By Don Croft <firstname.lastname@example.org>
May 5, 2002
The Imperial Valley is one of the most unpleasant places we've been, energetically.
We're sure that's related to the wall of dead orgone that had been in place
for millennia, perhaps, along that section of the Chocolate Mountains. We
could see moisture laden clouds east of the range of mountains along the Pacific
Coast, but they weren't making it into this valley. We passed a series of
very large dead orgone transmitters on our drive north along the center of
the valley to Indio, only one of which got its own HHg.
That was the first one we came to (a VERY big one) in Brawleyville,
the first city west of the underground base. Carol saw a tunnel leading from
the base to that tower and beyond.
We spent the night in a Motel Six in Indio, which is on Interstate 10
just east of Palm Springs. There was a sandstorm in progress (they need
a CB!) when we checked in, but the skies were clear and lovely in the morning
when we left for the mountain location of the second Sierras CB.
We didn't have to drive far off the interstate to get to the high ground
vortex Carol was looking for & fortunately there was a big enough chapparal
tree to hide the CB in away from the access road.
We hadn't seen a successful chemtrial since we left northern Arizona
after putting our first Hopi CB in place. Those were breaking up as we
drove away, and we're pretty sure that no more chemtrials will be sticking
anywhere in Arizona for the duration. Maybe Rhode Island will be
the second state to be chemtrial free, though Washington State may also
be in that happy condition already. One CB in Rhode Island would do the
East Coast Warriors
Ivo is a sign painter in Connecticut. He's cranking out Chembusters
at an alarming rate, using his super duper Gerber router to make the templates.
I'm not sure he wants me to talk about him (a Brother of the Brush). He's
getting whacked pretty hard with special spew, maybe because he's so close
to Carlo's two great big CBs in Queens, NYC, which is apparently another
little Stalingrad-in-the-sky for the Corporation. More data from
folks in that area would be welcome. Flo lives in New Jersey, closer to
Philadelphia, and her skies are apparently in good shape, so there's some
specific targeting by the Corporation going on around NYC.
I've asked Ivo to space out his CBs fifty miles or so apart, since more
CBs, spread out, is much, much more effective than a bunch of them close
together. Idaho Jerry's got a good sense of what to do this way and it's
paid off for him in a big way, according to what we saw along the Snake
River Valley for a hundred plus miles in the middle of an intense, though
impotent, HAARP assault on the valley.
In the spirit of helping that Chembuster remove the energy blocks for
more successful Arizona Chembusting, we used up the remaining Holy Handgrenades
we'd been issued from Uncle Al's Natural Guard Armory, all the way into Arizona
from where we put the CB. Conveniently, all the primaries are located along
major highways, so it was easy to neutralize them. Some folks asked about
the range of a HHg. That's awfully hard to determine without dowsing,
as there are so many variables. If you can see the energy, like Carol
and some others can do, or accurately feel it, as Kolina and others can do,
you won't need to rely so much on dowsing.
Some mountaintop arrays we've visited needed two HHgs, some needed only
one. If I weren't so lazy, I'd put coils in all of our HHgs so that I wouldn't
need to make so many. Maybe I'll start doing that now to conserve resin
and crystals. I'm using funky, broken crystals for these, by the way, and
I'll continue doing so. It really is fine to do that.
One of the mountain arrays along I-10 wasn't easily accessible from
the freeway, so we put it at the base of the mountain as close as possible
and that worked very well and quickly.
Grounded Spew Planes & Al's Tucson Tour
There were usually two spewplanes in our vicinity, apparently attempting
to dissolve the high altitude clouds that were forming in our path. The
day before, shortly before we left Casa Grande, there were some nice clouds
moving in from the direction of the Pacific Ocean. They were much
too high for rain but they indicated that there was enough moisture in
the atmosphere to make rain. Apparently these have been present a lot since
Al and the others started getting CBs in Arizona.When we were picking up
the Zapporium from the mechanic, we noticed that the clouds were lower
and thicker than before we placed the CBs in California. We expect more
rain and cooler temperatures in Arizona this summer, though it may not
happen quickly. In case you don't know, rain is not expected during the
summer there at all. We stopped in smoggy, hellish hot Phoenix last June
for a couple of days (months before we knew what the CB could do)
and vowed not to ever go there again in the summer if we could avoid it.
Let's see what happens there now.
Here's something the Arizona folks can check out if they're so inclined.
We drove by an airport west of Phoenix on I-10 and all we saw on the ground
there were fifty or so spewplanes, painted white with red or blue tails,
some all white. NO planes were landing or taking off. I assumed it
was the municipal airport until we passed through Phoenix on the way to
Casa Grande to pick up the Zapporium. The Phoenix airport east of town
has constant air traffic coming and going.,
We saw a second fleet of spewplanes on the ground at the airport in
Kingman, Arizona which is a town that's much too small to have significant
commercial jet traffic, besides being only a hundred miles or so from Las
Vegas, which has another very busy airport.
Al had been given a tour of the CIA facility near Tucson that is used
to paint the spewplanes and, presumably, fit them with spraying equipment.
He was on the job, selling fire suppression equipment, and was given the
tour by one of the facility's directors. I don't know anyone more resourceful
than Uncle Al. Maybe he'll grace us with a more detailed account
The only other place we've seen masses of spewplanes on the ground since
the program got going full time is the municipal airport at Mojave, California,
where we saw a hundred or so of them. Three years ago I saw a bunch on
the ground at Miami when I was on my way to the Bahamas. That was shortly
after the program was getting started on a large scale, but I was only
seeing the spewplanes in the skies once a month or so.
Mycoplasma & Pajama People
I'm still pretty ignorant of what's in the spew, but I'm pretty sure,
based on a large amount of zapper correspondence, that only the mycoplasma
is a serious health threat, though the reports of massive attacks in a
few areas may have more to do with chemical weapons than with biological
ones, and even the Corporation is not too arrogant to know that this must
not be done too often or over too large an area if they wish to continue
to remain hidden from the Pajama People.
I'm waiting to find out if the mycoplasma infections in the population
will start to disappear now that the spewplanes are no longer able to poison
the population centers where there are Chembusters present.
I'll let you know what we find out. Constant reinfection may
be necessary to keep the masses of us debilitated enough not to oppose
the Corporation Let's continue turning up the pressure on our imaginary
(thoughtform) enemy's predatory and unconscious agents.
As we had seen in Utah, brown vegetation was the rule except for what
had sprung up after the Chembusters had been set up in the desert region
last fall and winter. This is evidence of HAARP-induced drought on a very
large scale. No doubt the Corporation would like the Pajama People to believe
that this drought is the result of the evil, selfish habits of the 'consumers'
in developed nations. I guess we're all showing everyone who cares
to notice that this is simply untrue and it's just one more spurious effort
to get folks to accept more federal restrictive environmental laws. Imagine
us living in a fenced area with razor tape along the top to protect the
poor beleaguered countryside form our rapacious appetites. I'm not
a consumer. The only consumer I know about is the locust.
New Options, Making Whoopee, & Drought Aid
I hope you'll think twice about accepting labels from the Corporation,
as an exercise in neurolinguistics if nothing else. I also hope you'll
not assume the UN and it's various predatory agencies have any authority
over us. Having said that, I am the first to admit that there are fine,
self-sacificing folks all over the world working for the UN. I bet
they could tell us some juicy stuff about their employer. I think this
relates to Dr. Reich's considered choice to join the Communist Party.
Let's all look very seriously at our new options. You can bet Dr. Reich
would be an intrepid Internet wonk if he were around today. The Commies
expelled him, anyway, for successfully teaching the 'workers' who attended
his talks not to be angry. Actually, all he did was convince them
to have sex with their wives. As I've said, solutions to even the most
insurmountable problems are usually quite simple. I confess that
I sometimes provoke my own wife a bit just so we can kiss and make up.
That works so well on new agers.
This will become more and more apparent to even the Pajama People in
the coming months, as the Corporate-owned-and-operated US federal legislators
will have egg on their faces while still insisting on federal aid for the
alleged drought areas (clowns are as clowns do, after all). That reminds
me of an old National Lampoon Radio Hour skit in which an announcer advised
against sending Care packages to Europe. He said the Europeans would just
whack them with their polo mallets and kick them into their swimming pools
while they have a good laugh at our expense.
Carol gave me a .22 caliber pellet rifle for my Birthday. I spent some
time calibrating the scope today. I hadn't shot anything since I was in
the Army in 1969 & I forgot how much fun shooting is. A CO2 cartridge
gets about 40 good shots. My electronics broker has an Uzzi, but I'm not
really interested in having firearms, though I certainly have that right
and could change my mind if I want. I was struck by the unliklihood
of all that good shooting we see in movies. I do believe gun control is
necessary. I had to get into a three point bracing position just to hit
a tin can at 25 yards and it wasn't even moving.
Most of the way from Phoenix to Idaho showed evidence of recent, abundant
rainfall. Along U.S. 95 it's entirely desert until you drive into
Idaho about twenty miles. There are still a few areas in northernArizona
and southern Nevada that are still mostly brown, but a couple of CBs on
that road would stop any further possibility of drought in the future,
we feel sure. To our astonishment, we began so see running creeks from
about the middle of Nevada all the way northward along the highway, and
more and more greenery. The dead trees and brush still bore tragic
witness to what went before, though. I'm sure that by this time everything
that grew would have been dead by now if it weren't for the efforts of
the Cbers in the Ameican West. We also saw more and more grass growing
in the desert as we drove north. In some areas of Nevada and southeastern
Oregon it's looking like a prairie rather than a desert. I had to
pinch myself, as I'd been traveling that road for many years, in all seasons,
and had never witnessed that before.
Southwest Idaho is looking like pictures I've seen of Ireland.
Here's what we saw in Las Vegas: From Boulder City, which is on
the southeast limit of the Vegas metro area, until the very northern limit
we saw NO dead orgone transmitters at all, though we were diligently looking.
This is the first time we've been in a population center and not seen the
transmitters every few blocks throughout the city.
Our pet theory is that gamblers and brothel patrons must not be suppressed,
energetically. The residential areas in the suburbs, though, are well covered
by the transmitters, so the favor does not apparently extend to the workers
in the Desert Paradise.
Driving north on U.S. 95 we noticed an anomaly south of Beatty, which
is where we customarily turn west through Death Valley on our way to LA
from Idaho. In case you're a newbie here, Carol and I had visited
Death Valley twice in the last six months. The first time we were made
to feel unwelcome, so the second time we spent the night there and neutralized
an alien underground base with three Holy Handgrenades. Our car was broken
into that night, apparently so a bug could be placed by agents of the Corporation
or of the government-we're not sure which. We left the bug there just for
fun. Why hide from them? When we talk about this stuff it's
just gibberish to them anyway. They're not the enemy, after all,
only the thoughtform we call the Corporation is the real enemy.
We stopped for gas in Beatty, and I said to Carol, who was driving the
car (I was driving the Zapporium), 'Did you see that big dead orgone field
by the highway?' She said, 'It's a reptilian base-you can even
see the indentations in the ground over their tunnels-it's really old.'
I told her I didn't see that, but to the west of the highway is a small
airport with big transmitters, and there's a distinct dead orgone field
over it. She was looking at the other side of the highway and missed the
airport. She says it's connected to the base in Death Valley, but that
we didn't need to leave a HHg there this time.
We took our customary shortcut from Tonopah to Battle Mountain, Nevada.
If you ever get a chance to drive through there, it's quite beautiful.
The road goes thorugh some very high valleys and close to some 10,000'
peaks, which may keep snow on them this summer. There were rainclouds
in those valleys, too.
4 AM Calling Card
We camped north of Austin, Nevada, which was a stopping place for the
Pony Express. It's a hundred miles from the nearest town, which is
Battle Mountain, on Interstate 80. I drove down the mountain to a
lower elevation so we'd be warmer that night. There's very little
traffic there, so we slept right by the road in the Zapporium.
About 4AM something hit our windshield very hard and woke us both up. Carol
said the reptilians were swooping us and did that to the windshield. We
both went right back to sleep but when we got up around 7AM we saw a new
crack in the windshield and a crater right in the middle of it from whatever
hit it. They did that to our car when we were on our way to close the hive
portal in Edmonton, Alberta, in March. I saw the craft that time.
Predatory reptilians, like their human compadres, are sore losers, but
that's the worst they can do to you if you aren't afraid of them and/or
don't have a pot or alcohol habit. That stuff props open the crown
chakra, making one perpetually vulnerable. I wish you luck
if you intend to fight exploitation and have a pot habit. I sure
as hell wouldn't attempt it if I were you, unless I'd been free of the
stuff for a couple of weeks, at least.
SE Oregon Regional DOR Control Center
It wasn't until around sunset that night, when we arrived at the underground
facility in southeast Oregon that we'd vowed to neutralize on our last
visit in February (we were out of ammo then) that Carol said the reptilians
were swooping us and cracking our windshield to intimidate us into not
neutralizing that dead orgone transmitter regional control center, which
had about 300 people in a severely Pajama state sitting at monitors apparently
regulating the dead orgone output of perhaps thousands of neighborhood
We did the 'bowling pin' transmitter five miles away, too, for good
measure. Carol had seen a tunnel connecting that with the crowded one.
By the way, Uncle Al, that bowling pin transmitter looks just like one
of the transmitters you showed me in a picture of the reptilian hive portal
location you 'did' at Ft. Huachuca with Flash. I saw another one at the
Oakland Airport recently. I don't doubt it has something to
do with the FAA, but there's more to it. What we're doing is not
interfering with legitimate radar and radio transmission, of course. It
only negates the transmission of dead orgone, which is apparently only
effective at short range, line of sight, anyway.
Our next to last HHg went to a primary transmitter array close to the
highway on a high bluff overlooking a large valley in southwest Idaho,
15 miles from Oregon. We saw no more towers until we reached Interstate
84, which is the road going east through Boise. The concentration of dead
orgone ransmitters on that east-west route is the densest we'd seen outside
of Salt Lake City for some reason. Jerry's got a lot of potential heroics
North of there we saw no more significant towers until we reached Lewiston,
200 miles north. We drove through a lot of towns and only saw
two of the dead orgone transmitters, both under construction and both in
the middle of small towns.
I had one HHg left and we were puzzling where to put it when my gas
pedal fell to the floor and I had to pull over. We were in the middle of
Lapwai, which is the capital of the Nez Perce Reservation just south of
Lewiston, Idaho. Carol showed me how to connect the wire back up to the
carburetor again, and we left, still wondering where to put that last HHg.
We stopped to eat supper at Skippers, which is an inexpensive seafood
franchise restaurant that has really good, fresh fish.
Carol said, 'You know, several people told me I need to do something
about the energy in Lapwai, so that's probably where we need to put a HHg-actually,
the Wingmakers are telling me to put two of them there, so we need to do
that soon. One needs to go where we stopped, the other one needs
to go at the other end of town.' I said, 'Why don't I put that
bear claw that Bob Billings gave me into one of the HHgs? I
have a hunch bears are sacred to the Nez Perce.' Just then
a big, burly Indian came round the corner and walked (like a bear) past
our table. Bob's the shaman who has a Chembuster on the Blackfoot
Reservation in northeast Montana. Hi, Bob! Grizzlies often
sleep in the bushes in front of his home and he's a confidant of some Sasquatch
in the mountains nearby.
After that we drove the remaining thirty miles home to Moscow, farther
north on the Palouse high above Lewiston, which is in a big, deep canyon
next to the Snake River. That's also the river Boise is on.
We had left a Chembuster with our Wiccan friend, Lori, in Lewiston in
November. The smog, mainly from the huge Potlatch Pulp Mill, was incredibly
bad in Lewiston for many years, but there hasn't been a wisp of it since
Lori put our CB in her front yard (please note that I said, FRONT yard,
those of you who are inclined to hide or disguies your CBs) She's
in a very Pajama middle class neighborhood., though I doubt she's worn
pajamas since she was a child. We can't even smell the pulp mill any more
in Lewiston. For those who don't know what a typical pulp mill smells like,
imagine opening the lid on a full diaper pail on a summer day.
The environmentalists were (are) in the middle of a pitched battle with
the superior force of corporate lawyers on account of the atmospheric effects
of the mill, but we erased the problem with under a hundred dollars'
worth of stuff from Home Depot, the recycle place and Gladys Bridges.
Here's what's happening with Joe Blow, which I've named the Joe
Cell in the Zapporium: It had been lonely for human company while it
was in the southlands all winter, so it was slow to reawaken to where it
was when I drove it down there in November to protect it from freezing.
Back then, I noticed that the truck was moving uphill progressively faster
on the way to California. On the way back, the same thing happened, and
Carol said a ton of high energy was emanating from the Zapporium and that
several times she'd barely been able to catch up with me. I never used
to drive fast, especially in the 1970 Ford pickup on which the Zapporium
is built, but I was going like a bat out of hell on this trip. The gas
mileage actually decreased from over ten to around nine miles per gallon
and the engine is running very rough, which is a sign, according to the
manual, that the orgone is starting to implode in the cylinders.
I opened up the cell yesterday and it's still producing Brown's gas,
which is an imploding gas not related to hydrogen (a sign of life for a
Joe Cell, according to the manual), so I'll just keep taking trips in it
every week or so when we'd normally use the car instead. It's become more
fun to drive the thing. I can't explain it. I'll keep you posted.
As with Planet X, the moment is more important than possible future scenarios,
and I'm just glad to have Joe Blow back again, without expectations or
strings attached. He's a sweetheart and fun to have around.
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