The Big Ask

Pandemia, the bord game: get the disease and win!

 I’ll be honest with you, said the subterranean traveller when we met on a municipal park bench, one of the few places left where we could still see each other, his slender torso turned into the path of conversation as if he were breathing his truth. I am wanting people to die. I know, it’s not cool to desire such things, but I feel I’ve done my bit to save humanity and now that nobody wants to listen I should at least be left in peace. So I need people to die to create a different dempanic among the public. I need them to realise they’re all going to pass away soon and some faster than others but only few really slow. Quite a collective adventure coming up. I want them to freak out and go angry and overthrow their corrupt governments, finally. The traveller smiled. And us, clever dickies, get to profit from that. Can you feel me?

I let nature have a break fill, listening to pigeons and parrots fighting over breadcrumbs fed to them by an elderly unmasked gentleman. Yes, I can feel you, I said. It’s not the greatest of feelings, though.

It isn’t. But I do need to think I made the right choice.

Again I needed time to persuade myself to respond in the affirmative. I guess you are entitled to your own survival.

Well, yes, one would say so, but it doesn’t seem quite as straight forward in the real world.

 

The subterranean traveller let go of a deep sigh as if returning to his essence, the rant a tad out of character. I know I shouldn’t be thinking like this, he confessed again. But it’s hard, you know, I don’t want to die. Not yet. Life is good in the moments I can still feel human, when I am together with my neighbours or friends and feel love streaming through my body. I perhaps enjoy these episodes more now they are becoming farther in between and the in-betweens more tedious by the week. I cling to life, sabes? I may have appeared aloof to you at times, and over-engaged at others, but I guess that’s because life itself was never in question. It was there for me to experience it, with a sufficient level of freedom to create one’s own reality. Be who you want to be, that kind of thing.

 

In silence I asked him to let the camera of our attention have another pan over the parkland surroundings, breathing in the rich, post rain air, let the birds once more sooth our ears, and he acquiesced. Then he was all over me again: now that the right to life has become debatable (as in believing there should be no such thing) and your life itself being something the powerful get to play with, I realise how little I have prepared myself for my earthly goodbyes. I have reached an age where terminal disease may strike quite suddenly, if one is to follow earlier examples, with life becoming a bit of a lottery, and I have entertained fledgling thoughts on the probability of afterlife, as any serious person should, yet taken all together I still believe in plucking the day. So how am I going to continue this avaricious lifestyle of mine if I need to show death jab compliance to simply have a beer in my local hang-out?

 

You use big words, amigo, I managed to interrupt the traveller. I just want the freedom to decide what I put into my body and what not, he countered from the baseline. I don’t feel I should have any remorse towards other people’s suffering, as the death numbers are still low. I am healthy, on average. I take care not to endanger anyone. I feel I have every right to save myself and keep humanity going for a while longer. After quite a long silence that I felt I had compelled him to, I said somewhat disinterested: I second those words. The subterranean immediately volunteered to fill the void my voice was leaving. I fear strongly I will not be allowed to exercise my right, he put in gravely. I fear I will be forced towards the fringes of a society that is evermore acceptant of being run by the interests of a ruling class who are not at all interested in the fate of those they do not deem to belong to their circle. What’s going to happen to me and all those who equally want nothing to do with this obvious and utter madness that is keeping western countries in an iron hold? Will we be murdered in the end? I think this question should be asked and I for one am not too optimistic about the winds we’re sailing.

 

Winds? I served fruitlessly. Yes, winds, my friend, or should I just call you my editor? the traveller came on pretty strong. Anyway, I’m looking for a change of hearts. I need people, the people, every single individual or at least a sizeable number of them, to wake up from their hypnotic state and start creating change. No more fear, no more bullshit swallowing, no more betraying one’s fellow man. We know this, don’t we? This has been played out before. Who says it can’t be done again? Yes, they were different times and circumstances, but the helplessness of the public in the face of radical and violent change is quite similar. Compliance is what this is called. They go along to get along, all of them, some at least convinced there must be a truth hidden in the obvious lie – one I haven’t found yet – but the majority don’t even give a flying fig’s. It is like it is, so why care? The public have never won. The public have never been attacked on quite a similar scale, is what I say. This is not just one people getting murdered. Well, you could say it’s only the white countries that are being done, but their populations are not all so white anymore and anyway, it’s a hell of a lot of people threatened with extinction at the same time. I’d say they may have underestimated the chance people will unite across borders and quickly create a worldwide movement. Remember, most countries around the globe are sufficiently represented in the West to get something going back home.

 

He definitely had a point there and I almost rejoiced. So, I need a reaction, the subterranean continued, I need an atom bomb. I need people to wake up and resist. Stop compliance. They’re murdering you, slowly. But you’re not listening, so I need a lot of you to die first. Or horribly injured. Only when enough people are dying will the rest of you get angry. Only then will you understand you are being lied to, and not for the first time. Only then will you see it took just a handful of players to bamboozle a professional class only too willing to be important in the cause. Only then will you realize you’re walking around with a ticking timebomb in your body and that it might be a good idea to restore public healthcare to answer your collective needs. And away with those priests of doom, everywhere, the politicians, the medical authorities, all those bureaucrats who find rules more important than people. This is what I need you to do ‘cause if you don’t, I will be devoured by the mad system you silently support. That’s why I need you to open your eyes. What do you say?

 

It’s a big ask, man.

 

Astral planning

 Now that the end seems to be getting nearer for many, it is time to shed some light on what may be coming next. Death is not the end all of it. Our personal growth will not have been in vain. Very few things in nature are, have you not noticed? It’s a beautifully balanced system, well-communicated if you will. I know this goes against the reigning Darwinian idea that all striving is idle and doomed to either perish or survive a while longer. No blaming Darwin here, he seemed to have been a God-fearing man, but his proposals have been hijacked by all kinds of indecent folk who want to suppress and torture their fellow human for the satisfaction of some presumed superiority complex. Whether they’re scientists or money robbers or power-hungry fools, they collectively have turned our beautiful planet into a high-tech hell hole which is teeming on the brink of destruction. Animals are dying all over the place, microscopic plastic chips are invading and killing marine life, toxic fumes and edibles take care of the land species. Meanwhile the atmosphere is heating up or cooling down or perhaps both at the same time, nobody seems to know for sure but it is certainly a topic worth destroying our civilization for. And so, our lives have been thrown into a pit. After having been forewarned with a few unnecessary crises – this is how we think of you, simple souls – the rug is being pulled from under our feet, and since it has always been a magic carpet, our western society, there’s not much underneath to catch our fall. So, you take the jab to help create herd community, and after a while you start growing the unpleasant feeling you may have been had and a dark winter is indeed beckoning.

 

This need for destruction and self-control and ultimately complete reinvention of life on Earth does not align with the scheme that was set up to satisfy the soul’s desire for endless life. Reincarnation most likely exists. It’s the only way to get something going on a planet which can’t seem to move beyond the level of wanking chimps. Haven’t quite done what you once dreamt to be doing? Don’t worry, you’re not alone. Most people need a number of lives to prepare their souls for whatever comes next, Buddhist extinction or some new adventure. It’s actually quite a simple system. You die, you leave your body and say goodbye to your loved ones, you get to hang out with some dudes for a while and when your soul energy is running out, you get cleansed and sent back to the next body, having no other knowledge present than a vague sense of previous awareness. You begin all over again and maybe this time you end up with stronger feelings of eternity; eternity being relative, of course, but certainly a lot longer than one human life.

 

Unfortunately, there are complicating matters. As below, so above, or the other way around, however the saying goes. Seeing the madness we have created down here, the wars, the exploitation, famines and crisis upon crisis, now culminating in the vax death cult – what to expect up there, as people say when they mean the elusive astral plane which is actually all around us? Could be dangerous territory for the unprepared soul that has just lost its body and doesn’t know how to be without physical impulse. Might some jackass come along and lure you into their shiny heaven, or whatever it is you’re looking for. Considering that many of us are going to die in the coming years (unless people rebel), the old, the infirm, the obese, the middle-aged and eventually anybody without money, we might as well get ready for what is awaiting us.

 

As I have come to understand from a source* I’m inclined to lend more credibility to than older stories going round, the astral plane is not just the realm where the soul gets liberated from its earthly misdemeanours and recharged for the next life. It’s also filled with energies which have stopped playing by the rules and pose a constant danger. First all, there are the gods, experienced souls who at some point chose life on the plane over earthly existence and on their last voyage down managed to assemble a faithful following of mostly unsuspecting young souls whom they would meet and guide in their first moments of post-mortal confusion and despair, only to be subsequently devoured, their energy stolen and their souls extinguished, because everything needs soul energy to keep the astral body, a sort of sense of physical presence, alive. The most successful gods, Moses and his reappearances, Jesus and Mohammed, must have pretty smooth operations running. They may also have a court life, which offers an opportunity to daring souls. The rest should fear to end up on the wrong side of Odin’s banquet, once they step in the limelight. By taking it easy at first and not letting any presence come up too close until you feel strong enough to resist their persuasion, you can learn what it’s like being out there. Watch out, though, there are free roaming poachers as well who pretend to be all the hip thing but, in the end, just want your petrol either.

 

It’s not a pretty picture I am offering, I know, yet it’s the one that makes sense considering how population growth and an enduring belief in heaven have filled the Earth with young, unknowing souls who are easily manipulable, as we are seeing right now with the virus psyop and the social engineering following in its wake. The idea behind reincarnation is of course that we become better people as civilization progresses, fit to deal with the endless temptations that godlike behaviour entails. Instead, we have been children in a toy store. And now the store is closing. So, if you decide to check out the joint before you step onto the stage, you might as well do the same down here for as long as your forces allow you. Quit the show, honey, you’re done for anyway. Meditate, seek contact with lost ones and learn to unconditionally love the life you will soon say goodbye to, life in all its intricate details as also its grand scheme of things. Be humble and be grand, be human and god alike, understand why life must be eternal before you go.

 

Remember, the greater the loss of life here on Earth, the more there will be of us on the other side. That might come to pass. If we can’t trust what’s going on up there, at least we may stick together as an anxious but growing movement of premature dead who find their own way in the end. It’s the sixties all over again on the astral plane! And who knows, the so below principle may inspire our poor children to finally get rid of those leeches and create the idealistic society their wide-eyed parents raised them for.

 

* War in Heaven is suggested reading. If you can’t find it, write for a copy to coospalmboom@gmail.com.

 

 

 

Archaic thinking

Peratallada, Palau-sator and Pals, situated in the south-eastern corner of Girona province, offer well-preserved medieval town centres where tourists can purchase regionally made handicrafts and eat expensive dinners in carved-out restaurants or simply walk through deserted backstreets. While some of the merchandise on offer is definitely worth serious contemplating, it does condemn the spectacular surroundings to a background role. Don’t worry about sentiments, the houses seemed to say, we’re just décor.

 

The subterranean traveller and Trandi Romantic would not agree. Rather, they appreciated how these tiny towns had been protected against perceived outside danger by enormous stone walls and towers. There are more of such fortresses around Spain and the two of them had been discussing the fear induced mindset of the original townspeople before, so silence accompanied them this time. What was there to say now that people all over the world appear to have fallen back on an eerily similar perspective on life? Rehashing unpleasant truths is not their favourite pastime.

 

Follow the science, mate, this technique is at least 15 years old. They know what they are doing.

You think so? They’ve never tried it on humans before. They admit it’s a test which will be running for a good year more.

Well, my friend got sick, so I took it for him.

And I don’t want no messing with my genetics. I’m not a potato.

Don’t worry. When its work is done, the information will get lost.

Really? Who told you so?

 

Fear is the great equaliser. There are no stone walls to hide behind these days, nor enemies that can be held by them. Everyday life has all become so incomprehensible, that surrender to the force majeur seems the sensible solution in the eyes of many who believe society should be ruled by an ever more efficient and invasive government. Yet, surrender always turns into submission. There soon will be no freedom left to think or make decisions. There will only be the prescribed way, which one must follow to the letter, or else. Back in the day, in Eastern Europe, prescriptions came on paper and could relatively easily be falsified. Those dreamy days are over. The Holy Digit has got us in an iron grip.

 

Relax, mate, we all follow the science here. No need to bother us with your theories.

My theories, as you call them, come from scientists who have been active in the field of genetic manipulation most of their working life. It’s them who say the jabs aren’t safe.

That’s a bit late, then, to say so.

I’ve been saying it from the beginning, but nobody was listening.

Still, I haven’t seen you at the vaccination centre.

To do what?

Warn us, dammit! Now we’re stuck with this poison, as you claim.

Cleanse your body. There’s still info out on the net. You’re not alone.

 

The only way to somewhat survive seems to be focussing on preferred narratives time and again to at least preserve a token of what was once considered reality but is now dismissed as conspiracy theory. Imagine that, our collective memory has apparently become a lie. We were not who we thought we were, nor are we now. Can we accept a completely new reading of what we believe to be our profound being? The traveller and Trandi for sure couldn’t. Their need to feel free, whether real or not, was grounded too deep to simply abandon their faith in the face of collective hysteria. As they were used to from long before the covid madness began engulfing humanity, they were once again spending a good deal of money on a weekend retreat in the countryside, and they were not going to have their fun spoiled by depressing metaphors.

 

I had nothing more to say in my defence. My private thoughts on the matter I kept quiet. Were they actually going to vent their anger on me? I quickly built up faith to resist their reactions. They were four thirty-something office workers of the gym-type. Not muscular, but definitely fit. While their thinking was not very exciting, their collective strength was certainly impressive.

I believe I must be going. My family expects me.

You got a wife, then?

Or is it a husband? With a dog for a kid.

Gentlemen, my private life is none of your business. So why don’t you let me go my way? I’m just a vax-free neighbour. Don’t get all upset.

At that point my telephone ran out of battery and recording stopped. Since memory fails me here, there is no other end to this story than you make of it.

 

Inevitably, their attention got caught by an overripe moon hanging in the midnight sky, pretending to be eternal and emitter of forever flowing energies. Its sparkle on the rippling surface of a slow-moving sea only exacerbated its pompous self-importance. The moon, of course, is there only for those who want to see it, whereas the sun is inescapable. They tried to capture the beautiful spectacle before their eyes on camera but failed miserably. Big Digit wouldn’t allow for a fair rendition of nature’s vibrations.

 

Yes, there is something magical about watching the moon bossing it over turbulent waters, directing the rhythm of the waves with the help of its bleak authority, she who makes darkness a living part of day, forcing the restless currents to submit to ancient tradition and nature’s demands. Free waves are just a meme, girl, it never was like that. We all surrender to Earth’s desire, we have no choice. Do you go down for fun or service? I guess it’s only natural people mistake power for life. Just take what kills you and you will be okay.

 

 

 

 

Wheels on the shoulder

 After the plane had safely landed and we’d positioned ourselves in the rather small arrivals lounge in such a way that we could easily be spotted, just off the fluorescent meeting point sign, we came to understand at least ten of our fellow passengers shared our destination. All going to Jane’s party, then, I asked around and indeed, they all were. Wouldn’t want to miss it for the world, a thirtyish woman said, broadly smiling, and then we all started chatting and acquainting. We could have done this three hours earlier, but hadn’t. We were six couples, one lesbian, one gay, one black and two mixed and the rest of us more or less white. But whatever our backgrounds and life choices, none of us seemed the type to pull off a stunt in front of a hundred plus anonymous holiday makers. We got to appreciate this common weakness and laughed sheepishly. But now that we know each other, let the fun begin, exclaimed Berta, a European looking woman in her forties whose French Muslim husband Rashid stood quietly by his wife’s side, claiming not to understand much English. What he did get, though, was Berta flashing her admiration at me. Starshine, the one with the smile, lit up the mood by letting us know it was still a two hours’ drive by bus through the mountains. She was with a Swedish feller, Harold, who was clearly her younger. We were the oldies, at 59 and 55 respectively. I knew Jane’s mum, I declared, I saw Jane grow up during five years. We like each other and we correspond a bit in winter. I’m an uncle to her. Now they all began laying out their own relation to our host, who was celebrating her fortieth birthday at her remote mountain hideout off the Mediterranean coast. Being hard to access, the party was spread over three evenings, with after party invitations available for the unsatiable ones. I was keen on being one of them, but the wife wasn’t up for it. We’d quibbled a bit and then chose to let the party itself decide over goings on. Being older, we don’t quarrel that much anymore, in fact, we have almost eradicated bitching from our existence. I know, when you’re younger you find this boring. I remember.

 

The driver was stoned. I saw it immediately. He arrived after an hour in a rusty people mover, one of those company coaches which always seem too big for their wheels. I thought they were meant for city transport, I joked. Michele, who was with his Spanish husband, agreed with me, sending me nods of approval. I’m sure the driver knows where he’s going, the husband interfered. Sure, dear, Michele consented, sending me an eyewink in the process. The driver had not stopped being stoned in the next ten minutes that we positioned our luggage and then ourselves in the 21-seat coach. He seemed only more out of his head when he announced we would be picking up more folks down the road. By the way, my name is Michelangelo. After such a statement, nobody was going to say they were Jack or Jill, but we did club a bit closer at the back. Some had used the hour wait to have drinks on the airport café terrace and were now getting ready for a nap.

I hadn’t wanted to tell Trandi immediately about the driver’s state of mind, or lack thereof,

so as not to piss on her weekend, but when we started climbing up the first mountain range it quickly became clear to her there was something not right in the way we were sweeping through the bends, unnecessary wide and loose, perhaps. I noticed he was stoned, I said. That startled Trandi. Why didn’t you tell me? And do what, get off? Get a taxi.

That was not such a crazy idea, and I started wanting it. We can think it over, I offered, there’s a stop later on.

As it was, on our side of the mover we got to sea the canyons a whole lot more than the rockface. After two inadvertent yells, Trandi asked, why are you always so slow in your decisions? We’ll be fine, I assured her, everybody wants to live. I sometimes wonder, my companion let go.

 

After an anxious ride, we finally arrived at the halfway point. We’re off here, I told around, we want to have a bite and some rest. It’s been a long day for us. For all of us, cried Berta, still totally forgiving me. But how are you getting to Jane’s, then? Starshine asked the logical question. There’s only one bus, Harold claimed. I wasn’t going to ask him where he’d got that information. We’ll get a taxi, Trandi told.

A taxi, shouted Femke, who was with her Belgian wife, that’s terribly expensive. I looked at her smilingly, in the way of willingly, and said, we’re halfway, so it’s two, perhaps three hours of the driver’s time. How much is that here, one hundred? Modern taxis are quite big, added Trandi, you can easily share them between four.

Starshine appeared to want it for a pulsating moment. That’d be fifty pop each, she mumbled. Don’t worry about the money, hon’, Harold stepped in. I want to be there tonight, right? he demanded. No crazy adventures, please.

I think we should stick together, said Linde, who was with Femke. We set off together and we arrive together. Her refreshing simplicity won the day for most of our group. Fair enough, I concluded, returning some head shakes, it’s just us, then. See you later tonight, or else tomorrow.

Now, Paulina stepped forward, an Argentinian blonde in her thirties who lived with her Cuban husband in Paris. Why bother coming at all if you can’t handle us now? she snapped with anger filled eyes.

This is not about you, mediated Trandi, it’s the driver. What about him? He is stoned, did I take responsibility for the observation, he’s driving dangerously.

 

This created renewed hesitation and panic, and again it was Harold who posed as the spokesperson of those who don’t believe in emotional intelligence. It’s you who’s talking stoned here. And don’t come back, added Paulina. So we stepped out with our bags, feeling stupid in the expectancy we were going to see them again later, us the fools. Well, let them have a laugh. We passed the incoming crowd, not explaining our situation to inquiring eyes, and made our way to a bustling bar across the road, bustling meaning three people, loud music and neon lights. We had a mountain snack and a beer and within twenty minutes our driver showed up, courtesy of the bar owner.

It turned out, two of the second group hadn’t made it to the bus either. I saw him drinking liquor, Delaine, a chubby African American, said. That’s not my idea of a night out. Driver’s the one who stays clean, Macy, his Hispanic partner, girlsplained. And he was already stoned. He was? The four of us quickly convinced each other we had no business with Michelangelo and his rusty people mover. Let’s share, then.

 

Two thirds of the way, we slowed down in a long curve and came to a stop. Our driver backed up a bit. Look at that. In the car’s headlights we saw two wheel prints bending to the right towards where a stretch of one foot high stonewall used to be, now a hole in the dark. Something went wrong here, and it wasn’t like this two days ago, he said.

But how? Delaine asked.

The driver must have lost control, ours expertsplained. Wheels on the shoulder, I’d say. Sweep to the left, sweep to the right and slipping brakes. There you go. It’s a classic.

Could it have been, Macy began, then fell silent.

Your van? Of course.

We all knew what we were going to find when we stepped out and moved to that hole and the miniscule barrier either side of it. The darkness seemed impenetrable. Shine your telephone torch. It made sense and it worked. Four intersecting beams managed to reach down to an upside down six-wheel vehicle surrounded by the remains of a rusty people mover carrosserie. Some bodies could be seen, three of them moving and moaning, now that we were focusing. We need to call an ambulance, cried Delaine. Make that a helicopter, I told the driver. There’s no other way to get them out. They all agreed.

 

You’re nervous, Trandi said. I need to go down. Remember Wild at Heart? These people are dying. I must show them a living person before they go, so they know they are leaving a planet bustling with life, not that lifeless hell they suddenly found themselves in. Don’t touch them. Of course not. And do come back. Might need that heli myself.