Thunder of Prayer

We live in a Thunder of Prayer. Prayer doesn’t always take the form of a ritual before an altar or on a prayer rug facing Mecca. The hole in Mother Earth is commanding prayer and has made a Thunder of Prayer. First I will choose to discuss the People of They who center around the financial centers. Some of Them are betting against BP being able to clean up. This is what I learned in my family’s country clubs as the gentlemanly sport of fair game. BP messed up, now the bar is betting against it while others believe in the technology. Second I will discuss those who’s loudest prayer right now is “I don’t want to know.” Imagine having all that brain power and allowing it to be dummed down; hear stories about being dummed down; and being so dummed down your primary purpose in life is to satisfy Someone of They. Thirdly I will discuss those people who seek for something massively disastrous to happen — oh wait! This is something DISASTROUS.

Okay, I can’t handle it. I can’t go on rationally evaluating the Evil Prayers and Good Prayers, the Gauntlet has been thrown down about everywhere it can be and there’s probably not too many bets being made over drinks at the Woofert’s Roost Country Club. We The People knew, sooner or later, our lust thirst for ever faster steel crates with manliness designs and Edward Bernays mind control advertising sending us off to the great route 66 in the dreamscape of Carmel Camelot flavored initiation to benzene. I think this BP fault in the ocean floor is a wake up call. Now, exactly how many times have I come across reports and blogs, and rumors and jokes, that said supposedly from They–by guys like Matt Simmons — that what America needed was a wake up call. America doesn’t seem to be able to hold on to its lustrous crown of Atlantean splendor. Those of They who prayer evil against the Earth to shock America might find it is their children who are taken first. I feel sorry for those on Sannibel Island in Florida who have the millions of dollars of Joe the Plumber years behind them and now their houses are on the precipice, as houses on the precipice of Chatham MA, a Cape Cod community , fell into the sea, so will the summer heat cook the oil’s volatiles into a paint stripping winds and storms push Sannibel Island FL, off a chemical cliff. What the Gulf Coast needs is workers from New Jersey who are used to those chemicals. You might wonder, who is this writer anyway. I got my start in neo-organic chemistry with fiberglass helicopter parts at Sikorsky Aircraft. What would the Chinese do, wash up the shrimp and package it for America? You can bet one thing, recognition of the True Elite will come by knowing who’s NOT on Jackel Island near Jupiter FL.

Next are the “We don’t want to know,” crowd. They’ll be the ones asking “Why is everyone leaving town?”  Then one of them will jog down to the marina, fire up the three huge outboards and BOOM! the bank of methane that lay there all night will convince all to late of the virtue of  “I should have known.” I definitely would not want to be caught out on Key West if a “thinner storm” blew up. Have you ever seen a hot thunderstorm? It sucks water right off of lakes, if the Gulf has oil on top of the water, up it goes with the vapor. Their evil neighbor kids will figure out cats and dogs can be fire sacrifices easier than cleaning them off. “I don’t want to know! I want to go watch the Secret again, and have Joe “Mr. Fire,” Vitali, tell me how to attract the wealth I need {does that come as fiat currency?}.  There’s no putting this Genii/Jinn back in the bottle. Black Snake spawning; soon no one will be able to get close to down wind because the fumes will melt the rubbers right off the hydraulic systems. I’ve seen people whose livers were melted by chemicals, all which came cooked from that dark Black Snake. Beware the prayer, “I don’t want to know about it.”  These are the teachers of the too dum to understands. One sure way to affect the electoral balance is to leave the Gulf Coast a melted waste of lost tires, warm homes, and seeing the USA in a Chevrolet.

Now that the government owns NASCAR via its virtual hold by Chevrolet (Government Motors), will we still be wasting gasoline in the face of sweltering fumes like what they use to clean engine parts? How close to the coast is Talladega? Maybe the rocket car boys should make a voluntary act by declaring the season done with in the face of the disaster, and begin moving out residents who will die from respiratory illness soon if not moved. I don’t want to know. I’d say be careful in the South on hot days, you might see more wobbly motorcyclist than normal. Methane is quite deadly, damn those Brits again! I don’t want to know.

Dum, dummer, dummer than dirt. I hear and read things like that these days, also accompanied by fat. Being overweight drags the body down so that it craves energy, which once a cycle is begun, becomes self-reinforcing. Add to that Ed Bernays again, Ray Kroc, Monsanto, throw in Con-Way, or rail corridor [top secret], and a person inculcated to praise the highest value of a days feelings as low self-gratification gets fat and lazy, and lazier and fatter, and if the contract for mental colonization is such as to use that fat and dum person of least harm for an insurable greatest disposability,  as has the face of a memory I possess of a night clerk at a very run down Motel # outside of Memphis TN I had the adventure in meeting. May she be blessed by Elohim.

How insignificant is any of my gradations of potentialities? Mother Earth has been pierced, and somehow it is up to us to come up with the story for our great great– seven times great grandchildren about why we had to make such a mess of things. Eisenhower warned us about the corporate schemes, Kennedy attempted to do what got Andrew Jackson and Abe Lincoln in trouble, take back the finances of USA. All who dance in the fire machines, take hot showers from oil or gas, share a sliver of guilt in ignoring how those monstrosities of corporations wheeled and dealed world killing death. I know for sure They who operate like that are not the They of the Illuminati that the Georgia Guidestones represent. No, look on the stones and find, Leave Room For Nature. Nothing on those stones projects the views of the next group of people, those who think they know what They are up to.

Your Majesty, your oil is pouring out in the sea. Such a sloppy way to run a business, lose all that product. Do you really think the rulers of the world attend Bildeberg or Trilateral meetings? Heck no! Those folks are just a different class of go fors. And the magic thing is most of the time They don’t have a clue about Truth so Their castles end up with puddles where the bones of the pets lay. Picture it. You have a Gulf of Mexico loaded fresh with lots and lots of oil and gas hydrates. Along comes the spray planes, ostensibly pulled off chemtrail duty, and their pissing out BP’s version of PB Blaster on steroids, and Kevin Costner’s machines with the ships, nets, and other massive activity associated with the mega-pipe the good old USA sucks Gulf crude from, is now the washing machine from hell. Got fish smell? Just call in the Corexit 9500, mix with oil and hydrates and presto! don’t light that cigarette! Don’t forget to churn well with all kinds of ships and nets that are about like pissing in the wind. Allergic to shrimp? Try this smell. What, don’t like natural swamp smell, or how about raw sewage, believe me, if you live through a cloud of “oil smell” this summer, you’ll consider overlooking a sewage plant.

One day I was driving through the canals of New Jersey. I came up over a creek and choked to unbreathability over some chemical in the air. My eighteen wheeler stayed on the road and I made it to where I could breath again. After loading a cargo of insulation down the road, I had to drive back that way. I practiced deep breathing and holding. As I got near, I judged well enough, but almost didn’t make it through as when I was beginning to release my air, I could smell and taste the fowl hydrocarbon, and I’d guess chlorinated or brominated, in the air. I held my in breath back until I was good and sure my cab’s air wouldn’t knock me out.

I hear the Thunder of Prayer, I feel the Thunder of Prayer.

The train goes by, the people inside are vibrant in the Thunder of Prayer.

Which form of prayer is yours? My most popular right now is tied to mirth and is “There You’ve gone and done it, arrogant bunglers, and thieves by deception. May the washing machine from hell only give a bath to tuna eggs or, bye bye Charlie Tuna.” I am full of gratitude for the way things were. The now a positive picture does not present and given the knowledge of the past and chemical volatiles; let’s slab in my business crash because it’s tied in, there are now a lot of things in the future that were not part of my version of the Attractor Factor. I Thundered in Prayers of Gratitude for the fishes, shrimp, oysters, all the while, the Beverly Hill Billies were left in charge of getting the profits out of the oil for the owners of all that monstrous machinery known as an oil company.  One night when I trucked liquid fertilizer for Standard Oil of Indiana, a loading yard had been inundated with anhydrous ammonia, then laying in the low area like a white cloud. Everything down there was going to be nice and clean by morning. And nothing left alive, not even the microbes of the soil. Spills, and especially oil volcanos clean life right off the planet. Take a deep breath.

Of late, I’ve come to accept the Thundering Prayer, Make me an instrument of your will. Overall, the bazar nature of this space in time is a silence too deafening to hear for any of us, even They. Imagine if They find out oil has seeped into Their seed vaults. What if IPod screens melt at higher benzene levels? I know our lawn mover’s rubbers in the fuel system slowly succumb to alcohol degeneration. Benzene is just the foundational “zene.” There’s a few butyls about, too. Oh my what toxic soup has plastered its way upon the shore, but wait! There’s more. We have for you today, a group of huge cones of underwater oil just waiting for Mississippi mud to send it down the Dry Tortuga and slipping out between Cuba and Miami Beach.

Kind of puts prophecy in the words of and old band, the Moody Blues: Breathe deep, the gathering gloom…

This entry was posted in Bildeberg, economy, Elitism, Illuminati, Lucifer, oil disaster, raw materials, survival, Toxic Gas and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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