Ray Wilson
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We have Felt a Seismic Shift In Our Awareness Over the Last Few Years
By Ray Wilson The Goggles My missus tells me about a young mother she knows. “That young mum is being coerced; her baby-born premature is almost a year old now, and they want to stick four injections into the poor little mite—two in each leg—we are dealing with monsters.” She is exasperated. “If only more…
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God Has Given Us Rights to Pure Air, Water, Food, Home and Family, Light, Heat, Warmth, and Love
By Ray Wilson Flipping The Switch “Merry Christmas!” I shout out in the direction of the beam. “Bless you,” she replies. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to shine the torch in your eyes.” It is a balmy 13 degrees, and still a dark grey cloud blankets the road, making it seem earlier than it actually is.…
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The Unpluggers
By Ray Wilson Fog permeates the substance of the forest; rivulets run down the gnarled trunks and drip from the inter-tangled canopy of branches. The Bluebell railway line runs through the Ashdown forest. Somewhere far ahead, a steam train blows its whistle, its piercing vibrancy muted by the smothering blanket of fog. I urge my…
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It’s Been a Year of Pantomime in The Lords
By Ray Wilson Christmas Chronicles It’s been a morning of dull grey skies and long, persistent rain. I got back soaking wet with a soggy dog, having walked the hills above my dad’s village. I parked the motorcycle combination and quickly changed into dry and somewhat more respectable garb. My missus, having picked up Trev…
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The Mind Virus
By Ray Wilson New York Herald Tribune, November 29, 1953. “Scientist killed in Hotel Plunge: Frank Olson, 42, a bacteriologist for the Defence Department in Washington, was killed early yesterday in a plunge from a tenth-story room at the Hotel Statler, Seventh Ave. and 33rd Street, police reported.” “It’s interesting about Special Operations and MKULTRA…
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Nikola Tesla and Free Energy
By Ray Wilson It’s a chilly Saturday morning in late November 2023. The skies are clear, the sun is rising, and there is still a frost on the grass verges outside my dad’s house. I avoid the potholes punched into the asphalt road as I manoeuvre the motorcycle combination onto the driveway. As soon as…
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Beacons Of Hope
By Ray Wilson It’s Saturday, November 11, 2023, and early afternoon; the sky is blue, and the sun shines down on us, as we are on manoeuvrers. On another day over a century ago, the Armistice, a peace agreement signed on November 11, 1918, marked the end of World War I—the war to end all…
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Our Governments Are Intent on Culling Us by Any and Every Means Possible
By Ray Wilson It’s Saturday, November 4th, and the annual fireworks display is being held in my dad’s village. Me and the missus had been invited to meet up with family there; it has been a while—maybe half a century ago—since I was last there. The venue is packed; huge electronic displays flash up messages; the…
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The Underground
By Ray Wilson It’s raining, sometimes intermittent, sometimes stair rods, but always a perpetual rain; it stings the eyes and wrinkles the hands; and summer is a distant dream. The sound of raindrops hitting the soft top in plinks and splats creates a melancholic symphony vibrating on the car’s canopy. Each droplet seems to carry…
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Let’s Stick Together
By Ray Wilson Let’s work together.Together, we will stand, and divided, we’ll fall.Come on now people let’s get on the ballAnd work together, come on, come on let’s work together, now, now peopleSay now, together, we will stand, every boy, girl, woman, and man.-Canned Heat Friday, October 20th, and we are attempting to load a…