UFOs

pt 1; "Recounts of Unified Field Observations during the ages of secret service collapse . . . 

         [ 1984-2020 ]

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Notes; 5:20 Wed 14 April 2564BE

[ Edit ]

Happy New Year. I wake from a long afternoon slumber in bed with the wife, with more stories of my life in the Underworld paradigms.

What Sets Us Apart

... the first UFO sighting i had was with one of my first girlfriends; we were not really together like that, but who by well versed gypsy education not only taught me about shoplifting but also had got me into the first bar i started drinking at regularly; Black Sheep Bar in Croydon. She knew all the door staff, was still 17; to my 18. The smartest sly cat in the house; an intoxicating Alien dial to her classic Eastend beauty. Looking back now, i think there's no way she didn't have some Xeno genome to her heels ya knowl. Her dad had great weed; Afgan Ice i think, fast driver, a Land Rover; and had been a big deal in the music industry.

One night in the local fields while looking up at the twinkles & cosmic lights. We sore a star circle another. We were stoned; surprised & convinced it was something celestial that couldn't be explained in our minds.    Well obviously.

Her name was Becky, Rebecca. But she was clear about it as Becks. i wanted to smoke & drink with her all-the-time; was still a shy lad really at this point and just honoured to be turning up with such a wise bombshell to a club, who was beyond her years in wisdom & grace. Alot of Eastend grit to go with it as well; i tell. We were tight, but i was always very much a lone smiley street fox throughout those years. That famous bar had everything from snakebite and black and fetish nights, it became known for being a birthplace of dubstep, but that was still a long way away from entering the sonic realm. These were the early days of my first raves. Sadly; it's now a just humble Russian convenience store, next to a Greggs; which is very depressing for any member of that family who still holds it as a dear tattoo in their memory. The place opened in 1998 & closed in 2013. I arrived in 2002; often 2 nights a week at least i was in there. It was a cult alternative venue, it had that edge; and the frequent visitors with a cool disposition to match. i made some of my closest friends in there during those years of bangers, sweat & beers. A Thursday night metal club was my mainstay, i was in that thrash punk metal crowd; anything with savage hooks and wild verses on rebellion lines; i was fuck the system and had the sounds to match every week; in all my guts and shy glory, i really felt at home there, which often was ending on the cold concrete outside to pink & purple vomit with a smile. At the time all the bars in Croydon had strict dress codes & on route passed everyweekend without fail there was a large amount of police or ambulances outside the other venues in Croydon, and most even had an over 21 door policy. Blacky was completely different, folks could turn up in their latest pyjamas if they were dared to bare the cold. The Sheep was different. For a grungy skateboarder who hated mainstream music and culture it was a true fucking diamond in the rough, a mecca for the alternative youth of Croydon and not just Croydon, they came from miles around. Community spirit was alive & drunk on the lucky bar stars of weekly charm there, when many felt the world outside was becoming a dark dead end. Dystopic was my nature i guess but i was ripe with it at that age, that feeling honestly never left.

Was it the sent of weed or Wool in the air; i met a few rare Wolves there; i image over true fiction & project narrative that they were ghosts now, but of the living; it was then; i met a range of fresh mates who would take me on a new adventure round the clubs & famous other ear rubs of London's famed & will rip yr eardrums out & underground subs. The metal crowd had another disposition in sound; It was Electric. Techno, Psy-Trance, Breaks, Drum & Bass. The first time i dropped a Molly Methyl​enedioxy​methamphetamine was on the floors of Planet Angel. they were spectacular experiential parties. A neon jungle of glitter, and lasers and smiles. Unadvertised, word-of-mouth only & no ordinary party; a vision of like-minded people. it was trippy as fuck, drowning in UV & resembled a labyrinth, full of wild minds of the times uninhibited by weird guys who wanted to steal the love of yr life; it was like Ibiza had landed in the heart of London and parked under the arches of London Bridge. Becks was with a good guy now; a graffiti artist with kind well experienced age in his eyes & art i sore him paint. So many of the friends from those days still haunt me as sacred vapour memory in these verses. It was a big circle of people i had become to love, but now its all a distant recall in friends who came had a lasting stamp on my heart and left with a fading chant in the smoke of full rooms & loud tunes. Some i never sore again, some stayed even till the end. One or two if you asked me now i still once knew. It became my brick road to the soundsystems of Nightcity in the Western hemisphere, i was with a solid crew now, & a large circle of friendly faces from the ages, who all knew the dance moves of eachother's free spiritual groove, knowing choons & always buzzing over the hoots, with roots and who are youws. We did at least 2 big parties a month for 3 years. The End, The Key, The Cross, the dogs & unlocked drops. There were plenty, but i was late to the overall big awakening that started in 92' 93' & earlier, i was always aware how far behind i was in chasing this rave dream that had me in their rearview scene as a long-gone thing i wanted to touch like it was yesterday, i felt the rush on the dancefloor but something was missing, i was always hard to please like that; i wouldn't really hold that eye poping feeling of found champion sound in the final holy ground with a glass of time till i made it to the beach; the other side of the world in south-east Asia & secret island life, where i found the best of my life's music kissed memories to read. I would always return to that first island home territory thouw, i was with another crew; and the frequencies in the later rounds would be roots & dub blessed, we were hauling around our own soundsystem now, & i was returning from Asia, hearing techno in those sounds; & my body moved to the rye & rhythm of the tribes at all times. 

Let me drag you over to that neck of the lost Asia-pacific for another shot chap. In 2006 i took a trip to the east, found something that would never leave those dreams, a place that not many eyes or feet had really seen, for in western shadows of my fears without the euphoric feelings, these tales on the road that i had become a seeker of; those immortal things. How to explain, without melting the brains in stories of western shame. Or replays of the same fucking names, trains & travellers who never knew yh name. It followed me everywhere i went on this Earth, that sense of something, searching; that could never be found in words. 

Babylon has become a hard place to dream for me to this day. So i ran; and far away. To the ice of desert landscapes, high altitude lakes that share the same meridian lines of that island i fail to forget; like i said in fate, to the Americas! Where i found those flakes of finest dusted fluff to feed my mates who loved the stuff; it almost took my heartbeats into the next life too early, or maybe never i've come to find in this undead story of holy crime, i would puff, living in the ruff. As those miles tickh tockhd along, as i began to find my smile to the song, when it seemed to never rise for many a night out in the Underworld's long gones, haunted roads, where had everyone gone was what my mind was trapped on; and many walked before but many never remember them at all. 

Shudder the suffering tongue; [ ... ]

Where was the spirit i wanted all alongh?

Atlash i roamed; but found nothing derh

Just left with mortal scarsh

i came to brave

with a long cold stare.

... long gone was my soul when i would come back to the western world. Now i was sat at desks not on decks anymore, working for the most famous toxic brand names out there, and cold hard cash came for it, alot of it. But it was never enough to leave for good. The presence of a demon had become very loud indeed, following me round the fascist ruined streets of government loving creeps. It seemed death couldn't even challenge that demon, but i knew grim was always there, clocking my hours, proud i could hold tight and burn through it for many days and nights lost & wasted to the corporate powers. London was now a devil running a riot. That negative energy, entity; it was real for me, i felt it arrive as soon as i walked through customs; a large demon, stood over me, and when the devils needs hanging, you tie up a rope. For my eyes had seen alot of things. That many minds in those types of corporate crime, never once clocked in the light of day. They would barely boo a tune under the Moon in those ruins. All completely obsessed with their corporate blinds and pockets of the filthy rich who spelt their lives. My heart was on fire watching ashes burn in the last of miles i would have to drive in this city lost to state minds. So, this is where i will take you on the factioned path, kicking and screeming to the howls of scum i had to down in those oldē pubs with ghosts & shadows i knew very well by nowl. Lets cut to the poetics in foly spider webs; i had spent some time alone, and i mean without my phone on the road; where there is no one else you do not knowh, not infront of you or a ghost i suppose if you talk to those. But on the other ends of phones there are men who use it to spy on folks; but they don't knowh death like us & so i became something of a shpoowke especially in their kinds of corporate notes; & the poems become the signs of all my sceenings; to grim readings.

I found myself with a device

It was as useless as a vice

As I plucked the eyes

Of deep state spies

From their gutless skulls on ice

 

- for Blakeian rhymes.

The Homefront had fallen long ago. They all knew me, on the other side of that screen, with all their technology reading my feelings, my data, my most intimate of screening with my mom even, who had always been a vampire much to her comfort in novels with her ghostly faced and wide-eyed tweed. She was open about that too, she knew it; a vampire in the last life; told me many times, like i would forget; she was comfortable with it; i thought strangely in my young age because i knew her as a scaredy-cat, & we had that in common at least if you knowl what i mean. But she would screem even when i was just walking past her door at night. i would never have come back to London, but i had family that felt like a trap & a passport which was only really a handy jail card at that. The Homefront, what does that mean to you? Who are you to me? Satori makes you see things that few suppose or even dream, a world free of corporate greed, authoritarian dictatorial power, forcible suppression of technology & anything else they see fit. My blood boiled over a long time agowhl, always alone, a fighter of everything those state types were up to; you already knowh. But the invisble Underworld was always an unavoidable field i could not leave on mortal grounds where i had planted seeds of the seemingly impossible escape of all these dystopian nightmares i now loved to live and breathe. Shouting at them for hours down that phone begging them to change and leave their corporate greed to the shadows of history. It was a pointless exercise in empathy for thy enemy. But grim always was reeling those records in the halls of judgement for the ones who would work against me, i caught many in the mirrors of perception that none would dare question unless they were dead indeed like me. Spitting over the edge, watching state scum fall into the wells of corporate wrongs, dragged by monsters into the deep where no one needs to see, what happens to those who would work for the enemy; that is The Homefront. Very dangerous place to be if you are government scum following a phantom like me. They watch, they wait, but they never assume its too late for their corporeal fate to make it back from the lower realms of Hell's final gates, where Doom seals their date. Whats the difference? My revenge was sweet, peaceful, i was harmless, upset if so much as step on an ant; what was going on my mind was an illusion, what many in the movie industry get up to as a daily creative habbit; my record of thought, sending evil men who bomb, create weapons of mass distruction, use technology against their own public, watch the poor without remorse, go to war on lies ofcourse; and well; just get up to no good as a basic habbit of their corporate military agenda. The revenge or self defence that was going on in my projections was more like mere concerning entertainment, or therepy if you can really imagine the fear of facing an internal enemy like the state. I was at all times fullly aware that the higher planes were most important when presenting as a court jester to the gods & deities who watch the reels of my third eye live streams spiral up to places no mortal has ever or could ever steal or invade, yes the gods and deities; who else you gonna trust in here when the state is raping brain data, invading the consiousness of human beings like Nazis. My kind of work was a joke to their militant algorithms. But the Rapture would be to such fascists that deep state are full of, you dont get into that career without signing your life away to corporate crime, they don't give a fuck about the poor, the starving, they watch it everyday on screens, not giving a shit. People like me come along and just do with what they've got to fight their evil & that was spirituality; self-defence was just naturally having to leave those types of men behind in your internal and external narrative. Later i would become comfortable with creating a story worth publishing like this based on my experiences, and lace it with court jester wisdom in post 1984 manifested illuminations. Does it sound familiar? Vamps, Ghosts, Aliens; a hoax? Look, people sence things around them that are invisible; if seeing is believing, then what is left for just simple feelings? Most of us just accept that we are alone, that there is nothing in the invisible world, i found the opposite to be true, and it's big news, but very scary if you are in the wrong kinds of roose; & all of deepstate, government is up to nothing good. If they were really serving humanity, sentient life, then we would not be living in the war filled economic, climate crashing trash heap we are all faced with, slaves to wayward corporations. Anyway i don't need to rattle on about justifying my feelings about them. This Outlaw was way ahead of their webs and playing Game of Death & i could reel off many other names who came before me and wrote about it all the same.

 

How did i learn these tricks of the trade. My later experiences of celestial contact. They came thick and fast, lets start with simple conscious walking; i would be doing laps for hours in my home, it became a good meditation in the prison i now faced on home soil; think Papillion, but with brie & good beer at the luxury while dealing as death's jester at the tables that turn in spirals down for the corporate cockroaches on the other side of that screen. So i began using methods to cross over paradigms, for those still following these lines, there is no measure of time unless you are a clock, for thats all time is. This spirit is aware of such things, if you know the unified field is a constant, the space is an escape narrative for those who once walked off the grid; with that kind of lucid vision in a soul, fuck; you could walk to the unknown, places the state has never seen or sold. A very well trained spiritual eye can spot a spy like sport for pirate knives. I would leave many corporate minds, their souls behind, who tried to follow my patterns in the void where i had ventured to deep micro meridian lines. Meridians; also called the channel network. Meridians are paths through which the life-energy known as "qi" flows. Many western minds say they are as made up and fictional as the ether. But in the East life-energy, Qi; it's like what my masseuse is thinking about even in her own spare time at breakfast or dinner under that Moonlight. It's the vital force forming part of any living entity. So there i was going to meet people in vapour riddles & all from the comforts of a well-maintained house in the shadows. There was alot going on around me, that no eyes could see. How much did the corporate fucks see from my phone or whatever technology it is they reep; who knows. Not even me although i have a good feeling. Spooky life for anyone on the wrong end of my sights. And see i did many things in the skies over my neck of the woods and i swear for miles and confirmed by many of the leagues of shadows, whispers on the breeze; grateful dead that guarded my house like loyal black sparrows. There was no one in baseline for miles around, and if there was; it was a just friendly mouse. 

So many ways i touched that edge of the illusion in Death; that which is not seen, was a close friend to me, i had trained alone for years now, not many people spend that much time alone, and i was in paradise learning of the shadows in the best company, i could jump on my bike at any given moment and ride into the warm nights, arrive at those parties that many never seen their whole lives. I was working none stop on being a real spiritual spye for Earth, that was my fantasy and i lived it the best i could; only later would i really entertain concepts of court jest around my mediumship and open channelling.