As I mentioned in a previous post, it is difficult to write anything in the current world of total flux. That is a kind word for insanity and chaos. Many are ‘blissfully’ unaware, yet they must lurch from familiar pillar to pillar, holding fast to the cord of disbelief. The disbelief that anything is amiss, because ‘it cannot be’ or ‘it is simply cyclical’ or ‘the explanation will be offered soon;’. All will be well.
the bugle blast of awakening,… to the Great Lie.
Then there are the others who know that if all is to be well, it will need the bugle blast of awakening, uprising, and unified refusal to the Great Lie. The lie of comprehensive deception about almost everything; history, anthropology, religion, outer space, the structure of the cosmos, the virtues of revered warriors, man-made global warming, overpopulation and much else. So any writing is, in the current climate, polemical. One speaks to the converted, or semi-converted, those still holding fast to the buoys of the familiar, or one assaults, with too much emphasis, the deeply asleep. Neither alternative is attractive. Writing was once an invitation to enjoy, agree or disagree, but essentially to engage. Now it tends to deliver bruises.
Talking uphill tends to entrench opposition.
To find gentle inroads into things to consider, that may simply shake a snoring shoulder, is one possibility.
*
The past three years has been like traversing a minefield. No step forward was safe, some hidden explosives menaced without detonation —Not everyone has died from a jab- not yet— and others exploded with no warning from unlikely directions. The Archbishop of Canterbury slammed church doors as though the infidel was at the gates, and all his subordinates, bustling about in black, forbade singing, wringing their hands with seeming pleasure.
The flock suddenly no longer needed a shepherd. Or a place to gather and comfort.
Doctors closed surgeries, sprayed and removed seating, and admitted ill people—who had requested an appointment— only through an intercom. In winter the seriously ill stood in the rain and sleet. Even vets injected pets behind closed doors.
Policemen beat people bloody with truncheons, their horses trampled the old, and even silent prayer was grounds for arrest.
While nurses practised dance routines in almost empty hospitals, children drew rainbows for windows, and while the undertakers turned off the fridges, for no annual flu had effected its usual cull, everybody was required to clap on Thursdays.
Teachers refused to teach and small children were confined, to lose critical years of socialising or learning the expressions in a familiar face.
The dying died alone.
The most trusted professions surrendered the quickest.
The daily inflated rumour of a pandemic was enough. The details were unnecessary, for the populations were in full fearful flight from reason, doing things to one another, that hitherto were inconceivable. Mankind had been transformed.
That was the real virus, the virus of manufactured terror, and bestiality. And in the confusion, the already rich were richly rewarded, like looters after an avalanche.
*
All those doctors obliged, all the lawyers scoffed…and now the entire House of Commons vacates the benches when a single MP stands up to ask why they all took leave of their senses
Throughout, there have been voices; voices not terrorised, leading and gesturing to ways of escape. ‘Just stop and think. Look at the irrational. Find the evidence. Heed the obvious. Cui bono? There is a deeper agenda here’. They were all cancelled, called tin-hat conspiracy theorists, but they still find ways to expose not a conspiracy theory but a big and co-ordinated conspiracy reality. They are still ridiculed for it, and some (including Nobel prize winners) have been ‘terminated’, while the BBC invents trivial priorities to fill its time and distract attention.
The resistance those brave voices encounter comes dominantly from the so-called intelligentsia, or the relatively educated; those most embalmed by structures, massaged statistics, and the certainty of their superior scepticism. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Nobody would…As if!...’ All those doctors obliged, all the lawyers scoffed…and now the entire House of Commons vacates the benches when a single MP stands up to ask why they all took leave of their senses. Or why, even now, they refuse the injured any succour or help.
The few questioning doctors were the first to be cancelled or deprived of their right to practice, the lawyers who took clients deprived of murdered loved relatives are following suit. The most savage reactions come from the institutes of learning, both academic, or professional.
The dissident is deemed beyond the pale.
The dissident to any rigid institution can detonate one critical pylon. By exposing that there were always drugs that worked. Those taken off the shelves and denied usage; horse paste, they called it.
When I asked my doctor for a prescription for it, he scoffed openly.
‘Why would you want that?’
‘To treat the exhaustion and loss of balance from long Covid. I lurch, and I am constantly in danger of falling. In Uttar Pradesh with a population of 231 million it has been used both as a prophylactic and a cure, very successfully.’’
‘It’s an anti-parasitic. Not for a virus. These Indians are all rife with parasites. No wonder they feel better!.
(Since the ‘virus’ has never been isolated, how does he know that a laboratory manufactured bio-weapon is not modelled on a parasite? It’s called a virus for very good and lucrative reasons. The shareholders on Pfizer and AstraZeneca will confirm what those reasons are.) **
But the truckers in Canada were greeted along their entire route by waving encouragement, and the farmers in the Netherlands drive their tractors through crowds applauding, and providing. These are the despised ‘maga’ crowds, the great unwashed, the deplorables’. The workers who load, truck and deliver, the farmers who rise to milk, fertilise, reap, and drive to market. Those crowds may not know the details of what is planned but they trust their intuition that something deeply sinister is afoot. The bogus talk of nitrogen or the danger of CO2 does not convince them of anything, because they have seen the great deception over the planned- demic and now trust nothing said that looks like persuasion. Persuasion to surrender, conform, or sacrifice looks much like it did the last time.
Which brings me to the point of this post.
** [ I did manage to track the drug. Ordered from Canada, posted from India without any dosage or package identification. It could have been Strychnine, but I swallowed it anyway. I took it for ten days. The lurching stopped, the stamina returned, and instead of fifty yards I could walk two miles. I have not told the doctor. He would not believe me anyway.]
The Liability of an over-exercised left brain. Or the habit of not using it.
*
At this point is it perhaps necessary to confess a personal dimension to the anticipation that this would be exactly what should have been expected. Many of my recently encountered friends are bewildered by the intransigence of their intellectual friends, their co-graduates from Oxbridge who they hardly recognise as any longer capable of rational thought. Surely the academic would have been the first to examine the evidence?
Not so. I was not surprised because for the second half of my life I have encountered nothing other than the complacent intransigence of the academic. I was lucky and had a head start, trying to peddle a book that questioned every scientific discipline, from astronomy to Darwinian evolution. I had been bloodied in cross examinations and contempt, and sabotaged and thrown out by editors or publishers. Worse than that; I was locked up for it.
the cavalcade of science had been led by individuals, all of whom were, in their time, tin-hat speculators,
The essence of my hypothesis was simply that the cavalcade of science had been led by individuals, all of whom were, in their time, ‘tin-hat’ speculators, unsatisfied by the hypotheses of their respective institutions. In brief, the geniuses who ploughed their own furrows. Their ‘look again’ contemplation was met with contempt, or ex-communication, vilification and destruction. The same was true of the original inventors of new ways to power a car or tap the atmosphere for electricity. The originals who carried us all, were almost always personas non gratas. Imaginatively, I met them all, as lost friends.
In the middle of this tome exploring the chronology and nature of knowledge, I took a detour to Sicily to encounter Archimedes who re-anchored my ship sailing through time. I found he articulated my instinct succinctly, before he was murdered by the mindless Roman soldiers, obeying orders. We face exactly those kinds of brutal minions ourselves now.
I thought perhaps you would enjoy an account of that visit.
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