Friday, February 05, 2016

Of Circuses and Men

 Lady Celia responded to my last post about my cousin, Allyson Gross, whose life and death were memorialized in a Columbus Dispatch Sunday article that included stories about two other women with heart disease who died. The point was to raise awareness of heart disease and maybe boost donations to the hear disease charities to help fund research so these women need not have died needlessly.

At any rate, my answer to Lady Celia was rather long-winded and I went off on a riff about the death of my grandson, Connor, and how his mother continues to mourn him publicly on Facebook as his and his twin Sierra's birthday nears this month. Their birthday is/was six days after mine on the 23rd. (If you're slow with the math and want to know when my birthday is, it's the 17th when I turn 61.) I also answered her question about how I have been doing since I so seldom post anything here on LJ, though I keep paying the annual fees. I could read the posts without paying the fee for having an place to post, but I've gotten into the habit since I began posting here the summer of 2002 when membership was opened to the public at large. I began with a Dead Journal account, which lies abandoned over on their site and for which I no longer pay the fees, and kept hoping someone would give me a code so I could join Live Journal.

Before I wax macabre and melancholy over Connor's death or get into another groove musing about the impact that youthful death has on us all, I think I should switch to the main focus in my life these days -- informing people that, yes, we are a hybrid species created by extra terrestrials who were space travelers here to mine gold about 450,000 or so years ago and that, yes, there is a 10th planet (or rather a 12th planet according to Zechariah Sitchin and the Sumerians who inscribed the clay tablets that formed the basis of his Earth Chronicles books and fueled an international climb to fame that Erich von Daniken screwed up when he manufactured an ancient artifact to boost his own fame and continue his campaign to inform the world that the ancient civilizations scientists and historians purport to know really did believe in and depict ancient astronauts) and it is coming our way soon. Look up Google Sky and point the viewer to the space near Orion's belt and you will see either a black rectangle or what looks like a planet speeding towards Earth across the ecliptic plane of the rest of the solar systems denizens and resembles the flying disk that is prominently featured in ancient art and carvings through the Middle East and the ancient world of Egypt and its risen and fallen civilizations.

Yes, I believe that there are populated worlds on the planets strewn about the universe and that they have and still do visit Earth. According to Corey Goode and alien astronaut believer, David Wilcock, on and Cosmic Disclosure, there are numerous alien races actively involved in abductions and experiments on humans and there are civilizations undreamed of residing within this hollow planet out there among the stars somewhere near Pluto and the Kuiper belt discussing how to reveal the truth to the rest of the world and silence the forces that have actively kept humanity in the dark about their origins while running a disinformation campaign that demonizes and blackens the names of people who continue to maintain that aliens are among us. Remind you of Channing Tatum's assurances and explanations to Jupiter Jones when he saved her from aliens attempting to kidnap and/or kill her? Well, there are growing numbers of people who are willing to face the slings and arrows of outrageous detractors determined to keep the truth about who and what we are and how we came to be from us, and they are going public and giving lecture tours around the world and filming movies and documentaries and television shows every day. Men like Michael Tellinger from South Africa who are willing to put their money and their beliefs out where everyone can see them.

And it doesn't hurt that Tellinger is a handsome middle-aged man who is engaging and intelligent and a hunk.

Besides spending time researching and drooling over Michael Tellinger while learning more about my own lifelong obsession with the truth of our origins, I have been working and fuming about the draconian -- and punitive -- corporate policies that keep me off balance with slave wages and barely that, although the company is willing to make up the difference between the money they pay me and the national and state minimum wage laws just to keep the Dept of Labor from looking too closely into their business practices and their blatantly enforced and sanctioned slave wages and status. Those Indians are smart enough to know that the government will stand idly by as long as they stay a frog's hair over the legal lines as they continue to pay skilled and educated employees less than a bum makes at a day labor site digging ditches and transporting Port-a-potties. But that is another rant for another time. This rant is to introduce me to reader who've never read my posts and remind old LJ friends that I am alive and still a salty old broad getting saltier and soon a year older.

I have also taken up Chinese calligraphy (recently, like yesterday recently) and dived back into drawing and art with colored pencil while indulging my passion for baking and collecting cardboard boxes from In my snowy back of beyond I continue my feud with the USPS and their dwindling services, enslaved to their draconian rules about how often I must check the cluster collection box 5 miles down the road and refusing to drive the 30 miles to the post office in Florissant proper (half a city block of auto repair shops, farm and hardware supply, dog grooming, and back yard auto repair business in the owner's garage, as well as a couple of closed down restaurants, a quick shop market in a defunct gas station, one gas stations, and a liquor store next to the market where there is a Subway shop inside the market) to pick up the location of and key to my new mailbox that the USPS so generously moved without informing me. I am a rebel to the end, though a rebel without a mailbox at present maintained by one old woman in a Range Rover who delivers to the scattered cluster boxes between here (relatively here) and the post office 30 miles away. The post mistress told me that I must pick up my mail every 2 days, which is often not possible with the weather (currently snowy and cold with impassable roads that UPS drivers haven't braved this week) and my schedule and the fact that I seldom need to go off my own property let alone 30 miles to the post office where I was T-boned a year ago by a Chevy truck passing me across a double yellow line at about 50 mph and rising without paying attention to my blinking turn signal as I slowed down to pull into the post office lot to put some mail in the box. Maybe you can see my reluctance to deal with draconian USPS, or rather local post office rules for the privilege of finding out where my new mailbox is located and obtaining keys for same.

Or not.

I'd rather go without the reams of junk mail and the occasional hard copy acknowledgement of information I've already received by email (or the rarer still letter or card from a friend) for that. All business mail and bills come to me by email so there is little motivation for me to bother with the often absent benefits of driving 5 miles to check the mail every other day, especially since I refuse to buy anything that will be delivered by post and not by UPS.

And there it is, a few snippets of information about how I'm doing these days. I work graveyard shift and usually sleep during the day, but I'm still buzzing from Cirque du Soleil: Worlds Away and fantasies about the daring middle-aged man who does not fly on the trapeze but makes my whores moan louder with his intellectual banter about ancient civilizations and the truth of our prediluvial origins.

That is all. Disperse.

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