Summer Lightning

And the British Tendency To Complain About The Weather

Its summer time but with all the hail we’ve been getting, and thunderstorms, you’d be hard pressed to know it. Dull grey days and black clouds, torrential rain. Ah, the joys of an English summer.

Its no wonder the Brits are obsessed with the weather. They’re constantly asking themselves whether they should have brought a brollie or put on an anorak. Lamentation and doom prevails across Britain not because of the weather but because of the persuasion that the Brits have for complaining. When the sun comes out briefly, they put down the soft top and drive around town just to be seen. Ball swinging and Balderdash prevails when the sun is out.

The point, if there ever was one, is that either way the Brits are in a bad shape since those pointy things got stuck in them.

The number of people who have sudden death or disease is gaining pace across the world but here, I see them and their replacements coming and going, arriving and leaving by boatloads or wooden box loads. Many were thrice poked with pointy objects.

There’s always a long litany of complaints but at least when the sun is out we get to pretend that everything is kosher in the world. People wear shorts and skirts and go for walks. Except for those who are slowly dying from any number of sudden symptoms, everything is sunny in paradise.

When reflecting upon reality in it’s kaleidoscopic fractals it’s not difficult to discern its code. Between fractal and pixels there is alot of reflection, mirroring and inversions. With hidden symbology of secret societies it’s just a bit more of an obvious representation of the hidden topology. Reality is a specific formulation of ego, beliefs and fears mixed with a controlled narrative. It is a simulation.

Consciousness simulates reality in the same way that biters and blood drinkers create the false matrix. Our active participationin it sustains it. The only way to avoid the boogeymen is to go inwards into your own consciousness.

We must all challenge ourselves and pay the ferryman on the River Styx on the way back. The only other option is unthinkable. Going in is going up. It is the bootstrapping of consciousness itself.