sure to go on my dawn walk this special summer morning. It feels good to catch the longest day of the year as it has hardly yet begun. I get my stride and I lose myself in Nature. As I’m walking down the stretch of heath and rock between the pines just after turning left on the Mount Tam Trail, I’m deep in thought: should I get back to Ahriman and the possible Viking-Norman lineage and contrast it with what looks like a Sorath lineage dating back to the Canaanite Baal worship rites, and does this lineage evolve and relocate to Klingsor in Sicily, and if so—cut

Stop. Look.

My eyes have been pulled away. Out of time, out of thought. Something wants my attention.

I’m staring at a glow that emerges out of some deep past. My eyes adjust. The glow is soft and smooth; outwardly cool, with a faint bluish tinge. The cool light feels ancient. I stare with the wonder of a child, trying not to define or presuppose, but to simply be, and let curious wonder wander where it may in the early dawn magic of the watershed trail. I’m gazing at a sliver moonglow in the grass, translucent, seemingly possessed of some inner source, because the not-yet-morning is too dark to light anything up properly. Lost in reverie, I am looking at the daughter of the moon, a beautiful and ethereal fairy, lighting up the field with faint rays of primal knowing.

But beautiful mind can wait no longer. I’m rational after all. Mind wants a word. Mind wants to name things.

It’s a dandelion.

And I am being called by Dessa* Dandy.

She loves me, she loves me not. She loves me, she loves me not. How often have I asked for love advice when I was a young child playing in the garden? I squat down and look close at the uncanny silver light.

With respect to Chartres, the Taj Mahal, the Temple of Luxor, the Colosseum and all the gorgeous wonders of human civilisation, right now I feel I’m in the point-of-presence of something that even Hiram Abiff could not conjure up out of the substance of our earth, or even a sea of molten glass. There in front of me, small, humble and blissfully present as pure moment, an ethereal night-bulb full of stored moon-magic is able to condense the enormity of human creation into a small glowing orb. And as I look around there are dozens of little globes, quietly absorbing space as if to calm the Nagual for the coming day.

I feel the out-thrusting power of love, a joy that must push itself all over the rolling hills of the Tamalpais watershed, and from there into the endless vistas of the firmament.

How can such delicacy contain the strength of the universe?

A faint breeze lifts one umbrella-fairy wisp out of the orb and up into the dawn air.

So small, so delicate, this tiny fluff point of stalk and seed, so calm, so nonchalantly business-as-usual, so inconsequential and yet so magnificent to my stunned and marvelling eyes that I gasp, breathless as I watch the little floret-fleece of nature’s glory setting off on the smallest puff of breeze.

I revere the awesome profligacy of Mother Nature. Her courage. And her love.

A weightless puff-piece of pure defiance is setting out on a journey, with nothing more than the wind to guide her. To float, to hover and to zig-zag like a butterfly to wherever the wind takes her, trusting in the wind, trusting that the wind knows better than she, trusting that no matter what, she is future, she is fairy-knowing, she is Dandy of the Lion, she is gorgeous, sweet perfection trusting that she doesn’t have to care, knowing that she was woven from loom of Dessa Persephone, trusting that she is beautiful and that she is important, that she is seed and that seed is her mission and that her mission is life, trusting that even if she lands on a parched rock she will still be full of joy, trusting that no matter what she is powerful, because she is nature, she is Persephone, she is the puff of life and she will not make even the smallest tremble in the morning breeze that the Lord knoweth not.

Sweet dawn perfection, is anything better than this?

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

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Now read Who Apes the Man Must Shape his Fall once more. Your guardian angel wants to hear it again. Read it out loud, slowly, savouring every word. I’ve said before that Revolution lives in great poetry. I do my best to make my words breathe. Ask your guardian angel.

I have often said that we should think like a rainforest, because this is where poetry comes alive. Imagine a living, breathing, love-jungle full of hummingbirds, parakeets and quetzals flashing from tree to tree as they preen and flaunt in all the dazzling colours of creation. In the empyrean, these are poem-birds and a good poem is a fabulously coloured bird flying to its source in the Logos.

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Creation lives in the sonnet even as it speaks of the death of creation, the death of spirit of those who look into the loom of Persephone glowing in the puff of Dandy flight and call it nothing but an accident, a selfish gene that only wants to survive, so it can propagate another selfish gene, that only wants to survive, so that it can propagate another selfish gene, that only wants to survive, survive, survive and end up propagating another selfish Yuval Noah hacked-animal Harari, another I’m-falling-in-love-with-a-computer Sir Richard Dawkins, another Ray Singularity Kurzweil and another hundred Silicon tech billionaires who want to cover the earth with star-blocking satellites, cover Mother Gaia with I-destroying eye-recognition spy devices for I-Spider Ahriman and his world-wide I-Spider capture of a billion useless-breathers reduced by social-credit algorithms to eighteen digit data-points in a life-sucking, overheating Utah mainframe facility where whirling dervish once-were-human nano-bots get sucked down into the cold, cold, sub zero world of the Eighth Sphere.

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New naming is all part of living in the Great Rainforest of Creation. A few weeks ago I invented La Grandeur. More evocative than Cosmos, this picture of endless creation is a beauty-word designed to conjure up everything the lives in the world beyond the senses. Roll the word around your tongue and see if it doesn’t bring a warm feeling in your belly. Try it. La Grandeur is a living word. I hope to see it flying in the emerald rainforest one day, because the tiny little seed-fluff that Dessa Dandy made me stop for this morning is shot through with the sublime immensity of La Grandeur.

Those who are incapable of seeing divine Grandeur are the enemy of evolution.

I have to state the facts plainly. Unless we bring about Brevolution, these kind, nice, warm hearted, pet loving people who insist that human beings are nothing more than random acts of chance, fucking molecules and selfish gene survival will drag the earth into the abyss of the Eighth Sphere.

In the heart of any real human being there can be no doubt that the tiniest little blossom of living green is the result of an awesome act of divine love. This morning’s dandelion came off the loom of Dessa Persephone. You may use a different name but there is no other explanation. There is some divine angelic force that brings Nature into existence.

Which brings us to the question? Who are these ghouls that see nothing but chance, rolling dice and random collisions as the source of life? Yuval Noah Harari seems like a nice guy when you hear him speak, but whom does he serve? Who sucks his spirit out when he sleeps at night?

Go back to the sonnet. For we wrestle not against flesh and blood. The name of the Prince of Darkness is written there.

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

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What else did Dessa Dandelion teach me this morning?

I am as small as the little puff of dandelion seed floating off into the dawn mist.

That is all I need to be in order to tell you that, in my estimation, the Kionist Manifesto is the only way to bring about world change, a change that goes through Brevolution to Grenaissance and La Bella Futura.

It’s a small little seed. It just needs to land in fertile soil.

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I will end with the method. It’s very simple.

But first. What I am about to tell you will have Marxists, socialists, educated liberals, intellectuals, academics, activists and even some in the Truth Movement rolling in the aisles. What? Are you serious? A breath? A puff? This Kionist Manifesto is fluff, cloud-cuckoo, the stuff of fancy and delusion. It’s pure madness!

Think carefully about this. Who knows, perhaps it is mad. The decision is yours.

But in my view, this is how we achieve victory. On one fine summer’s day, the glorious day of Brevolution when we are a million strong, we will remove the Anglo-American Ruling Classes by simply using our breath.

We will all go out into the garden and pick a dandelion.

With joy and Fiery Knowing in our heart, we will hold up the dandelion and puff, puff, puff and blow it at those nasty people in the Anglo-American Ruling Classes.

And hey presto! They all disappear!

Finally we get the commons back. And a future where we can all fall in love again.

It’s that simple. If you’re in doubt, ask Hamlet.

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Dandy, Dandy

glowing bright

in the moonbeams of the night

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what dawn hands

what dawn feet

dare tame

thy breathless poetry?

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Love and blessings to you all

Steve

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PS.

Glossary: Dessa means Goddess in Kionspeak.

I started this on solstice day but it got delayed.

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

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Yellow flowers in a neighbour’s garden

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Greetings y Saludos

Great news. Roger Waters supports Nine Eleven Truth.

The Pink Floyd bass guitarist is speaking out in solidarity with the Campbell family and their attempt to get 9/11 justice. The family is nearing the end of a long struggle to get a legally sound Coroner’s inquest for their brother Geoff Campbell who died in the North Tower on the morning of Nine Eleven. The family is crowdfunding to help with legal fees. I just made a small donation.

I will provide the links below for the Crowdfunder page along with RW’s four minute video message on Twitter-X which I find quite inspiring. The great Pink Floyd rock star is doing what Rock ‘n Roll should always do:

Roll out a Big Rebel Yell!

Sadly most of today’s mock stars prefer to follow the Official Narrative.

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Geoff Campbell was murdered on Nine Eleven.

A fact which the UK government has no intention of admitting. The problem for the English Geheimerstaat is that in Britain a coroner’s inquest has considerable legal teeth.

When the Campbell family applied for an inquest into the death of brother Geoff, the judges delayed, denied and obfuscated so much so that they went too far and broke the law. In so doing they have got themselves into a situation where they will eventually have to grant the Campbell family a fresh inquest.

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The saga began in 2013. The first coroner did not look at the evidence presented and dismissed the case.

The Campbells brought a second case in 2021. The family did an immense amount of research and preparation and submitted over 2,500 pages of expert analysis, witness testimony, and scientific evidence—all pointing toward the Twin Towers’ destruction being caused by pre-planted explosives and controlled demolition, not by aircraft impacts and fires.

In June 2023 the Solicitor General, Victoria Prentis, outright refused the application. No reasons given. This was so outrageously unlawful, as well as embarrassing for the British legal system, that Victoria Prentis was forced to reopen the case. When the 2,500 pages of expert analysis was presented in court, she dismissed it as “fanciful” and “simply not credible.” Instead she made an assertion that there was a “clear consensus view” about what happened on Nine Eleven. In other words, ignore the science, obey the Official Narrative, go home and crawl under a stone.

God bless the Campbell family. They had no intention of crawling under a stone. Quite the opposite.

Their journey was Alice going through the Looking Glass into the Byzantine world of Ruling Class law. British law in this case, but the obfuscations and prevarications are the same everywhere, including in the United States of America (as we shall shortly see.) In reality the British judges are engaging in blatant lawfare. You need to petition to get permission to bring a case that will allow you to petition to get permission to bring a case to...

The Campbell family looked the judges square in the eye and said: Oh, really, is that how you play it? Well, the gloves are off.

After navigating a number of prior legal procedures, and successfully getting through them, the family is requesting help in the last stage of permission-to-permission saga to get another Coroner’s inquest into the murder of their son and brother.

After the travesty of the Julian Assange case you might think that this last petition will be denied. But that is exactly the problem facing the establishment judges. British Law suffered huge reputational damage from what ought to be called L’Affaire Assange. The British High Courts do a large amount of world business in Contract Law where fair and impartial is the reputation that underlies all the international petitioners that bring their disputes to London. The UK law courts cannot afford another reputational debacle.

For this reason is likely the Campbell family will get a fresh Coroner’s inquest into the death of Geoff Campbell.

And when the inquest finally opens the Coroner will not be able to ignore the evidence like she did back in 2013 and 2021. If they do, two businessmen in Lagos in a contractual dispute will say: the British fix the law. They don’t play fair. We’ll take our business somewhere else.

The UK government has run out of wiggle room and will have to let the Campbell family have their day in court.

Three thousand pages of state-of-the-art science tells me that the coroner is going to have to say something like:

Geoff Campbell died as a result of injuries sustained when the North Tower of the World Trade Center was deliberately destroyed through the use of pre-planted explosives causing the building to collapse at free-fall acceleration into its own footprint—a mechanism inconsistent with structural failure due to aircraft impact and fire alone.

This is seismic.

No court in any jurisdiction anywhere has ever made a formal judicial finding that the World Trade Center towers were brought down by controlled demolition

Nine Eleven Truthers tried many times in the US but with no luck (’insufficient standing’ is the usual trick used to deny litigation.)

(Note: I am aware that between now and the inquest the maltelligence services can go rogue with one or other of their dirty tricks. But this is a problem we can’t solve until Brevolution and the removal of the the ruling class, along with their enforcers in the agencies. For the moment we have to act in good faith. And hope. And pray.)

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I will close with a summary of social, political and legal ramifications of the Coroner finding that Geoff Campbell’s death was brought about because of the Controlled Demolition in the North Tower office block where he was working on the day of Nine Eleven.

The societal implications.

No foreign guerilla army has the capacity to both stage airline hijacks, drive them into the buildings and at the same time put cutter charges in all three towers. Nada, Zilch. Niet.

The inescapable conclusion: The operation had to have been planned by a high level combination of Bankers, the Military Industrial Complex and the CIA. Which means that, along with three thousand other citizens, Geoff Campbell was murdered by the American Deep state.

The technical and legal implications.

• The evidence of Controlled Demolition is scientifically credible to the point of irrefutable proof.

• The inquest account becomes the default narrative of the World Trade Tower destruction.

• The legal conclusions of the inquest will enter the official record of not only the UK but every major Western nation.

• The evidence can be cited in other court cases, including future inquests, civil claims, and even foreign courts.

• The Media cannot dismiss the findings with any scientific credibility. They might try and ignore it but the implications are so enormous that it is bound to seep into the DNA of public awareness.

• Once evidence enters the court record, it has a permanence and authority that no amount of media spin can erase.

This is what the Campbell family is fighting for. And that’s what the British state has spent thirteen years trying to prevent.

Finally in the UK there is a ray of hope.

The stakes are enormous.

The Campbell family are heroes. And so is Roger Waters.

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Love and blessings to you all

Steve

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

Addendum • Links to the Geoff Campbell UK court case ~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

Watch

Roger Waters backs 9/11 Truth and urges support for landmark UK Supreme Court case (Right click on the link.)

4 min

UK Supreme Court to Hear Landmark 9/11 Case

https://ic911.org/

Breakthrough: UK Supreme Court to hear Matt Campbell’s case challenging AG’s refusal to allow new 9/11 inquest

Matt’s relentless pursuit of truth and justice has reached this pivotal stage thanks to the extraordinary support of the public and the undeniable strength of his case.

By International Center for 9/11 Justice | November 22, 2025

https://ic911.org/news/breakthrough-uk-supreme-court-to-hear-matt-campbells-case-challenging-ags-refusal-to-allow-new-9-11-inquest/

Landmark 9/11 UK Supreme Court Hearing Oct. 2026

Hassocks, England, United Kingdom

https://www.crowdfunder.co.uk/p/911#help

Justice for Geoff: 9/11 family member Matt Campbell traces battle to reopen brother’s inquest

International Center for 9/11 Justice

24 min

~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

This local tom-turkey has just been appointed a five-star general in the Pentagon.

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Greetings y Saludos

I’ve told you before that we may well see an imperial presidency foisted on the American public after a COG d’Etat (aka coup d’état.)

Today I opened my news feeds to see a picture of gladiators on the White House lawn. OMG. It’s already here.

You can’t make this stuff up.

Bread and Circuses for Donald Trump’s eightieth birthday and—perhaps as an afterthought—the 250th anniversary of American Independence.

Imperial braggadocio at its finest. A monumentally tasteless display of American hubris: The Ultimate Fighting Championship.

The Europeans would commission an opera by Verdi, a symphony by Beethoven or at the very least they’d come up with a gaudy high-art mockery of the Last Supper.

Team America has no such pretensions.

Grr, grr, grr—we fight.

It’s all America can do these days.

None of this would have happened under Kamala Harris. The Ultimate Fighting Championship, that is. Out of neatly composed, mealy-mouthed ultimate lippy-lips, orders would gush like a squeezed tube of L’Oréal body lotion. A world safe from terrorism. A rules-based world. An equal-rights-for-women world.

And the same Me-Too-Made-in-America bombs would rain down on an endlessly beggared world. Safe bombs. Face-cleanising bombs. Democracy bombs. Kissy bombs from the Ms Me-Too schoolmarm, Gucci-babe office-lady as she tacks Bombs onto Woman’s Health Clinic, Teenage Gender Empowerment and Clean up our Cities Congressional Bill 67653.

I always loathed the woman.

But not Donald Trump. No pretences. He is barroom-gruntish real in a way that Kamala Harris is gushy-smile, simperingly, odiously fake.

I know I shouldn’t, but I’m secretly enthralled.

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Perhaps there’s a connection. Do I know this man? My mind wanders back through the centuries. I’m a fishwife in Rome. Today I’ve closed my anchovy stall in the Via Dextrus. Today is Bread and Circuses at the Colosseum. With ten thousand other plebeians I scurry through the winding streets to the gate. Today I’m lucky. In a jammed-up seat in the south, I turn my head to look.

OMG! He’s there! The Great Emperor! Wreathed with laurels and gold chains, the man whose face is on every coin stands and raises both hands. A phalanx of centurions beat drums and sound the trumpets. Two gladiators stride into the stadium. From one side, Flavius. From the other, Medaxes. The flag drops and the two gladiators bow.

Hail Caesar, those who are about to die salute thee!

Drawing their gladio swords, the two prized warriors circle each other. Slowly, warily, they search for each other’s weak point.

The fight is long and brutal. Medaxes is the favourite. The crowd roars each time he makes a good move. Flavius is bleeding. He’ll lose. In the bloodlust of imminent death, the roar of the crowd has a gripping, tingling, bestial sound. Finally Flavius does a trick lunge and, drawing back, trips Medaxes who stumbles to the ground. The crowd gasps. Quick as lightning Flavius has his gladius at the throat of his opponent. A chilling silence falls over the arena. Caesar sits; calm and pensive. Finally an old soldier cries out:

Let him die!

The crowd joins in. Death! Death! Death!

Caesar waits, judging the mood. Finally he stands, thrusts his hand out and twists.

Thumbs down.

Intoxicated with the lust of sacrifice the crowd goes into a dizzy wail. Flavius thrusts his sword in. The limp body sags and a sticky ooze of blood and death seeps into the gnashing dust of the imperial arena.

The victor raises his sword. The crowd rises up with thunderous applause.

Flavius is the new favourite.

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

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Will the ghost of Rome rise again?

The crowd in the Colosseum had no choice. They lived in a time when the destiny of the age gave sanction to Empire. Caesar was above right or wrong. There could be no other way. One saluted, one roared and one admired.

In Roman times, Empire was spiritually sanctioned. These days not. But old memories rise up. The gaudy show of power is a crime scene. You ought not... but you stop, you stare and you rubberneck over the yellow tape to try and see what is going on.

The death-cult spectacle of Imperial fiat is mesmerising. The Emperor speaks and crowds roar.

Death to Iran. No, that was yesterday. Today is an easier win: Death to Cuba! The crowd roars.

The arch-Orwellian Orange Emperor can switch from war with Oceania to war with Eastasia mid-sentence. We were never at war with Iran. They don’t have electricity. No, they, they. They Cuba. Our new love child, Cuba. They’re primitive. No electricity. They need bombing.

Sometimes I feel like the old fishwife. Just sell the anchovies.

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Coming back to my senses, I’m beginning to think Donald Trump is a dry run for the appearance of Ahriman in 2030. You ain’t seen nothing yet. When the deep-fake Messiah arrives, what fantastical signs and wonders will descend upon the fawning, roaring, adoring world.

We’re being prepared for the Inevitability of Empire.

War is barbells. Psychopaths are sane. Freedom is Facery. Safety is us. Facery is 24-hour face recognition, no place to hide, Big Brother knows your thoughts, so say three Hail Caesars before going to bed to increase your Social Credit score. But don’t worry, in a post-common, post-sense, post-truth, post-caring world, spectacle is all.

It remains to be seen whether Donald Trump appoints a horse to the Senate.

Grr, grr, grr.

Or perhaps the highly pecced winner of the Ultimate Bombing Games will take his barbells into the Pentagon as a five-star general.

Anything is possible.

Exactly. Don’t forget Nuremberg.

Jail Caesar!

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Love and blessings to you all,

Steve

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

Cheeky succulent bursting out of a bright red flower pot

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Sonnet XVIII

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Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade

Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;

Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou growest:

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So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

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William Shakespeare

~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

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Your Brest Is Enough

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Your breast is enough for my heart,

and my wings for your freedom.

What slept above your soul will rise

out of my mouth to heaven.

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In you is the illusion of each day.

You arrive like the dew to the flowers.

You undermine the horizon with your absence.

Eternally in flight like a wave.

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I have said that you sang in the wind

like the pines and like the masts.

Like them you are tall and taciturn.

And you are sad, all at once, like a voyage.

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You gather things to you like an old road.

You are peopled with echoes and nostalgic voices.

I awoke and at times birds fled and migrated

that had been sleeping in your soul.

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Pablo Neruda

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

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Revolution is falling in love?

What? Are you crazy?

What about the tractors?

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Karl Marx

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

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Greetings y Saludos

The Shakespeare and Neruda poems you just read contain the whole purpose of human evolution.

First, read the sonnet again. Sip it slowly, savour each word and mull it over.

What has a Shakespeare sonnet got to do with politics?

Or democracy, or justice, or human rights or, fair trade, or right to life, or my body my choice, or chemtrails, or hunger, or Gaza, or War, or 5G, or God, or Fluoride, or organic food, or regenerative farming or... or... all of the rest of the sensible things that humans need in order to lead a decent life?

I am not in disagreement with the above aims. They are all noble, virtuous and worth striving for. But they are not the end-point of human evolution. Nor are they the sole purpose of Revolution, but rather form the necessary details of the Kionist Manifesto which is to get us past Brevolution and into Grenaissance and La Bella Futura.

I have always said that behind the Kionist Manifesto is the Kionist Magicfesto. This is where the juice is. This is where poetry gazes into La Grandeur while listening to Jefferson Airplane singing Today.

This is where I show my hippy roots. The goal of Brevolution is very simple.

To fall in love.

Or as Marty Balin sings it in Today:

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Today, everything you want

I swear it all will come true

Today, I realize how much

I’m in love with you

With you standing here

I could tell the world

What it means to love

To go on from here

I can’t use words

They don’t say enough

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Please, please listen to me

It’s taken so long to come true

It’s all for you, all for you

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Or, a little bolder, Grace Slick gets to the point:

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Don’t you want somebody to love?

Don’t you need somebody to love?

Wouldn’t you love somebody to love?

You better find somebody to love … oh love …

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Last, but not least, The Beatles, I Want To Hold Your Hand. So obvious, so joyous, so unpretentiously simple:

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And when I touch you I feel happy

Inside

It’s such a feeling that my love

I can’t hide

I can’t hide

I can’t hide

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Everybody has their favourite love song and everyone knows the exact smell, the exact taste and the exact touch of the day when they first heard the song that moved their soul to the core.

Romantic love is seared into our heart, our brain, our nerves and every fibre of our being.

We all want to fall in love.

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

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So why shouldn’t falling in love be the ultimate goal of Revolution, Brevolution and Eurolution?

No reason.

Except that it sounds impractical. Let’s start with the communists.

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Revolution is falling in love?

What? Are you crazy?

What about the tractors?

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(Ps Karl didn’t write the haiku. I did.)

Sorry Karl, tractors, coal and factories are not the goal of revolution. And while we’re at it Karl, were you faithful to Jenny? I mean, wasn’t there some sex story with the maid? Sorry, Karl, you can’t have it both ways. Forget the tractors, the real goal of Revolution is to fall in love.

As I have written before (and I will do another deep dive on it) Marxism, Communism and the Bolshevik revolution were a series of giant frauds perpetrated by the British elites.

The same goes for all the other big isms of the global power structure. Socialism, Feminism, Newageism, Wokeism, Colourism, Climatism and all the rest of them. Here is a new ism rule:

If the latest ism-du-jour doesn’t mention Love, it’s a fraud.

The Ruling Classes don’t do Love. They can’t stand it. Hence the Epstein files, paedophilia, SRA and all the corrupt sexual practices they engage in. The oligarchs are incapable of True Love. Over and over again they strive against love and oppose it in all the ways it shows itself: family love, community love, self love, craft love, soul love, unconditional love, divine love all the way to the one they fear the most Sexual Love.

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

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Romantic Love is the true goal of Revolution, Brevolution and Eurolution. In future stacks I will have much more to say about this. Far from being airy-fairy hippy dreaming (as the ruling classes would have you believe) there are many practical reasons why Romantic Love is foundational to the new civil-wisdom society that follows with Grenaissance after Brevolution.

Think it through.

In a moment that every pop song that has every been written about,

Boy meets girl.

And they fall in love.

And?

Go on. Think a little more.

When two people love each other something very profound takes place, something that they cannot see. As the couple grow in love, a child in the ethers begins to love them too. And although in today’s world this is hidden, the intense love between a man and a woman begets an equally intense, and mostly unknown, love for the secret child, the one in the ethers, which is their child to be.

At the same time, a child reaching out from the heavens to fall in love with its new parents is inseparably part of romantic love.

And so the loving couple have children. And they become a family. A real family. A nuclear family.

The nuclear family is the bedrock of Civilisation.

Brevolution begets Grenaissance and Grenaissance beget Trivitalism and La Bella Futura.

Trivitalism is based on Rudolf Steiner’s threefolding system where the three spheres of Culture, Rights/Justice and Fraternal Economics become the new separate, but functionally integrated, organs of human society.

A family needs things: useful goods and products. House, kitchen, food, education and a million other things. The husband loves his wife and wants to provide for her and their children. So he joins the brotherhood of exchange and works for real, exchange-base money—i.e. not the fraudulent usury of fiat, thin-air money-as-debt issued by the central banks—and by so doing he contributes to the growing worth of not only his family but of every other family in the world.

Because the child needs schooling, the family is the foundation of that which is central to the Cultural Sphere, namely Education.

And in the sphere of Rights and Equality the safety of the child—that is, every child on the planet—is the first concern of Justice.

The nuclear family is the bedrock of Trivitalism.

And it all started with falling in love.

This is a very condensed summary, but you can see why I am suggesting that romantic love, and all that derives from it, lies at the centre of future human evolution.

There’s more, which I shall also summarise very briefly.

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

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Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Who hasn’t been smitten with pangs of love so intense that they almost burst your heart open?

There is a direct lineage between the Troubadours of Provence in the 1200’s, Romeo and Juliet and the Beatles.

Romantic love came into Western Civilisation with the Troubadours travelling round the south of France singing courtly songs of love. The age of chivalry introduced elective affinity. The human being can now choose who he or she is to marry. In the beginning it is he who proposes. But of equal and essential importance it is she who, once her trust is gained, agrees to his proposal. In the thirteenth century it was the aristocracy and the royal courts who could practice romantic love. Later it filters down to the people. This is the way evolution works.

Shakespeare put romantic love to the forefront with Romeo and Juliet. This is the signifying moment when romantic love becomes an ideal that is available to the working classes.

Leap over four hundred years and drop down into the talking about my g-g-generation rock and roll culture. There is not a rock band from the sixties and seventies that I don’t love but I think the Beatles have to be the quintessential Love Band of our time.

A new feeling of Love burst into the world with the great rock and roll bands of the sixties and seventies. Incredible to think there are people who oppose love, but that’s the way life goes.

Talking about Love can get you into a lot of trouble.

John Lennon sang Love is all you need and Give Peace a Chance. And for the audacity of singing about love and peace he was assassinated.

Rebel Christ suffered a similar fate.

I have told you many times that two diabolic entities are attempting to destroy Spirit, Christ and Love. Working through the upper reaches of the Anglo-American Ruling Classes, Ahriman and Sorath seek to destroy the soul and spirit of every single human being on the planet.

And when is the human spirit most alive, most vibrant and most full of joy?

When he or she is in love!

Love is an anathema to the Ruling Classes. That is why they attack the foundation of family life. That is why feminism, wokeism, gender studies, political correctsim and much else has been shoved down our throat for the last fifty years.

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You might ask: But isn’t romantic love, or Eros, only one aspect of love? What about Agape?

The ancient Greeks had a very profound understanding of love. In fact they went beyond Agape and Eros to put love into seven Modes and seven Stages. For the moment I will leave out Modes and speak about the seven Stages of Greek love:

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1. Love of Mother, family, kin

2. Romantic love, sexual union, physical beauty,

3. Love of Craft and Trade, exchange, mutual benefit

4. Love of City, country, polity

5. Love of the Good, the True and the Beautiful or Virtue

6. Love of Wisdom, truth, understanding

7. Love of Hawa—God, the One, the Divine

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For several years I have been talking about the Mystery of Evil. Without understanding the adversaries, we will not achieve Brevolution. But after Revolution it will be one of the prime tasks of Grenaissance culture to work with the Mystery of Sexual Union.

Sexual love will become the foundation of the seven Greek loves.

Why?

Like a fish in the stream, the child lives in the love of its mother’s etheric aura. It feels the love naturally, instinctively, as something that is ‘there’ like the water in the river. But it is a given. The child expects love of family and takes it for granted.

Then comes a love that child owns. A love that is elective. A love that belongs to that child and no other. A love that explodes into the heart, rocks it to the core and never leaves.

At the age of sixteen (archetypally speaking) the teenager discovers intense desire for the other. As we have all experienced, romantic love is overwhelming. Whether fulfilled or unrequited, sexual love is all consuming. From sixteen onwards sexual love never leaves the human being. In my view, it is the foundational love that underpins all the other Loves. Certainly we can enjoy craft, trade, connection to culture, to virtue, to the meaning of life and to the divine—in fact it is essential to do so—but above and beyond all these, desire, romance and sexual love will stay with us until we draw our last breath.

The Mystery of Sexual Love will be with us for the rest of earth evolution.

Look at the last couplet again.

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

The obvious explanation is that the Bard is saying that his poem will live on. But isn’t this being a little vain on Shakespeare’s part? Hey guys, my sonnet is going to stand the test of time! In fact, Shakespeare was quite modest. So what’s the real meaning? The clue is in the very last word, thee. That thee is us, we human beings. Sonnet Eighteen is a profound meditation on the glory and purpose of romantic love. And at the end Shakespeare is saying, yes our beauty passes, and yes, our love passes but so long lives Romantic Love, this gives life to human beings!—For the rest of earth time.

It is not without reason that I propose that Romantic Love is the true and proper goal of Revolution.

And it never lets go. Love is always in the air.

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

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Yesterday after siesta I took my coffee out to the deck to sit in the afternoon sun. Katie was out running errands. The sky was blue and the trees were bursting with luscious spring vitality. What should I write today? Soaring in the billows of airy-nothing I stared out and let the butterflies of imagination flutter in my mind, hoping that one of them might land on the outstretched hand of all my hopes and dreams.

Something came into focus. Colour. Bright colour. Red on blue. Red succulents. Brown deck. Green on blue. I realised that for the last five minutes I had been taken up by the brown deck, the flower stands and the plants inside them. And then, like the breeze in the Hawa poem I wrote in yesterday’s stack, a gently blowing wave of love came over me.

A wave of love for my wife, Katie.

It was she who put the deck flowers together. It was she who painted the big flower stand all blue. And then the gorgeous detail: on the smaller one she had painted the green leaves winding under the stand. How thoughtful! What divine attention to detail! And then to the right: absorbingly, thrillingly and mesmerisingly, the red succulents bursting out of the brightest red flower pot standing on an azure blue flower stand.

I realised that for the last month I’ve been staring out at the crazy, brazen cheeky little succulent popping out of the red pot, loving it, caressing it, drinking it into my being without a shred of awareness. Amazing. So simple, so modest and yet how elegant! And I marvelled as the extraordinary garden artwork of my wife shone brightly into my soul.

And at the moment I loved her so dearly that I couldn’t wait for her to come back from shopping.

For those with open hearts love never lets go. It’s in the half moon peeping out of the clouds; it’s in the leaves trembling in the breeze.

And it’s in the Hawa. Always.

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Love and blessings to you all.

Steve

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The quiet artistry of my wife—brown deck and blue flower stands with succulents

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

Deep red roses from a neighbour’s garden

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Gently, gently, hammer hard with Howa

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Hawa! Upthrust green bough this cloudy day,

I see the branches bow, sway, shimmer, dense

and thick with trembling green—Hawa olé!

Unseen the beat, the leaves obey, but whence

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dear wind, oh whence you came? To ask, but not

to know. And never should I know, but fond

fern-bonded to the fuse-breath, pulse shot

source-scented whisper of the great beyond

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that grows in sound as up-crashed waves pound,

grind, rock the shore to flint-struck storm and awe

as kettle drums bring Howa down, and wound

I am to source, and bound to leap and roar

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in primal breathéd form to storm with Howa

where whisper I with God, my force, my Power.

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Greetings y Saludos

Welcome to Fearless Arts Café.

The above sonnet, which I wrote specially for you, is fundamental to Revolution.

As you wait for the naiads to bring you Brewdi’s jumping goat-bean grail-cup of phenomenologically driven Magical Realism, read the poem again.

I don’t explain my poetry.

But I’ll tell you this.

Without Howa, and without great poetry, we will never get to Brevolution, Eurolution and the world-wide removal of the Anglo-American Ruling Classes.

Love

Steve

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I wrote the sonnet yesterday while watching hawa in the tree below our deck. (11 seconds)

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Hawa on our morning walk this morning. (11 seconds)

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

Hooray! Real blue sky over our deck (for once, but, hey, be greateful)

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We in the Cabal

are very fond of Baal

bring on the Rent-a-virus

to make the plebs admire us

bow them down to Moloch

and get Sorath to hire us

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When we bang them up with shottie

they’ll all go blottie-rottie

without pineal

they can’t get real

and never get to fire us

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Hey Normie, adore me!

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We in the Cabaal

are very fond of Baal!

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air: They do not sow or reap or gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?

Luke 12:22-31

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Greetings y Saludos

On my dawn walk on Tam Watershed I came up with the Rent-a-virus ditty. (And angry that Fauci won’t be called to testify.) Later on our deck after the fog had cleared and I was basking in the sun, something looked different. I looked up: beautiful blue sky! Usually Marin is saturated with Chemtrails but on days when they don’t spray, the sky has an almost miraculous ability to return to blue. Is this a sign of resilience? I think it is.

After sunning on deck, it’s time for my news feeds. I read widely and it is very time consuming.

For the last two weeks the question I’ve been holding is:

What does the Iran war signify in the big-picture scheme of things, both political and spiritual?

I have ideas for the goals and influence of Ahriman and Sorath over the conflict. I will present these in a later essay.

Today, after much uncertainty—does anyone really know what is going on?—I summarise my conclusions about the Réalpolitiek of the Iran war.

What is the large scale agenda of the Cabaal with regard to Iran and the outcome of the (never ending) war?

I have often spoken about Pattern Recognition and Epistemological Resonance. Take a problem, look for another similar event and put the one beside the other to see if they start vibrating.

Yom Kippur and Iran.

It seems to me that the Financial Elites are currently doing a repeat of the 1973 Yom Kippur war, Oil Shock and the creation of OPEC.

The Oil Shock was a Coup de Monde (a coup d’état of the whole world) instigated by Henry Kissinger. Its purpose was to replace Bretton Woods (gold) with the petrodollar. After the Yom Kippur war, the public blamed the Arabs for creating OPEC and rising gas prices.

In fact, Yom Kippur, along with every other foreign policy machination in the Nixon administration, was the product of Henry Kissinger’s diabolic scheming (with a little help from the CIA.)

It was Kissinger who created the Yom Kippur War.

While admiring the animal cunning of Kissinger’s Machiavellian intrigues, their depth and sophistication make it certain that Kissinger is fully in league with Baal, Moloch and Sorath.

After Kissinger had manipulated the Yom Kippur to the desired balance of power, it was he who dreamed up OPEC and then had the constituent members agree to an epochal deal-of-the-century with America.

The Gulf Oil countries were permitted to raise oil prices on three key conditions.

• All petroleum sales were to be perpetually conducted in US dollars

• All surplus ‘Petrodollars’ were to be returned to the US either as Treasury Bonds or for purchase of US goods. Much of the latter went to billion and trillion dollar arms deals.

• Gulf nations agreed to the US being the provider of security in the region with multiple US bases in strategic locations around their countries.

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Today’s Coup de Monde in Iran and Hormuz is similar in size and scope to the OPEC scam of 1970. Today’s agenda has two basic aims:

Reposition Democratic America (or the pretence thereof) into the new system of Fortress America as the Pirate King of world commerce.

Keep the petrodollar system going until Central Bank Digital Currency is introduced.

Or so the elites fondly hope.

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The Strategy

The destruction of Nordstream II by Joe Biden and the invasion of Venezuela are part of a carefully formulated plan. The first cuts off Europe from cheap Russian energy. It is intended that the Europeans have to suffer.

After the capture of President Maduro, the US essentially hijacked the Venezuelan nation. (The recent “It’s our 51st State” claim is indicative.) All Venezuelan oil will now go to refineries in Louisiana and New Jersey. While prices will go up, perhaps with some occasional shortages, the plan is that, for the duration of the war and the closure of the Straits of Hormuz, America will not run out of oil.

The US Navy is not only blocking the Straits of Hormuz. Along with British compliance they are creating a Greenland to Iceland to Scotland blockade of Russian tankers. The US Navy is also stopping oil tankers in the Pacific and other parts of the world. The message is clear. To put it in Don-speak:

We’ve got the oil, baby! Buy from us. Us? Let’s be clear, that’s us, us... US!

It’s a straight out Piracy, but that is what the world has come to.

Hoist the Jolly Roger.

It should also be mentioned that US oil is double what the Europeans are, or were, paying Russia. Exorbitant energy is pricing European, especially German, manufacturing out of the market. This is deliberate.

I am starting to see signs that the American Financial elites want to reverse the other great seismic shift of 1972: the visit of Nixon and Kissinger to China for talks with Mao Zedong and Zhou Enlai. The economic basis of the Shanghai Communiqué was an agreement that American would outsource its consumer goods manufacturing to China.

The Cabaal has decided this must now change.

Along with most of Asia, China is dependent on Gulf oil for the majority of its energy supply. The cost of consumer goods production will rise, while factories in America will be able to produce goods more cheaply. It is still too early to fully predict but I believe some European companies are now thinking of relocating their factories from Europe to America.

The plan is not watertight. The Europeans can still get oil from Nigeria and Algeria (and, for as long as it functions, Libya.)

However the strangulation, and sometimes outright blockade—e.g. the Straits of Malacca—of China and other Asian nations will lead to a huge drop in Asian industrial output with a consequent increase in poverty.

It is starting to look like we are returning to the bad old days of the East India Company, updated to high-tech piracy on the high seas. In the early 1700’s, the great manufacturing output of Bengal (far bigger than that of Europe at the time) was reduced by ninety percent—with all the attendant poverty, loss of culture and general misery—while all Bengal textile manufacturing was relocated to Manchester. Today US aircraft carriers are the new pirate ships and the Central Banks have replaced the East India Company. Same plan, different century. Business as usual in other words.

As for the ‘thin air’ fiat usury system of the central banks, the above plan keeps the petrodollar system up and running; at least for the moment. No doubt the elites are planning another Coup de Monde, or False Flag, so they can install World Bank Digital Currency, along with all the other Ruling Class wet dreams: Social Credit Scores, UBI (Universal Basic Income) and Digital ID-for-everything.

For the moment it looks as if America will be better off than the rest of the world.

The elites don’t care about ordinary human beings, but they realise that for their pleasures to continue they need a plebeian class on their home base. How lucky for the American working classes (which is basically all of us) because we get oil. The economy in the US will sputter on. Hooray!

God help the rest of the planet.

If you saw the film Team America, you know what we’re in for.

But now it’s Captain Don flying his Jolly Roger, strutting on the deck of the USS Epstein Waver.

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

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Such are my humble conclusions for today.

As I always tell you, the only real long term solution to the Imperial juggernaut is to remove the Anglo-American Ruling Classes. Lawfully, lovingly and peacefully.

Most people tell me this is impossible.

In fact it is possible. Start by thinking it is possible.

Besides, what other solution do you have? After one psyop, comes the next. Round and round we go like hamsters on a treadmill. Until we say Enough! Brevolution! La Bella Futura!

I paired the Sorath poem with a beautiful quote from Luke about how the birds and the beasts get along just fine because God provides for them. You can be of any Faith to appreciate these words.

Trust, Divine Trust, plays an essential role in our soul health, indeed our very soul survival.

And Love.

With Rebel Christ and Buddha as my guides, I will continue to inspire and inform you on how to remove the Anglo-American Ruling Classes and bring about the future we all so richly deserve.

Love and Blessings

Steve

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The Buddha dreams of Peace

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

Flaming out from the shook fire of creation. Bottlebrush from a neighbour’s garden.

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God’s Grandeur

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The world is charged with the grandeur of God.

It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;

It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil

Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?

Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;

And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;

And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil

Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

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And for all this, Nature is never spent;

There lives the dearest spark of deep down things;

And though the last lights off the black West went

Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward springs!

Because the Holy Ghost over the bent

World broods with warm breast and oh! such bright wings.

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God’s Grandeur • Gerard Manley Hopkins • 1877

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Greetings y Saludos

Today it’s time to talk about a Beauty Beyond.

And the power it has to change everything.

I’m in the middle of coming up with the diabolic agenda behind the US-Iran war. It’s hard work and quite honestly some days I think I have no idea what’s going on. I’m persevering, but today I wanted a joy break.

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Brevolution, and Eurolution that follows, is meaningless without a substantial vision of what comes next. It is axiomatic to the Kionist Manifesto that what follows Brevolution is Grenaissance and La Bella Futura—or La Grandeur. Grenaissance is the birth of new human culture (Think of the European Renaissance.) Of necessity this new vibrant culture of the arts and sciences will bring about a new wisdom—La Bella Futura—designed to guide human affairs to the end of earth time. (Even then it’s not over. With Divine Sophia to inspire us, we will then have to help the Gods give birth to New Jupiter, the next planetary incarnation.)

The design of a Mercedes-Benz automobile is not ‘spiritual’. Neither is the design of La Grandeur, which is the great cosmic sweep of human evolution from Ancient Saturn, via our current earth, all the way to Vulcan. The lineage of the Seven Great Orbs is a simple fact of cosmic geography, albeit one that can’t be ‘measured’ by the tools of Maletian science. (As I’ve told you, Maleti is a worldview based solely on Mass, Length and Time.) The foundational scientific ‘instrument’ of real science is the human mind. Only this can reach into the cosmos.

The Anglo-American Ruling Classes don’t want people to realise this. You are not supposed to know about La Grandeur. Or if you do have a notion of sublime beauty, it’s part of some fusty spiritual belief among thousands of others that bubble away in the margins of the New Age Movement. Nothing for the rulers to worry about.

The design of the Cosmos is as equally robust as the chassis of a Mercedes Benz. Neither of them are spiritual. Or perhaps they are, but only if considered in a very sober, grounded, German engineering sort of way.

The great locomotive of creation needs more than chassis to conjure up feelings of awe, reverence, gratitude and wonder.

It’s time for La Grandeur!

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Only a few days ago a friend said, Why do you have to keep inventing new words!

The answer is this. What I am describing in the Kionist Manifesto and the Kionist Magicfesto is so breathtakingly new that I have to create new idioms. But I understand people’s frustration and I have taken to putting the meaning in brackets whenever I use the essential stock-words of New Evolution.

I mull over my new words for a long time. Especially the important ones such as La Grandeur. Last year I introduced Maleti and Maletian to you. This is the reality held by those unable or unwilling to see beyond the sense-divide into what I named as Cosmotelli or the Cosmotellian viewpoint. Cosmotelli now exists in the English Language (because I said so!) It is a vital new word to describe the fundamental chassis of the universe. It’s also a technical word. Rudolf Steiner spent twenty five years lecturing about the new Wisdom of Man and always said it was Spiritual Science. Chassis describes that which carries the will of the Gods over the great aeons of cosmic evolution. This is the world of Cosmotelli and the Cosmotellian viewpoint.

But look out at sunset when the sky is charged with the undreamt-of, cannot-be-possible glory of the universe. This is only a hint of the extraordinary—and often unnamable—power behind the great cosmic artistry of creation.

The great span of creation is truly breathtaking. And it needs a new name.

La Grandeur.

It took me months to come up with a word that could conjure up the awe of celestial glory. I kept coming back to Grandeur but it needed a little extra push to bring into true majesty. Adding La just popped into my head one day and before I knew it, La Grandeur has become the word to describe the totality of everything. And it’s not spiritual or religious.

La Grandeur!

Once heard, you know what it means. It simply is.

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I then remembered. French! No problem. La Grandeur—what’s wrong with a little more French in our language!

And then Gerard Manly Hopkins.

I wanted to let La Grandeur seep for a while, so I waited for another month before rereading God’s Grandeur again. I was worried that Hopkins’ Catholicity would interfere with the new meaning of La Grandeur. After due consideration I feel that his poem very much supports what is implied by my use of this brave new word. And as poems go, Hopkin’s God’s Grandeur is breathtaking. It is only fitting that it begins this essay. (Alert readers will note that I slightly changed a couple of lines.)

God’s Grandeur was written 1877 at the height of the British Industrial Revolution. Although he was looking up to the heights of God’s glory, the poet was in anguish. Generations have trod, have trod, have trod—one can feel the furious stamp of hands and feet that can do nothing but work the tread-tread-treadwheels for twelve hours a day in the dark satanic mills of Birmingham and Manchester.

Likewise La Grandeur has context.

The spectacular beauty of creation is an anathema to the Anglo-American Ruling Classes. They may spend their ill-gotten gains on buying up great art at Christie’s and Sotheby’s for untold millions of dollars but this is semblance. In reality the Oligarchs are wholly in the service to the dark powers living beyond the realm of flesh and blood.

The baleful duo of Ahriman and Sorath detest beauty. They wish to tear away human beings from anything to do with spirit. I have spoken before how they do this.

Try something.

Conjure up in your mind everything that is glorious in Nature and then go beyond to see the great span of celestial magnificence from Saturn, Sun, Moon, Earth, Jupiter, Venus and Vulcan. Now say:

La Grandeur!

Such is the power of language that the Ahrimanic demons cover their ears and scuttle away as you say the great word. In fact the smaller, junior demons are stunned. That such a thing exists! Intrigued, they turn for a second look. But their minders grab their hands and tear them back to the hole from which they crawled.

It won’t quite get rid of the Anglo-American Ruling Classes (yet!) but saying La Grandeur out loud has a powerful effect on current world affairs.

La Grandeur is an antidote to diabolic Newspeak.

After surfacing at the Warren Commission, the toxic pejorative Conspiracy Theory was kicked into overdrive at Nine Eleven to become the most radioactive word ever created. It is the black wand of linguistics. Truly, Ahriman speaks when someone points the bone at you with Oh that’s a Conspiracy Theory. And its use certainly does Ahriman’s bidding: I’ve seen the deadly word destroy a thousand conversations. Yes, a thousand logical arguments being flushed down the Orwell memory hole quicker than airline toilets doing the pressi-button sukki-sukki disappearing act.

Dear friends, do you still think we have no use for new words? As on a daily basis we watch Newspeak destroy the English language? As diplomacy turns into a pig-trough of bar-room gutturals on ‘Truth Social’? As day after day the great whirly-gig of Bernaysian Mainstream Media spits out lie after lie after lie?

Really? You don’t want to fight back?

Or simply speak back?

Once again say it. With the Fiery Knowing of God in your veins:

La Grandeur!

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Love and blessings to you all

Steve

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Even after chemtrails, Nature is never spent, but sends glorious clouds back to our garden.

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

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Down the lane on our morning walk. Pure loveliness

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Greetings y Saludos

I’m working on an essay about the occult and Deep State origins of the current US-Iran war. I’m looking to see how, based on pattern recognition from previous events, the Bankers intend to benefit from this conflict. I told you in my last stack that behind the lunacy of Donald Trump, the Cabal are the ones calling the shots. What are the long term plans? Hopefully the essay will be ready in a few days.

Meanwhile in today’s stack I’m going to describe an incident that took place shortly after the end of the eight year 1980 – 1988 Iraq Iran war (engineered and prolonged by the CIA) and then the US – Iraq war (CIA engineered) that followed two years later in January 1991.

How many of you remember the Iraq oil well fires at the end of Gulf War One in 1991?

How many of you know that the Kuwaiti wells were deliberately set on fire by American Special Forces?

I first came across this astonishing fact from a 2012 video lecture by the late Ian R Crane, the great British geopolitical researcher who founded the UK Nine Eleven Truth Movement.

I followed Ian Crane for many years. Always cheerful, with a gleeful sense of irony, Ian was indefatigable in his quest for Truth and Justice. From Nine Eleven he went on to expose Codex Alimentarius, Health and Cancer frauds and then ended his career with the long drawn out battle to prevent the English countryside from being destroyed by fracking. RIP Ian Crane and thanks for all your dedication.

I have often told you that my wake up call to the Geopolitical reality of Geheimerstaatsréal or real world-politics, was the False Flag fraud of Nine Eleven.

Ian Crane’s wake-up came as he toured the recently torched Kuwaiti oilfields in early 1991.

At the time Ian Crane was a highly paid executive with Schlumberger Corporation, the world’s largest offshore drilling company, contractor and oilfield services company. (The more well-known Halliburton is number two.) Ian Crane was stationed in Dubai and recalls that in October 1990 he was told by Schlumberger Headquarters in Paris to “Prepare for equipment, resources, expertise to deal with a major oilfield fire.” Based on information received by their intelligence department they “expected Saddam Hussein to set the Kuwaiti oilfields on fire.” At the time Ian Crane wondered “This is pretty good intelligence—but how do they know this?”

Ian thought no more about it until in March 1991 when he was sent to Kuwait on a mission to draw up plans for what the company expected to be lucrative post-war reconstruction work. As he toured the burning wells he was aghast at what he saw: The oil wells could not have been set on fire by Iraqi troops. It was blatantly obvious to him that American Special forces had done the deed.

I recommend watching Ian Crane telling the story in his own words [Here. 6.20 to 17.00 mins]

You can hear Ian relate how the fraud of the Iraqi oil fields was the turning point in his life. He came to realise that the world he lived in as a highly paid oil executive was completely false. However it took him a further seven years to extricate himself from the well oiled clutches of corporate America. He spent two years researching the Deep State and when Nine Eleven happened he was ready. He knew at once the bastards were lying.

I first watched the video in 2012. I fully believed Ian Crane’s account—which is both very funny and chilling at the same time—but a good researcher likes to double check.

The most succinct account I found is from a website called The Truth Seeker, which follows below in the block quote. (It is surprising that the site is still active, the three other links I made in 2012 have all become extinct.)

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A sick and wanton act of Sorathic destruction

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The Truth Seeker

The Torching of the Oil Wells • Nov 6, 2002

https://www.thetruthseeker.co.uk/?p=133

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“A little known fact about the Gulf War is that one month before the Declaration of War on December 15th, 1990, Secretary of State, James Baker, signed the US Army report from the 352nd Civil Affairs Command on the New Kuwait (unclassified, and therefore available to those interested). This report describes in detail how extensively Kuwait will be destroyed, how the oil wells will be set on fire, and then how it will all be rebuilt ‘better than before’, with despotism, rather than democracy, even more strongly entrenched than it had been before. The report includes a list of US corporations who are to be assigned the profitable task of rebuilding Kuwait and extinguishing the oil well fires, as well as the Arab names they will be operating under.”

Extra-Terrestrial Friends and Foes. George C. Andrews.

By The SPOTLIGHT Staff

Kuwait’s oil wells, torched during the final phase of the 1991 Gulf War, were set ablaze by fast-moving strike teams of U.S. Special Forces, not by Iraqi troops, as reported at the time, according to a U.S. Army officer who was there. Smoke from the fires blocked sunlight for weeks, creating a near environmental disaster in the Mideast. After almost a decade, this observer has decided to break his silence and divulge what he has seen on condition that his identity remain protected.

His description of how the small Gulf emirate’s oil wells went up in flames matches the statements of the Iraqi government, whose top officials have long disclaimed responsibility for this incendiary sabotage operation. “We did not set the oil fields on fire,” said then-Iraqi Oil Minister Osama al-Hiti, to a SPOTLIGHT reporter in June 1992. “Why should we? Where was the profit?”

New evidence uncovered by the SPOTLIGHT supports al-Hiti’s version of events. “Iraq had no reason to destroy those wells,” says a Washington petroleum analyst, who has spent years in the Gulf. Iraqi troops were already withdrawing from Kuwait when its oil fields were swept by fire. “The Iraqi leaders had already realized that they would have to submit to an imposed settlement of that conflict,” he explained.

Iraqi strongman Saddam Hussein and his top aides knew full well by then that they would be held economically and financially liable for any damages claimed by Kuwait in the aftermath of the Gulf War. Only President Bush and his inner circle stood to profit from the ravages inflicted on Kuwait’s petroleum installations, these sources have confirmed. “Bush, his sons and his cronies began to scheme to make vast personal fortunes from rebuilding Kuwait’s infrastructure as soon as the Gulf war began — even before it began,” confirmed Rieter DeJongh, a Wall Street energy trader.

First oil firefighters, based in Texas, the home of President Bush, were enriched by putting the fires out. Next, construction firms had to rebuild the wells, then supply firms had to re-supply the sights. The Bush’s corrupt scheme included driving from Kuwait competing energy companies such as the giant Deutsche Babcock conglomerate, which was bidding on a number of contracts coveted by the Bush consortium.

In the consensus of these sources, the economic consequences of wreaking devastation on Kuwait were clear: Iraq would have to pay for the damage — it is doing so right now — while President Bush and his people would profit from it. “I’d say that, all in all, the evidence tells us pretty convincingly the order to set Kuwait’s oil fields afire must have come, not from Saddam Hussein but from Bush,” concluded DeJongh.

First Published in The SPOTLIGHT, August 2,1999.

Footnote: in the aftermath of the Gulf War it was found that there were around 700 oil-fires burning. Thick black crude oil poured into the shallow waters of the gulf. At the time there were predictions that it would take several years and many millions of dollars to put out the fires. Environmentalists spoke of the Gulf becoming a stagnant oil lake, devoid of marine life. That may have been an overly pessimistic assessment but even today some areas of the desert are still blackened by dried oil lakes. Some damaged facilities are beyond repair, which no doubt allowed Bush, Baker and their cronies in the oil business to make even bigger profits.

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From an environmental destruction point of view, the burning Kuwaiti Oil Well psyop can be compared to President Biden’s openly admitted destruction of Nordstream II in September 2022 [If Russia invades... there will be no longer a Nord Stream 2. We will bring an end to it. Here ]

Empire destroys what it wants when it wants.

The good news. As always, our goal is to remove the Anglo-American Ruling Classes. And yes, it’s doable.

Love and blessings

Steve

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Methane emerging from the destruction of the Nord Stream 2 pipeline • Feb 2022

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~~oo~~OO~~OO~~OO~~oo~~

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