The $505 Billion Defeat
Jews Jaws Eight Up
Shark America Two Down
Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 129 (Deep into the Danger Zone)
Virgil Kret's Cell Phone Number: (530) 276-4923
Expect a Disastrous Earthquake on December 26, 2008
George W. Bush Will Destroy the World
Looking for the Peru-Chile God Event
Today: Tactics of the Smallville Battle: Point to the Massiveness of God
Today's code is "28th Day, Last Year".
It is a pity, really, that it has come to this; the United States of America torturing and enslaving me; God defeating the United States of America; bad for me; bad for America.
America set this course. Had America set a kinder course we would be on a kinder sea. There would have been no 9/11. There would have been no stupid and fascist war against Islam.
Oh, well, no use crying about souls gone into the damn.
Much of this writing is pain-driven. Had America not enslaved and tortured me and murdered my children I would not hurt so much; and more...and more...my children would give me pleasure and I wouldn't be writing such a bad end for America.
And that brings us to an unspoken mystery. What I write comes true.
This is because God reads what I write. This is because God asked me to write it.
I told you a couple days ago that those who pilot those "UFOs" which you have not yet come close to identifying, have a saying, "Live as if you were dancing before God". It is that concept that has taken them from star to star to star to star; because God applauds their dancing.
There is a funny thing about God's Space Sailors, we almost never pray; yet the least of us, which is likely me, has a love relationship with God greater than all the Christians of history lumped together. We have no fear of God. We have no theology. We have no scripture. Those are all Earth-based things and we are strangers in this strange world. We are natural with God.
Among Space Sailors, the word "God" is rarely spoken--something we have in common with the Jews, I hear--but this is neither the time nor the place for me to talk about God; America grows more ungodly every day.
As I explained a few days ago, I have been staying at the home of my niece, waiting for her to return from the family's vacation cruise; and now she has, and now her plunge toward death through exhaustion and despair picks up where it left off a week ago.
She fell at least twice on the cruise, due not to rough seas but due to exhaustion. She is bruised from those falls. She is a feather being blown to her death by a steady, cruel wind.
Her husband loathes my being here and bangs on the wall of my room at night worse than the queer at the other place. To dodge this, I slept on a couch in the living room last night, and three times before midnight he banged on the wall thinking I was in the room. Banged hard; banged hard; hatred in every bang.
This is, of course, his home, and this presents a dilemma because it is the home of my niece, too; and against all family gossip about me and despite her country's hatred for she sought me out for my help.
She knows she is dying; that her situation is hopeless; that she must get up and care for their paralyzed son six, seven, eight, nine times a night, and dress him and shower him and clean his poop during the day. This she does alone, while the husband plays the man.
Suicide is a handsome thought kissing her on the mouth. If I leave, she will likely not live a year.
She begs me to stay; but her husband's harassment and outrage that I am here grows now to maniacal degrees; and she seems oblivious of his loathing for me, and it seems he lies to her and tells her I am welcome while telling me I am not.
I know this story now, I know how Satan works in this house, this house so encased in tragedy, hopelessness and pain.
I offer to her to learn to take care of her son, and she welcomes that offer, and her son welcomes that offer, but the husband does not welcome that offer, and he seems to loathe me all the more for making it.
He loathed me before I entered this house; he loathed me during the two months I worked at the den of thieves and dope addicts as live-in manager, only putting up with that horror for the love of my niece; and I can see no curing that loathing.
If I could, I would steal my niece away so as to save her life; but to save mine...but to save mine...but to save mine I must steal myself away soon.
Today, probably; tomorrow, almost certainly; and I am asking my Old Pal God in which direction I should point my car.
I am 68 years old. My heart beats like a child playing a tom-tom. I am loathed by my country and my country is loathed by God. It is a pity it has come to this.
Meanwhile, back in the USA, the United States of America finished the 28th day of its last year.
Shark America Two Down
Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 129 (Deep into the Danger Zone)
Virgil Kret's Cell Phone Number: (530) 276-4923
Expect a Disastrous Earthquake on December 26, 2008
George W. Bush Will Destroy the World
Looking for the Peru-Chile God Event
Today: Tactics of the Smallville Battle: Point to the Massiveness of God
Today's code is "28th Day, Last Year".
It is a pity, really, that it has come to this; the United States of America torturing and enslaving me; God defeating the United States of America; bad for me; bad for America.
America set this course. Had America set a kinder course we would be on a kinder sea. There would have been no 9/11. There would have been no stupid and fascist war against Islam.
Oh, well, no use crying about souls gone into the damn.
Much of this writing is pain-driven. Had America not enslaved and tortured me and murdered my children I would not hurt so much; and more...and more...my children would give me pleasure and I wouldn't be writing such a bad end for America.
And that brings us to an unspoken mystery. What I write comes true.
This is because God reads what I write. This is because God asked me to write it.
I told you a couple days ago that those who pilot those "UFOs" which you have not yet come close to identifying, have a saying, "Live as if you were dancing before God". It is that concept that has taken them from star to star to star to star; because God applauds their dancing.
There is a funny thing about God's Space Sailors, we almost never pray; yet the least of us, which is likely me, has a love relationship with God greater than all the Christians of history lumped together. We have no fear of God. We have no theology. We have no scripture. Those are all Earth-based things and we are strangers in this strange world. We are natural with God.
Among Space Sailors, the word "God" is rarely spoken--something we have in common with the Jews, I hear--but this is neither the time nor the place for me to talk about God; America grows more ungodly every day.
As I explained a few days ago, I have been staying at the home of my niece, waiting for her to return from the family's vacation cruise; and now she has, and now her plunge toward death through exhaustion and despair picks up where it left off a week ago.
She fell at least twice on the cruise, due not to rough seas but due to exhaustion. She is bruised from those falls. She is a feather being blown to her death by a steady, cruel wind.
Her husband loathes my being here and bangs on the wall of my room at night worse than the queer at the other place. To dodge this, I slept on a couch in the living room last night, and three times before midnight he banged on the wall thinking I was in the room. Banged hard; banged hard; hatred in every bang.
This is, of course, his home, and this presents a dilemma because it is the home of my niece, too; and against all family gossip about me and despite her country's hatred for she sought me out for my help.
She knows she is dying; that her situation is hopeless; that she must get up and care for their paralyzed son six, seven, eight, nine times a night, and dress him and shower him and clean his poop during the day. This she does alone, while the husband plays the man.
Suicide is a handsome thought kissing her on the mouth. If I leave, she will likely not live a year.
She begs me to stay; but her husband's harassment and outrage that I am here grows now to maniacal degrees; and she seems oblivious of his loathing for me, and it seems he lies to her and tells her I am welcome while telling me I am not.
I know this story now, I know how Satan works in this house, this house so encased in tragedy, hopelessness and pain.
I offer to her to learn to take care of her son, and she welcomes that offer, and her son welcomes that offer, but the husband does not welcome that offer, and he seems to loathe me all the more for making it.
He loathed me before I entered this house; he loathed me during the two months I worked at the den of thieves and dope addicts as live-in manager, only putting up with that horror for the love of my niece; and I can see no curing that loathing.
If I could, I would steal my niece away so as to save her life; but to save mine...but to save mine...but to save mine I must steal myself away soon.
Today, probably; tomorrow, almost certainly; and I am asking my Old Pal God in which direction I should point my car.
I am 68 years old. My heart beats like a child playing a tom-tom. I am loathed by my country and my country is loathed by God. It is a pity it has come to this.
Meanwhile, back in the USA, the United States of America finished the 28th day of its last year.
posted by Virgil Kret at 5:14 AM
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