We had just met with our Aztec warrior brother, Luis Santacruz, in Portland, Oregon, which is always a treat. Together, we scragged a particularly tough, satanic Bruja in Mexico who had been trying to get the best of our bro for many years. We laugh at these insipid American women who dabble in the black arts and consider themselves powerful because we’ve been to places where real magic is performed by old-school shamans. The bad ones have to be reckoned with in ‘The Third World,’ as Carol and I, Jesse, and one or two others in this informal network have learned firsthand in our travels, unlike the hordes of CIA/NSA trained new age nazi schizoids here whom we routinely knock down like tenpins. More folks are gifting in the Latin countries these days, so we connect the ones who contact me with Luis and Alicia Navor, who lives in San Diego and whose name will come up later in this article. Since Luis joined this effort, last year, we’ve been doing a lot with obsidian, which the ancient knowers in Central America considered more precious than gold.
We hadn’t told anyone we were going to Pluto Cave because it’s quite dangerous there, due to the I AM (not!) Fellowship’s use of that place for their satanic murder rituals. In case you don’t know, the ‘I Am’ part of the phrase comes from the Bible and is a reference to The Creator—you know: ‘Before all things were created, I am.’ Want some fun? Next time some neurotic newage nazi tells you that he/she is God, put him/her to the test 😉
The Monarch Programs’ graduates all shun accountability and it’s kind of fun to watch them squirm when you make them accountable.
Theresa and David Carlson met us in the parking lot of the little state park and told us that they’d just distributed some gifts there. That was pretty remarkable! Carol and I were very sad to find that the stench of the part of the cave where they bury their victims’ remains was even worse than before because that indicated that the satanic new age Nazis had been murdering more children in order to boost their mascot/sponsor, the ET they call St. Germaine (‘ain’t no saint’). In fact, we had become a little alarmed to hear that someone had started channeling this scoundrel again recently, hence our visit to the cave. The faithful, vacuous nazis had been cut off from him for about a year after our Mt Shasta Area Offensive in May, 2003. Carol and I had gifted a dozen or so key Illuminati energy-theft vortices, hyperdimensional portals and ritual killing sites known to DB but not obviously connected with the mountain.
We moved a lot deeper into the cave until we got to a point where Carol and Ryan saw a Watcher, which is one of the very old ET entities assigned to report intrusions, etc, to killing sites. Those two attacked the entity, who appeared to both of them to slink on all fours up out of the deeper reaches and was around 20 feet tall when he stood up—maybe he’s actually just a little jerk, doing a Wizard of Oz act, though. They drove him back into the cave so that I could plant the earthpipes, one of which was made with a little moonblood and energized water in some water-based resin. Laozu Kelly had generously given Carol a gallon of the stuff and Carol Two Eagle had been expounding, to me, the power of moonblood in magic, so of course I asked Carol to oblige me when I then decided to make some gifts with the stuff. Last week I found out that a woman in Argentina had been making holy handgrenades with some of hers, and, of course, Zoe in Salt Lake City had done this a couple years ago.
You might be sad to know that there are some powerful things that guys will never be able to do.
Ryan coined the ‘I Ain’t’ appellation after we did the cave, by the way.
I usually pound the earthpipes into the ground, fast, with a six pound sledge hammer but since there were a lot of big stones on the floor of the cave I asked Ryan, who’s getting to be a terrific psychic, to point to the right spots so that I would get them all the way into the ground on the first try, which I did.
They saw a bunch of little specks of bright light flying at us after that from deeper in the cave and those were apparently implants, aimed at our heart meridians. We disabled them all in LA with DB’s Tesla coil. More on that later.
Carol was unable to go into the burial part of the cave on the way out, because approaching it made her intensely nauseous. She said that some murderers were on their way, sent by St. I Ain’t, so we had to leave immediately.
As we were walking toward the parking lot a couple of tunnel-visioned MKids passed us on the trail, walking fast and heading for the cave. Carol later told me they were reptiles. I wished I’d brought a pistol but we figured that if I just kept my mouth shut about going to Shasta we’d be left alone this time.
The Great White Brotherhood’s minions rarely, if ever, physically attack you from the front, of course, unless they can cause you to be afraid (weak) first. I didn’t turn my back on many strangers while I was in California this time.
As we approached Shasta from the north, Carol could see that a lot of new, very dark activity was taking place under the mountain in the direction of the cave. What we did was directed at the Old Villain, of course, but someone needs to get busy with earthpipes on the north side of the mountain and finish off whatever CIA/reptilian mischief is connected to that jerk.
I AM happy to report, though, that the organization’s ‘reading room’ and warehouse suffered a catastrophic fire last month, during the busiest, most lucrative part of their year 😉
Theresa told us that she and David had particularly gifted that building last summer, along with the amphitheater where they put on their fake-Jesus plays and other pageantry in the summer.
Ryan found a nifty, big piece of obsidian, marked with a queer symbol, in the corner of the lot and I’m going to use it for something special. They had put it there for protection, of course.
We had thoroughly gifted the City of Mt Shasta in May of last year and we’re told that the faithful have been quite dispirited since then. It’s important to note that, like in any other cult, these benighted people believe that Saint I Ain’t is practically God incarnate and you won’t get them to question their beliefs. Some of them upbraid me now and then for speaking ill of their master and I never try to persuade them that they’re seeing a false front. Somebody who knows some stuff firsthand told me that this old fart was the ‘apostle’ Paul, Roger Bacon and several other historical figures who had led a lot of humanity out into the figurative desert over the past millennia. I have no reason to doubt that and it’s pretty intriguing, don’t you think? The meek have finally inherited the earth, after all.
It’s always a little dicey to gift the ground that cult followers consider sacred because these benighted people consider you evil, therefore easily expendable, but that was nothing compared to what we encountered two days later.
Somebody emailed me to say that she had made several hundred towerbusters with the intention of gridding downtown San Francisco, so of course we went there to see if we could help, since the person said that she was homeless. We agreed on meeting at a certain time but the person was not to be found. Rather, the neighborhood where the meeting was to take place was so filled with MKids and Carol felt a little alarmed and smelled a setup, so we left after a couple of hours.
It became fairly apparent that the bad guys didn’t want us to get to LA, where DB, whose site, cbswork.com, had been fatally sabotaged by the domain’s owner, six weeks before. DB had essentially been deprived of a livelihood since that happened, nor was he even able to access his own site or even to receive PayPal payments. That was conscious betrayal and sabotage, and I want you to know that betrayal must never be confused with ‘personality conflict’ or ‘misunderstanding.’ DB had bent over backward helping this fellow get out from under his MK Ultra past and present, during the time that Carol and I were helping another fellow do the same. I’m not mentioning names because these subterfuge efforts are designed to make betrayal look like a something else, but we were all, in fact, scammed by their handlers, at least, and we won’t be rescuing any more active MKids from now on, pleased note.
Fortunately for Carol and I,