Turning Your Back on Satan

(Let's begin with a four-paragraph patch.  Today's piece, Turning Your Back on Satan, was written before yesterday's piece, Government Pigs, but I was asked to publish yesterday's piece first.  Long term readers may recognize this constituted an advance documentation of the attack Monday on the Palestine Hotel in Baghdad, an advance documentation God asked me to establish.
 
(I will explain.  This is because in this work I have always used two terms jointly and in the same order, Government Pigs and Media Weasels, and the Palestine Hotel houses foreign journalists, that is, foreign media weasels; so the pattern was continued in the news.
 
(While not an important advance documentation, perhaps, it begs the question:  Why has journalism betrayed Virgil Kret, damned good journalist and the only audible mental telepath in human history?  By extension it asks:  What does it take to end that betrayal?
 
(Since I am pointing out codes today, the title of today's piece contains a code.  The phase is usually "Turn your back on Satan", and the use of "Turning" here suggests your back will be turned for you.)
 
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Last Friday we established in rough form the Timing Code of God's attack on the wealthy and powerful of the United States of America.
 
I plan today to fine tune that code somewhat, and I expect very soon to see a remarkable divine attack on the dictating force of America, Big Money, an attack which matches the Timing Code.  As I told you yesterday, I am expecting that attack to begin on or about October 31, Halloween.
 
To make myself clear at the outset, this event I am anticipating will not be a human-generated event; that is, not an event of sabotage, terrorism, assassination, madness, or revolution, and most certainly not of Republican American Fascism's planned expansion.
 
It will reveal God's power, or, for the atheists among you, an inexplicable phenomenon or an event of huge mathematical improbability will occur.
 
As I look at this approaching event I am thinking this event might be great enough to free me from America's torture-enslavement,
 
I think the best thing for me to do for you today is continue to show you the battle map which had stopped at "Slippery Slope", the event which later became the destruction of New Orleans.  The battle map was always meant to go on, but the closing down by America of my previous Internet site prevented its being finished.
 
That said, let's return to the scene I described to you on Friday when I had been saved by a tree, as God had told me the day before I would be.
 
You may recall that my pack, scooting down the slippery slope beside me, had continued on over the cliff and crashed upon the boulders of the stream below, breaking its frame, like my back would have been broken had it not been for God's promised tree .
 
I love the peeks into the future God gives me now and then.  Well, "now and then" is not accurate; daily, hourly, and sometimes minute by minute.
 
The scene I described to you, my slide toward doom interrupted by a pre-announced tree, was of course a real event, as was the six-week backpacking trip through untrailed wilderness with no resupply this war map is based on.
 
God asked me perhaps a year ago to use this hike as an overlay to this war map because God knows how much I loved that hike and the other deep wilderness long duration hikes I have taken.
 
That is, (Do you understand ?) God has been altering human events to coincide with that map
 
America having cut off its nose to spite its face by closing down the Internet site on which that map was posted and followed, I cannot refer you to evidence.  Bad luck for the rich and powerful of America, but I do not think it is bad luck for you real people.
 
Now let's fill in the rest of the map, there are only a few more miles to go before we reach the Pacific Ocean.
 
As we do that, let's create a metaphor in which we see the pack, the broken pack, as representing the rich and powerful, whom we lug upon our backs and think we cannot do without.  Dear Reader,  we think that is true because we are told that by the rich and powerful over and over and over again, while they blind us and rob us blind.
 
I am saying if the rich do not change God will remove them from God's Earth, and in that case you are going to have to learn to get along without them, so start getting used to the idea because the rich are sure as Hell are planning on get along without you.
 
So, to return to our narrative and my to attempt to work out the timing of this approaching most remarkable space war event.
 
After having stopped my slide toward death by putting me feet up so they hit the trunk of the fallen tree I was about to slide under, I caught my breath for a minute, and decided to find out where I was.
 
By this time it was dark, as dark as a Republican American Fascist's heart, and I climbed up upon the log and made my way along the length of it, feeling for branches and tapping like a blind man with my Chinese fighting stave, which I had somehow held onto.
 
As I did this my old friend, my Angel, said in her sweet voice, "Death is as easy as falling off a log?"  Funny Angel, don't you think?
 
I moved along the log until I reached a point where it was lying on the ground and not three feet above it where I came aboard.  I stepped down from the log and tapped my way along, and saw in the faint light a small tree and made my way there, thinking I might find a flat place to spend the night.
 
What I am about to tell you now I did not discover until the next morning, but as I walked to that tree I walked along the face of a cliff where there in the morning seemed to be absolutely no foot holds.  There were of course, I did not float across the void, but it was blind luck or God who put my feet in just the right place at each step, and I suppose it was God since I am not that lucky.   I would never have attempted the same walk had it been daylight, so treacherous it was.
 
So, having walked across that zone I would never have dared to walk across had it been daylight I came to the little tree, which I found to be standing right on the edge of the cliff (again somewhat like in the childhood dream I told you about Friday).
 
It arced out a little at perhaps a 25 degree angle and then shot up straight; so I could sit on that part of the trunk that was angled over the cliff face, dangle my legs and put my arms around the part of the tree that was vertical and hold on for dear life; not unlike, I thought at the time, a boy on his hobbyhorse.
 
Then, of course, being human I began to grouse and bitch, I'm cold, its foggy and damp, I don't have my coat, I am going to have to sit here eight hours until the sun comes up, woe is me, woe is me.
 
And God said, "Virgil, you're not dead, are you?"
 
As the night went on I became too sleepy to be kept awake by the cold, so I looped my belt through a root that ran just above the ground, and so attached, fell asleep.
 
In the morning I made my way with great difficulty down to the stream, losing in the process my Chinese fighting stave.
 
I reached the stream, drank quite a bit of water, and walked upstream to retrieve my broken pack and with it my sleeping bag, and there saw the horrible steep cliff God had saved me from.
 
I was six weeks out and had almost no food left.  If I recall I chewed on a little uncooked oatmeal, then lay down on the sunny, warm grass by the stream and slept a beautiful, deep sleep, the Sleep of the Lucky to be Alive.
 
Now to continue drawing the map, there are only two more stops to it.
 
I made my way down stream and suddenly came upon a man-made trail, the first I had seen in about two weeks.   As I walked along it I came upon a hot springs around which a pool had been molded by human hands.
 
I had my first warm bath in six weeks.
 
Then I walked along on the remarkably good trail and came to a large camping area, with outhouses and fire rings.  I was accidentally on land owned by the University of California, but there was no other way to the ocean, and I did not realize what a dire violation I had committed.  I slept a good sleep, my greatest wilderness adventure almost over.
 
In the morning I was awakened by a young man who was paid to guard the place, and he rudely ordered me to move along, coughing the cowardly fascist torture-cough, like I was a bum at the Ritz or something; and fortunately for us both he had his girlfriend with him, and fortunately for us both I had lost my Chinese fighting stave, because I had been six weeks in deep wilderness and I was hard as nails and could with ease swing my Chinese fighting stave three thousand times over my head like a samurai sword without stopping; and I just did not feel like being hounded by yet another fascist American.
 
So I packed up, of course, slowly, of course, with the fascist American hounding me, of course, cough cough cough cough, and he drove me to the gate which was across Highway One from the Pacific, thereby finishing the hike and thereby marking the place on the map where I will be victorious.
 
So, you can expect events to re-enact the latter part of the hike in this way:  The rich and powerful will reach the hot springs on about Halloween, and there they will learn their souls are in hot water.  At the next stop they will be ordered to repent or leave the planet; and failing to do that they will be driven into the sea.
 
Remember now, this is metaphor; but perhaps you can see how the Slippery Slope metaphor being played out in the destruction of New Orleans.
 
Now all we do, you and I, is watch the news and see how this plays out; and in the mean time I will tell you more about how our Earth is going to be dead in less than sixty years, and suggest some ways you might work with God to save it.