by
Jaye B.
“The damn cold war has now turned into a cloud war….” Mama said, clutching onto an Atomic Cocktail I made for her, having to pull out an old, cobweb covered bartender’s guide from the 50s off her bookshelf to do so. She continued to gaze at Zion Springer who dox grilled the Rothschild DNA, on her no longer hi-def t.v., about why it liked to dress in drag.
“After we left Doomtown…” She then said over the audience jeers and laughter. “…and went back to Vegas is when you started showing skills reading the isotopes. We’d watch the transuranic blasts from the balcony of my daddy’s penthouse on the strip and you would start counting the picocuries like it was instinctual. Every time you felt something seismic, you would beg to go back to area five. So I took you. Now you’re old enough to understand that it was the Shoshone Indians who cursed the testing grounds. All in retaliation for the military trying to shut down a spiritually powerful place.” Mama said and dug around for her Kools. “But you already knew it before you could walk.”
Mama got up and went over to the table to examine the divinity bonds. She took a brick out of the satchel and placed it atop the pit bull medallion and a crystalline column formed, going right through the top of her RV and extending up into the ionosphere. “Easiest hack there is to counter HAARP.” She said and instantly all the chem trails above us disappeared, causing the sun to shine instead of glare. And we had peace in our hearts and a sense of presence too.
“Mama.. I know you’re reading my mind again. So please let me know what we can do in regards to the isotope qbits we have secretly created.”
“Son, you already know, seeing that qbits can represent 0s and 1s simultaneously, paralleling isotopes ability to occupy the same place in the periodic table of elements simultaneously.” Mama explained, looking up into the column. “It should be plain as day that virtually all the elements on this planet are becoming digitized and it’s going to take more than a crystal column born out of a pitbull medallion to prevent it from happening. And seeing that you are the Messiah, it is up to you J + to do so.”
“J +?”
“Being + is what has enabled us to survive all the fall out over the years.”
I looked at my skin and noticed it had a plastic sheen to it.
“That rather blasé, iron mixed with clay euphoria that you’ve been experiencing lately …that’s a transhuman high. Flat with no variance, making one passively accept everything that is happening to them without question.”
“Makes me want to live in a smart city, get vaccinated and watch t.v. all day long.” I said and then went over to the window. Holding hands, Mama and I both watched a nuclear blast on the CGI poof dirt horizon. “Look how one of your end-of-the-world dreams has been co-opted by the bastards back at base.” She said.
Sure enough I could see translucent plasma UFOs forming DNA patterns in the sky and this end of the world dread overcoming me. (Just like in the original dream I had where my Reset News reader friend JM saved the day w her light.) But the DNA wasn’t human. It looked like it was composed of toroid twisted sprites that rooted into the earth from 90k feet high and fracked the crust just like the bombs did to create demon portals.
“Welcome to techno-sentient warfare J + , my self born son.” Mama said and patted me on the back.
J+….the name has already stuck.
But the Mama simulacrum then got sucked into the crystal column along with her dentures and was shot up into the ionosphere and I panicked when the column shrunk back into the preacher and he resumed his malignant evangelizing, head shaded by a crisp, white ten gallon, with the scapegoat pit bull reconstituted and ready to die on my behalf, which it did and silver bolo tie signaled to me the Shumann resonance which caused preacher to freeze solid Calvin, making him look like a Lot pillar of salt.
Walking back to my campsite I then saw two women approaching me, but I did not have enough time to alter my path. “Human trafficking escapees. “I thought after giving them the once over and their slapdash appearance causing concern. They looked completely lost, disoriented and unaware of their surroundings. If they weren’t human trafficked, they were definitely drugged sex slaves of some sort and I could see it in their bio fields with trauma cracks in them. I pulled out my phone and pretended to be talking to someone, so they wouldn’t bother me/cause trouble and sure enough they just kept walking by me.
When I got to my campsite, I started praying for them considering that they were about to enter Poofville. Kept thinking of Peter Gariev’s Linguistic Wave Genetics healing a toddler with Down’s. Just needed to figure out how to get Mama reconstructed to get the LWG program broadcast here for some desperately needed healing.
TBC
©2024-Jaye B.
Please help support Reset News @ Paypal, Cash App , Ko-Fi or contact the author for other options @ jayeb444@protonmail.com
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Jaye B. is a writer, musician and artist. His art criticism has appeared in Art Paper, New North Artscape, Art Muscle, Northfield Magazine and elsewhere. His articles have also appeared in City Pages, Twin Cities Reader, Mysteries Magazine, Fahrenheit San Diego, High Plains Reader, New Dawn and Rain Taxi. He has appeared on BBC Radio, WGN Chicago, WLW Cincinnati and elsewhere in the mediasphere to discuss his work. Please help support Reset News @ Paypal, Cash App , Ko-fi or contact the author for other options @ jayeb444@protonmail.com
As fascinating as this poof curse story I can feel the sorrow beneath it. Because symbolically or spiritually it’s true.
Yes, and the natives are responding accurately!