Me and the medes, socialist, have a long distant relationship as I prefer to remain free of their influence. Every now and then, however, someone sends a ping that gets my attention or references what I said, back when, as happening around them. This is one of those occasions. Loosen your belt as to make sense of the present and future yet to kick we need to rewind time a bit with a couple of tangents. Know this, the people who pull the strings play this realm like a harp from hell as they know you better than you Know your Self and into this ignorance one can unleash all types of manipulation that seems different but has a singular intent:
Depopulation till Twenty One Hundred.
If you hadn’t read that article it said, in a nutshell, that since women first had the term “Blahnik” seared into their head, back when, they started believing they could ride the carousel that won’t end then get swooped by a fair prince as they ride off into the sunset without so much as a wrinkle pon forehead or dimple of cellulite on derriere. All of that has been ramped (like the temp on the pot in which the frogs do sit as they’re chilling in hells kitchen) and gets to its current zenith with the article penned by Vogue which said:
“Yap about your man and I’ll mute your lips, silly bish. We don’t want to hear it as we’re strong, masculine women!”.
OK, the latter is a remix but it certainly comes across like this in the sentiment of said article as well as the whole sexual climate in which men are, increasingly, feminine as their wrists are too weak to twist the lid on their favorite Soy based beverage ergo the women step in to fill the void and this leads to a rather strange position as we see for it went from En Vogue singing “Whatta man!” in the Nine Tray which, coincidentally, is the same year Snoop and Dre made the world yell “West!” as they lit the Cess which, previously, was dissed as causing brothers brain damage and such things. Well, that and the Black fist, medallions and rest were binned as Andre backslid, found his one trick pony friend (who embodies many animal grifts for the dividends they bring) and sold genocide rhymes with criminal intent over phat samples that led to our current state in which booties being ate like groceries is most tame, on FM in the AM, as AKs spray like they were bought by Live Aid for starving Africans. Which they did. Look into it.
See, the pitchfork is doubled edged and we’re not talking about the modern Hipster site which has its digital head so far up its own rear end that it actually thinks its opinion counts for something when its neither a Vibe, XXL, Source or, hell, Word Up Magazine with scenes of Salt & Pepa doing it big in the limousine as they kept it really real instead of being all about the Reels. Its a slick but definite shift like how AI images used to look just like dream pics but, for some strange reason, no one clicked the links. But, thats another topic so lets reign the vitriol in like the medically trained Andre who sonorous tones oscillate as his name brand carriage trundles our way whilst hook man, par excellence, Nate, lay in a coma during his dying days and not one of his “friends” did help a bit which, even for the music biz, is super cold as without him singing and bringing Two One Three to conception nothing would’ve happened beyond some kerb serving and possibly catching shells via the same One Eighty Seven they had us yell. Can I get a “Hell Yeah”, Dre?
Man, that was a wild tangent, even for me but, as you’ll see – its all interlinked because whilst they had that angle for the boys with test and melanin running through them they picked out Curt Cobain instead to generate loads of temp staff, paid unwell, for the new headquarters of MS to kickstart the whole Seattle ecosystem ergo the pitchfork is super slick as, like Tenet, it has a pincer grip which hits from both directions in the same instance with a singular intent. In the case of boyfriends being so last year and not the done thing so you best edit him from all pics and never mention let me tell you what comes next (besides loads of cat ladies with BBLs):
Depopulation till Twenty One Hundred.
Before this kicks we will see women openly flaunting their semi synthetic sex companion who is Nine foot Six with an appendage that thrills, spills, chills, extends and contracts as well plus he sits, with a grin, and listens to her stories, meandering, that go nowhere in particular at a pace, glacial. Precursor event is when the Weebs get ridiculed, immense, for trading in their well worn Waifu pillows for rickety robot versions of their animated dream girl made semi flesh. Just like online dating, back when, was taken as a sign you were either inept, broken or so ran through in the ends that everyone said they smelled strawberries in your presence so you had to reinvent as a born again virgin to sell wolf tickets some place else in order to get that ring as, like Ferris, you reigned that mileage in by reversing the acceleration for a bit. Or words to that effect. Your perspective may vary but, these days, its all reg so if you don’t have an online presence, do you truly exist? That is the question. The answer?
Depopulation till Twenty One Hundred.
From articles like this blatant PsyOp designed to standardize group think which links to who they said you should keep up with and their whole box of tricks back to the shoe fetishist that had ladies, worldwide, tuning in and zoning out to the fantasy programming as well as countless tabloid clips about so and so relationship and all of the BS that fills the heads of modern women who are more masculine than the men due to the immense amounts of xenoestrogens and cultural brainwashing which caused such immense shifts. Don’t mind me, I’m just visiting this realm for my last spin and thus view from a lens with an air of detachment that is either fresh or choking, hence why my predictions are so correct as its nigh on inevitable that people will let Siri slide in to their iris (flip it) as the Apple is pre-bit and we, pre bit humans, shall remix with silicon which is why you’ve been trained, so well, to “turn on” tech using a glyph that doesn’t even hide its true intent:
The Game of Souls has you, my friend.
Now, getting back on track with this article. What isn’t said is the subtext that a lot of viewers tune in to live, vicarious. This means that if they’re chronically single (but with mass aspirations) they don’t want to see you live something different from the lyrics they’ve etched in their head as it messes with their projections. Emotional porn for women, in other words, as the man needs the visuals but the feminine fills in with intuition and if reality conflicts with this mission then, like Bobby, Houston has a problem. To bring this to some kind of coherence for those who are newly tuning in and wondering what the hell is happening, dig:
You have a story in your head about what is and that is a straight up DuckTale, woo-ooh! Meaning, a fabrication, a creation, some emotions with a bit of string that you call a narrative and from this you derive the concept of yourself when, in reality, you are pure consciousness that just happens to be wearing flesh in the Game we all play by inserting our Souls as credits on this stage. As reality follows a script there are certain targets and quotas to be filled so for the next level (in which people are born beautiful and live for ages – thanks to tech augmentation) they need less folks in the skin so the processing can be divided between those plugged in. Like PSK, some of you won’t know what that means so I’ll repeat:
Depopulation till Twenty One Hundred.
Take a look at the Guidestones and what they said then ponder why Wall Street went all in with Wokism to stop people clicking its shady tricks by having them fight among themselves over labels and definitions instead. Its a great trick because its old and effective ergo no one clicks when it kicks as they fall right in. Basically, they need a lot of people dead in the next Seventy something ergo they’ll push all types of tricks ranging from alternative lifestyles to “not settling for less” as well as robots for sex along with a whole host of xenoestrogens, forever chemicals and all types of EM waves in order to ensure folks meet a swift death whilst drowning in amusement, most intense. This article is just a bit of the same thing as its telling you, in silence, to make being single seem like the norm as “Girl, no one wants to see that mess” when, in reality, its shown and studied that women with kids in stable relationships report the highest satisfaction. Actually, I’ll have to write an article about this as its another immense topic as ladies have been tricked and pimped since the angels fell that taught them how to shave their legs, show some skin and shake dat ass, back when, whilst men were trained to kill. Looking around, its not that different, is it?
So, I say all of that to say this:
Don’t listen to these digital chickens, clucking, as not only is watching the news bad for your health the web and spider which spins is most noxious. Oh yes, I mean, haven’t you ever wondered how your phone seems to know what you’re thinking, predictive? What if I said it was linked to your subconscious in a ways you don’t expect which is why early AI scenes looked like dreams and both glitched when it came to fingertips? Food forethought, yes? Remember around COVID they removed the “Dislike” button from vids to perform some gaslighting that all were with whatever was said and thus juke the stats to tick the script? Kind of like how Demolition Man predicted the world in which we’re about to live as you’ll notice the lead feminine was the most energetic of that generation in which social distance was the thing and the all seeing eye was listening ready to hit you with a fine if you didn’t act as they said. Pretty wild, isn’t it? If you’re from the bricks, as I is, you’ll note how we laughed at the sketch as ridiculous. And yet, its happening. Just like Twenty One Hundred will, as I said. Prove me incorrect because Twenty Twen may be hindsight but seeing when to buy the dip for a quick flip then walk away with real chips as you avoid a hole in the desert is the gig because the best thing about being born in Hell is you spot the grift from the years spent learning to keep your head on a swivel and trust nothing as they said. Especially not that voice in you head because how in the heck can you be it when you’re obviously that which listens? Thats the 8 billion Soul question, my friend.
If you don’t believe what I said then thats swell as its merely a strong opinion, loosely held, ergo if new data comes in then I can revise my perspective without yelling “Death to the infidel!” as you, out there, are simply projections of my inner realms ergo I’m talking to my Self which is as mindbending as it gets so remember never to trust an atom as they make up everything! Check:
Just like I said, the cope is immense and this trajectory leads to mass dissatisfaction and, wouldn’t you know it, its just around the time a household robot is getting traction so tell me who sees the sketch as said because when you’ve done the Knowledge the Game is laid bare for what it is:
A huge confidence trick.
I mean, how else would you convince a god wearing flesh they’re a mere human or a strong, independent woman to take anothers opinion as her own then, worse still, quote chapter and verse to the apostles by retweeting? Ladies, you’re smarter than this because intuition is feminine so listen to that quiet voice within and not whats chirped by birds, digital.
Till we meet again
