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Garden Gate

December 22, 2022 in article about writing

Beyond the Garden Gate

“Words”, muttered the Scribbler, “are stupid things. Inadequate.”
“They are frivolous. Annoying. Like dust. On a long pilgrimage.”

He settled back to ponder the allegory. In his wonky mind, (tottering from triviality to insanity), (and back to mischief), he saw a long, winding, dusty road. On it, striding purposefully towards the distant hills, he placed an old man. The Seeker. Wearing a dark, flowing robe, a staff in hand. Dust particles swirled around endlessly, and had even made themselves at home on his robe, head, and beard. Sometimes they even thrust themselves, unwelcome, into his ears. Or they grated. Between his teeth.
He often wished he could spit them out.
The Seeker was pondering Reality.
Something amazing.
Or?
The Great Nothing. The deep, deep Silence, of the Universe.
The echo of Timelessness.

An unwise pursuit, he knew. For he had met so many, who were utterly convinced of their all-knowing wisdom. They would lecture him. Sometimes, quite sternly. He. For his part, would half listen, or at least pretend to, meekly, and try and bow & bob his head. At the right moments.
It seemed to the madman that many such satisfied ‘Christians’, content with their labors, had in fact, barely opened the small gate into the huge garden. And stopped there. Satisfied. Lecturing others from their position of exalted knowledge. A shuffling footstep (or two), inside the creaking garden gate.
However, in their world view? In their opinion of their own insight?
They had made it. No more questions.
Reality. Conquered. Mystery, solved.
All queries, answered. Contained in a pretty little box. Tied. With a ribbon.
Pink…

Our pilgrim wondered. Was their canned passion, their seemingly totally assured stance, a product of their love for him? As they said? Their caring? Or perhaps more the hiding-crushing of their own insecurity?
Their unspeakable… doubts?
For if you really believed? Really-really? Would you not be utterly fascinated? Eager for the Quest? Rather than the hint of staid lip service? The “Oh, yes, we got that! We saved. Carry on” platitudes?
He wondered about the long path through the garden. Way past the creaking garden gate. Up the tall steps. To the huge, massive, oak paneled front door. With the bronze knocker, barely within his struggling reach. He had heard that behind that door? Lay merely an outer chamber. Before a hall. That led, to the great corridor. Miles long. At the end of which, up more flights of stairs?
They had said? Lay the Great Hall. Where the Great King, wise beyond any human understanding, sat on his throne.
But… it might be fiction. Beyond those distant hills? No garden. No garden path. No steps. No Long Corridor. No Great Hall.
Could it be true?
The Great, wise King?
Waiting? For him?

He trudged on. Marveling. At the wonder of it all. Excited.
Totally unable to accept.
A mere shuffling step. Or two. A platitude. A religious insurance policy.
Inside that creaking, old,

garden gate.

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by whadmin

31. Use of Ground Penetration Radar at Treblinka

October 4, 2021 in Holocaust Stories, Normie Challenge List

Main Index – Click HERE

31.  Use of Ground Penetration Radar at Treblinka

Being an old, life-long Chopper Jockey, and an A&P Aircraft Mechanic, I have the inevitable interest in tinker-things. Stuff that actually DOES amazing-what-is-it, when crudely beating air into (temporary) submission ought not to be remotely possible. But some twit decided to try it, and here we are. Mostly.
Those who ought to be locked in padded cells, screaming, wearing straight jackets, now fly helicopters instead.  'Fly'

Occasionally, it has to be admitted, they still scream.
(Cough)

Moving on. Ground-Penetration-Radar. You’re kidding me, I thought. WTF. I’m used to ships pointing radar towards the horizon, to see other ships, or birds, like in the Tuna Fishing World. Who in his right mind thinks of pointing the stupid thing into the GROUND?

Then I wondered about all those…. yes, those mass graves, right? Hundreds of thousands of Jews?  Millions, even?
Buried in mass graves? By those horrible Nazis?

Quote:

A detailed forensic examination at the Treblinka Camp using sophisticated electronic ground radar has also found no evidence of mass graves. An Australian team headed by Richard Krege, a qualified electronics engineer, carried out an examination at the site of the Treblinka camp. Krege’s team used an $80,000 Ground Penetration Radar (GPR) device, which returns vertical-cross-sectional profiles to a computer monitor. GPR devices are routinely used around the world by geologists, archeologists, and police. GPR detects any major disturbances in the soil to a normal effective depth of four or five meters.

For six days in October 1999 the team carefully examined the entire Treblinka site, especially the alleged “mass-graves ” portion, and carried out control examinations of surrounding areas. Krege’s team also carried out visual soil inspections, and used an auger to take numerous soil samples. They found no soil disturbance consistent with the burial of hundreds of thousands of bodies, nor even evidence that the ground had ever been disturbed. In addition, the team found no evidence of individual graves, bone remains, human ashes, nor wood ashes. Richard Krege concluded from his examination of the site that Treblinka was never an extermination camp.[20]

Startling evidence was also revealed in 1989 when the Soviets released some of the Auschwitz death-registry volumes that fell into Soviet hands in January 1945 when the Red Army captured Auschwitz. The death certificates contained in these volumes were official German documents issued by Auschwitz camp doctors upon the death of an inmate. Each death certificate includes the deceased person’s full name, profession and religion, date and place of birth, pre-Auschwitz residence, parents’ names, time of death, cause of death, and a camp physician’s signature. The death-registry volumes recorded the deaths of approximately 69,000 Auschwitz inmates, of whom approximately 30,000 were Jewish. Most of the deaths were caused by disease, although some death certificates recorded executions by shooting or hanging. None of the death certificates recorded death by gassing.[21]

The Auschwitz death-registry volumes call into question the existence of homicidal gas chambers. Why would the German authorities record executions by shooting or hanging and not record any by gassings? Also, why did the Soviets suppress the release of these volumes for 44 years? The Auschwitz death-registry volumes are totally inconsistent with Auschwitz being a center of mass extermination using homicidal gas chambers.[22]

Source:  https://codoh.com/library/document/did-german-homicidal-gas-chambers-exist/en/

[20]   The Journal of Historical Review, Vol. 19, No. 3, May/June 2000, p. 20.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

And then I read somewhere that the Jews planted hundreds of large STONES all over the place, supposedly as a MEMORIAL, but actually in a super-crude attempt to thwart such similar future surveys?    'F***You'

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

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Last edited by Francis Meyrick on March 28, 2021, 11:57 am

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by whadmin

When Ex-pats quietly muse. Of tales, unspeakable. (Part 3)

April 20, 2021 in Holocaust Stories, Investigation & Articles

Main Index – Click HERE

 

Speak to me, fair woman, and tell me your story

When Ex-pats quietly muse. Of tales, unspeakable.  (Part 3)

Job taken by African

I banked the helicopter gently onto final approach into Cabinda Airport, Angola.
Listening to the often-emotional African Air Traffic controller. Who never seemed very relaxed, and was often seemingly in a state of near-panic.  Somewhere behind me, I had no idea how far away, an ancient old Boeing 727, battered and streaked, was laboriously clattering & whining its tortuous way down from the troubled skies.  Since those (Angolan)  pilots insisted in communicating almost exclusively in their own native language, we ex-Pats had little clue as to what the hell was going on. They were ‘somewhere out there’, and all you could do was plan on getting out-of-their-way (in a greased hurry) if the need arose. The concept of ‘go-around’ seemed quite alien to them. They were coming in, regardless. Maybe (literally) screaming in fright, but they were ah-coming on in. (yes, another story)
I banked a little harder, and quite casually glanced down into the harbor below.
My eyes opened wide.
(“Oh!  Shhhhhhttttttt….”)
Not good.
Not good at all.

At night, our evening meals at the camp were social and cultural education sessions. Being a noisy, gregarious, get-on-your-nerves Irishman, I chatted with everybody who was willing, any race, culture, orientation, uniform or hairstyle. Bone-through-your-nose, if you’re friendly, I’ll chat with you. I want to hear YOUR story. If you’re a young lady, bare-breasted, walking down the street in Wewak, Papua New Guinea? Casually breast-feeding a small piglet (yes, seriously), much as I’d LIKE to know your story… I might… find it difficult.
(“Would you mind, um, putting the piglet down for a second, love?”)
On a regular basis, we’d have a farewell party. Ex-pats leaving for the last time, and not coming back. Services no longer required.

Reason?  Job taken by African.

That was a regular thing. No matter what occupation you were in, electrician, plumber, engineer, mechanic, cook or brain surgeon, you were assigned an African helper. Who helped you. While watching. How you did your job. I don’t mean that unkindly. Just a statement-of-fact.  Luckily, that was impossible in my (single-pilot) helicopter, so mine was one of the few professions were you did not have helper-sitting-beside-you. We had African chopper pilots, more all the time, but (for me) not on board. Not so the 2-crew choppers, like Bell 214, or the Bell 412, of course.
Well, sooner or later, as an ex-Pat, you knew there was the risk that your helper would go to his Angolan boss, and say the dreaded words:

“I can do that!”

If delighted Angolan boss agreed, it would get kicked up to the Angolan Ministry, and, likely enough, some desk-bound, faceless Angolan clerk would rubber stamp documents and approvals, and Bill and Stan from Po-dunk, Nevada, would get their “Thank you, goodbye” notices.
And Umbimba from the local village would get a huge promotion. (but still WAY cheaper than the White Devil)
Now he’d be an electrician, not an electrician’s mate. Or a tugboat captain, not the mate. A mobile crane operator, not the helper, etc.
Everybody happy in Angola. Bill and Stan unhappy in Po-dunk. Looking for a job.

Now at issue was whether or not Umbimba really knew what he was doing. He might think he knew. But did he? Again, I don’t mean that unkindly, just as a statement-of-fact. And here I tread, as I seem to often do, most unwisely, down a path, so famous for its snakes. Poisonous ones.
Where wise men don’t wander.
But then again, silence is easy. And cowardly.

I sigh. I get it. National Pride. Local labor is much cheaper anyway than those ex-pats.
You cannot (ever) escape the (massive) problem of in-group preference.
Every race and tribe and culture (not to mention football team supporters), I submit, has a preference FOR ITS OWN PEOPLE.
Except us White People.
(even the weird ones with a green-ish tinge)

We are not allowed. That’s….
(you know, the word)
(the WORD!)
(What…??) (are you DUMB?)
okay, then:
WAYCIST++++

Which brings me back to banking, on final approach into Cabinda Airport, and looking down.
(“Oh! Shhhhhhttttttt….”)
For there? Lying upside down? Crane jib in the water? Clear evidence of catastrophe?
It was (or had been) a beautiful, state-of-the-art, mobile crane. Big old thing. Expensive. Bells and whistles. Gleaming. Always driving about, all over the place, lifting stuff.
I got very friendly with the expats, who were very proud of their baby.

But then they got laid off.

A mere six weeks before. We had said our sad goodbyes, and one of them, big old fellow from Dallas, if I recall, very genial, had said, sadly:

“It won’t end well….”

And here I was… eyes wide, staring down at carnage. Boy, that sure didn’t last long. Chalk up another one. I mentally pictured other catastrophes of the past. The dead Angolan linesman, hanging from the high tension wires. Somebody told me there were no less than FIVE safety steps? That were ALL supposed to be activated? And if only ONE was activated, such a tragedy was impossible?
There were lots of such stories.
Score another one.

I landed, disembarked my passengers, shut down, and walked in for a coffee. Seeing the Airport Manager, a very affable Angolan, with whom I got along real well, I passed a remark about the state-of-the-art, high-tec mobile crane, taking a drink from the sea.
“Yes”, he said, sadly. “And that is not the worst part.”
“Oh?”
“The crane driver is still lying underneath. They are still trying to get him out.
No other mobile crane available. That was our only one.”
“OH!”
“Yes, he tried to jump out. He was my cousin.”

I sigh. The Moggy detractor will cite what I have written as proof of my way-cism.
The FBI has a file on me, I’m betting the ADL does too, and seeing as I’ve been quoted in Academia, in un-flattering tones, I’ll bet there’s more that keep a close tab.

I’m hoping the more thoughtful reader?

1)  … will see & maybe realize see that in-group preference is common, all over the world. Perfectly natural. Except it’s forbidden to us way-cist Whites.
(even the green-tinged lower species)
Is that really going to work?

2)  … will see & maybe realize that ‘all cultures being equal’ and ‘all people are equal’ and ‘the only differences is the color-of-your-skin’…
Meh. Nonsense. You have VAST differences in culture, outlook, DNA, life style…
Ability.

3)  … will,see & maybe realize that ‘Open Borders’ for all non-Whites into White countries, while CLOSED Borders (as quickly as humanly possible) for Whites into everybody else’s country…

Double standards.

Just proves (or at least supports) the argument that all this ‘Open Borders’ malarkey?

IS just code for “anti-White”.

They want you a disenfranchised, powerless, serf minority. Because in their opinion?

“I can do that!”

Better than you.

And the organizers of this? The great, rabid, terminally greedy collectors of colored sea-shells? (genus monetary) Financially rich, emotionally challenged, compassion-poor, and spiritually, well? Dead?

The cruel blind? The self-appointed ‘elite’? (Ha! ‘Elite’, my hairy…elbow)

Simply put?

They hate you, White Man.
They use you, Black Man, Brown Man. They hold you (and us) in secret contempt.
Often thinly veiled. Big smile, ‘welcome refugees’, or not.

Who do they like?  Worship?

C’mon, you know the answer. Only one tribe of folk.

Themselves…

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Last edited by Francis Meyrick on April 20, 2021, 9:24 am

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by whadmin

Beyond the Garden gate

April 17, 2021 in Auto-biographical (spiritual quest), My Search for God and Meaning, Short Story (spiritual quest), The Great Cosmic Kindness, Why do I write?

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by whadmin

A Chance Meeting

April 16, 2021 in My Search for God and Meaning, The Great Cosmic Kindness

 

A chance meeting

It is fine to wander
staff in hand
that long, dusty road
and meet,
once in a while,
a rare event
a fellow pilgrim.

With whom
we may converse
deeply, satisfyingly
yet mostly
in silence.

Listening to clouds
the wind, the stars at night.
And our own, soft
hearts,

beating.

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Last edited by Francis Meyrick on April 16, 2021, 6:55 am

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by whadmin

Great Cosmic Kindness

April 16, 2021 in The Great Cosmic Kindness

GCK – MAIN INDEX

Great Cosmic Kindness

'Usehead'

One small soul's clumsily-tripping journey through the great puzzle of his tiny Life

   

Revealed Humanity
Sailing the Stars
Smoke, and lenses. Tiny spirit, thick fog.
Beyond the Garden Gate

Poetry

A Chance Meeting

Last edited by Francis Meyrick on April 17, 2021, 5:53 am

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When Expats quietly muse. Of tales, unspeakable. (Part 2)

April 15, 2021 in Holocaust Stories, Investigation & Articles

Main Index – Click HERE

When Expats quietly muse. Of tales, unspeakable. (Part 2)

Shutting down much-needed conversation

1. So much today strives to shut down conversation. Often, a much-needed one. Thus the cry ‘Racist!’, ‘Islamophobe!’, ‘anti-Semite!’, ‘Islamophobe!’, ‘Homophobe!’, sends most curious minds quickly scurrying for the (peacefully) silent hills.
2. These (often angry, even hysterical) denunciations are often wrapped in soaring morality. Positively drip-ping with it.
3. To back up the high plains of superior morality, we have the introduction of criminal penalties for offenders, with ‘Hate Speech’ being a fine catch-all.
A bit like cops, and their favorite ‘disturbing the peace’, one size fits all.

This shutting down of open conversation is not a good thing. As Andrew Torba so keenly sees. It’s crude, a major step backwards. Wrapped in fine morality, or not.
Unfortunately, it’s effective. It’s left for a relative handful of GAB fools, like myself, to cheerfully wade in among the hungry (virtuous) alligators.
I am totally against unrestricted Open Borders, and hence the insincere organisations that have furiously promoted this for decades. I point an accusing finger at the Jewish owned ‘Mess’ (with everybody) Media. I point an accusing finger at their bought-and-paid-for political puppies. Short-sighted, selfish Quislings, all.
The bottom line is firstly that they are not acting in good faith. Their intentions are not noble. That’s bogus. They patently wish to weaken White Western nations.
Secondly, it was never voted on in recognizable form. No plebiscite. No clarity.
“Ma’am, would you like to fundamentally (and irreversibly) change your country and culture forever? Open the Borders, and allow the whole world to immigrate into White Countries?”
Asked no-one, ever.
Thirdly, it’s just a flat-out, unworkable, bad idea. For a multitude of reasons.
Ask ANY Expat.

 

Immigrant gang Live-streaming armed gang rape… on Facebook (seriously)

I say all that, because I have no heart, right? No compassion?
(Cue the shut-down words mentioned above)
I’ll let the reader decide that, but let me wade in deeper. Into that alligator pond. You see, I wish to look deeper into all these (hungry) crocodile eyes now surrounding me.  I am interested in those eyes. Especially in their copious tears.
For, much like their feigned good intentions, their tears are not real.

Israel ferociously shuns immigrants into Israel. Harshly. They want their country peaceful, low crime, and homogeneous. But, talking out of both corners-of-mouth, their ‘Mess’ Media, messing with your head, Ma’am, furiously tear YOU apart for wanting the same for yours.
Huh?
But even worse than that steaming hypocrisy, demonstrating flat-out Jewish bad faith, is a fact that the stunted conversation overlooks an important truth:

It’s not even good for Africa, the Middle East, and other people ‘exporters to White Countries’.
In fact, it’s a downright bad idea.

That is easily seen when their best and brightest, most qualified, most able to sort out their own countries, pack up for White Paradise. These are the MOST needed, and we damn Whites happily steal them? Bad idea. Terribly bad idea.
They are a small minority. Regardless of insincere Jewish Mess Media hoopla-lah, the vast majority go on benefits, welfare, and settle back to relax, enjoy, and breed voluptuously.  This is flat-out bad for everybody, and all countries involved.
You plant this idea that the party can go on forever. It can’t, and it won’t.
That the money will last forever. The high standard of living-without-productively-working is assured forever. Social security will always go up with inflation. Pension schemes will always be solvent. The Government loves you. They prove it by giving your hard-earned tax money to any and all new arrivals who will reliably vote for them.
You plant this idea that the (reckless) party can go on forever. It can’t, and it won’t.
And everybody, eventually, will cry.

So many once-White Countries, have (had) generous welfare. But the pot is steadily drying up.  If you pour in endless unskilled people claiming every benefit they can, and never or rarely contributing? With volunteer agencies ‘helping them’? Collect every last cent? Often staffed (or funded) by the Jewish 5th Column?  George Soros?  The man who flat-out declares he hates us? What do you think is going to happen? What does anybody (who thinks, ffs), think?
The whole thing is going to collapse.
And everybody, eventually, will cry.

But I’m a racist, Islamophobe, anti-Semite, Homophobe.

Who has no heart, and doesn’t care.

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Last edited by Francis Meyrick on April 15, 2021, 5:26 am

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by whadmin

Smoke, and lenses. Tiny spirit, thick fog.

April 10, 2021 in My Search for God and Meaning, The Great Cosmic Kindness

Smoke, and lenses. Tiny spirit, thick fog.

There is much that I, a tiny mud worm spirit, fail to understand.  I step softly through new portals of thought, humbly, respectfully, as one always seeking a teacher. Or on the look-out. For a better, more knowledgeable man. I love to probe new questions. Or old ones, in the light of new experience, or different perspective.
I am therefore always puzzled by the teeming legions. Who confidently kick doors open. With a resounding crash. Loudly, enter. With a flourish. Or is it a swagger? Intent to make their presence felt.
Immediately.
It seems they disapprove of silence. Acoustic, or spiritual. And feel instantly obliged to fill it. With their -magnificent- being.
And I? It seems? Often offend them.  For which I am sorry.
I can’t help it. It’s just not my way.

I see life as a (very) short trailer. For a movie, I hope one day to see.
I see myself as in a thick fog, with ropes and string, lying on the muddy ground, radiating away from me, like the spokes of a wheel.  And I, a dull fool, at the center. My little hub.
Unseen hands try and pull away my ropes and strings. I have to grab them quickly, or they will disappear, out of reach, into that thick fog.
Strange noises often echo around my small valley, too. Through the mist. Some very faint, and barely heard. Strands of music, old songs. Sudden shouting, even cursing. Soon gone.
I have heard the uniform marching of many. The sounds of gun fire. Sirens. Smoke, and tear gas, assailing my nostrils. At night, the eerie, strange-dancing, blue lights of approaching, heavily armed, force. Ominous. Malevolent. Hunting.

Through all this mess, this confusion, the paranoia, and the galloping Absurdity of Man?
I have often tried to adjust my lenses. Through which I peer. No, not those made of plastic, or glass. I mean those lenses each of us have.
In our minds.

It seems to me? (but what do I know)
That those ‘lenses’ need constant, thoughtful, honest exercise. Constant adjustment.
See close up, see far.
See maybe very far.
1.  From different points of view.  Other mud worms. How they might see the same event.
2.  From close up, in the palm of your hand. And beyond those mountains.
3.  From different time perspectives.

Through the window.

And sometimes, in the swirling fog, surrounded by rope and string, strange shouting, curses and exhortations? This mud worm wonders?
Did he fail, somewhere along the line?
Maybe his lenses have grown rigid, cloudy, opaque, unwilling to see.
The way?

They were meant to.

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Last edited by Francis Meyrick on April 16, 2021, 6:30 am

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When Expats quietly muse. Of tales, unspeakable (Part 1)

April 9, 2021 in Holocaust Stories, Investigation & Articles

Main Index – Click HERE

When Expats quietly muse. Of tales, unspeakable.  (Part 1)

 

 

Routine-genocidal abomination

I was working overseas, in a dangerous part of the world. The local town was strictly off-limits at night. Risky at best. I was glad to find the supplies I needed, and uncomfortably aware I was the only White Man in the ramshackle shop, as I had been in the filthy street outside. Where curious, long, in-your-face stares are the norm. I was therefore surprised to turn around, and behold a beautiful young Western woman, blond and curvaceous, with a wonderful, open, charming smile. She was, wisely, accompanied by an unsmiling, capable-looking, uniformed body guard. We chatted a while, and upon hearing that I was flying helicopters, I saw recognition of the harsh nature of our missions in her eyes. A momentary flash of hurt, disappointment, quickly concealed. It turned out she worked for a Christian organization, bravely attempting relief work. She taught. I was invited to supper. I accepted, sadly aware of the ring on her finger.

Arriving later at their compound, I was struck by the solid defenses, the body guards, and the wariness they displayed. Although white, I was approached by them cautiously. I reflected back on the night I had heard the bone-chilling screams of a woman being gang raped. The crazies routinely did it in drunken, frenzied packs of twenty. Or more.
Supper was good. Expats only. Quietly telling, the way they do, the naked truth. In whispers.
I don’t know why we whisper. But we always lower our voices. Sometimes we look around, almost fearfully.
You wonder why?

Because the truth is so utterly dispiriting. Most of us who have actually worked there, who have seen the world, seen Man in all his squabbling, raping, squandering, polluting, destructive, ROUTINE-GENOCIDAL abomination, quietly despair. We have a heart. We are sad for those people. For the G*d AWFUL conditions they live in. We have seen things. Burned and tortured bodies. Hideously staring faces, frozen in death. Their eyes, yet, communicating soul chilling terror.
Years later, we still have the dreams.

But you know something? We are also sad for YOU.
Because YOU are wildly misled by your Media, misled by your shallow, self serving, Jackass politicians, misled by your own intrinsic goodness. Your naivety.
Your good intentions and sense of charity, fair play, will haunt your descendants for generations. Or, worse. For-ever. It makes us despair that we cannot find the proper words to communicate to you that you must, you MUST, jealously, fiercely, without respite, GUARD your country, your ancestral homelands, your culture and your people. Against the invaders, and those who ceaselessly conspire for Open Borders, Diversity, and a laughable, fictitious, non-existent, poppycock, Multi-cultural Nirvana.

Beware the two demon snakes, their broad smiles, their soft, sibilant, seemingly persuasive logic.
For they WILL destroy the beauty of your people, as sure as they have methodically destroyed SO many others before.

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Last edited by Francis Meyrick on April 9, 2021, 10:28 am

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How do you explain that the (alleged) ‘Holocaust’ is not (NOT) ‘ancient History’?

April 9, 2021 in Holocaust Stories, Investigation & Articles

Main Index – Click HERE

 

The brave, the noble, the gentle Yezidis – scattered cruelly to the 4 winds
The world – yawns?

How do you explain to good-hearted people that the (alleged) ‘Holocaust’ is not (NOT) ‘ancient History’ ? When they shrug their shoulders? Indifferently? When their thinly-disguised dis-interest conveys: ‘so who even cares any more?’

I find it hard to explain to people I am close to, that the (alleged) ‘Holocaust’ matters.
A lot.
If it were true? That no less than six million Jews were murdered? In barbaric fashion? It would matter, most terribly. How could it have happened? Why?  And most on point:  could it ever happen again? Eighty years in History? On a universal Time Scale?  Is just one beat of a tired butterfly’s wings. It’s yesterday. If that ghastly butchery were true? Worry about today! Worry about… your tomorrow.

*** Who, you should consider, were the architects? What cruel thinking led to it? Is that, demonic, sadistic thought process still around, to threaten us… today? ***

I sincerely believed it to be true. It horrified me. It outraged me.  It saddened me in a way that propelled me to dig deeper. Especially after witnessing, (and experiencing), elsewhere, on my world travels, where Man may wander, in the Darkness of his Mind.
Then…
Anomaly. In the ‘six million’. I shrugged it off.
Another. Errr…. Move on. I must be simply mis-understanding this.
Yet another? A serious one, this time? Glaring, even.
Alarm bells started to ring.  The stalwart ship of my simple ‘six million’ understanding, up to that point? Started to list, most terrifyingly. Then the bow, amazingly, dipped under a huge wave…

I am a veteran at screwing up. I seem to have perfected the Art. Who else can set his trousers on fire, and not even realize it? (No, I’m not kidding, either)
And here I am. Perplexed, and slightly weary. Dismissed as a crank, by some. Reviled, by others. But grimly determined, to see this thing through. And not to take the easy option.
To wit, shrug my shoulders. Indifferently.

Because, (quietly horrified), if it were true? That the ‘six million’ has been massively, exponentially, ad Astra, falsified? Milked? Used, in the most cynical manner possible, as a powerful weapon? To extract money? Wide-ranging Political Immunity, forever, right up to this very day, from any and all legitimate criticism? Much-needed criticism? Richly deserved? Today!?
That would mean REAL ‘holocausts’ were being obscured from view. Maybe REAL human suffering that maybe DWARFS the supposed ‘six million’?

No, you snort. Ridiculous. Not possible. That’s the ravings of a fool. Setting his trousers on fire. But…
My Lord.
If that ghastly systematic falsification was actually true?  Designed to mask FAR worse massacres?  Orchestrated, funded, carried out by the same cunning Designers of that incredible falsification??
Worry about today! Worry about… your tomorrow.

*** Who, you should consider, were the architects? What cruel thinking led to it? Is that, demonic, sadistic thought process still around, to threaten us… today? ***

I ask you. Simply. Honestly.

Respectfully.

Return to HolocaustGAB.com?

Last edited by Francis Meyrick on April 9, 2021, 3:30 am

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