The open door
Wednesday March 14th, 2020. Aberdeen, Eastern Scotland. I had travelled there the previous day to meet my wife, who was touching down at the airport, having been away in her native Colombia.
We had a day to spare before returning home. The morning was cold, crisp, clear – beautiful in the stark, austere way that Scotland can be beautiful – and we opted for a trip out of town.
The bus moved swiftly along the nearly-empty new ring road, or by-pass, or whatever it’s called, before heading north through wide landscapes beneath an even more expansive blue sky. I remember it well: it was a funny feeling. We were the only passengers on the bus, and the world seemed to be closing down. The virus was here, or nearly here. Like us, heading north; it was only a matter of time.
The bus made a detour from the main road to take in the infamous Trump golf course. This was the reason for the end of a beautiful friendship between Donald Trump and Alex Salmond a few years back. The American was none-too-happy with Mr Windfarm’s plans to stick a bunch of turbines off the coast in clear sight of the golf course. True to form, Salmond went ahead. The turbines are there, out at sea, but not far from shore. An insult to the eye and the intelligence. They are visible enough from Aberdeen beach, but from the golf course a decent swing of your club, and the ball will ping of the body of a turbine. I wouldn’t want to play golf there. Not that I play golf….
Ellon: our destination for the day. A small and pleasant town some fifteen miles north of Aberdeen, lazily straddling the River Ythan. We had little idea what we would find there, but a small, smart, modern-in-a-rustic-kind-of-way cafe proved perfect for a late lunch.
It was a weird feeling. The staff were keeping up a semblance of normality, but there was an unmistakeable sense of this fast fading. The final playing-out of the ritual of normality, before an as-yet undefined apocalypse was upon us.
The same strange energetic vibration accompanied us as we strolled beside the river in the afternoon sun and into the final fading warmth of the day. People with dogs, kids, pushchairs, all as usual; but not.
Now away from the bustle of the city, I relaxed and lent an ear to my instincts, intuitions. The inner antennae relayed to me two (then puzzling) things. A voice declared loud and clear:”Evil is abroad. It has emerged from its hiding place and is now roaming the face of the Earth.” And, it continued:”Trust in authority is finished. You must believe nothing, no-one, who poses as ‘authority’. You can no longer afford to do so. Your life depends on it.”
Sunday April 5th 2020. I sat down at my laptop in anticipation. An interview. By now, much of the human world had been plunged into varying degrees of panic, fear, confusion, apprehension, and anxiety. People would jump into the nearest hedge at my approach, or into the path of an oncoming bus. They would stay at home and have a heart attack, rather than go to hospital for help, such was their fear of the novel pathogen. And vast swathes of the population barely deigned to set foot outside their front door; there was no knowing where the killer virus might be lurking.
Into this world of terrified headless chickens came David Icke. On April 5th he sat down with Brian Rose for the conversation which, in the real history of the world, has become known as Rose/Icke ll.
I had dipped somewhat into Icke’s work a decade ago. As the years had passed, so had my attention to what he was doing. But now, searching, scavenging, for clues about this ‘pandemic’, I found him turning up on my radar once more. In the few snippets I caught, he was speaking sense, a commodity becoming rarer by the day.
I scrutinised his substantial frame. He sat focussed, still, his arthritis-affected hands at ease. I scanned his facial features, his mouth, his eyes, for tell-tale signs. I fell back in my seat at what I saw. The man had no fear. Not the faintest flicker. He was out of it, completely. He knew; what, exactly, I did not understand. But he knew. And it was a miracle.
He started to speak, elucidating the various elements going to create the pandemic, or plandemic, as it was to become known; elements which continue to come into play right now, as the planned agenda unfolds. In conclusion, he declared that he was more powerful than ‘them’ – the Cult, the dark forces, the Cabal – and explained precisely why.
It was a unique experience – one of those ‘I was there’ moments. A point arrived in the conversation when Icke seemed in contact with some higher force, a different dimension of being altogether, as he intoned the nature of the present, and of the future unless we stop it. My wife meandered casually past the laptop, but ended up watching the entire thing, transfixed.
It was early in the conversation that David explained how he had been spending all hours reading, researching, listening, studying, what experts, specialists, medical people, were saying. And then he intoned his game-changing conclusion: “There is no vai-russ.”
Excuse me. What’s that you just said?
For his troubles, Icke was immediately thrown off YouTube; but it was too late. Millions – literally – had watched as he laid out the elements comprising the panic-demic and its nefarious intent. Millions more have watched since. Once out, the genie will never get stuffed back in the bottle.
It’s a funny thing, really. I never really believed the story. Never fell for it. The official story of the novel, uniquely dangerous killer pathogen. It always smelled off, weird, suspect, phony. I have never felt afraid of the virus. I tried, but failed miserably. Even if something nasty were going around, and I dropped dead as a result, well, it would be a shame, because I’ve got things going for me at the moment. But these things happen. Far more fearful is the prospect of the vaccine Stasi turning up at the front door at 5am ready to plunge a needle into my arm.
Instinct as it presented itself in Ellon turned out to be spot-on. Evil was indeed abroad. It had emerged from its underground hideaway – metaphorically or literally -, and was now openly stalking the face of planet Earth as it worked to change – or should we say destroy – humanity as we have known it.
And authority – yes. This is the deeper layer of the plandemic hoax. The name itself gives the game away. Corona-virus: virus of the corona, or the crown. There is a virus in your crown; whose crown do you wear? Is it yours, or have you given away your crown, your sovereignty, your personal authority, to someone else? If you have, you’re now in big big trouble. It’s no longer a viable option.
Intuition kicked in a third time. At the beginning of the year, I developed the intention of joining the majority of humanity and purchasing a smartphone. Convenient, instant; put aside your scruples and go for it.
I started to check them out – prices, packages, the whole thing. Then Covid came onto the screen, and I promptly lost all interest. More than that, I developed a distaste for smartphones, and much of the modern technological world. Bizarrely, I opened up a cupboard full of ancient music cassettes and started playing them. Cassettes really are the pits, lacking both the clarity of digital music and the all-round warmth of vinyl. The quality was awful, but I found playing them reassuring.
As time passed, I realised the meaning of this aversion to a life lived on digital. The ultimate flowering of the digital world is AI: artificial intelligence. The wedding of human beings with technology. The dream human, the perfectly compliant robot human, a computer terminal that pretends to be a human being. Doesn’t sound too good to me.
As for David Icke – well, pretty much everything he was predicting back last spring continues to come to pass. “Know the (intended) outcome and you know the path” is how he explains his ability to foretell. Icke has been ridiculed like no other person I can think of, but his detractors have a problem, since most of what he was saying twenty, thirty, years ago has proven to be true.
Could you really fake an entire global pandemic? Really? It took me a while. But fake it you can, and it has been done. Those who refuse to entertain the possibility hold to their beliefs purely through exercising selective cognition. Put more simply, they won’t look at information outside their own little BBC/Guardian/Telegraph/Sky/CNN box. Not even for fifteen minutes. There is a mass of proper information out there now, and it’s not difficult to access. Ignorance is a personal choice, and fear of truth appears to be as incapacitating as fear of a vai-russ.
And there we have it. For now. Tomorrow is another day…..