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By Don Croft <email@example.com>
( I was going to write about Carol’s September trip to Kenya, but now that the felonious feds have escalated their War on Healing (thank Grid they are as inept with this as with the alleged War on Drugs!), we’ve decided to include that account in a book, along with our upcoming Kalahari AIDS Cure Safari—a sort of pre-emptive guerrilla initiative in the War. )
The War on Drugs analogy breaks down when you consider that the people at the top of the regime are actually selling the drugs, of course. [see Dope Incorporated-The Book That Drove Kissinger Carzy by Lyndon LaRouche]
We had found it expedient to bring the Zapporium to Southern California in connection with a free energy process we’re involved in (a device that can only be prepared above a certain temperature). The alternative was to wait until we got back from Africa, which will be late January, 2002 to drive it to a warmer climate to finish the process, which seems like bad timing. More on that later, of course.
About twenty minutes after we left our home in Moscow, Idaho, Carol said, ‘Did you bring any Holy Handgrenades?’ I hadn’t considered it, but neither of us wanted to turn back, so we headed south, taking the most direct route—to Winnemucca ( I always call it Run-amoka how can I resist?), then through Death Valley to the vicinity of Gemmorah. I think the only way we can tolerate more than driving through Los Angeles is to have about 200 pounds of orgone generating material around us, which the Zapporium has, in addition to an involved grid/crystal/coil/frequency apparatus under the entire floor.
As we left Moscow around noon, the sky was beautifully clear and blue, except for the nice, healthy clouds, thanks to our two Chembusters, the Joe Cell and seven large orgone generator pyramids in the Zapporium. The chemtrails there had started disappearing within minutes of setting up Jumbo Funky in late September, but the customary wind of the Palouse (fancy name for the prairie that joins the foothills in the vicinity of Moscow) didn’t die down until I added water to the Joe Cell in the Zapporium and connected it to the battery, in mid October. There wasn’t more than a breeze until I had to dissemble the Joe Cell a couple of weeks later, at which time the wind returned until the next day, when the Joe Cell was back together with better water. Autumn is supposed to stay windy, which is why some people dislike that beautiful area.
There was a bank of what appeared to be artificial weather about ten miles south of Moscow, running east to west. As we approached it, the western end ‘moved aside’ and most of the way to Run Amoka the edge of the system stayed just above and to the west of us, due, no doubt to the energy from the vehicle. I had wanted to get an indication of the range of our Moscow Chembusters, as there were none to the south of us until Southern Arizona (Al Gray’s Array) at the time. For the next four hours, over 200 miles, the chemtrails were being vigorously laid down along the edge of that fake weather system. After that, when it was dark, the moon showed us that the chemtrails remained intact except for in a space about 5 miles in diameter directly over the Zapporium.
We reached Winnemucca after midnight, by which time the ‘weather system’ had enveloped us. We had seen and dispersed several lenticular clouds along the way, especially after the front had overwhelmed us. We always make sure they aren’t our friends from the base on Venus first. They’re usually just local reptilian craft. I’d packed my stuff in a little backpack so I wouldn’t have to check it in at the airport on the way back home, but I forgot to bring it. My Big Secret [we later named this ‘Succor Punch.’ ‘Succor,’ which means nourishment received from others, as in the form of a gift of mercy, and is pronounced, ‘sucker.’] was in that bag, so we rigged up Carol’s twelve-sided Vogel crystal with a Terminator to make them go. Carol tried the crystal by itself, but she said they were just laughing at her, so she put the pennies of the T on the crystal, and we had our turn to laugh as they took off. When they’re gone, the lenticular clouds simply disintegrate within a couple of minutes. It must take a lot of energy to maintain them. I saw one that was made up of about nine layers, like a stack of pancakes.
I had driven all the way. The plan was for us to take turns driving and go straight to So Cal, but I had gotten some ephedra at a truck stop, so was too wired to sleep. I was in pig heaven, though.
We woke up around eight oclock and it had started snowing gently. By the time we finished our shopping for snacks, etc., it was coming down harder and a strong wind was blowing from the west. Carol had said that the Wingmakers told her we didn’t have time to stop for breakfast if we wished to leave town, and a store clerk told me that the snow was expected to keep coming through the following weekend (this was Wednesday), so we drove fifty miles east, to Battle Mountain, then south, as planned, to Tonopah. I was told that the road was already impassable a short distance west of Winnemucca.
As during the day before, we kept the weather front, with it’s blizzard conditions, to our western side until we got far enough south to reach the southern limit, in this case, just outside of Tonopah, Nevada. At times, the snow was just shallow enough to maintain traction. An hour later we wouldn’t have been able to drive that way.
Several times, especially when we stopped for gas, we saw a blue hole just above us, which steadily widened. This led us to realize that getting Joe Cells out there in large numbers might do more to destroy the HAARP (and therefore all predatory/parasitic electronic apparati) than a few hundred cloudbusters. The CB’s still seem to be better for destroying chemtrails, though, and for improving the ambience of the environment over a wide area.
The trip to Death Valley was fairly uneventful, except that we saw a lot of unmarked white vehicles in that part of Nevada, many of which had no license plates. Also, where we saw more of these vehicles on the highway, there were just a few people living in the once-prosperous little towns, and all of the gas stations were closed down for a stretch of over ninety miles. We had the impression that the few remaining residents were being made to feel unwelcome, but were just unwilling to leave. There was a lot of white vehicle traffic off into the mountains. One pickup, which turned onto the highway from one of these well-travelled side roads, had ‘Lockheed Martin’ on the side of it. A little further down the road there was an odd-looking building with a huge vent coming up out of the ground beside it, right next to the highway [we put a Holy Handgrenade there on a return trip a couple of months later], and Carol said there was a lot of energy and activity coming from many places underground along that whole stretch of US 95 in Nevada.
A Nevada Highway Patrol fellow stopped us for having a headlight out right before we turned onto the road to Death Valley, which made Carol feel pretty good, as she’d been stopped several times on our travels, and this was my first. I had noticed that police in general don’t seem interested in the vehicle, though I’m not sure why. Maybe it just looks too weird for most of them, though a Sherriff’s deputy near Mt. Shasta once stopped to offer help when I was parked near there and she complimented me on the appearance of the Zapporium and asked me what zappers are (I painted signs on both sides of the camper shell I built on the 1970, yellow Ford F100 pickup, which looks like an upside down boat to some, a spaceship to the more imaginative).
The road down into Death Valley was in pretty rough shape, and there were no guard rails, which seemed curious to me, as there were hazardous curves during most of the 13 mile stretch from the 4,000’ plateau down to the valley floor, which is right at sea level.
Just joking, I asked Carol if there was any unseemly activity going on there, and she pointed to a lighted area about 10 miles further on, which we figured was Stovepipe Wells, according to the map. We found a well-lighted, small RV campground with a bar and motel, all very upscale and new, there, on the south side of the road, and opposite was the road to the wells with a sign that gave directions. Carol said the wells were actually vents for an ancient underground facility, and this was now being used by a consortium of human and non-humans, mostly dressed in what looked to her like white radiation suits, some with helmets, others without. We didn’t even stop, though both of us were sorry we had neglected to bring a HHg. As it turned out, that faux pas may have saved our lives, which may be another case of the Wingmakers turning a liability into an asset.
Carol has a thing going with owls. I rarely saw owls before I met her, but in the past few months, our vehicle has nearly hit several of them as they swooped across the road directly in front of us, and on our walks in the Moscow Cemetery, Carol often stops and talks with an owl that lands on a low branch or light pole along our path. One of them swooped the car just as we turned onto the road leading into Death Valley, another as we were leaving, just after the incident I’ll now relate.
Carol told me later that a small plane flew very low, close to us just as we drove past Stovepipe Wells, and that she ‘heard’ the pilot give instructions to someone to look for an ‘unidentifyable land vehicle,’ and that he was helping to set up satellite surveillance.
About five miles beyond the motel, I stopped the truck and got out to relieve myself. When I got back in, Carol said, ‘Did you see the reptilian? He came over to look at us—he’s eight feel tall. I thought he was coming over to where you were. He was right by the truck.’ I said, ‘Where’s he come from?’ and she indicated a small, cone shaped mound nearby (mounds are anomalies in Death Valley). Just as we drove onto the highway, a dark shape sped across the road, at a height of about ten feet. I said, ‘What the hell was that—was that him?’ and Carol said it was, and that he was playing with us, riding on a small scooter-type flyer.
I had made a contact with him though my heart chakra just before we moved down the road, as I’ve gotten pretty fond of reptilians, especially since we ‘liberated’ the small offworld reptilian colony near Emida, Idaho, a month before. I had one of those ‘AHA’ moments just then, when I realized that there are about as many, per capita, reptilians with personality as there are humans in the mainly Caucasian cultures of our world (in other words, very few) which is why it’s always been such a relief to me to arrive in a ‘third world’ country and I get culture shock when I return to the US.
The nice thing about reptilians is that they’re extremely attentive and non-judgemental. Although they tend to operate as a hive, that changes when their consciousness raises, and I don’t think a hive mind is any more appropriate for them than it is for humans. If you look at which human groups use beehives as their symbols, my point will be well-taken. I think that’s why ‘The Borg’ creeps us out so much—it hits fairly close to the mark in that way.
In North America and Europe, a few people can be congratulated for being slightly less mentally conditioned than others, but it’s extremely rare to find someone who is free of it. In most underveloped countries, these mind control programs were never initiated, which is probably why there are such vigorous population reduction policies mandated for their alleged governments by the IMF, UN, and other predatory/parasitic agencies of the alleged world order.
I was relieved to learn that many of our military officers are now discovering that they are nothing more than mercenaries--leg breakers--for these agencies, and I think we can expect to see some creative initiative by them, though the internet, itself, is probably already a result of this initiative. If you consider that our officers went through the entire Vietnam War period without opposing the London banks’ predatory sycophants in the White House, this is a significant development.
I hope you who are reading this will take a hint and make an even stronger effort to notice details around you in your travels and inquiries and will use your imagination to connect the dots yourselves. I’d be a little perturbed if anyone ever took my word as being authoritative.
A few miles down the road, just before the highway starts the 5,000 ft. ascent, there’s another very well-lit, classy establishemt, which is a tavern. I wish I’d taken more notice of the vehicles in both of these places, because a white, late model car pulled out of the lot right as we were leaving, and I pulled over to let him pass (the Zapporium, though it has a new motor, doesn’t go fast uphill). Just for fun I said, ‘Is he one of the guys who works underground?’ and she told me he’s a guard there, on his way home after work, and that he’s not aware of us or what he’s guarding in the facility.
We noted that there were also no guard rails on the highway going up out of this side of the valley, though it’s a beautifully engineered road, well paved, marked and banked, with even a shoulder. [A couple of months later we saw a LOT of new guardrails there]
Our route was to take us to Olmancha, but I missed a turn and came out twenty miles north of there on US 395.
I noticed that there were even more white vehicles on the California side than in Nevada. The clerk in the gas station/store stared at us so much, that as we left, I jokingly asked Carol if he was a reptilian, and she said, ‘yes.’ Just then two unmarked vans, a white one and a silver one, both with heavily tinted windows and no license plates, sped past us at about eighty miles an hour, very close together. Carol said there were four guys in each one, heavily armed, mostly American, but with some Russians and Mid-easterners among them, dressed in black, and that they were really scared of us. In that part of California, people rarely drive that fast—you need to get closer to LA and the other metro areas to see that )
She said they’d been instructed to run us off the road leading out of Death Valley, but couldn’t get to us in time. If we’d stopped to drop a holy handgrenade, they would have gotten their wish. Thanks, Wingmakers! I’d like to go back with some friends in a caravan to do that one, since they apparently don’t like to have witnesses when they kill people that way. Maybe I could just sign up for a tour with some retirees—drop the HHg then get back on the bus. Maybe you could do it. So many secret bases, so little time!
As though that weren’t enough excitement for one evening, we’d seen so many ‘UFOs’—I use that term advisedly, since Carol’s able to identify all of them and tell where they’re from—that night that they no longer needed much comment. The most interesting one, to me, was a long orange one with a lot of lights along the side, moving at a steady rate below the clouds in front of us & not making any effort to hide. She said that was one of the Venus guys’ bigger ships. They weren’t even concerned about us this time and only use their smaller craft to surveille us. As far as we know, these are the only nice offworlders besides the (now friendly) reptilians we met in Emida who still use technology that’s disabled by a Chembuster or Big Secret [Succor Punch]. We believe that this is why they keep tabs on us. Maybe they can see enough of the probabilities that they consider us a link to getting better technology from the Lemurians and others.
Al Gray sent us tapes of some very interesting talks by Barbara Marciniak. Carol gets visits by Pleiadians when she needs extraordinary healing after predatory attacks, and we feel that this is their primary purpose here—individual healing and guidance. We are coming to believe that if we are to fix what ails human society, which is what also ails our planet, we need to take the initiative and find the solutions, rather than getting them handed to us by offworlders. To me, this also accounts for the admitted trickery and maze-like directives that Barbara and other (legitimate, in our opinion) channelers get from offwrolders.
The only problem we’re having with some of the native reptilians is that we haven’t earned their respect. Getting their respect helps us and it helps them move out of a predatory awareness. There are only twenty or so predatory reptilian hives, according to the information we’d gotten from one of their queens while she was under duress from our Big Secret [Succor Punch] and a friend of ours turned one of them around all by herself. We turned another around with the help of one of the Lemurians we met on Shasta at the summer solstice last June, and will work with our Namibian friends on turning the queen of the African hive who controls all of the voodoo on that continent. One of our friends in Bosnia may help us turn the queen of the hive which controls the British aristocracy, Zionism, Islamic fundamentalism, the alleged World Order, the UN, the IMF, etc.
A friend in Finland has the opportunity to help us turn the queen of the hive that controls the Russian Governement and military, and all that remains to disempower the rest of the allegedly potent tyranny in the world is to find somebody who can do the same for the queen of the hive which controls the Chinese government and military. The rest are small change. Two Holy Handgrenades, placed in the right locations, are all that’s needed to do the deed for each hive, though in some cases one is enough, and both can be removed any time, but not by the reptilians or their human minions. This story is better than any Hollywood script or science fiction because it’s real.
Unlike some, who charge up to sixty dollars for a book on this subject, we will never take a penny for this narrative or for information and commerce related to the Chembusters and Holy Handgrenades. We’ll continue to earn our livlihood in unrelated ways so that we can’t be accused of having a profit motive with this story.
Also, anyone who knows us can assure you that the notion of a following is repugnant to Carol and I, so that’s not a motivating factor. We will never interview for mainstream radio, TV, as we consider this the kiss of death for any serious pioneer these days. That policy is subject to change after the current parasitic/predatory world regime is replaced (SOON, please Grid!), and we have no problem at all with the fact that most people who read our narrative do so simply for the entertainment value.
It was getting close to midnight as we were on the final leg to our destination on the outskirts of Gemorrah, a Motel Six beside a Denny’s in Palmdale.
East of the highway, near the top of a mountain, in the vicinity of the China Lake secret facility, I saw a large, glowing area. It reminded me of the second UFO phenomenon I’d seen four years earlier, in British Columbia. Carol was leaning against the door, sleeping. I turned to ask her what it was, and decided not to, since I knew how tired she was. She held up her hand and moved it like she was pushing something away from her face.
As she often does, she woke up when I looked at her, so I pointed at the glow, and said ‘What’s that?’
‘Oh, I thought I was dreaming. One of the little white alien guys from that ship kept getting in my face, telling me to listen to him. I was pushing him away, but he kept coming back. They look sort of like the crowd of cute little guys on GALAXY QUEST, but they are friendly, whiter and stockier than those, and have arms that hang down to their knees and knobs on the backs of their heads. There are several of their craft on the mountain, illuminating an area of it, but you can’t see the craft themselves. They said not to tell anyone where they’re from, which is a planet that humans don’t know about yet, anyway.’ As I continued driving south, the bright spot moved up and over the mountain ridge, just as the one in Canada did. Carol told me that this is also what I saw four years earlier.
Carol climbed into the back right after she said that and slept in the bed until we arrived here. I’m in the motel now, the next morning, writing it all down while it’s fresh in my memory.
Here’s ‘the rest of the story.’
Kashi, who is the Atlantean elder we met on Mt. Shasta at the autumn equinox in 2000, which was the beginning of our current venture, shows up now and then, and this was one of those times. He was there when the little guy was trying to get Carol’s attention, so Carol asked Kashi if this was important and he said that it was.
She also asked the Wingmakers, of whom Kashi is apparently one now and then, and three of them were also there and everyone told her, ‘Listen, because the little guy wants to give you the description of a device that Don’s to make. However, Don’s not to tell anyone about it until you both figure out what it does!’ She gave me that description, and I’m pleased to say that it has no moving parts and is in line with things we’re already doing, so I hope to give you a report on the outcome in the next installment (no charge, of course ;-)
I’ll fiddle with it before I go to Namibia next week. Namibia is a better place to play with this stuff, I think because there’s no HAARP, MKULTRA, or other disgusting electronic facilities near there to skew the process or results of weird science projects.
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