Well, it feels odd to be going about my day and my business, at the fire camp and generally, in light of more and more emerging evidence about the human sex trafficking cabal. I haven’t experience this much cognitive dissonance since I went vegan, which involved coming to full realization of something that’s going on, has been going on, and which undermined my sense of the world as right side up. I probably, hopefully, won’t get into any more specifics because I just feel exhausted by them right now. It looks to me not so much like a well-hidden, super secret scheme, but like a bunch — a bunch — of powerful assholes who genuinely thought they were above the law; who didn’t even bother to cover their tracks. (Just to be clear, I don’t conflate wealth with poor character, but the wealth involved in this cover up is enormous.)
It’s taken quite a few puzzle pieces for me to approach an understanding of the enormity of the situation AS an actual industry, at the least. #pizzagate seemed so unbelievable and ridiculous as first because there just can’t possibly be that many kinky pedo-sadists out there, right? Functioning and passing as normal, highly skilled artists, for instance? I’m perhaps extra sensitive to that angle because I see myself as a basically artistic person, I see all people as basically artistic although we turn the volume down on that, and I see our society as being often hostile to art and artists, and if Hollywood is anything, it’s an enclave of magnificently gifted people. I don’t think the average person has an inkling of what it takes to simply stand in a bar and play original music through an amp the size of a milk crate, let alone what it takes to create powerful emotion on-screen, on command — I don’t have an inkling of that. I’ve been pretty annoyed, really, to have Hollywood conflated with pedophiles, generally. Like, oh for god’s sake — this group of people cannot possibly look or act like the average American, because they do what the average American can’t. They’re a bunch of beautiful, odd birds — how could they not be.
But, for instance, the controversial deleted tweets of Chrissy Teigan — I watched Riss Flex’s examination of those, yesterday (in between COVID-mandated constant sanitation of shower stalls and other work miscellany) and I can’t reconcile those tweets with anything wholesome, or even normally bizarre. Her deleted tweets reek of a depravity which considers itself immune from consequence.
Images are surfacing on the dark web of very young children’s corpses who cannot have died a natural, or even naturally unnatural, death. I’m certain that bullshit and evasion abounds, on the side of the naysayers, just as I’m certain that false leads and mistaken claims abound on the other side, as is always the case in our society of digital sleuthing and diversion. The laptop of Anthony Weiner (Hillary’s aide’s husband), originally seized as evidence of his sexting with a fifteen year old girl (which seems almost innocent and forgivable, in light of what’s surfaced, since) contains images, files, and videos which are being debated and discussed all over the internet, and some of which I’ve arguably seen — although it is the internet, and I feel to some degree helpless to Know, with a capital K. But whatever else is true, it is a fact that, out of twelve investigators, mostly NYPD, who saw the contents of the laptop, nine of them are dead by apparent suicide — several of those were near retirement — and I’m seeing that perhaps ten of them are dead, now, but I’m having a hard time confirming that.
The image of a young girl with her face removed — this is the Hillary snuff video everyone’s guessing and freaking out about, myself included — is, according to someone from Reddit, actually an image from an obscure record album in the 90’s. I’m seeing other links on Reddit to watch the entire video, which I currently do not have the courage to tackle.
The image of allegedly Epstein torturing a young girl in the grass with magnifying glasses is, according to someone else on Reddit, actually a porn star, Drea Morgan, famous for her bondage images. I looked her up and that girl doesn’t look like her, and the profile of allegedly Epstein does look like Epstein. I can’t say for sure, it’s grainy. One person’s grounds for debunking was “why would Epstein allow himself to be filmed or photographed, torturing someone”, which I consider to be flimsy. I mean, why not? Why any of this? But here it is. Clearly it’s occurred, on some level.
I saw what appeared to be covert footage of dead babies, clearly drained of blood, being processed by Asian women, in a matter-of-fact way. They were being shuffled from place to place, their skins were being removed. They were not dolls, and they were not animals. They were absolutely human babies.
I saw an apparent listing — it was a screenshot from the dark web — for adrenochrome. The image showed a little pile of dark red powder. It might as well have been a supplement, or chili powder or some shit, but it said adrenochrome. Could have been photoshop, idk. It is a fact that our bodies produce adrenochrome, adjacent to our adrenalin response, just as we produce cholesterol (all animals do, and we’re animals — a simple fact you won’t easily suss from TV marketing, which represents your dietary adventure as one in which cholesterol simply ambushes you, and you must buy special butters and muffins as a first line defense). But extracted adrenochrome is highly sought after (some things must not be for sale). The claim is that adrenalized blood of infants represents a youth tonic and an actual industry, in its own right, kind of on the down-low but not really. “Panda eyes” refers to the blackening around a child’s or baby’s eyes who has been forcibly sodomized, which — it seems? — has been found a convenient way to maximize the adrenochrome (ie stress, agony, fear) response as a function of collecting blood.
I heard audio of what is suspected to be John Podesta torturing a young boy, scalding him with hot water while screaming at him, that the boy must call him father. Whatever is happening, whoever it involves, it’s unbearable to listen to, and absolutely involves someone torturing a child. I listened to a clip of Podesta addressing an audience and it was the same voice.
I saw a video of the father of a six year old girl filming himself interviewing her — confirming that she wanted to continue doing “sexual things” with him, because she wanted him to “feel good”. Sounds like a man about to get himself doused in gasoline and set on fire, when momma finds out.
These blips on my radar can only be the crest of a tidal wave of perversion and abuse that is sweeping the planet right now.
If being an ethical vegan has taught me anything, it’s that shit exactly this systemic and industrialized and diabolical is possible, in a world where nearly any product can remain sanitized from the end-consumer’s point of view. I once saw footage of a slaughterhouse worker cut the end of a (living) pig’s nose off, just for fun. Just because he could. The pig was destined for slaughter and the slaughterhouse worker was clearly a traumatized, compromised person — how could he not be. Same thing goes with war — the line between combatants and noncombatants, civilians and terrorists, suspects and innocents, interrogation and torture, cannot possibly remain un-blurred to those we entrust with (subject to) these politically driven bloodbaths in which a few shades of their humanity dim. People lose perspective. I couldn’t believe it of Sandra Bullock, for instance, and then I watched the clip of her with Ellen Degeneres, blushingly excusing the origin of her facial care product — derived from penis skins of Korean babies — as coming from “far far away” — and my jaw dropped.
If it’s ethically okay because it’s only the discarded foreskins from circumcisions — a procedure I consider to be little more than culturally sanctioned male genital mutilation, ethically outrageous in its own right — then why soothe us by saying the Korean babies who yielded this ingredient were “far far away”? If it’s not ethically okay, because we agree that infant circumcision represents a surgery that cannot possibly be elective, or because we cannot entirely confirm that the penis skin cells were derived from, in fact, discarded foreskins — then the babies being far away does not mitigate the moral harm.
And of course I’m splitting the wrong hair, here, because it apparently gets so much worse than this, but I just find it difficult to believe that I have to sit here at a fire camp and ask these questions about something that was announced on live national television, and the extent of the ethical discussion I can find around it, on the internet, just has to do with assuring women that the foreskin cells were cloned in a lab to produce the ones that go on your face, so that’s perfect — way to focus on the absolute wrong side of the moral equation.
Nearly anyone, it seems, will rationalize the use of anything, if they think it helpful to their wellbeing and if the tortured donors of its ingredients remain obscured enough. I think the barrier for most people, running across these shocking claims, is that it’s simply impossible — no one would do that, certainly not a lot of people, definitely not a lot of famous, successful people with every advantage. I thought that, too, but I don’t any longer.
Several missing girls, as well as women, have been either recovered or had their cases re-opened as a result of pornographic footage of their rape being uploaded to PornHub, and the extent to which user-generated porn plays as a key factor in all this cannot be overstated. I mean, the number of people who’ve been busted with child porn, and in some cases torture child porn, even who apparently aren’t involved in trafficking directly, is enormous, and constant, and includes people from all walks of life, up to and including politicians and leaders of various sorts. An epidemic is upon us, has been upon us, and unfortunately I’m learning that — like the frantic and failing denial and then whitewashing of the horrors of the meat and dairy industries — it’s really a question of how depraved it all gets, and the answer is usually, a lot more depraved, and impersonal, and well-organized, than almost anyone can handle. These are not crimes of passion. There is a market, and a product, and a way to bypass detection and repercussion, particularly when our own leaders are involved.
I consider us lucky to have avoided Hillary becoming president in 2016 because she’s at the nexus of quite a bit of this spiderweb, and I consider it imperative that as much of the truth of this as possible gets unpacked and revealed and connected as quickly as possible, before we elect any more leaders, in order to find out who’s complicit, and maybe even more spectacularly, who’s not. And this is no longer even remotely a crazy thing to say, as I myself would have averred even several months ago.
The news cycle continues to desperately, frantically, aggressively direct our attention to manufactured drama, and for most of us I suppose it’s working.
I was walking Buffy across the camp, earlier today, and an individual we’ve had minor dealings with called me over. He’s a trainee in the vicinity of our higher-ups, but he told me a couple days ago he’s also a pastor in his community. I had said, “Well, come over and preach at me, then!” Maybe an odd request from a firm non-Christian but I’m at the point where people who have a faith-based spiritual practice are now less weird to me than people who don’t. Anyway, he called me over, spent some time petting Buffy, and then asked, “Do you know what your name means?”
“I know it’s Hebrew. I think it means ‘grace’”, I said.
“Your first name actually means ‘favored by God’,” he corrected. “And your last name means ‘a lookout’.”
“I didn’t know that,” I said.
“Yes. Names have enormous meaning. God knows our names before we’re born. And the Devil will challenge us in keeping with the purpose of our names, before we’ve even had a chance to discover that purpose.”
I mentally translated this into my own terms. “We come with intentions to develop certain characteristics, and we best understand those characteristics through experiencing their absence.”
He thought about that for a moment. “Yes. I was taught by my pastor that there are three areas I’m not supposed to, ah, prophecy in: names, dates, and babies. But I find such power in names — it’s difficult not to share. What I’m getting from you is that you came here to be a lookout for others, and favored by God in that role. So you tell others what you see; you tell others what you see *in them*, maybe most importantly; and this is God’s work for you.”
I grinned. “That sounds about right, actually.”
He said, “Also, I’m getting there may be a baby in your future.”
I said, “Well — my namesake in the Bible had her child late in life. I’m 44. I would like to have a child, and I’ve never yet, but it seems pretty late.”
“That possibility is there,” he said. “And you wouldn’t have the desire in your heart if God didn’t put it there. That’s two of the things I’m not supposed to prophesy, but…”
“Well, thank you,” I said. “I appreciate it.”
Conversations like this are, let’s say, not entirely uncommon for me. Common enough that I’m unfazed by it.
I don’t know if or how to be a lookout — I didn’t know my last name meant anything, let alone that — but I do know I’m happiest when I’m involved in broadcasting my discoveries as I make them, in some way shape or form. I can get bombastic and huffy, to a fault, but I understand that’s a part of the process of me finding my footing. I do feel a connectedness and a love for my audience, whoever that may be, and I think any act of genuine openness and authenticity, anywhere, inspires more that are vibrationally like it, in a chain reaction. I don’t know that I’ve confronted the specter of such evil, such sadism, the pursuit of violence for violence’s sake before, as I’m encountering now, and as with veganism I think it’s imperative to avoid the impulse to look away — the victims of these crimes cannot — but also to maintain my emotional balance. We all must maintain our emotional balance, our sovereignty. There is no one to tell us how to be, how to react, what to believe, and the integrity of our own reasoning flies in the face of what we’re commanded, pressured, bullied to consider normal. There’s no comfort to be had in status quo, right now, and the buck of our own collective thought-creations can no longer be passed. It’s upon us, and thank god for that because I wouldn’t wish these moral catastrophes on anyone, so let’s at least square with it. I’ll keep looking, and being a lookout. I like that, at least.
Incidentally, Nick found a wonderful video on Instagram today. It was an orphaned fawn, discovered and rescued by some people who brought it to a sanctuary, where it joined with several other orphaned fawns. The fawns were fed and strengthened and then released into the wild, but I guess they felt the wild was overrated, and so continue to reside nearby the sanctuary. Someone commented on the video, “Looks delicious,” and Nick took him on, in a comment storm, which unfolded with this person trotting out every excuse in the book. The strangest thing, though, is this extremely common form of mental illness in which someone feels compelled to assert this type of comment, this aggression, this violence, into a post about a rescued fawn. This is not disconnected from the rest of my blog — the towering inferno of wounded ego indicated by someone bragging that they can abuse or kill a being infinitely weaker than them, infinitely more vulnerable than them — this is rampant. This is rampant, it’s everywhere, we can most commonly see it rear its chickenshit head relative to the abuse of animals, but we simply cannot ask ourselves where the systemic abuse of children could come from, and continue to have this relationship with animals.
I spoke with a young gal after her shower — she wore a Boys and Girls Club tee shirt. I asked her about it and she said, “It really helped me find what I want to do with my career.”
“Oh, what’s that,” I asked.
“Have you heard of MMIW?,” she answered.
“It stands for missing and murdered indigenous women,” she said. “I live on the Kikapoo reservation, in Kansas, and I want to work for them. By the way, have you heard of the Wayfair thing?,” she said.
“Yeah,” I said, sadly.
“These ten thousand dollar pillows, with missing girls’ names? And did you see about the cabinets?”
“Yeah. It’s strange that Wayfair didn’t say ‘hey, this *is* odd, let’s check into it, type thing,” I said. “They just took down the listings and justified their price point and ignored the entire issue of the names.”
“Super suspicious,” she said.
Another chance conversation today took this same turn, and once again, not prompted by me. I feel enough cognitive dissonance, just trying to exist in my own skin with what I’ve learned, and come to suspect, so far — I’m certainly not trying to flounce around the fire camp talking about it when I could, otherwise, have a nice, soothing, normal conversation.
But, “Have you heard about all this trafficking stuff that’s coming out, now?,” the person said, apropos of nothing.
I’m glad, though. As far as I’m concerned, the world should come to a screeching fucking halt so this can be dealt with. I don’t give a shit about Corona, I don’t give a shit about Black Lives Matter, particularly with NYC murders in May up 79% from May last year, proximal to the $1B budget cut of NYPD — I don’t give a shit about China right this minute; I think there could not be a bigger alligator, closer to our boat, than the tsunami of human sex trafficking and apparently ritual abuse, pervading our highest and most typically above-the-law echelons of industry and government. It might even connect the dots on all the other problems. There could not be a weaker or more vulnerable segment of our population being systemically targeted, and there could not be a more important call to action. What action? Frankly, I have no idea, but I know that remaining distracted from the fact of its occurrence is a less and less rational proposition.
Let’s pay attention.