Tatoo, Part 5
The $619 Billion Defeat
Jews Jaws Eight Up
Shark America Two Down
Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 348 (4.1 in Baja California; Sharp Rise Continues)
Virgil's Cell Phone Number: (530) 276-4923
Expect a Profound Act of God Against Israel & USA on June 7, 2008
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: The Secret Story, Tatoo (5)
Today's code is "112th Day, Last Year".
We are running hard before the wind today; America should have surrendered yesterday.
There is a code is Spanish I do not quiet understand. "Sin Darnos Quenta", which I think means "Without Realizing", but I do not know Spanish.
My feeling is this means America's great disaster will happen without America knowing it is happening until after it has happened.
It is remarkable that we are in the midst of the Great Battle, Armageddon, and the Americans, those witting and unwitting, willing and unwilling servants of Satan, are not aware of it. Such is the military genius of God.
Such is my military genius that the Americans think they are superior to me.
There is a thickness to war, a stickiness, that those who are in it feel--it never goes away--a feeling of being on the brink of something--action, death, something--like Fate by the name of Chance whispering in your ear.
But if you cannot feel that stickiness you are an unaware fool and you die mercifully stupid.
The seven-day earthquake pattern, a year ago seemingly always to be under 200, approached 350 today, and after we received the Sin Darnos Quenta code a 4.2 occurred in Baja California; not a big quake, hardly worth mentioning in normal times, but seeing the thickening of the pattern and it coming after the Spanish language code was received gives us cause to mark it on our Battle Map.
Our Sweet Muse has come out of her cave of mourning and anger which she entered after she told us of the "Great Tragedy" of Israel's premeditated murder of Reuters' Palestinian cameraman, Fadel Shana, which she told us about just before it took place.
That bitter foretelling reminds us of the promise of her story of Tatoo, advance telling of events that will knock our socks of--both the advance telling and the events themselves--as she proves the metaphorical accuracy of the Japanese myth of their creation.
Note, Dear Reader, as the Republican American Fascists and the Israeli Victim Fascists strain at the fragile restraints keeping them from bringing nuclear war onto this Earth, onto you, Dear Read, onto you, our story takes us to the other side of the world, to where the sun rises on the Bridge to Heaven when darkness falls on Jerusalem; so our eyes will elsewhere when Israel disappears in a tornado of flame because of its spiritual sodomy, and we do not see it and so do not turn into pillars of salt.
There is no getting the Jews to live in peace with their neighbors. God has tried for thousands of years; but they are compelled to pick at their neighbors like a child picking at a scab.
Thou shalt not covet what is thy neighbors', God told them; but that coveting, that coveting, was always one of the joys of their lives.
So now let's return to the story of Tatoo, told fresh daily, your reporter Virgil, your guide through the Hell you now enter, being nought but Sweet Muse's beloved typist, Sweet Muse taking you and I to where? Neither you nor I know, but to marvelous things, but to marvelous events.
Tatoo, Part 5
There were then and there still are now constant Gala Sea Watch Patrol Vessels searching for the seven marooned Space Sailors, Chawon, Tatoo, Margaret, Agnes, Jacob, Homer and Effendi.
Now, in 2008, some have been found, but that number is secret. We don't want you satanic rascals to know how many of them remain at your mercy...you who are utterly lacking in the quality of mercy.
Finding these marooned Space Sailors was as easy as finding seven needles in a haystack. These were Space Sailor souls reincarnated into human bodies unknown numbers of times, constantly at a loss to who they were, because they knew they were not what they appeared to be; they knew they were not human beings.
As it turned out, Tatoo's great error in leading her tribe into the northern Africa desert was her salvation and the foundation of the Japanese race, because the needle had left the haystack and was where no needle should have been.
The trudging western Chinese, following their clan leader on faith alone into trackless desert and apparent certain heartless, lonely death, became as clear to the eyes of patrolling Space Sailors as pink peaches on an empty table.
The problem we Space Sailors faced was not just to rescue them, but how to rescue them without driving them insane; for we are so different from the human being, and man had never flown then--still long before the appearance of Timemarker--and man had never seen a flying object except in rumor and in tall tales of dragons and fiery chariots and spinning wheels in the sky; and what good would it have been to save their bodies and destroy their minds?
It was not in our capability to separate the soul from the mind and the body. We could not just pluck Tatoo out of her situation, because she was melded with her situation. We had to separate her from that, and separate all the members of her clan from that; because we knew her from before her marooning and we knew she would not leave her clan behind even to go to Heaven.
Salvation is not as easy as the unsaved seem to think.
Had we found Tatoo in a different situation, had we found her, say, little western Chinese girl playing in the dust, we could have taken her entire lifetime to free her soul from the darkness which is humanity, so when she passed on she would awaken to the reality of herself, and like a soldier when the war has ended, put down her human tools and reunite with us.
Such was the intended story of Margaret, whom we found in her life as Joan, Joan of Arc to history, but could only rescue her after her terrible burning at the stake--and then what was it we rescued, but a trembling cinder of herself, needing healing, needing healing, as she walked the halls of our Great Ship, Peacemaker, a scar among the beauty of us all, but a veteran, and we could see past her burns of Hell.
(It was late in the game then and perhaps we were frustrated, to have made the recovery of the soul of Margaret so painful to the body and mind of Joan.
(We Space Sailors are not gods; we learn as we go along. Being only soul, we did not understand the enwrapment of spirit and flesh.
(But the saving of Margaret-Joan was to come centuries after the saving of Tatoo, and what took place in the desert of northern Africa was a totally different story.
(Were we wiser then? Or were we just not so desperate as later, as the death of the Earth grew nearer, and the loss of our Seven Souls seemed to be forever, that we had caused Joan so much pain in the rescue of Margaret?
(We did not yet understand, on May 30, 1431, how tightly the soul was melded to the personality; how less our understanding in 700 BC, yet we accomplished the first so well and the second so poorly.
(Were we so much wiser in that early time that we took so much care in the rescue of Tatoo, and bumbled so in the rescue of Margaret-Joan; perhaps not. As Timemarker told us, better not to question what we did after we have done it because we will never again know the full equation of our decision at the time.
(So different were the rescues of the two marooned women Space Sailors, but in odd historical coincidence both were 19 years old when rescued, Tatoo from the burning desert of northern Africa and Margaret-Joan from the stake the British burned her alive at--putting out of the flames for a time after her clothing was burned away so as to lustfully view her blistered but naked form while she writhed in pain.
(We Space Sailors still hate the Brits for that.
(It took some time for Margaret's soul to recover, but she recovered and was born again, and born again, and born again, joining us in our search for Chawon and the others still missing, she being used to the ways of Hell while we were not; but clearly marked by us so she would never again disappear like a needle in a haystack.
(We understood some things; we were not stupid; but this rescuing of marooned souls was new to us.)
Our first contact with Tatoo occurred when she lay upon her back on the desert ground, still warm in the night after a cruel desert day, and was looking up at the Holy Wolf wondering what to do, what to do as death and disaster closed in all around her.
We blinked the lights of our ship, once, twice, three times rapidly, and while she did not know for certain what we were, she knew we were there; and that renewed her hope, and she went back and renewed with her own hope the hope of her clan.
To Tatoo we were Mystery Salvation blinking among the stars; to Tatoo we were a sign she was not alone; to Tatoo we were a glimmer of understanding of who she was.
Tatoo's clan was spotted about 50 miles west of the Nile, far upriver, where the Aswan Dam is now, bedraggled but brave, backs straight though the weight of death was upon them.
Her clan was spotted by the six-member crew of the Great Endeavor, who were attracted to their position by Tatoo's plaintive, whimpering telepathy, which was weak, having been encased in human minds for over a thousand years; but made stronger by the stress of the situation, as stunted human telepathy often is.
You have heard such stories, perhaps, a mother knows her son is dead in the war before the telegram arrives from the War Department, the telepathic bond between mother and child having been severed by the shrapnel of death...and she knew it, she knew it, a common experience among human mothers of human war dead going back to cave-dweller days.
Stress increases telepathy in Earthpeople, as does worshipful prayer.
And so, the young and beautiful Tatoo, having led her clan into certain death, into an Impossible Pocket, unknowingly sent her telepathy to the Universe asking, pleading, calling--show me the way.
And she was heard by the crew of Bold Endeavor, then in the 30th year of their 50-year patrol of Hell.
The crew thought about this, and they thought about it hard. We Space Sailors learn as we go along. We are Space Sailors, only Space Sailors; and the crew of Bold Endeavor had found the first of the seven marooned Space Sailors after tens of thousands of years of searching, and they were not about to mess this up.
(To Be Continued)
Meanwhile, the United States of America, unaware that it was about to eat the fire, passed through the 112th day of its last year
Jews Jaws Eight Up
Shark America Two Down
Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 348 (4.1 in Baja California; Sharp Rise Continues)
Virgil's Cell Phone Number: (530) 276-4923
Expect a Profound Act of God Against Israel & USA on June 7, 2008
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: The Secret Story, Tatoo (5)
Today's code is "112th Day, Last Year".
We are running hard before the wind today; America should have surrendered yesterday.
There is a code is Spanish I do not quiet understand. "Sin Darnos Quenta", which I think means "Without Realizing", but I do not know Spanish.
My feeling is this means America's great disaster will happen without America knowing it is happening until after it has happened.
It is remarkable that we are in the midst of the Great Battle, Armageddon, and the Americans, those witting and unwitting, willing and unwilling servants of Satan, are not aware of it. Such is the military genius of God.
Such is my military genius that the Americans think they are superior to me.
There is a thickness to war, a stickiness, that those who are in it feel--it never goes away--a feeling of being on the brink of something--action, death, something--like Fate by the name of Chance whispering in your ear.
But if you cannot feel that stickiness you are an unaware fool and you die mercifully stupid.
The seven-day earthquake pattern, a year ago seemingly always to be under 200, approached 350 today, and after we received the Sin Darnos Quenta code a 4.2 occurred in Baja California; not a big quake, hardly worth mentioning in normal times, but seeing the thickening of the pattern and it coming after the Spanish language code was received gives us cause to mark it on our Battle Map.
Our Sweet Muse has come out of her cave of mourning and anger which she entered after she told us of the "Great Tragedy" of Israel's premeditated murder of Reuters' Palestinian cameraman, Fadel Shana, which she told us about just before it took place.
That bitter foretelling reminds us of the promise of her story of Tatoo, advance telling of events that will knock our socks of--both the advance telling and the events themselves--as she proves the metaphorical accuracy of the Japanese myth of their creation.
Note, Dear Reader, as the Republican American Fascists and the Israeli Victim Fascists strain at the fragile restraints keeping them from bringing nuclear war onto this Earth, onto you, Dear Read, onto you, our story takes us to the other side of the world, to where the sun rises on the Bridge to Heaven when darkness falls on Jerusalem; so our eyes will elsewhere when Israel disappears in a tornado of flame because of its spiritual sodomy, and we do not see it and so do not turn into pillars of salt.
There is no getting the Jews to live in peace with their neighbors. God has tried for thousands of years; but they are compelled to pick at their neighbors like a child picking at a scab.
Thou shalt not covet what is thy neighbors', God told them; but that coveting, that coveting, was always one of the joys of their lives.
So now let's return to the story of Tatoo, told fresh daily, your reporter Virgil, your guide through the Hell you now enter, being nought but Sweet Muse's beloved typist, Sweet Muse taking you and I to where? Neither you nor I know, but to marvelous things, but to marvelous events.
Tatoo, Part 5
There were then and there still are now constant Gala Sea Watch Patrol Vessels searching for the seven marooned Space Sailors, Chawon, Tatoo, Margaret, Agnes, Jacob, Homer and Effendi.
Now, in 2008, some have been found, but that number is secret. We don't want you satanic rascals to know how many of them remain at your mercy...you who are utterly lacking in the quality of mercy.
Finding these marooned Space Sailors was as easy as finding seven needles in a haystack. These were Space Sailor souls reincarnated into human bodies unknown numbers of times, constantly at a loss to who they were, because they knew they were not what they appeared to be; they knew they were not human beings.
As it turned out, Tatoo's great error in leading her tribe into the northern Africa desert was her salvation and the foundation of the Japanese race, because the needle had left the haystack and was where no needle should have been.
The trudging western Chinese, following their clan leader on faith alone into trackless desert and apparent certain heartless, lonely death, became as clear to the eyes of patrolling Space Sailors as pink peaches on an empty table.
The problem we Space Sailors faced was not just to rescue them, but how to rescue them without driving them insane; for we are so different from the human being, and man had never flown then--still long before the appearance of Timemarker--and man had never seen a flying object except in rumor and in tall tales of dragons and fiery chariots and spinning wheels in the sky; and what good would it have been to save their bodies and destroy their minds?
It was not in our capability to separate the soul from the mind and the body. We could not just pluck Tatoo out of her situation, because she was melded with her situation. We had to separate her from that, and separate all the members of her clan from that; because we knew her from before her marooning and we knew she would not leave her clan behind even to go to Heaven.
Salvation is not as easy as the unsaved seem to think.
Had we found Tatoo in a different situation, had we found her, say, little western Chinese girl playing in the dust, we could have taken her entire lifetime to free her soul from the darkness which is humanity, so when she passed on she would awaken to the reality of herself, and like a soldier when the war has ended, put down her human tools and reunite with us.
Such was the intended story of Margaret, whom we found in her life as Joan, Joan of Arc to history, but could only rescue her after her terrible burning at the stake--and then what was it we rescued, but a trembling cinder of herself, needing healing, needing healing, as she walked the halls of our Great Ship, Peacemaker, a scar among the beauty of us all, but a veteran, and we could see past her burns of Hell.
(It was late in the game then and perhaps we were frustrated, to have made the recovery of the soul of Margaret so painful to the body and mind of Joan.
(We Space Sailors are not gods; we learn as we go along. Being only soul, we did not understand the enwrapment of spirit and flesh.
(But the saving of Margaret-Joan was to come centuries after the saving of Tatoo, and what took place in the desert of northern Africa was a totally different story.
(Were we wiser then? Or were we just not so desperate as later, as the death of the Earth grew nearer, and the loss of our Seven Souls seemed to be forever, that we had caused Joan so much pain in the rescue of Margaret?
(We did not yet understand, on May 30, 1431, how tightly the soul was melded to the personality; how less our understanding in 700 BC, yet we accomplished the first so well and the second so poorly.
(Were we so much wiser in that early time that we took so much care in the rescue of Tatoo, and bumbled so in the rescue of Margaret-Joan; perhaps not. As Timemarker told us, better not to question what we did after we have done it because we will never again know the full equation of our decision at the time.
(So different were the rescues of the two marooned women Space Sailors, but in odd historical coincidence both were 19 years old when rescued, Tatoo from the burning desert of northern Africa and Margaret-Joan from the stake the British burned her alive at--putting out of the flames for a time after her clothing was burned away so as to lustfully view her blistered but naked form while she writhed in pain.
(We Space Sailors still hate the Brits for that.
(It took some time for Margaret's soul to recover, but she recovered and was born again, and born again, and born again, joining us in our search for Chawon and the others still missing, she being used to the ways of Hell while we were not; but clearly marked by us so she would never again disappear like a needle in a haystack.
(We understood some things; we were not stupid; but this rescuing of marooned souls was new to us.)
Our first contact with Tatoo occurred when she lay upon her back on the desert ground, still warm in the night after a cruel desert day, and was looking up at the Holy Wolf wondering what to do, what to do as death and disaster closed in all around her.
We blinked the lights of our ship, once, twice, three times rapidly, and while she did not know for certain what we were, she knew we were there; and that renewed her hope, and she went back and renewed with her own hope the hope of her clan.
To Tatoo we were Mystery Salvation blinking among the stars; to Tatoo we were a sign she was not alone; to Tatoo we were a glimmer of understanding of who she was.
Tatoo's clan was spotted about 50 miles west of the Nile, far upriver, where the Aswan Dam is now, bedraggled but brave, backs straight though the weight of death was upon them.
Her clan was spotted by the six-member crew of the Great Endeavor, who were attracted to their position by Tatoo's plaintive, whimpering telepathy, which was weak, having been encased in human minds for over a thousand years; but made stronger by the stress of the situation, as stunted human telepathy often is.
You have heard such stories, perhaps, a mother knows her son is dead in the war before the telegram arrives from the War Department, the telepathic bond between mother and child having been severed by the shrapnel of death...and she knew it, she knew it, a common experience among human mothers of human war dead going back to cave-dweller days.
Stress increases telepathy in Earthpeople, as does worshipful prayer.
And so, the young and beautiful Tatoo, having led her clan into certain death, into an Impossible Pocket, unknowingly sent her telepathy to the Universe asking, pleading, calling--show me the way.
And she was heard by the crew of Bold Endeavor, then in the 30th year of their 50-year patrol of Hell.
The crew thought about this, and they thought about it hard. We Space Sailors learn as we go along. We are Space Sailors, only Space Sailors; and the crew of Bold Endeavor had found the first of the seven marooned Space Sailors after tens of thousands of years of searching, and they were not about to mess this up.
(To Be Continued)
Meanwhile, the United States of America, unaware that it was about to eat the fire, passed through the 112th day of its last year
posted by Virgil Kret at 7:16 PM
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