Notes From Gordon 250310: The Next End Of Civilization (Part XIV)

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Putting It All Together

A friend who reads this letter chuckled that I was becoming a human vending machine of doom and disaster. Of course, that’s not true.

It’s not my fault that civilization is in the early stages of collapse, followed by a recurring catastrophic solar event that boils the ocean and fries everything on the surface. That’s just the way the cosmic cookie crumbles.

Actually, from the perspective of an Observer, I find it all very interesting. And I couldn’t be happier that I have a front row seat. You do, too.

And to really spice things up, there is the strong possibility that we each chose to return to the physical plane to live this life—that we even chose our own parents. That we are not the hapless victims of random chaos. That there is purpose and intent behind our existence.

With these satisfying thoughts in mind, let us proceed to document some more doom (heh, sorry).

In their 1991 book, The First Global Revolution: A Report by the Council of The Club of Rome, authors Alexander King and Edward Epstein state:

“In searching for a common enemy to unite us, we came up with the idea that pollution, the threat of global warming, water shortages, famine, and the like, would fit the bill. And therefore, the real enemy is humanity itself.”

Today an army of very special people—born of centuries of inbred DNA and a dynastic family history of conquest and assumed superiority—function as professional sociopaths with enough accumulated wealth, resources and armies to dominate the rest of us.

Yes, we are being manipulated and have been for a very long time. Not by corrupt politicians who dangle like marionettes, but by their controllers—the largely invisible parties who supervise humanity. We call these people the elite.

It is clear that the elite now view humanity as no longer necessary to provide the oil in the crankcase of civilization. We are vermin in their eyes to be dealt with the same way one exterminates rodents and insects.

President George H. W. Bush was heard in a “hot mic” moment to refer to working Americans as “BUDs,” an obvious reference to blue collar America’s favorite beer. BUD stands for Broke, Useless and Depressed.

His son and later president, George W. Bush, sat reading a book about a pet goat to a classroom full of young school children as his Chief of Staff whispered in his ear that America was under attack on “9-11.”

Under normal circumstances, the Secret Service would have whisked POTUS away by his armpits, thrown him in the back of the bulletproof presidential limousine (the “Beast”) and driven him straight to an underground, nuclear bomb proof shelter.

Yet they did nothing. What does that tell you? Bush, Jr.—whom I call “Shrub”—later said that he had seen the first plane hit the first tower on TV. A little Freudian slip there. Nobody saw a plane hit the first tower on TV.

A few days later he smiled, high-fived and posed with exhausted NYC firefighters on the rubble where the Twin Towers once stood, knowing the truth about what had actually happened. I do believe that there is a special place in the afterlife for people like Shrub.

When I attended preparatory school as a young lad at Phillips Andover Academy, Shrub was an upperclassman, one year ahead of me. Compulsory sports was required of us all.

I opted for soccer, basketball, and crew. Shrub opted to be a cheerleader—I kid you not.
I guess someone didn’t want to see young Georgie become harmed, maybe by getting an oar rammed into your back from the kid behind you? (been there!)

Then again, Shrub’s daddy, George Bush, Sr., had attended Andover a few decades earlier. Both were pipelined into the presidency in a secret selection process that occurs far in advance of public elections conducted for the benefit of those in the cheap seats.

It is difficult for the average person to comprehend the degree of cynicism, sociopathy and contempt that the elite hold for the little people.

For over 100 years working Americans have provided quintillions of dollars in taxes that we never lawfully owed, all to keep the fiat money system pumped up and expanding.

Beardsley Ruml, head of the Federal Reserve in the 1940’s, explained that the primary purpose of taxation is to remove purchasing power from the hands of the people and return it to Washington to replenish the rate at which the currency is engineered to depreciate.

With the advent of digital, programmable money, our labors are no longer required to provide the oil in the crankcase of civilization.

Yet almost no one understands this, including leading economists. Why not? Could it be because their ivory towers don’t reach quite high enough to see beyond The Truman Show?

The cancellation of currencies combined with a 100% digital dollar will allow trillions of debt dollars to be deleted in a grand reset of the global financial system, which is the real message behind, "You will own nothing, and you will be happy."

Need to fill up your gas tank? Running low on groceries? Need another oxygen cylinder for your COPD? Sorry, you voted for the wrong candidate. Or refused the latest vaxx. Or maybe just jaywalked?

Experts say that AI and robots will replace 50% of today’s jobs by 2035. What will happen to the people who currently hold those jobs?

Then there is the ongoing culling of humanity. Yale scientists have confirmed that not only does the jab cause vaccine-induced AIDS, but that levels of spike protein in the body increase over time. So there go another few billion people.

I foresee the result of all this as a global depression as deep as the one that enveloped Europe for centuries after the Great Plague.

Back to happy thoughts… and a solution! Pockets of humanity may very well survive in small, remote communities that are totally self-contained and require no connection to the Borg.

Where people love each other, care for each other, make music and school each other’s children, perhaps living in Earth bermed homes invisible to surveillance satellites and ground penetrating radar.

Indeed, these are exciting times to be alive. Not to live in fear, but to embrace change and enjoy the ride.

Remember, you bought a ticket!

Back tomorrow…