|Carol got a little roadster last month--an
affordable (barely) two seater convertible that's fun to drive,
looks cool and uses a lot less gas than our Jeep. I encouraged
her to reward herself with it when she saw it on a used car lot
in Stuart, Florida, north of us. We had saved up some money, so
the monthly payments won't stop her fun.
I'm making a Succor
PUnch for that car, today, and we'll keep it running, plugged
into the cigarette lighter. We keep two more running: one in the
Jeep and one in the house. When we go out in the boat we have
one running in the little cloudbuster; I might call that CB a
storm buster, rather.
Ever since I turned D Bradley's SP on in Van Nuys,
California, that day in May, 02 (when we were literally
surrounded by feds everywherwe we went until the moment we
turned the thing on in his car) I've remained astonished by how
well a SP blocks electronic and apparently even satellite and
Carol and I had been taking the SP from the Jeep when we went
out of town in the little car and it was pretty stupid of us not
to do it a few days ago when we visited the nuke plant on
Hutchinson Island to check on the progress of the water gifting
Jeff and I did offshore, there, in March. That nuke's been an
incredibly hard target and we'd all seen dark, swirly
thoughtforms in its vicinity until our last gifting sortie there
At that time, Jeff and I laid out a large number of TBs along
the shore for many miles and especially along the length of the
'diffuser' which excretes brown, muddy water in a straight line
for two miles directly out from the nuke, which is not far from
the beach on that narrow, long island. The weird part is that
the cooling ponds from which the water is apparently taken are
fairly clean by now, thanks to a lot of orgonite tossed into
them. We gifted the water along the entire length of that island
on the seaward and inland side in January and we threw a lot of
TBs in along the channel that led to the little blocked harbor
close to the nuke on the inland side.
When Carol and I approached the nuke from teh south, a few
days ago, we began feeling pretty sick and the walk to the
beach, just north and 'upsteam' from the nuke plant, was
excruciating. It felt the same as when we hauled Gert Botha's
little cloudbuster up to the vortex on that big mountain in the
middle of the Namib Desert in DEcember, 01.
We took a good look at the water, just downstream from the
diffuser, whose marker buoy was nearby, and saw that it had
cleared dramatically. By now, that water looks like the water
did at the beach near us where we first started tossing orgonite
out for the dolphins. That beachwater near us now looks as clear
and vibrant aqua as a pristine tropical island's lagoon. lLast
fall, when we started gifting, it was sort of gray and murky due
to the beach sand, there, having been dredged from offshore.
Lots of tourist beaches are made of dredged sand, by the way.
We both knew we were under scalar attack by the feds this
time. When aliens throw energy at you it feels about the same,
or worse, but they've got slicker weapons, I think.
When a psychic is under assault this way he/she can only
maintain--it tends to reduce psi ability by distracting them
with pain and discomfort, so it takes an extraordinary effort
for them to get out and look around under the circumstances.
That night, during the 'MASH' chat session, Dr STevo conducted a
remote healing on her and we helped. Before, the sewer rats were
hitting her in the heart chakra with psi and scalar assaults and
lately their psychics have had to do more preparatory work
becuase the scalar attacks were becoming less effective. They
hit her in the first and sixth chakras during the last couple of
attacks. I think it's pretty easy for these traitors/murderers
to kill most patriots, this way, but the orgone capacitance
factor of gifting has made us all very, very hard targets for
them and I doubt they've come to terms with this, yet. If we
don't ruin their agenda from the top down, who will?
It was some distance from the nuke, coming home, that Carol
spotted a black pickup truck a discreet distance behind us on
the highway, keeping up with us but keeping a few cars between
us. We blasted the snot out of the two occupants and started
feeling better, right away. By the time we got home the truck
was gone and we felt just fine; only had slight, residual
headaches. In that case, it seems clear that the scalar weapon
was trained on the car, using GPS tracking devices, probably in
teh dashboard. We've all got plenty of these in our cars, homes,
workplaces and perhaps elsewhere around us and I don't know of
anything besides a Succor Punch that can block their signals
without our conscious involvement. It goes without saying that
if we had to put a lot of thought and effort into blocking
surveillance we wouldn't get much of that done, so the SP really
gives us an edge and forces the sewer rats, who are omnipresent
if you're a threat to the world odor, out into the open.
Today, when Carol goes to STarbucks to finish her dolphin
report, she'll be taking along a new Succor Punch. She found
out, as I did when writing my book, that she needs to be away
from distractions in order to focus on writing. She likes their
frappucinos a lot, too, and Starbucks has a nice ambience.
One of those is under construction just down the road but
she's been going to one in NorthPalm Beach, about three miles
south of us. The parking lot of that strip mall has a lot of
Bentleys, Lamborghinis and other exotic cars in it--a cultural
antrhopologist's delight. Usually, upscale Florida parking lots
just have a lot of Cadillacs, Mercedes and Beemers in them.
Yesterday, we stopped there on our errands and a very
obnoxious man was in there--center of attention. He was a
curious study--about my age (late fifties) short reddish hair,
cheap watch, stocky, a loud raspy voice, indeterminate style of
dress, and he said, smiling, to the fellow filling his order, 'YOu
better get that right, or I'll have to break your keecaps.'
I assumed he was just trying to be sociable but as we were
walking out, Carol said,'You know what he is, right?' I
said,'No,' and she said, 'Mafia hit man and he meant what he
said--he was picking up a drink for his boss and he's required
to taste it first, in case it's poisoned.' Just then we passed
another middle aged guy, sitting on a stone bench in the
portico; swarthy, white shirt, dark tie, dark pants, dark
glasses, sitting very still, looking straight ahead and talking
quietly on a cellphone. She said, as we passed him,'That's the
guy's boss.' We run into a lot of mafia people down here.
They're kind of like feds, but without the 'above the law'
attitude. They don't feel threatening, the way the feds to, and
they only harm other criminals, mostly. The Homeland Security
Abominations, many of whom are apparently Russians, harm
everyone BUT criminals ;-)
Later, we were getting a license plate for the little car in
the county government building, south of there, and we had fun
carrying all our metal throughthe metal detector without setting
it off, thanks to the Harmonic Protectors. I had to go back to
the Jeep to get the insurance card and as I was coming back
through the metal detector one of the guards, an older guy with
a gray crewcut, stared at my torso as I went through and creeped
me out a little bit. On the way out, I asked Carol to get in his
head and she said,'He's KGB, also draconian--didn't you notice
his head and his accent?' I didn't, in fact, but apparently he
had the characteristic bone ridges on top of his head.
I need to pick up my cues better. Florida's a lot of fun,
especially if you hang out with a good psychic.