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roman baker stood in the bright and crackling current of light that zipped around in patterned waves underneath the oval canopy entrance to the casino. He wasn't a gambler. The skittering brilliance didn't draw him in and he was already irritated with the piped-out carol music. A twenty, smoothly folded in his pocket, didn't itch him or burn his ass one bit. He had come to the casino because it was just a few days before Christmas and he didn't know how to celebrate. Maybe the electronic bell strum of slot machines would soothe him, or watching the cards spreading from the dealer's hands in arcs and waves. He took a step to the left, toward the cliffs of glass doors.
As he opened his hand to push at the door's brass plate and enter, a white man of medium height and wearing a green leather coat pressed his car keys into Roman's palm. Without waiting for a claim ticket, without even looking at Roman beyond the moment it took to ascertain that he was brown and stood before the doors of an Indian casino, the man walked off and was swallowed into the jingling gloom.
Roman waited before the doors, holding the keys. All of the valets were occupied. He held up the keys. A few seconds later, he put down his hand and clutched the keys in his fist. No one had seen this happen. Roman turned away from the doors, opened his hand, and saw that one shining key among the other keys belonged to a Jeep Cherokee. Immediately, he spotted the white Cherokee parked idling just beyond the lights of the canopy. An amused little voice in his head said go for it. He didn't think it out, just walked over to the car, got in, and drove away.
You couldn't call this stealing, since the guy gave me the keys, Roman told himself, but we are on a slippery slope. He checked at the lighted gauge of the Cherokee, and saw that the tank was nearly empty. There was a Super stop, handy, just down the road. Roman drove up to the bank of pumps and inserted the Cherokee's hose into the gas tank. Eight dollars worth should do it, he thought, and then he wondered. Do what? In the store, he decided he should be methodical, buy something to eat or drink. Afterwards, he would know what to do. The complicated bar of coffee machines drew him, and he stepped up to the grooved aluminum counter, chose a tall white insulated cup, and placed it under a machine's hose labeled French Vanilla. He held the button until the cup was three quarters full, and let the nozzle keep drizzling sweet foam on top. Then he figured out which plastic travel lid matched his cup and pressed it on, over the froth. So as not to burn his hand, he fitted the cup into a little cardboard sleeve. He paid for everything out of his twenty, and walked outside. It was a warm winter night in the middle of a thaw. Bits of moisture hung glittering in the gas-smelling air. There was a very light dust of sparkling fresh snow sinking into the day's brown slush.
"A white Christmas, huh?" said a woman's voice, just to the left.
"Yes, it will be enchanting," Roman answered.
He was the kind of person people spoke to in situations that could easily stay completely impersonal. His face was round, his nose pleasantly blunt, his eyes wide and friendly. His smile was genuine, he had been told. Yet women never stayed with him. Perhaps he was too comfortable, too nurturing, and reminded them of their mothers. Desperate mothers who wanted their children home before dark or wouldn't let them out of sight. Now, in addition to being motherly, plus the kind of person people spoke to on the streets or while pumping their gas, he was the type into whose comfortable palm strange white men trustingly pressed their car keys.
And house keys, too, and other keys. Roman jingled the set before his eyes and then fit the correct car key into the lock. He got into the car and carefully set the cappuccino into the cup holder before he drove to the edge of the parking lot. There, he turned on the dome light and opened the glove compartment. He found the car's registration, folded in a clear plastic sleeve, and the proof of insurance, too, with numbers to call. The owner's name was Torvil J. Morson and his address was 2272 West 195th Street, in the closest suburb. Roman took another drink of the milky, sweet, deadly tasting cappuccino. Then he put the cup back into the holder and drove carefully out of the lot.
The casino was prosperous because it was just far enough from the city to be considered a Destination Resort, and yet close enough so only an hour's quickly diminishing farmland, pine woods, and snowy fields stood between the reservation boundaries and the long stretch of little towns that had blended via strip malls and housing developments into the biggest population center in that part of the Midwest. Roman knew approximately how far he was from 195th street, and it took him exactly the 45 minutes he'd imagined to get there, find the house, and pull into the driveway, which he wouldn't have done unless he'd seen already that the windows were dark. The house was a small one story ranch style painted the same drab green as the jacket of the man who gave Roman the car keys.
Roman got out of the car, walked up to the front door, used the key. Just like that, he entered. Once in, he shut the door behind him and wiped his feet on a rough little welcome mat. The house had its own friendly smell-- slightly stale smoke, cinnamon buns, wet dried sour wool. A powerful streetlight cast a silvery glow through the front picture window. As his eyes adjusted, Roman stepped onto grayish, wall-to-wall carpet, and padded silently across the living room. His heart slowed. The carpeting soothed him. He went straight across the room to the kitchen, divided off by only a counter, and opened the freezer section of the refrigerator. He'd heard that people often kept their jewelry and cash there in case of a burglary or fire. There was a coffee can in the freezer, but it only held ground coffee. A few other promising Tupperware containers held nothing but old stew, alas. Roman shut the insulated door and rubbed his hands together to strike the chill from his fingers. Then he walked down the hall. He stepped into a bedroom, turned on the light. Posters of pop stars, stuffed animals, pencil drawings and dried flowers were taped to the walls. A teenage girl's room. Nothing. He turned out the light and found the master bedroom, the one closest to the bathroom. He was just about to turn on the light when the sound of breathing, or the sense of it, anyway, in the room, stopped his hand.
Then it didn't sound like breathing, but something else, sighing and watery. A fish tank, Roman thought. He listened a bit longer, then switched on the light and saw, on a table next to a window, a small plug-in fountain. The water coursed endlessly over an arrangement of smooth, black stones. Roman thought this must belong to the man's wife. He frowned at himself in the dressing room mirror, and adjusted the lapel of his jacket. The wife, or the teen, or another member of the family might return while he was standing in the lighted bedroom. Yet Roman had no prickles up his back, no darts of fear, no sense of apprehension. In fact, he felt as much at home as if he lived in this house himself. He was even tempted to lie down on the big queen-sized bed neatly made up with a purple quilt and pillows arranged upon pillows. Where had he read about this? Goldilocks! This bed looked comfortable. He thought of the three bears. There was a Mrs. Morson for sure, thought Roman. He pictured a bear meditating by the fountain. A meditator probably wasn't the type who would own gold and diamond jewelry, but he still had to check. There was not a safe on the closet floor, or even a velvety box on the top of the dresser or in the drawer that held underwear. No, there was only underwear, and it was decent, fresh cotton. What am I doing, thought Roman, with my hands in Mrs. Morson's underwear?
He shut the drawer firmly and sat on the edge of the bed.
I'm not going to find any cash, he decided. Mr. Morson has taken it to the casino. Treading down the hall and back across the soft carpet, he felt cheated. What had happened with the car keys was a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Roman had never before done anything that was strictly criminal. But this break-in, where he hadn't had to actually break in, this was given to him. It was as though Mr. Morson had invited him to travel to his house and look for valuables. And nothing there! The house was very still now, the street outside utterly deserted, the neighboring houses dim and shut. Roman sat down on the couch, wishing that he had the rest of his cappuccino, but he'd left the cup in the car. There was a tremendous energy to the quiet, it seemed to him, a seething quality. He felt that he should do something bold, or important, with this piece of fate that he'd been handed. As he was thinking of what he might do, someone knocked on the door. Roman's first instinct was not to answer. But the expectant quality of the silence was too much for him. He went to the door and opened it. There stood a woman and a man, both in coats but wearing no scarves or hats. The woman held a wrapped gift. The man carried a crock-pot out of which there issued a faint and delicious, smoky, bean-soup scent.
"Oh, thank god!"
The woman stepped into the entryway, the man also, both exuding an air of conspiratorial excitement.
"Very clever, keeping the lights off," said the man. "But isn't that his car?"
"He gave me the keys and I just drove it here," Roman told him. The man gave a scratchy laugh that turned into a cough.
"Where should I put this?" He lifted the Crock-Pot slightly.
"In the kitchen?" said Roman.
"Let's put his presents in there, too," said the woman. "You must work with T.J. Have we met?"
"I'm Roman Baker."
"You look like an Indian," said the woman.
"People tell me that!" said Roman.
"Okay, and I'm Willa and that's Buzz with the seven bean soup. It's his specialty. Just the countertop lights! No overhead!"
"Right!" Buzz sounded gleeful. "Is Zola back yet? Did she get the cake?"
"I think so," said Roman. His skull suddenly felt tight, his eyes scratchy and shifty in their sockets. "I feel bad," he mumbled. "I don't have a gift. Maybe I should go out for sodas or beer."
"Oh, T.J. won't notice. T.J. will have a shit fit. I think we should all hide behind the counters and the couch. Will you get the door, Roman?"
"Come on in," said Roman, as he opened the door. "Wipe your feet." Two young men and an older woman stood on the steps. One man carried a neatly foil covered bowl. The other held a large, pale, tissue-wrapped gift.
"We brought Mom," one of the young men squealed, "she's drunk. She's such a hoot!"
"I drank a strawberry wine cooler. I'm loaded," said the elderly lady in a prim and sober voice. "Let me in so I can ditch these two idiots. Does he suspect?" She eyed Roman with a flare of exasperation, her scarlet mouth down-twisted.
"Not in the slightest," Roman told her. He helped her out of her coat while the two young men settled their things in the kitchen.
"Very clever, all the lights out," the lady muttered, "Zola says he'll pee his pants."
"That's pretty much what Willa says, too," Roman told the lady. Steering her toward the couch, he startled himself. A picture formed in his mind. It was himself. Crouched on the carpet. Out of control. Pissing his own pants and howling with surprised mirth.
"They're sending me out for more strawberry wine coolers," he said. He patted the woman's hand.
"You're an Indian," she said, severely and as if imparting information to him.
"A big one," said Roman.
The others in the kitchen were whooping with secretive anticipation. Roman touched the keys in his pocket, walked out the door. As he neared the white Cherokee two more people stepped into the driveway, asked him in low and enthralled voices if anybody else was there.
"Go on in," Roman told them. "Willa and Buzz are organizing everybody."
"Oh God!" said the woman. "I saw his car! I thought he'd got home already. Zola's following us. She'll be here any minute with the cake."
Roman jumped into the car, backed down the driveway, and drove the opposite way down the street from the way he guessed Zola would arrive.
Back on the turnoff to the highway, he thought, right or left? But it was inevitable. He headed toward the casino. The cappuccino was still warm and on the way there he finished it. He started to feel good. Yes, he had been given the Morson's keys, the keys to their life, and he'd visited that life. Enough. Nothing had happened after all. He hadn't taken anything except this car--for a drive. As he neared the vast casino parking lot he slowed and carefully reconnoitered, watching for extra security or flashing lights in case the Cherokee had been reported stolen. But all was bright and calm. Gamblers were walking to and fro, those who had self-parked. Others were waiting with their claim tickets on the swirl patterned carpet in the lobby underneath the lighted canopy. Roman eased the car into a marked space cautiously, far from the activity, and took his empty cappuccino cup with him before he locked the car's door.
That was your little adventure, he told himself. Now what? But he knew what. He walked back to the casino entrance and walked through, into the icy bells and plucking, continual ring that did predictable and pleasurable things to his central nervous system. He breathed faster in excitement. Possibly, the sound depressed left brain action. He felt connected to an irrational and urgent universe of lucky chance. His fingers twitched. First things first. He scanned the seated players looking for the green leather jacket, which was all he remembered about Morson. He decided to make a sweep, starting at the far end of the casino, checking the men's room first. He went up each row and down each row, passed behind each glazed, ghostly player. It took so long that he thought of giving up and simply turning the keys in at the lost and found. But then, there was T.J. Morson, green jacket slung behind him, staring into the lighted tumble of little pirate cove symbols on his machine's curved torso.
Roman tapped his shoulder and Morson waved him off, not to be bothered. Roman watched the man shove in three more quarters and hold his breath. Then sit back, dazed, rub his hand over his face.
Roman touched his shoulder again. "Happy Birthday."
Morson turned and focused on him. His face was clean-cut and perfectly square, a solid Norwegian jawline, pale eyes, hair already white and thin, a little tousled. He was falling into heaviness around the neck and then below, like Roman, it was pretty close to a lost cause. Roman dangled the keys.
"You dropped these, I think?"
Morson slapped the pockets of his pants.
"For God sakes, thought I had it parked!"
Roman gave him the keys and turned to go, but he couldn't, not quite. He took a last look at Mr. Morson and saw that something was very wrong with him. T.J. Morson was sitting there with his mouth open, staring at the car keys. Not moving.
"Hey," Roman bent toward him, then waved his hand before the man's eyes, "you okay?"
"No," said Mr. Morson. He shut his mouth and then slowly, like a very old man, stood and shrugged on his jacket. He dropped the keys, picked them up. Sat back down and stared once more at the machine. Slowly, from his pants pocket, he drew a bit of change. Held it out questioningly to Roman, who rummaged in his own pocket and exchanged what Mr. Morson offered for a quarter. Morson held it a moment, then played it. Nothing.
"You okay?" Roman asked again.
But Morson was staring vacantly before him. His mouth was open and his hands were shaking.
"Not all right, not all right," he muttered.
"Hey," said Roman, "come on. Get up. Let's go sit in the cafe. I'll buy you a coffee."
"What I need is a drink."
"Yeah, well, maybe." Roman helped steady Mr. Morson. They walked down the aisle of light and sound, along a short hallway, and into a small interior restaurant where the waitress gave them a booth for two and poured their coffee.
"Cream. Lots of it. Thanks," Roman told her. She left the pot and a bowl of tiny plastic servings of flavored half-and-half.
"Thank you," said T.J. Morson, staring at the brown pottery cup. "And thank you for returning my car keys." His voice was heavy as a pour of concrete. The syllables seemed to harden as they fell from his mouth. "Well," he looked up, scanned the country-themed room, "this is it."
"What are you talking about?" asked Roman.
Morson put his face in his hands and then slowly pushed his hands up his face and over his hair. "That was it," he said again.
"Listen." Roman was beginning to feel alarmed. "It's your birthday. You should be heading home." He thought of all the excited people waiting in the living room of the Morson house, crouched behind the sofa and chairs and kitchen counters, the lights off.
"Weren't you supposed to be home a while ago?"
Mr. Morson looked at Roman, frowning now, momentarily distracted. "Who are you?"
"I'm a friend of Buzz and Willa," Roman told him. "Look, I'm going to let you in on something that's going to cheer you up. You've got to go home now. I'm not supposed to say a thing about it, but they're planning a surprise party in your honor. Zola's got the cake. Even as we speak, they are in your house, waiting for you. They have presents."
Telling this to Morson was surprisingly difficult. Roman felt the bleeding sensation of envy when he imagined stepping onto the warm, thick carpet. The blast of noise from friends. The bean soup. Beer. Cake.
Mr. Morson said nothing.
"You can't just leave them waiting there." Roman heard a note of accusing desperation in his voice.
Morson shook his head, now, as though his misery was a fall of water washing over him. His brilliant white hair lifted in the staticky air. Roman felt like reaching over and patting it down, but he kept his hand curled around his coffee cup.
"Fuck's sake, I can't go back there," said Morson wearily. "They don't know. Zola has no idea about this . . ." he waved his hand toward the casino through the glass doors of the restaurant. "I play when she's at work, when I'm supposed to be at work, except I don't have a job, see. That's over. She doesn't know I put a second mortgage on our house, a line of credit, then topped it. Cleaned out every one of our accounts." He stared fiercely, disconnectedly, at Roman. "There's nothing," he said. His mouth was suddenly and frighteningly sharklike, an impersonal black hungry v. A bubble of spit formed at either corner. "They'll take the house and then my car. They'll take her car. And Kayla . . . Oh god."
Morson dropped his face into the bowl of his hands. Roman thought he might either break down and sob or leap up and rake his fingers down the wallpaper. Which would it be? He was feeling oddly disconnected. Maybe this was the way a shrink felt, listening to the woes of a client from behind a clear shield of therapeutic immunity.
With a thick, jerky movement, T.J. Morson struck his hands together.
"I don't even smoke," he said as though appealing to Roman, "I don't drink. But this ..." again he waved at the lights and bells outside the door. "I think, I know, I had the vision or whatever, that because it was my birthday I could turn it all around if I had just, say, a couple hundred. And I knew where to get it. So today after Zola went to work and Kayla was at school, I sneaked back to the house and I searched Kayla's room. She has this little passbook savings account with me as her co-signer. But where does she keep the passbook? So I dug through the stuff in her drawers, her closets. Can you imagine this?"
Roman's mouth opened. Better than you know, he thought. But Morson went on quickly, "I found her secret things. They were under the bed, in this cigar box she had covered on top with a piece of paper. You wouldn't believe this knowing how sweet Kayla is, what a good girl. The box was labeled with a purple marker fuck with kayla and you die. Here she's a good little student, all As or Bs, never given anybody whatsoever any trouble in her life before. So this tough little message ... I mean . . ."
Morson stopped and drank some coffee.
"It got to you," said Roman.
"Yeah," said Morson. "Anyway, I took the passbook. Withdrew two hundred and eighteen dollars worth of baby-sitting money."
Roman nodded, poured another coffee for himself and stirred in three creamers. And yet, he thought. Here is a man for whom people will give a surprise party. Roman tapped the sugar packets, drank the rest of the coffee, put the money down on top of the check.
"I have to get out of here," he said to Morson, who stared at him for a moment, then widened his eyes and broke the look off with a cunning little grin.
T.J. Morson followed Roman out the door of the cafe. On the way past the banks of moving lights and bells and trilling knockers, he said, "C'mon. I hit, we'll split."
Roman kept walking. Morson grabbed the sleeve of his jacket. "Please," he said. Roman started at the sight of him. Morson's eyes were rolled back so the whites showed. His lips were drawn away from his gums in a guilty snarl. Roman felt in his pocket, flipped out a quarter. Morson opened the hand that held the car keys. Roman took the keys and gave the quarter to Morson, who played it. The two men watched the rolling tabs of symbols spin over and over, whirling, clicking into place in a disparate row.
"Okay, you satisfied?" said Roman.
Morson wiped his hands slowly on his hips and then followed Roman out the doors, across the gleaming, wet parking lot, over to the Cherokee. Roman still had the keys. He opened the doors and got into the driver's side. Passive, concentrating on something invisible just before him, Morson got into the passenger's seat and shut his eyes. But suddenly, as Roman pulled out of the parking space onto the highway, Morson mumbled "thanks anyway," and opened his door to jump out. Roman managed to hook his hand in the collar of Morson's slippery jacket, and as he brought the car to a halt on the shoulder, he yanked the man back toward him with such surprising force that Morson's face smashed into the side of the steering wheel. There was an instant and surprising amount of blood.
"Don't worry," said Morson, his nose behind his hands, "I get these things real bad." There was a girl's striped knit stocking cap in his door's side pocket. Morson grabbed it and put it to his face. Then he said, "look, I'll just go clean up." He jumped out the door with the cap on his face, and was gone.
Roman pulled ahead about thirty feet into a blind driveway and shut off the engine. He found the lever next to the seat that dropped it backwards a few inches. He rested. A peaceful energy flowed through him. He nearly slept. Fifteen minutes, then half an hour passed. Traffic flowed by, snarled behind him, flowed again. A few people crossed before him at the far edge of an overflow lot. They swiftly entered their cars and drove away. Roman dozed another ten minutes and then he suddenly snapped to. He started the car and drove off.
As he pulled back onto the highway a screeching ambulance barreled past. The casino was filled with Senior Citizens and Roman imagined a whole scenario--a big payout, an old man elated, then clutching at his heart. This fantasy gave him the idea, as he drove toward Morson's house, of something he could say to get Morson off the hook. It wasn't that he liked Morson, but his friends were so eager, so well-meaning. It wasn't right to disappoint them. Things were going to be so bad with Morson that there was no way to make them worse. Roman decided he would announce that Morson was dead. He'd use that same scenario--payout, heart attack--and then while the pandemonium of reaction occurred he'd simply disappear. When Morson finally did show up his being broke would not be quite as bad, at least, as being dead. Roman's lie would confuse the issue, muddy the waters, give Zola and the others a pause before they condemned. There seemed no harm in it as far as Roman could see, considering what Zola and Kayla were in for anyway. At least they would have the joy of having their worst fears reversed!
Roman arrived at the house and parked in the driveway--still empty in order to fool Morson into thinking that the house was deserted. Yet all the lights were on. The little house was blazing. Roman walked up the steps and then tentatively eased the door open and poked his head around the side. He remembered to set his features in a look of tragic concern. He nearly jumped back out. All of the people he'd met before were standing or sitting at attention in the living room. They returned his look with identical stares.
"We know already," said the terse old lady who'd been drinking strawberry wine coolers. "He had his I.D. right on him, phone number. Kyle took Zola to the emergency room. Zola just called two seconds ago."
"Come on in," said Buzz. "Take a load off. I'll get you a beer. In fact," he said, "let's eat. It's some kind of custom that we all should eat together at a time like this."
Roman sat down on one end of the couch, leaned back into a stiff pillow. He looked down at his knees, then accepted a bowl of bean soup when it appeared in his line of vision. The bowl was warm and pleasant in his hands.
"They told Zola that he'd crossed the casino's main intersection, running. What is that, two lanes? Not so far, really."
"Four lanes," said Roman.
"Oh," said someone, "then."
"Zola said he was not quite DOA," said Buss, "but next thing to it. There just wasn't a thing they could do."
Now the others had bowls of soup, and bread, and were busily arranging themselves, patting napkins onto their knees, balancing coffee cups, offering butter around the group.
"We shouldn't eat the cake."
"I agree," said Willa. "We should have his cake at the funeral dinner."
"Are you going to go?" She addressed Roman. He looked at her. "It can't be true!"
Willa apologized. "I've never been much for denial. I go straight to acceptance. That's just me."
"You don't need to think that far ahead," said Buzz. He touched Roman's arm. "In fact, don't think ahead at all." Buzz put down his bowl of soup and sank forward, elbows on his knees. He cupped his hands over his head and leaned over like someone about to be sick. He stayed that way, motionless. Willa put her hand on his back and patted him with slow, regular beats. She looked over at Roman.
"Go on, eat your soup," she whispered. "It's okay."
Roman placed a spoonful of the soup in his mouth. A moment passed before he realized that the taste was unusually good. Something gave depth to the taste. Roman looked at Buzz, still hunched over. His specialty, he remembered. Maybe Buzz simmered his beans with garlic, or wine, or some kind of herb. Maybe it was the sorrow, or the strangeness. Perhaps Buzz had added a few drops from a vial of Liquid Smoke. Then again a ham bone. Or the fact that these beans were all different types. Roman finished the bowl and put it down.
"You want another?" said Willa.
"It's good," Roman nodded.
She got up to refill the bowl and Roman took over patting Buzz on the back, slow and regular, two or three pats to each of his sighing breaths. He kept feeling the wrench when he'd pulled Morson toward him, in the car, the way Morson had twisted, striking the bridge of his nose. There was the weight of Morson off balance, in his arms, the smell of his hair tonic, aftershave, and the smoke of the casino and the coffee on his breath.
Now here he was eating Morson's bean soup with Morson's friends and no doubt in two or three days he would be tasting Morson's cake. Roman shut his eyes. His thoughts flickered.
"I'll be right back."
He set the beer down, got up, walked down the hall just like an old friend who knew the place. He opened the door to Kayla's room, walked in, shut the door behind him and knelt on the floor beside her bed. Reaching underneath, he groped for and found the box that he could see, once he turned on her little homework lamp, was indeed labeled fuck with kayla and you die. He handled it carefully. You shouldn't have fucked with Kayla. Psychic time bomb for the girl, though, wasn't it? Morson had replaced her little passbook. Roman flipped to the last page, then tore out a deposit slip. Same bank as his. Anyone could make a transfer, he supposed. He put the passbook back, lay the cigar box on the floor and snapped the sides flat. Then he slipped the box back underneath the bed. He walked back to the living room, passed behind an intense discussion of who should go now to the hospital, who was needed, what arrangements. In the kitchen, he paused at the sink for a drink of warmish, chemical-tasting suburb water. He set the keys to the Cherokee on the counter. Then he slipped out the back door.
"Gregor the beetle never found out that he had wings under the hard covering of his back. (This is a very nice observation on my part to be treasured all your lives. Some Gregors, some Joes and Janes, do not know that they have wings.)"The beetle motif is hidden in the film in a couple of places, most clearly in the scene where Ana and K meet, as she concentrates on an irredescant green beetle in the forest.
"The moon's an arrant thief, And her pale fire she snatches from the sun."Ana Stelline's name echos here, as Selene, the Greek Goddess of the moon. (Mirrored in her brother Helios, God of the Sun.)
submitted by Oblique9043 to TheGreatDeception [link] [comments]
I had this very long post that was going to be part 2 about Atlantis and this was going to be part 3 since this deserves its own post but after it was almost finished, my power went out briefly and I lost the entire thing. So I've been recovering from that loss to say the least as I had made some amazing connections in the process of writing it as is what usually happens to me and I hope I can remember them all so I can rewrite it after this. Since the Superbowl is today, this should have already been out so I am doing this first.
Superbowl LIII (53) is today and that means millions of eyeballs and consciousnesses will all be focused on a single event. Seems like a good time to harvest that energy into something doesn't it? If you've ever been to a football game, especially one with a rabid fanbase, you can almost feel the energy of the stadium with the ups and downs of the game. Players will speak about this as well, getting fueled by the crowd. If this is the case, then could something else be fueled by all that energy as well? Maybe something not so obvious and on the surface as the game going on right in front of everyone?
Superbowl 53: The New England Patriots vs The Los Angles Rams. Taking place on February 3rd, 2019 at Mercedez Benz Stadium in Atlanta, Georgia. The more I discover the less I believe in coincidences. So is it any coincidence that this entire Superbowl relates to so many things I have talked about on here? Atlanta being an obvious allusion to Atlantis. A city rife with phoenix symbolism, rising from the ashes. The Falcons akin to a phoenix and the Egyptian god Horus. They even have a female football team called Phoenix. What does the phoenix at its core represent? Death and rebirth. Transformation. Moving from one area to the next with the idea of shedding the old and bringing in the new. There is also a number strongly correlated with this idea as well. The number 8. The ourobrous, infinity, the snake eating itself, DNA, beginning and end, alpha and omega. It just so happens that this Superbowl is full of 8's.
5 + 3 = 8
February 3rd, 2019
02/03/2019 = 2 + 3 + 2 + 1 + 9 = 17 (Q is the 17th letter of the alphabet aka Qanon) = 1 + 7 = 8
These teams first Superbowl against each other was in the 2002, 17 years ago.
The stadium the game is being played in, Mercedes Benz Stadium, has a dome with 8 points in the form of a lotus flower, opening up like some kind of portal to another world.
There's also another 8 that seems to make this all the more significant. A chapter from the Old Testament. Daniel 8. The Goat vs The Ram.
Since it's obvious which team represents the Ram in this story, how would the Patriots represent the goat? Tom Brady. Often referred to as the greatest of all time or the GOAT. This isn't just an off the cuff nickname either, it's thrown around quite often to the point of there being several depictions as him as a goat and the Patriots logo itself.
We want 666
Tom Brady and the Patriots themselves are known for being cheaters (I have no opinion, I don't really watch football) yet they continue to win. So how does this relate to anything meaningful going on the real world? Who might the goat and the ram represent? Tom Brady is a known Trump supporter. Trump and the Patriots might as well be permanently linked. People even love to hate the Patriots, especially now that Trump is linked to them. Trump even has huge problems with California making this even more interwoven with him personally. And just like in the story, one is from the west and the other is from the east. Although I believe they are switched here. Trump is also a cheater who continues to win all the time.
"The goat became very great"
Make America Great Again? Greatest of all Time?
This chapter is obviously a different expanded on version of the previous chapter about the 4 kingdoms, the last one being made of iron with feet mixed with clay. The "little horn" spoken about in both of these is Trump. He is also strongly correlated to the number 8 which I have shown many times. Trump = 88 in simple gematria. The little horn (the little baron Trump anyone?) refers to the star Regulus, Trumps star. Regulus means "little king" in Latin. It is one of 4 "Royal" stars and it is the ruler. These 4 stars represent the 4 seasons with Regulus representing spring. Regulus is at the base of what is considered the sickle of the constellation Leo. Which is also known as the heart of the lion.
Spring is the time of renewal. The death of winter and the birth of new life comes with Spring. Easter, which celebrates the death and resurrection of Christ, takes place in Spring. It's also in the Zodiac sign of Aries, the Ram, the god of war. Known as Mars in Rome. In the theme of Atlantis Rising, is this a symbolic version of Hercules taking on the 3 headed Ram? Hercules was associated with a few different satyrs, half man goat creatures. The Disney movie Hercules features this prominently. There's even a pretty bizarre connection to Hercules directly related to this Superbowl.
The site also contains fragments of a colossal partly stone statue, identified as Hercules, and estimated to have been over 12 m (39 ft) tall. It was probably destroyed in an earthquake. All that remains are three fingers and an elbow.
All that remains are three fingers and an elbow.
Superbowl eL(bow) III
LIII could also be a reference to the name for god El and the Christ IH monogram III, H-K, wall, 8, and even humanity itself. The Lombardi trophy in the middle acting like the flaming trident fusing the 2 together. Merging of the 2 worlds. Now which world are we merging with exactly? The one known as heaven or the one known as hell? L is also the 12th letter of the alphabet making another translation of LIII = 33. Fitting that there is an arch or gate right next to the remains of the statue. Tom Brady's jersey number is also 12.
Rise up. The Atlanta Falcons slogan for the past couple of years. Very appropriate for a city full of Phoenix imagery and named after Atlantis. What exactly is rising? And if that stadium is any indication, are we above the dome and its opening below us or are we inside the dome and its opening above us? Revelation speaks about a bottomless pit opening up and an army of locusts coming out with a king named Abaddon/Apollyon aka The Destroyer. In Hindu mythology, this is just 1 out of 3 aspects for certain gods. The creator, maintainer and destroyer. One of these gods being Shiva. The god prominently featured in statue form at CERN. Is CERN summoning up Abaddon who many believe to also be the true Antichrist known by many names throughout history. Such as Osiris, Nimrod, Apollo, and a plethra of other known gods?
There are a few different ancient "day of the dead" type festivals in the coming months. Samhain is an ancient Gaelic festival of the dead that was celebrated the same as Halloween. This is thought to be the festival that a lot these Halloween type holidays are actually based on. The date and meaning for which has been changed and shifted around a lot but one of these dates has caught my eye as its right in the middle of 2 dates I think are going to be very important this year. April 19th, 20th and the 21st. Passover, All Saints Day for the Irish and Easter.
Passover is the day in which the Jewish people celebrate their god Yahweh rescuing them from Egypt by killing the first born sons. In order to not be killed themselves, they were told to wipe lamb's blood on their doors so that this angel of death would "passover" them. Well Aries, the Ram, just so happens to be the first sign in the zodiac. Since I have identified Yahweh with the ram (I think he's many things and even this goat vs ram is something akin to pro wrestling and a case where you hope they both end up killing each other as neither are a good choice) it would make sense that the "lords sacrifice" would be handed over to the goat after he kills the ram. Are we also about to have another Exodus type event here in America as well?
I had also predicted Prince Harry and Meghan's baby to be born during this weekend back in October. Twins where one would die and the other would be a red headed female. If this does indeed happen (with the twins), we may never even know as I doubt they would tell us but something else about this that could relate to the book of Revelations.
Revelation 12 New International Version (NIV)
The Woman and the Dragon
Is Meghan the woman in this story? Are one of the twins this male child? The Greek meaning for "caught/snatched up" means "to seize, snatch, obtain by robbery. From a derivative of haireomai; to seize. So its saying that God stole this woman's baby. Afterwards, the dragon gets cast down to earth and tries to drown the woman in a river but she is saved and goes into the wilderness. Oddly enough, we never hear of this woman again and never find out who she is. This story actually makes no sense under any lens. First Satan, the dragon, was said to be cast out at the beginning of creation. Second, the prevailing idea is that the woman is Mary and the Baby is Jesus but this makes no sense either. Jesus always existed (I'm just going by what the Bible says for sake of argument) and if this was him being born on Earth, then it completely contradicts the Gospels. This story is completely out of line with the entire Bible. Unless this is the recycling of the Messiah process. Meaning every so many years, a new messianic figure is born to "save" the people and become that generations hero. You can see this throughout many myths. This would also contradict the entire Bible but its the only thing that makes sense to me.
This story of 2 factions of non-human being fighting over the earth using their sons goes all the back to ancient Hittite stories where one is a giant rock god who even comes out of the sea like one of the beasts in Revelations. A male child being snatched up to heaven would also be in line with Passover and killing of the first born son. 4/19 is the day the American Revolution began in 1775 with an American victory in Concord during the battles of Lexington and Concord. With the Patriots being from Boston, home of Plymouth Rock, this entire Superbowl is overflowing with the death/rebirth motif.
April 20th will be the 130th birthday of Hitler and the 20th anniversary of the infamous school shooting known simply as Columbine. A columbine is a dove or a pigeon. Like the spirit of God that descended on Jesus when he was baptized in the Bible. This is also the Irish All Saints Day which is just a Christianized version of the Ancient Celtic festival Samhain moved to this date to avoid any associations with it. Samhain has all sorts of crazy stories attached to it, many relevant to what we may actually see in the future as well as to the story of Hercules and Atlantis. This was the time of the year thought to be where spirits from other worlds would come into ours to interact with us us in various ways. Some good and some bad. There's stories of child sacrifices, ritualized killings of kings, people having visions of the future, and the idea that someone would be killed to "mark the occasion by persons unknown." There's even a story about a king meeting his death after breaking certain taboos and he is forewarned of his incoming fate by 3 undead horsemen who were sent by the god of the dead. Who just so happens to be named Donn. There just so happens to be a depiction of 3 "horsemen" etched into the side of whats called Stone Mountain near Atlanta. Depictions of Stonewall Jackson, Robert E Lee and Jefferson Davis.
In relation to Hercules, Samhain marks the beginning of a story called "Cattle Raid of Cooley".There's also another festival whos actual date would only be a week or so later called Beltane.
According to 18th century writers, in parts of Scotland there was another ritual involving the oatmeal cake. The cake would be cut and one of the slices marked with charcoal. The slices would then be put in a bonnet and everyone would take one out while blindfolded. According to one writer, whoever got the marked piece would have to leap through the fire three times. According to another, those present would pretend to throw him into the fire and, for some time afterwards, they would speak of him as if he were dead. This "may embody a memory of actual human sacrifice", or it may have always been symbolic. A similar ritual (i.e. of pretending to burn someone in the fire) was practised at spring and summer bonfire festivals in other parts of Europe
Spring seems to be full of ancient festivals involving sacrifice, including men and children.
April 21st will be Easter. The celebration of Jesus's resurrection from dead. The "rebirth" part of the cycle in the meaning behind the number 8. It'll have been 3 years since this tombstone was put in Central Park in New York.
I have predicted that Trump would be assassinated around this date. (read this link for an in depth explanation about this) Now the question is, will this assassination be successful or will he survive this attempt on his life and use it to enact certain measures that allow him to take more power? What if he receives "a deadly head wound but did live" like the Beast from the Sea in the book of Revelation is said to have and he seems to have magically been "resurrected" like Jesus? You see that rock formation directly behind the tomb? Ever since I saw this picture, that formation has caught my attention. I don't know if Trump will be the one who emerges but if the movie "The Gate" is any indication, killing Trump would possibly open up these so called portals or gates to other worlds and allow certain beings to come fully through. And where could this possibly happen?
Well the first and obvious choice is Antarctica. The Hollow Earth theory, which is very prevalent in these Masonic predictive movies and books, says that at the poles, are giant tunnels leading to the inside of the earth with all sorts of beings inside. Antarctica is currently thawing out right now and they just discovered a giant void deep down underneath the ice. Keeping with the idea that a lot of the Bible is inverted, what if hell isn't really fire? How exactly do you "bound" beings with chains into a land of fire? If these are spirits, how would fire even hurt them and if they're biological, the fire would eventually kill them. What state could you bound a biological entity in where they wouldn't die but they couldn't escape either. You know the common saying "When hell freezes over"? Maybe thats the joke, hell already is frozen over because thats what hell is, being frozen in ice, trapped in your body neither alive or dead. Apparently freezing yourself for a future date is becoming more and more a realistic option. There's a TV show from the 60s where this idea becomes very relevant.
Following up a clue found on a dead agent Steed and Miss King pose as a married couple, enabling them to infiltrate the Alpha Academy, where they claim they wish to enroll their 'son'. The academy is run by Brigadier Brett and is supposedly for youngsters who possess super-intelligence but it is in reality a training ground for a force who seek not global but extra-terrestrial domination.
Pence: "As President Trump has said in his words, it is not enough to have merely an American presence in space, we must have American DOMINANCE in space".
The character in the show simply goes by "Trump". Although he seems to be the main guy under the leader, he doesn't do or say much. Here is an interesting conversation in the episode with the leader. Which is probably the only interesting part of this entire episode.
Miss King: "Just how do you plan on reaching the stars?"
AIR DATE: 01-15-69 + 50 years = 1-15-2019
Interesting how Antarctica is currently unthawing and all the speculation of what we're going to find in there.
There is a giant snake that tries to eat people in the show and their symbol is a lighting bolt in a yellow circle. Sort of like the Nazi SS but with just one S. Their own people also "hunt" each other.
I have located somewhere else that could be of significance as to where a "gate" could open up. Las Vegas. Which is strongly correlated with the Giza pyramids and even Atlantis. It has its own pyramid, a very large one complete with a Sphinx and an obelisk. The one Trump's golden tower is aligned with.
The infamous Vegas shooting happened right across the street from the Luxor Hotel exactly 70 weeks ago. 490 days. The shooter was on the 32nd floor and the event he shot up was called the Route 91 Harvest. The Superbowl is 2/3/19
I discovered this by complete chance on several different levels but its too specific to not mean something.
These are both mirrored images. One of a random picture of Trumps tower in Vegas, the other a part of a map of Vegas that I mirrored one day just messing around. Thought it looked like one of the Koopas from Super Mario World and didn't think anything of it again until I opened up the Trump tower picture by accident and realized that not only do they look almost they exact same, it looks like the slanted H shape could represent 2 pillars. Like the pillars of Hercules.
I think came across this picture again, by complete accident and noticed they both had a circle at the top of their heads and then I knew there had to be something to this so I went searching for the area of the map to see what I could find.
And here we have GATEway Canyon. Right next to Cannibal Crag, Guardian Angel and Hot Tub Club which just makes me think of Hot Tub Time Machine. Gateway Canyon is apart of Turtlehead mountain. Turtles have a very significant symbolic meaning to all of this. Hermes killed a turtle and made a Lyre out of its shell.
In the far east, the turtles shell was a symbol of heaven and the square underside was a symbol of Earth. This meant that the turtle was an animal whose magic united heaven and Earth.
Well, these are polar opposites in some cases but the turtle being some sort of messenger or bridge between us and the other dimensions seems to be strongly indicated here. With all the talks of droughts and climate change, the last one seems likely.
Then you have this plaque at the Hoover Dam which for some reason, looks exactly like the left mirrored side of Vatican Jesus coming out of the D-Wave logo. Construction started on the Hoover Dam in 1931. 88 years ago.
"They died to make the desert bloom"
The much talked about Oumuamua is from the Vega star system. If anybody thinks thats just another space rock, they're kidding themselves.
Calculating the exact path of 'Oumuamua took about a week. The math showed it was an object from beyond — way, way beyond. Its orbit was "unbound" or loop-less, and it was making a checkmark-shaped trip through the solar system. It had entered from above the plane of the solar system, dipped close to and below the sun, and was exiting out the top.
It's times like this when the reason I post what seem like completely irrelevant things becomes more clear. I noticed a theme of the goddess Nike so I posted a video about the history of the Nike swoosh. Since then, I found one randomly on top of a building in NY along the line where the HK splits Columbus circle (and no, its not a Nike store) and theres one in in the background of the mechanical display of the fall of Atlantis in a casino in Vegas. Then you can see how the logo for Aquaman relates to both as I had already thought that it looked like a ship passing over you as if you were underwater and it was on the surface of the water. Thats a statue of Nike in Paris called "Winged Victory of Samothrace". The yellow object next to it is apparently Nibryu. The person who came up with this design (no idea who or what exactly his logic was) claims that Nibryu is not a star or a planet but a spaceship and the source of what causes these Earth ending cataclysms. I'm just now making this connection and I don't think thats a coincidence either. The goddess of VICTORY riding a ship to battle in the same exact shape as the cataclysm causing ship of Nibryu? Who's victory is she symbolizing anyways exactly? And why is this associated with Atlantis? This goes back to the Economist 2019 cover. The Pot leaf over America that is really a Palm tree meaning Triumph or Victory.
There's actually a Star Trek episode about this very thing. This planet fears its the end of the world because this deity they made a deal with comes back and theres all sorts of earthquakes but Picard figures out theres a ship hidden thats causing the whole thing. That show is obviously run by people who know some secret knowledge. Undoubtedly this entire period we are in is being orchestrated by some outside force. There's an interesting AI entity in the Star Trek universe I read about on a Wiki once. Sounded a lot like our idea of god.
To tie this all back to the Superbowl....
A band called Maroon 5 will be playing the halftime game and apparently, they will be playing a song in the vein of Spongebob Sqaure Pants of all things. No I'm not kidding. This just got announced yesterday. Can anybody guess why (the real reason, not the one they'll tell us) or what song? The song is called...... Sweet VICTORY!
Maroon 5's Super Bowl 'SpongeBob' Tribute Looks Like It's Actually Happening
Spongebob Squarepants -Sweet Victory [Youtube[
And check out the hats they're wearing and compare it to the picture way below here, you'll know it when you see it.
So you know the song, now what is the real why? For Spongebob specifically? The one that the people doing this probably are't even aware of as I am not suggesting this is all planned out by human beings as some sinister plot. This is just oblivious script following 101. You just need to ask yourself one simple question. Who lives in a pineapple under the sea? SPONGEBOB SQUARE PANTS!. Pine apple. Under the sea. Pine as in pineal gland aka 3rd eye. Apple as in the common fruit associated with the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil. The pineapple itself is used visually because it looks just like a palm tree and has the Fibonacci sequence visibly on it. There's also a palm tree literally called the pineapple palm tree. And what do Palm trees signify? Triumph/Victory. And where is this pineapple? Under the sea....
The lead singers name is Adam Levine. His middle name is NOAH. He was a part of a show called "The Voice" which just perfectly brings something else around that I have been talking about for months. This bag full of things I received completely randomly several months ago. There was a card in it referencing this show with a silhouette of Christina Aguilera and it said "The Return of the Voice April 12 2005"
Superman's "real" name is Kal-El, it means voice of God. Kind of like it says Jesus is the word of God. Superman is also an alien from outer space. The 2 symbols for Jesus, the Lion and the Dove? Those have always been the symbols for the Sumerian goddess Inanna. The dove itself has ALWAYS been associated with female goddesses. 777 is a number that has been popping up so often for me lately its a bit over the top. Those 3 days in sequence seem to be immensely important. That doesn't necessarily mean earth shattering events will happen on exactly those days but we are on the edge of whatever major event I keep talking about that never seems to come but 4/20 weekend is a time I have been talking about for months as well and the last major date that I have really seen signs pointing towards.
If that wasn't enough, I said in the Economist 2019 post that palm trees were Baal symbolism because Baals temple is in Palmyra, meaning palm tree and it just seems to be the common usage. That sinister under the veil of harmlessness usage where no one notices. Like how they took that Arch of "Triumph" from Baal's temple on a world tour the past couple years. Well there just so happens to be something called Ball's Pyramid right off the coast of New Zealand. It's literally the shape of a Xenomorph head from Alien and I somehow downloaded a picture of Shiva right in front of it without realizing it for who knows how long.
This place was discovered and named after a man named Henry (theres that name again) Lidgbird Ball on Feburary 17th, 1788. 2/17/1788. 11-8 Q Trump. 2 = 11, 17 = 8, 17 = Q, the 17th letter of the alphabet aka Qanon. 88 = Trump in gematria. 11-8 being the day of the 2016 election. K-H or H-K. 11 X 8 = 88. You can't make this shit up. On top of that, if this place was named after this guy, how could it possibly be associated with Palmyra or Baal? Well here are a couple of pretty loose associations. It was first climbed in 1964 and the paper who reported on it used a certain word to describe it.
Triumph. Column 8 and the paper is in its 134th year of publication. 1+3+4=8. Ball's pyramid is apart of the 8th continent Zealandia. Donnie Darko, as I have laid out in other threads, is strongly associated with the times we're in. The numbers Frank give him to the "end of the world" add up to 88. Here he is wearing a shirt that says Tr(i)ump(h). This place is also home to a rare stick insect commonly called the "tree lobster". Lobsters are a common symbol used by the Satanist occult I believe for the symbolism of the claw which represents a multitude of things. Ball's pyramid is also the tallest volcano stack in the world.
How does any of this translate to any kind of "event"?
The LA Rams used to be the St Louis Rams not even 3 or 4 years ago. They went from the place of the Gateway to the West, to the City of Angels. During all those fires in Cali last year, the set for Westworld burned down along with a place called Paradise. There's a place called Paradise right next to Vegas as well. Something you would have already known had I not lost my post but I need to reveal it now or else this part won't make as much sense. The 2 pillars of Hercules that lead to Atlantis. What/Where are they? The statue of Colossus was mistakenly thought to have one leg on either side of the harbor it was in, like a gateway, his legs being the 2 pillars so to speak. Italy is right next to the Straight of Gibraltar and shaped like a leg, or a boot, which is what most people refer to it as. What other country might be shaped like it to match? New Zealand, where they just so happens to be what is now called the sunken 8th Continent of Zealandia.
I will delve more into this entire thing when I rewrite what was suppose to be Part 2 but the reason this is relevant is because of the "boot".
Poseidon was the ruler of Atlantis. He was the god of the sea, horses and earthquakes. Keeping with this whole "boot" theme, there just so happens to be a very prominent fault line along a "boot" in America. The New Madrid fault line right next to the boot hill in Missouri. This fault line runs all the way up to St Louis, former home of the Rams. Who moved to LA, onto another very prominent fault line, called the San Andreas. The Straight of Gibraltar, thought to be the pillars of Hercules, the mountains he "split in half". Well on one half you have Morocco in Africa. The other half you have Spain in Europe. The capital of Spain is MADRID.
A few closing notes about this. The QB for the Rams, his name is Jared Goff.
Jared is a given name of Biblical derivation, common mostly in North American English-speaking countries.
Goff is a surname with several distinct origins, mainly Germanic, Celtic, Jewish, and French. It is the 946th most common family name in the United States. When the surname originates from England it is derived from an occupational name from German, Cornish and Breton. The German Goff means a godly person, a strong warrior, or a priest. The Breton goff means "smith" (cognate with Gaelic gobha). The English-originating surname is common in East Anglia, where it is of Breton origin. The Welsh name is a variant of the surname Gough, and is derived from a nickname for someone with red hair**.** The native Irish name is derived from a patronymic form of the Gaelic personal name Eochaidh/Eachaidh, which means "horseman"
A red haired godly smith who descended from heaven. Sounds exactly like the Hykos.
February 3rd is the 33rd day of the year. Atlanta is on the 33rd parallel and as I pointed out earlier, LIII could be 33. 4/21 will be 111 days from December 31st. 9/11 is also 111 days from 12/31. I noticed an odd numerical association with 9/11 and this upcoming 4/20 weekend.
Four passenger airliners operated by two major U.S. passenger air carriers (United Airlines and American Airlines)—all of which departed from airports in the northeastern United States bound for California—were hijacked by 19 al-Qaeda terrorists. Two of the planes, American Airlines Flight 11 and United Airlines Flight 175, were crashed into the North and South towers, respectively, of the World Trade Center complex in Lower Manhattan. Within an hour and 42 minutes, both 110-story towers collapsed. Debris and the resulting fires caused a partial or complete collapse of all other buildings in the World Trade Center complex, including the 47-story 7 World Trade Center tower, as well as significant damage to ten other large surrounding structures. A third plane, American Airlines Flight 77, was crashed into the Pentagon (the headquarters of the U.S. Department of Defense) in Arlington County, Virginia, which led to a partial collapse of the building's west side. The fourth plane, United Airlines Flight 93, was initially flown toward Washington, D.C., but crashed into a field in Stonycreek Township near Shanksville, Pennsylvania, after its passengers thwarted the hijackers. 9/11 is the single deadliest terrorist attack in human history and the single deadliest incident for firefighters and law enforcement officers in the history of the United States, with 343 and 72 killed, respectively.
2 planes. Flight 11 and 175. 1+7+5 = 13. America's favorite number
Within an hour and 42 minutes, both 110-story towers collapsed.
1+4+2 = 7 = completion
Two 110 story towers. 11 / 11
Debris and the resulting fires caused a partial or complete collapse of all other buildings in the World Trade Center complex, including the 47-story 7 World Trade Center tower, as well as significant damage to ten other large surrounding structures.
47 stories = 11
Damage to 10 other buildings. 10+1 = 11+ twin towers = 13, America's favorite number
A third plane, American Airlines Flight 77, was crashed into the Pentagon (the headquarters of the U.S. Department of Defense) in Arlington County, Virginia, which led to a partial collapse of the building's west side.
The Pentagon started construction to be built on 9/11/61, exactly 60 years prior to the attack. As well as being nicked named "ground zero" due to assumptions it would be the target during a nuclear attack.
The fourth plane, United Airlines Flight 93, was initially flown toward Washington, D.C., but crashed into a field in Stonycreek Township near Shanksville, Pennsylvania, after its passengers thwarted the hijackers.
The one plane that didn't fit the numerical pattern crashed in a place called SHANKsville and didn't make it to its destination.
9/11 is the single deadliest terrorist attack in human history and the single deadliest incident for firefighters and law enforcement officers in the history of the United States, with 343 and 72 killed, respectively.
343 = 1 and 72 = 9
So how does this relate to anything? Passover and Easter will be on 4/20 weekend. 4/20/19 will be the 130th birthday of Hitler and the 20th year anniversary of the Columbine shootings. It will also be 3 years since that tombstone was put in Central Park with the Jesuit IHS logo in the middle of it.
So you have the 130 which equals 13, 20 which equals 11 and 3. 3 being the number of years since the Easter this tombstone was placed. Easter is about Jesus dying and then 3 days later, rising from the dead. The only plane that didn't fit the numerical pattern on 9/11 (13 and 11) was the number 3. It was headed toward the capital building apparently and it crashed in Shanksville, Pennsylvania due to the people on the plane taking action to stop the hijacking. 1600 Pennsylvania ave is the address of the White House. 1600 = 88 (Trump) which ultimately = 7
One more possible relation to all this. Space X "captured" their space craft named "Dragon" on 12/8 last year.
Dragon completed its first flight around the world 8 years ago today. Since then, Dragon has visited @Space_Station 16 times. Next year, SpaceX will take another important step with an upgraded Dragon capable of returning human spaceflight to the US for the first time since 2011.
8 years ago it took its first flight and its visited the space station 16 times. 8 & 8. It's called "Dragon". They "captured" it at exactly 4:21am, about a minute later, there is lightning and a thunderstorm on Earth that you can see behind the space craft. Easter is April 21st, 4/21.
So who will win todays Superbowl? The god of war or the scapegoat? Lets hope they both forfeit and call a truce because neither outcome could possibly be good for us as a nation.
[COOPER] Do you have the seed? Do you have the seed? I need you to make another one. [GERARD] I understand.With this little exchange, we were given a glimpse into the process for manufacturing a tulpa, this time for making Dougie Jones v2.0. You need a DNA sample (a little hair ripped from the back of your head will do – ouch), a “seed”, and of course, a magician (presuming that Gerard is one). It might also be the case that manufacturing tulpas has to be done in the Lodge space. In her meltdown exposition, Diane says that Bad Cooper took her, the real Diane, to the Convenience Store, where presumably she, the tulpa Diane, was created.
[ALBERT] Case number one. This started the whole thing. Nineteen seventy-five. Two young field agents investigate a murder in Olympia, Washington. They arrive at a motel to arrest a suspect named Lois Duffy. They hear a gunshot outside her room and kick the door in. They find two women inside, one on the floor dying from a bullet wound to the abdomen. The other holds a gun, which she drops as she backs away when they enter. They recognize the wounded woman as Lois Duffy. She speaks her last words to them: “I’m like the blue rose.” She smiles, then dies, then disappears before their eyes. The other woman screaming in the corner, they now notice is also Lois Duffy.Lois Duffy, the one that was shot, seems to have known she was a tulpa. She is like the blue rose, a thing that does not occur in nature. The Diane tulpa likewise seems to have known she was a tulpa:
[GERARD] [oddly reverberating] Someone manufactured you. [DIANE] I know. Fuck you.Dougie, on the other hand, did not seem to know he was a tulpa:
[DOUGIE] I feel funny. What’s happening to me? [GERARD] [oddly reverberating] Someone manufactured you. [DOUGIE] What? [GERARD] For a purpose, but I think now that’s been fulfilled. [DOUGIE] It has?Why doesn’t Dougie know he’s a tulpa? This exchange between Mullins and the detectives Fusco is also enlightening:
[D. FUSCO] So what’s his background? How long has he been with you? [BUSHNELL] Twelve years now. He’s a good worker. He’s slow, steady. [D. FUSCO] Little more emphasis on the “slow.” [SMILEY FUSCO] [laughing] [BUSHNELL] Dougie had a car accident, as I recall, not long before he came to work for me. Every once in a while, he shows some lingering effects. His wife can talk to that better than I can.So part of his back story is a bump to the noggin that accounts for his occasional “episodes”, but maybe also accounts for his lack of history. The detectives discover that he has no written records prior to 1997, but maybe he also has no personal memories prior to that as well. From what little we saw of him, Dougie Jones does not seem to have a lick of “Cooper-ness” about him. The Diane tulpa seems to have most of the real Diane’s memories (though a few were perhaps suppressed). She even functioned for some time as a mole in the FBI, working for Bad Cooper. Dougie Jones just doesn’t seem like someone who has memories of living out the first twenty-some years of his life as Agent Cooper. He has no Cooper nurture, but does he have Cooper nature?
[BILL SHAKER] Dougie! Dougie, is that you? It’s Bill Shaker, Allied Chemicals. What, are you taking a walk on the wild side?Bill and Dougie apparently know each other primarily through a work relationship, though Bill knows him well enough to know where he lives off the top of his head. Bill is surprised to see Dougie Jones in a casino. That’s interesting. Just as someone who knew Agent Cooper would be surprised to find him at a casino (unless under cover, of course). He implies that the Dougie Jones he knows doesn’t have a “wild side” to him.
[ANTHONY] Hey! Look who’s back from Bendersville. [chuckles] With a new haircut. [whispering] I covered for your ass, pal. You owe me big-time for that. What’d you do? Huh? Did you go drinking in a steam bath? [laughing]They seem to have the casual banter of drinking buddies. As Janey-E later tells Dr. Ben, “the drinking feeds the gambling and vice versa, and the whole thing is just a downward spiral.” Beyond being a bad influence, Anthony is just not a very good person, and in the course of Season 3, we get to see him descend further and further:
[DUNCAN TODD] Do you recall my business rivals and bitter enemies the Mitchum brothers? You’re gonna visit the brothers now. You’re gonna pin the blame for the insurance claim that we conspired to deny for them, a loss of 30 million that hit ’em hard, on the back of Douglas Jones. You’re gonna convince them that Mr. Jones has it out for the brothers, a personal vendetta, and then we’re gonna sit back, and we’re gonna watch as the Mitchum brothers take care of our Mr. Jones problem. [ANTHONY] [clears throat] – But what if. [DUNCAN TODD] Don’t speak, Anthony. If you fail to deliver on this, then you’ll have to kill Mr. Jones yourself.So Mr. Todd already has an established relationship with Anthony. He used Anthony to commit a little insurance fraud against the Mitchum brothers, and now he’s upgrading him to amateur assassin. Yup, not a very good friend at all.
[ANTHONY] [cries] Bushnell I’ve been selling you down the river for months and months for Duncan Todd. I’ve been working for Todd. I, I’ve lied and cheated for money. [BUSHNELL] Anthony, Dougie already showed me. He explained all this already. [ANTHONY] [weakly] He did? [BUSHNELL] Now that you’re confessing, I have to admit that my anger, my contempt for you is subsiding. [ANTHONY] [crying softly] [BUSHNELL] Dougie even implicated himself.So Dougie was part of the bigger, ongoing insurance scam. He and Anthony were working for Mr. Todd, and Mr. Todd works for Mr. C. Not very many degrees of separation there. Though Mr. Todd doesn’t work for Mr. C so much as he’s made to do things by him. “Never have someone like him in your life,” he tells Roger. It seems that Bad Cooper has some sort of blackmail on him, just as he did on Warden Murphy.
[COOPER] You’ve made my heart so full. [JANEY-E] What, what are you saying? [COOPER] We’re a family. Dougie, I mean, I will be back. [JANEY-E] You’re not Dougie? [SONNY JIM] What? No. You’re my dad. You’re my dad. [COOPER] Yeah. I’m your dad, Sonny Jim. I’m your dad, and I love you. I love you both. [JANEY-E [cries softly] [crying] [COOPER] I have to go. You’ll see me soon. I’ll walk through that red door, and I’ll be home for good. [JANEY-E] Don’t go. [COOPER] I have to. [JANEY-E] Whoever you are, thank you.Love opens the door, and Dougie left that door open for Agent Cooper to come back into the real world. This was the “purpose” he was manufactured for. This is why Bad Cooper was trying to corrupt Doggie. To close that door. This was the “trick” Gerard was referring to, explaining why our Special Agent Cooper only came part way through. But Dougie, with his goofy loud jackets, with his “This is Dougie’s Coffee” mug, with his inherent Cooper nature, he kept that door open wide enough for them both to make it back home.
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