The Dream

By Ray Wilson

Yes, we bravely spray the big wide blue
With chemtrails dripping toxic goo.
And someday, maybe, if we’ve got the stuff,
When we fly up into that final quiet blue,
We’ll have this final consolation too: 
We’ll know that in this life 
We reached the very stars, yes, 
In the quiet comfort of the after-years,
We will recall those happy days 
We cut with white the big wide blue,
Those days, I mean, 
Before they gave us stars,
And made us traitor-generals too.    

-Diogenes (aka Guy Dubeau)

After the early cross-hatched skies of yesterday, followed later by torrential polymer rain laced with bio accumulative micro plastics and heavy metals, culminating in a brilliant artificial sunset, the next day dawns fair. In Business Today, Friday, 13th, 2023, ‘Pre-hot war to brutal World War III’: Ray Dalio explains how Israel-Hamas and Russia-Ukraine conflicts can spiral out of control. Ray Dalio said that it is unlikely that the Israel-Hamas war will be limited to Israel and Gaza Strip only. This war along with the Russia-Ukraine war will have “big effects on the ongoing great power conflicts”.

I haven’t thought about the FS1E lighter for 35 years, maybe more – I came across it recently in my junk draw. It’s strange how the memories come back unbidden, back from another world.

After we arrived from New Zealand in the winter of 1969, we were penniless and stayed with family in London. My uncle Denis flew Spitfires in WW2. He would often reminisce about the days when they soared through the vast expanse of the sky, painting it with streaks of white as they fought for freedom and honour. The skies of 1969 were not the skies of today.

He explained how he had seen UFOs, levitation devices used by the military, and how the weather had won or lost wars.

“I had to sign the official secrets act, lad,” he said, rubbing his nose. He cooked us spicy beans for which he had a predilection, me and my brothers ate whatever was served up, even if it stripped the skin from the roofs of our mouths.

Operation Popeye was a weather modification programme used in Vietnam in late 1968. Through cloud seeding, the rainy season was artificially extended to gain a military advantage, and there are hundreds of patents concerning weather manipulation dating back to the 1900s.

We had moved out of London, and my dad managed to get us a nice plot on a static caravan site. I soon made friends. Nigel was interested in electronics and motorcycles, so we had a lot to talk about.
At the time, I remembered a vivid, recurring dream and told my chum about it.

“I had that one too,” Nigel laughed. “All the lads do; it’s the fear.”

“Fear?” I started to ask, but I shut up. I had had the dream—about fitting in—about the brutal ritual of initiation into the system—into the establishment. I worried about being conscripted and forced to kill on behalf of the government and being vilified as a yellow belly if I refused.

My dad explained to me that in the late 1960s, the US and Soviet Union engaged in a series of conflicts, including the Cuban crisis, Vietnam, and the Red Alert.

In 1962, John F. Kennedy faced Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev, who miscalculated his plan to gain a strategic advantage over Kennedy and his own military, a military that didn’t believe in missiles over men. If the Americans had bombed the Cuban missile sites, it would have likely led to nuclear war. Fidel Castro encouraged the Soviets to strike first with nuclear weapons if Cuba were invaded, which Khrushchev eventually regretted.

My dad feared that these global tensions might lead to World War 3.

In 1965, Lyndon Johnson reportedly exploded with rage at a meeting with the Joint Chiefs, wanting him to go bigger in the intervention in Vietnam. However, after the Soviet collapse, the memoirs of a Khrushchev political ally, Anastas Mikoyan, were published in Russia. Mikoyan reported that the Soviet General Staff suggested increasing pressure on Berlin, suggesting a military demonstration, and sending certain units to Germany and Hungary.

In 1973, the first Yamaha FS1E was released, and Nigel managed to get hold of one.
“It’s a two-stroke, but look,” he said, “an oil tank for the two-stroke oil, so no mixing.” Nigel was thrilled to have acquired the first Yamaha FS1E in 1973, a two-stroke motorcycle. He proudly pointed out the presence of an oil tank specifically designed for 2-stroke oil, emphasising its significance.
In Egypt, at about the same time, a Soviet client state launched a surprise attack on Israel during the Yom Kippur War. Despite their gains, the Israelis counterattacked, threatening to destroy the Egyptian Third Army. The Kremlin proposed a joint U.S.-Soviet military intervention to separate the warring parties. The Americans refused, and the Soviets threatened unilateral intervention. President Nixon was weakened by scandal and less than a year from resigning, which may have prompted the aggressive Soviet move. Kissinger and the White House team raised the U.S. military alert status, possibly bluffing, and the Soviets dropped the idea.

“War is over” by the John Lennon Plastic Ono band was in the charts, and love was in the air, but I felt it was just an illusion, and the dream nags at me like the incessant drip, drip, drip of perpetual rain—an indoctrination by a captured media setting truth aside to receive the global coin raining down its propaganda on our generation. There is no profit in a peaceful world—at least not for the parasitic elites. In a 1973 article in “Navy Institute Proceedings,” Vice Admiral William Raborn discusses how storms could be diverted towards enemy communications to cause destruction and how weather manipulation could help in military assaults.

“Nigel, I don’t think I could,” I begin.

“For your country, you have to bear arms and kill.” Nigel looks down at his boots. His words hang heavy in the air, echoing the internal conflict within me. I can’t help but wonder if there’s another way to protect and serve without resorting to violence.

“The dream—tell me about your dream.” I say, “Is it about a far-off war in the darkest reaches of space?”

“It is, but it isn’t; I think it’s about us here and now,” Nigel says.

“I am on a planet in the darkest reaches of the galaxy, where forgotten and insidious forces rule it with an iron grip,” Nigel begins, and he tells me about the dream.

It’s a prison world, but not in the conventional sense. It is a prison for humanity, and the wardens are none other than extraterrestrial parasites that prefer to be known as elites. These sinister creatures had infiltrated Earth centuries ago, their true forms remaining hidden beneath a facade of benevolent overseers. The “Elites” thrived on deception, cunning, and manipulation. Their primary objective was to maintain an endless cycle of war on Earth and profit from the chaos they sowed.

To fund these wars, the “Elites” employed a cruel and ingenious scheme. They preyed on the most vulnerable members of humanity, manipulating their desperation to their advantage. They recruited mercenaries and soldiers, offering them riches and power in exchange for fighting on their behalf. These mercenaries became pawns in a chess game, sent to conquer and pillage other countries in the name of their alien puppeteers.

The “Elites” control extended far beyond mere manipulation of humanity’s warmongering tendencies. They possessed the technology to manipulate the weather, ensuring that battles would always turn in their favour. Torrential rains would flood the enemy’s territories, while devastating droughts plagued their own. The “Elites” skilfully disguised their weather manipulation as a result of human mismanagement and blamed the inhabitants for destroying the environment.

The key to their power lay in maintaining the ignorance of the human population. They subtly introduced chemical coshes into the water supply, the food chain, and even the very air they breathed. They experimented on these humans without their consent, injecting nanotechnology into their veins. These nanobots acted as surveillance devices, allowing the “Elites” to monitor every aspect of humans’ lives. Additionally, the nanotechnology had a hidden purpose: it slowly altered humans’ behaviour and thoughts, ensuring their compliance and preventing any uprising against the oppressive regime. These chemicals dulled the minds of the people, suppressing their ability to think critically, resist oppression, and see through the “Elites” deceit.

But perhaps the most heartbreaking aspect of the “Elites” reign of terror was the suffering they inflicted on children. Young minds were the most susceptible, and the “Elites” didn’t hesitate to subject them to a life of cruelty and indoctrination. They stole away their innocence and hope, moulding them into obedient soldiers who would blindly follow orders and kill on command. These children were denied the chance to develop their own beliefs and values, as their every thought and action was controlled by the “Elites”. The psychological damage caused by this manipulation would have long-lasting effects, robbing them of their potential for growth and self-discovery.

However, in the darkest of times, there is always a glimmer of hope. Among the oppressed, a group of clandestine rebels formed. They had managed to resist the “Elites” chemical control and had uncovered the truth about their alien oppressors. These rebels sought to awaken the masses, break the chains of manipulation, and expose the “Elites” devious plan to the world.

As the rebellion gained momentum, a spark of awareness began to spread like wildfire among the people. The “Elites,” for all their cunning, had underestimated the resilience of the human spirit. A united front formed, and they banded together to fight against their oppressors.

The battle was fierce and gruelling. The rebels faced not only the well-equipped alien forces but also the mind-controlled soldiers, who were now realising the true nature of their masters. It was a war that tested the very essence of humanity’s strength and resilience.

“Do we win?” I ask. “In my dream, I am terrified—I end up not trusting anyone and wake up sweating, my heart pounding.”

“So do I,” Nigel admits. “I don’t know how it ends.” He lights up a yellow Sobranie; it trembles between his fingers.

“Have one,” he says, throwing me the packet and his FS1E lighter.

“It’s your last one,” I say, feigning concern. “I’ll save it for “Ron” later on.” I put the packet and lighter in my pocket.

I heard that Nigel’s brother was killed. I am not sure of the circumstances. I got the news through the grapevine—I haven’t spoken to Nigel since the mid-1980’s.

“Well, Nigel, phew—this is only an exercise—we made it this far,” I say.

“We will keep the Sobranies for the real emergency, then?” he says, suppressing a cough.

In 1983, the last major Cold War alert occurred by accident, with relations between the US and the Soviet Union at their coldest point. President Reagan’s administration pushed a confrontational policy, and Soviet boss Yuri Andropov led a paranoid Kremlin. In November 1983, the US and NATO conducted an exercise called “ABLE ARCHER,” designed to test communication channels during World War III. American intelligence officers realised the Soviet Union was reacting to the exercise as preparation for a NATO nuclear first strike.

We have to break the cycle; we cannot change it if we are too frightened to face it head-on. After all, a slave is someone who waits for someone to come and save them. We are forever being played, gaslighted, and deceived into believing we are the problem; it is not us who are the problem; collectively, we are the solution.

Well, Nigel, I haven’t thought about the dream for years. None of us know how it’s going to end, but however it pans out, I think I will get a Sobranie and FS1E lighter out in readiness.

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