by
Jaye B.
A greasy haze pervaded the morning skies. At least it kept the temps down as I worked my way back to Mama’s RV. Sure enough she was there but her t.v. had been replaced again with a flat screen hi-def model. On it were aerial pov pics of all the nuclear scars carved into the test site land .
“Operation Storax blasted a crater 1,280 ft wide and 320 ft deep. And we slept in the most contaminated…and we’re talking 11Bq contaminated rubble that night and it was still warm and I nursed my parthenogenesis , downwinder J + best I could.” Mama said. “We used to do stargazing there and you had a knack for seeing Aldebaran.” Mama said. “You would point at the red giant with your toe.”
Mama then thought advanced her PowerPoint presentation. A gauzy image of a hole piercing the sky appeared.
“You knew they were portals that the blasts were opening up.” Mama said, reading my mind. “Above and below. But this one was a whole ‘nother hierarchy considering what was coming through it. 300 megacuries we absorbed into our bone and did the long march all the way to Shoshone land that night guided only by the polestar, where a shaman converted the radiation into ionic gold that floated up into the heavens.” Mama said and took her dentures out until they shone gold and then put them back in. “I saved some in my titty for you though, like a Bactrian camel and you liked it, when times were tough during the ionic drought.”
End of the PowerPoint. It was back to Zion Springer grilling Schlomo Rothschild’s nucleotide triplets, who cowered under the studio lights. The triplets were flanked by two custody battle crack whore trannies trying to stake a claim to some Jane Doe baby, saying they both got pregnant at the same time with it. It was evident that the gene origin secret of all time would be Jerry rigged revealed then and there amidst the edifying trailer trash. But Mama got up and turned the set off. She then went into the kitchen and I followed automatically.
“Those two girls the other night…you were right to pray for them.” Mama said and opened a cubbard door. She reached in and grabbed a ziplock bag containing maps. She pulled one out and handed it to me.
An unfathomable pain could be felt in the map as I examined it closely and realized pain just as deep was welling up from my coccyx in response and merging with the topographical pain. A beta alter started unconscious kicking in, but I prayed Yeshua’s precious blood over it, thus de-activating the military op sub.
“ You know better than me why they did all those blasts and you could see it without it killing you, like it did so many others. And I could see the fallen ones coming through them, in your eyes, and knew you were visionary.” Mama said and put the rest of the maps back in the cubbard.
I went back into the living room and put the map that had been pulsating in my hands out on the table and could see all the DUMBs and the tunnels leading to Las Vegas and to Hollywood too. Made me wonder whom the cartographer was that made it. Most likely a Bugsy Siegel of crystal capacitor fame descendent. Everything in me sunk, seeing there was no inner ground left, for the map blast shock had yanked it clean from under me.
“That Dirtball Okie that tried to get you to look after the prepubescent girl. You first hand saw him going into the restroom in the park with her and what could you do?“ Mama said and sat down on the couch. “It is even worse out here…so keep praying like you do. Bear witness like a good martyr.”
I couldn’t help but cry because never in my life had I seen anything like it. The worst of all, no one else noticing it or caring one bit. And why was Mama melding back and forth from human to H+? No this was holo-sabotage creating a cloud around my head to convince me she was not real.
“ All the abductions are written in the earth scars seared into the sacred skin.” Mama then said, seeing me so pain wrecked. “ I remember when you talked about that Ojibwe woman back in Minnesota. You told her that archaeologists were digging up a 900 year old fire pit over in the park and the way she reacted was as if they had pierced into her very own skin with their pick axes. Now gauge just how deep the piercing into our indigenous skin was with the atomic blasts. Should answer the question that’s been on your mind since you been here.”
“What question?” I memory gap asked, noticing my legs had turned into jelly, the rest of me shaking.
“Your ‘Why do Nevadans suffer from catatonic amnesia?’ question.” Mama answered curtly. “You are lucky you have a strong sense of self otherwise you would have already ended up deep sixed before they’re even dead like them, seeing how normal being gone is here.”
I braced myself for some CGI tweak, but Mama remained coherent and intact. I folded up the map and stuffed it into my bug out bag and split. As I walked through a veld of tumbleweed back to my campsite, I could feel WBAN activate and do psi-metrics on me in the usual, uncouth corporate kind of way. Figured it was some AI trying to get me remote Baker acted and had no choice but to ignore it.
While bearing witness in the park later that evening, nighthawks criss crossing above me, I noticed yet more slapdash lost ones on the other side of the park, huddled together near the older woman from Texas looking after them. Her aura just as trauma cracked, from domestic abuse I discern gathered. So I bore witness as any good martyr would and prayed without ceasing like Mama told me to. Prayed for the gift of miraculous healing to be bestowed upon them.
All on a front line unlike any prior.
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
The prayer of a righteous man will be heard like a shout throughout all of Heaven.
Piercing the Poof Dirt and rising through the chemtrails up and up and up...to the ear of God.
Stopping angels in their tracks.
All on a frontline... you certainly are. Much prayers for you, and the souls you are observing, painfully.
M