Hello, America. How are you?

From that prior brief foray into the tangent universe: flora and fauna

It was observed that the plant system was not perpetuated by either spore or seed, not with free-spirited birds disseminating the seedwork along the vastness of the areas, having taken to the wing, but rather with the rootbed acting instead like a broadcasting, as of the old farmer tossing a handful of seeds over an area.

that instead keeping the cycle of life going.

much like azaleas or the noble fig, with the fig having been attached as sort of a national symbol for so many, as of the national health or prosperity in general.

a fecund stripling berry/fruit of pink and green, a schizoid marble two-tone, with a blood tone being hinted at, or even the healthy green of pre-ripening tomato, but those are just hints instead of what actually comes:

the bi-chromatic fruit of the shade-loving fig tree.

Myself: Sipp, on reconnoiter amonst the extra-dimensional plane, having observed these things, with fingers breaching the top soil, looking in the cool earth for the story of the cycle of life.

the doubly dubious/pollen fingerprint enlightening as to go away: a verse/poem/lyric

shiny things will rend
and the doubly dubious
does confound
but what of the
low breathy whisper
that gets around

pollen fingerprint
on the petals,
a puff come near
makes it almost disappear

on such as what is,
if you came by,
a moment later,
it would have been
but a memory,
and by then,
the next dream
elapsing,
the next conundrum,
elapsing,
and the pretext
that we call reality,
entirely collapsing

such is ends
as of what ends
are as such
of what I put to them,
I ask
did they think it ever,
ever truly enough,
and after the emptying
I never got back much.

in hopes to unf11ck the delta timeline

They took

the roadmap to peace

watchmen on the walls

and all that

the kind of jazz

that we nod at

and broke it down

into a countdown

as of

a deathclock.

I relate this statement

not to alarm you

but to remind

because

of course

there is

still

time.

Designer Dungarees/The House of Seven Gables: The Gorgon and the Googleplex, a poem.

Revolted lovers
who have jilted others
hide their mean-ness
under the covers.

On top of the sheet:
La Madame Bovary,
and the gray, gray sloth
trying to read.

lifts in her shoes,
while she takes a dismal view
of the lukewarm noodles
from which she must choose.

from her brow
static bolts
and she circles
a smoking hole.

the bondage afficianado's liberation pipe-dream.

so it was all married people, swinging, doing S&M, and under this paradigm, every stray comment was scheduling, so you really couldn't say anything much without needing a decoder ring.

all this, and literally, paper champions, circling yon Mulberry bush.

The media, launching satire of Putin, riding shirtless on a horse, and all the while, Pelosi wanting to be that horse, to sweat against his thighs.

Freedom is, for them, just an empty buzzword, like a homeland their parents told them about, that they themselves even dream about, but they've never seen it, and maybe their even starting to doubt its real, that maybe its just a dream.

"More please" and the Annunaki terraforming operations.

I note that elsewhere I have referred to the Archon Invasion in 1996 as the "Archon Imposition", and now I'm using this as a deciphering point to scan through mass-media, sort of an Alamo for which to stand against an imposing army.

And this time WE are the imposing army, doing injury to ourselves, daring to re-arrange and jigger the truth, making it "your truth" or "my truth".  Meanwhile, I've seen some of "my truth" on television, and wondering how it got there.  But that point is neither here nor there, but simply an illustration of how elements of the truth remain even when heat is applied and nuisance elements are burned away.

The Annunaki corresponding to some kind of "post-druidic" "Masonic" construct, interacting in the shadows with the self-styled "enlightened" among us.  But under the perfect light of truth, with beams shining all over, what are the imperfect to do but scurry away?  Why, they would surely tell you they were protecting their own cover, securing their own interests against whatever rainfall that may come in the future.

But we would say a certain "self-preservation action" in reference to the common reputation, even when reputations are so fluid now, indicate a level of guilt, but then contradictory, we are born guilty, such that I truly wonder how many toddlers speak their first word as "no".

So in the borrowing of the original documentations of the Delta Timeline, we could say agendas of various stripes have been "projected onto" or "superimposed over" the original roadmap to peace.  And we note that original documentation, which lurked so long just under the surface of the ongoing popular conversation, was conceived by an Advance Scout.  And by virtue of that foreign culture, foreign incompatible archetypal language finding its way into global dissemination, imagine the surprise of the explorers when they step out of their craft to observe Terran culture, only to find the pink-skin Earth people talking together about the Scout Crews own status reports.

I can only reinforce here that the objectives between the two cultures are incompatible, and not a "duality" in the same sense of Gamma/Delta or Light/Annihilation, not a duality at all when compared to Terran machinations.

But that was years prior, still after the Archon Imposition, however, and still under a cloud of Annunaki radio rank gibberish, as of an old debtor's prison, with the Annunaki impetus to shepherding man seen as some kind of sustenance, as of a bowl of gruel, and meanwhile the Prime Movers eating away then coming back to the head of the line and saying meekly, "more please".

And in the end, the only duality visible is in the Resistance itself, with some kind of construct created which nourishes a whimsical notion of extraterrestrial origin, while the rest are simply clamoring for planetary freedom, as of a buzzword, a code phrase, something to printed on a button or yard sign, while they meanwhile are truly singularly focused on their own petty ends.

Their individual appetites.  Little bits of guile, little intrigues that comprise the diurnal cycle, and God himself forbid and shun those among us who are actually paid to speak before an audience on a regular basis, because then does "your truth" or "my truth" become ever the more murky, and even while it personifies and dances naked for the enjoyment of the masses?

The truth masquerading in plain sight, under a soup of the ongoing malaise: there's your real duality, the real heart of the collective which never stops pumping even for a microsecond, superceeding even the duality of Light/Annihilation.