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Post by Caylus Ark on Feb 26, 2020 17:39:25 GMT
She didn't always look like that. There was a time, before the end of the world, before the battle between dimensions, where she was alive, a human being with memories of the past and awareness of the present, ordinary world. Becoming awakened was grueling. It was a process that was forced on her by a deity that has long wandered the fringes of human imagination and theosophy: EL. He imprisoned her to awaken her. Because he saw her potential, he sought to fashion her into his own image. But the process was... EL is what is called a reality bender. He was a demiurge, controlling the fringes of our world from behind the scenes. The leader of the Annunaki, the secret head of the Illuminati and the shadow world, he was seen only in vague form and theorized of... EL controlled legions: the forces of Chaos, and the old Gods, stood behind him. Caylus was his final test, to decide if the world deserved to continue existing. A utilitarian, he sought to create a new transcended human being. In a world between our own, the shadows emerged, not showing their faces to humanity, but evident to those awakened ones... |
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Post by Caylus Ark on Feb 26, 2020 17:47:12 GMT
When she became awakened, the power streamed in like a hurricane, lighting up everything, blinding and startling, almost impossible to control... There weren't many others of her kind. Those who could change the very structure and foundation of reality itself. Those who could literally weave between dimensions, seeing archons and creatures that only existed in the space between reality. They were intimately acquainted with natural and physical laws... There was one, the darkness to her light. Her name was Celestial. They became partners in the lonely battle for the soul of the universe. Celestial worked mainly behind the scenes. But slowly, love grew between the two... Celestial had been raised by EL. She knew firsthand what he was capable of. But unlike Caylus, she struggled to grow into her power...she was frightened, and haunted. |
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Post by Caylus Ark on Feb 26, 2020 17:54:55 GMT
As the reality benders learned, energy was everywhere, in the structure of all materiality and in the electromagnetic forces that prevailed in each of the tinest and most remote corners of space. And by harnessing these powers... Even the most heinous of shadow archons could be fought... The pair were fighting monster nobody else could see, in a dimension nobody else knew existed. But in ordinary reality, the effects of the astral war wrought havoc on the foundations of society. Humanity didn't know it, that they were roped into something so far beyond the plight of mundane travails, that they were being influenced by forces outside of their awareness. |
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Post by Caylus Ark on Feb 26, 2020 18:11:52 GMT
All human beings are energetic in nature. There is a field that surrounds us all, capable of being utilized. But of course, only some can intuit this field, can charge it, becoming, Illuminated  We were all meant to be conscious to a transcendent vision of higher dimensionality, but there are forces which conspire to contain the naturally limitless scope of our experience Even so, no matter how good our intentions start out, how deeply we base ourselves in the light... Power corrupts. It changes and feeds...In fighting monsters, they say...do not become a monster... |
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Post by Caylus Ark on Feb 26, 2020 18:20:58 GMT
As hard as she struggled to keep her powers in check, to work for peace and for the freedom of consciousness, Caylus also became corrupted. Her powers grew more and more beyond her control, which of course was El's plan all along: to create a monster. Wolves stood behind her, as did dragons. And her goal was to defeat El. And the spirits recognized her... But she also had a strange connection to El. Almost as if they shared certain aspects of the same soul. From this, she could not escape. After all, he had written the rules, the laws, the entire plan of this world. How could anyone play chess with God and win? |
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Post by Caylus Ark on Feb 26, 2020 18:42:20 GMT
As her sanity began to fringe, the only thing that kept her from unravelling was the bond between her and her partner, Celestial Celestial loved her, but wasn't willing to sacrifice the world if Caylus became a monster. She kept her in check. Even if it meant she must rise to the occasion from time to time. She had sympathy for Caylus. And both of them had sacrificed everything to keep the world safe. Including their entire humanity. And the forces of Chaos seemed to continue without end. |
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CM
Metapod
Posts: 64
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Post by CM on Feb 27, 2020 2:50:31 GMT
So happy to see you posting again. Hope to catch up with you soon!
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Post by Caylus Ark on Feb 27, 2020 21:26:47 GMT
Excerpt From The Chronicle: |
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Post by Caylus Ark on Feb 27, 2020 22:29:53 GMT
Here is a part of the story from the perspective of Celestial, on her own experience with EL
This is before she has met Caylus.
Basically, Celestial is colorblind because she lost her color vision in an accident. Her whole family is dead and she is the only living heiress to the fortune and estate of the secret 13th illuminati bloodline.
Her birth father was abusive, and she killed him at a young age - which is actually what the order of the illuminati had been waiting for to show that she was truly worthy of being their next leader.
But she rejects their crown and goes rogue.
EL had been her foster father, and he made her into a very famous celebrity superstar.
He also subjected her to severe monarch programming
But she faked her own death at 16, desperate to escape the industry.
Now she lives almost alone...but has the magick in her bloodline...
This is the pre-caylus story
"it's not a story about mk ultra"
1.
I couldn’t remember what colors went where. That was the strange part about losing my color vision - I remembered what the colors were, but they only existed in my memory. And as I got older and older, they blurred into darker monotones, not quite the grayscale I see all around me but something muddier than the original. They say the mind begins to fill in the blanks the best way it can. It fills the holes in with illusion and sometimes you can’t tell the difference. But when I see the sun I know it isn’t right, the way I remember it in my head, crimson and burnt. I can’t remember how it’s supposed to be, and sometimes I dream in this technicolor clusterfuck so eye-boggling I wake up with a headache. Finally in the grey again. In the dark. In this endless architecture, this abandoned home.
When morning comes, I’m sprawled out tangled in the sheets. A multi-millionairess who sleeps on padded mattress on the floor. My curtains are white. My bedding is white. The walls are - you guessed it - white. I know this because I always ask before I make a purchase if I’m not mistaking some upholstery for yellow or some ugly pasty pink. I rollover like a reed and the sun is streaming through the window and blanching all the light around me. It seems to hover on my pale skin like a luminous fog. Dozing, my eyes closed, the light pressing against my head, pressing and pulsing.
A bird chirps loudly - my eyes snap open -
A bird chirps. I’m sitting at the kitchen table now. The whole wall behind me is glass, overlooking the acres of meadow fields that I own, unmaintained, wild flowers overtaking the grass. Where did I go? The steam from the cup of coffee curls against my face and I realize I’d been about to take a sip.
It’s getting worse.
When Holly finds me I’ve finished my coffee, but apparently I’ve been staring at a blank wall somewhere in the left wing of the estate. It’s midday, and my easel is out dripping paint onto the marble floor. After shaking me out of my stupor she looks at me with a kind smile, her hand on my shoulder.
“That’s a doozy you made today, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know,” I say, getting up slowly to examine the painting. “Let me take a look at it.”
I frown at it, squinting. “What colors did I use?”
“A lot of blue.” She’s made herself a cup of tea at the bar and she sips from it daintily.
There’s a girl in the center of a hole, a vortex. Her neck is thrust back, and her hair is streaming above her head so you can’t see her face. She’s falling, but it’s almost as if she’s throwing herself into that motion with whatever remains of her strength. The vignette is pale at the center but it gets darker, rushing and chaotic at the edges, like something is about to implode or explode. It’s unclear which.
“You okay?” She grunts. “Aside of the usual.”
“Eh.” I yawn.
The truth is I don’t really feel anything.
After the chauffeur shuts us in Holly sets up her battlestation. The iPhone comes out and the bluetooth headset goes in and she’s typing away on her laptop. Her business is handling my affairs and making sure nobody takes the liberty of trying to talk to me because I’m extremely famous. It’s true. We make our way tentatively onto the 405 which is backed up to hell. Even through the tinted windows I see that people are curiously peeping, trying to peer through. I consider them vapidly. Actually I’m thinking about how I have a reputation among pop stars as an absolutely stuck up cunt. Holly says I should collaborate and socialize - she says Taylor Swift’s manager can make our lives hell. I tell her she should take a day off one of these days. Neither of us concede.
For all I care, they can throw me the fuck out of Hollywood. But they won’t. There is too much invested in me. I was very expensive, and I’m very good. It’s not like there is somewhere I’d rather be. If I wasn’t doing this, I’d probably be dissolving in my empty mansion all day long, watching the light play against the canopy of trees as the branches wave like hands in the wind. It’s all the same to me.
Light tells me I love performing. He’s probably right, too.
The sun is setting and as the darkness overtakes the sky we approach the stadium. I can feel the energy, rising now, rising. I can feel the tension of my fans, thousands of them waiting patiently at the gates, lines of bodies, teenagers with dolly cat-eyes, some of them see my limo and they all start to yell and squeal and stream and lights are flashing everywhere, but we pull away. There are arms helping me out of the limo, guiding me, all I can see are the lights, but I’m keeping pace with them. Holly is striding next to me, still on the phone but she shoots me an encouraging smile. Double doors open and the crew is everywhere, the flurry of movement and I can hear the cheering of my opening act.
“Why did you get her here so late?” The producer snaps and Holly is snapping back, “There was traffic and I had to bring her back when I got to the house! Why was she alone, Tina? Again?”
Tina is not to be taken lightly and her boots reach almost to her knees and her smoldering eyes, but her mouth drops and she whispers when she replies, “ask him.”
I feel my heart turn to goop and my stomach drops like a stone into my chest when I see him - Light. His eyes are bright, blue they say, but to me they are almost white, they almost glow, and I freeze because he is looking at me. And he knows everything, everything about me. I look at Holly for help but she’s not looking at me. He’s walking towards me and she’s still not helping. She’s looking away and her and Tina are whispering furtively, their faces turned to the side. The noise and lights are still everywhere and I feel his hand on my shoulder. The strangest mix of terror and relief flood over me - he leads me away and I feel dizzy as we walk into a room away from everybody.
“I only need a moment,” he tells the crew. A man dressed in all black flashes five fingers at Light and hurries away in the busy crowd.
Light shuts the door and I stare at the blinding light in front of me, flashing.
It’s Light and I stare for a moment. Despite everything, he’s the picture of otherwordly beauty. His hair must be the palest shade of blonde - to me it looks snow white. He has these black eyelashes that frame a gaze like a javalin. But there’s nothing appealing about this man. And I still want to collapse into his arms and let him carry me home. I want to be his sweet nothing. I hate him because I am his sweet nothing.
“I’m looking for massive energy tonight, Kitten.” he says in his velvet voice. He’s standing across from me and staring into my eyes. I’m tripping, falling into his eyes. I feel like I’m about to vomit. Rising, rising, like amphetamines in my gut. Something is flashing behind me. I hear my ears ringing, gems on a projector behind me - my head is exploding like a balloon and pictures are flashing in my minds eye. I can’t see anything, and I hear the screaming. I remember again, I remember the gun, the blood, his eyes - my hands…
And the volume is everywhere, and the lights, and the crew and the crowd -
I’m falling and still waiting to hit the ground.
BANG BANG BANG
My head jerks back. They’ve already started on my hair when I come around. They barely wait for me to raise my neck before they begin doing my makeup. They don’t ask questions, they’re used to me fading in and out of consciousness? Except they tell me that’s not what happens. They say I’m completely awake the whole time, excitable and laughing and joking. I don’t remember any of it, but I just don’t ask anymore. It’s all too surreal.
“Go time, Celestial.” It’s Light. I don’t even look at him. It’s like he’s flipped a switch.
Mesmerized, intent, I walk through the hallway towards the doorway to the stage, and then I begin to run. Authentically, I feel every rumble of the speakers and the cool air of the night. I feel myself in my body, my silvery costume, the air against my skin. And then I see the crowd. Thousands of faces blur into a picture of pure zealous delirium as my fans cheer into a piercing crescendo. I am this famous. The energy comes down and charges every individual atom of me, and I’m not separate from them, from this music, from the excitement that thrums and possesses me.
The energy turns me electric and I dance with the devil, each heartbeat in time to motion, I am addicted to this energy, to every eye on me, I am higher than olympus, I am soaring.
I begin to sing and each word is entangled into a cadence of dance, and I feel myself lost in the motion of every moment of the voice bellowing out of my chest
I’m the morning star ,
bringin home the dawn
watch me wakin, wake this world up
Lightning in the dawn
singin carpe diem
At the end of twilight
I’m the queen of the night
I’m the moon in quicksilver light, yeah
Never sleeping, always screamin
Carpe Noctem, Carpe Noctem
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Post by Caylus Ark on Feb 27, 2020 22:32:50 GMT
2.
My family owns this town. Or, I suppose I own it, because I’m the only one of us left. It’s one of those things you don’t want to say to people, because they give you that awkward look and the mood dies as they sputter “I’m so sorry for your loss”.
Sometimes I want to say, “Don’t be; I’m glad they’re dead.”
Just once, just to see the look on their face.
Avarest isn’t quite stepford, but it still feels strange. It’s out of place in Southern California, almost as if it shouldn’t exist at all. The mornings are brisk and foggy and the mountain where my estate overlooks the town often gets a bit of snow.
My father had an unspoken agreement with the people that lived here, helping families get their children into private schools on scholarship, paying medical bills or refinancing credit card debt. He didn’t have to actually tell the mayor not to poke around in Family affairs. Nobody would ever dream of causing my late father the slightest inconvenience.
It’s a quiet town with many bougie plazas, a gated community to keep out riff raff or plebians, and a treacherous mountain to brave for anybody plucky enough to research our family’s well-concealed history. We never left much of a paper trail, and anything that does exist is safely in an archive in the family vault. Those that know about us don’t talk about us. Didn’t. Now that he’s gone, I don’t go through much effort to keep us secret. The family dies with me. And I plan to let it die.
I’m weaving down the mountain lanes, a maze of dark brush hovering above the road, casting umbrage and concealing the long journey to the bottom. If I’m feeling okay, I’ll make this drive every morning. But I’ve only gone twice in the past week.
I try to picture what the trees used to look like in december, before the traumatic brain injury left me with cerebral achromatopsia. It means my eyes still see color, but my brain no longer processes the signal. Some people keep a bit of the color spectrum, but I’m a monochromat. So, just greyscale. I was five back then - twenty years ago. Holy shit. My memory of green is probably some kind of purple.
It doesn’t sound like the worst thing that can happen to a person who fell off a building, but it does change the way the world feels. Like a gauze or a film. A picture with a hand missing. It cannot grip. Still, it’s kind of comforting. Merely a matter of light versus darkness. Everything exists in one less dimension.
In my universe, everything I see relies on the interplay of shadows. My depth perception, my aesthetic is dissected into exposure, contrast and brightness. I’m blinded in the dark. It is one of my great fears.
Savory Cafe is at the corner of Caulson and Lemur, but I always park two blocks down by the park first. I spend a couple of minutes parked in front of the grass near swingset, but I never get out or take my sunglasses off.
It’s not that I’m scared of being recognized - everybody in Avarice has known me since childhood - but I don’t want to get too close. Innocence is an event I want to reassert for myself. I want to imagine it, and I don’t want anybody to see.
There’s a brother and a sister in the sandbox. They can’t be much older than three and four, and their eyes are gleaming as they spray sand at each other.
I’m watching an owl in a hollow past the playground, where the trees thicken and become a brief wood. I never fail to see it here at this time, eyes saucer-wide. Holly says it scares her, so I come alone now.
With no warning the owl and its feathers swoop into the dark behind the thick treeline. That’s it - our contact. Our ritual exchange.
I drink a medium cappucino and I read the newspaper, cheap ink and chalky paper brushing between my fingers. But the wind bolts by and I sift into it, closing my eyes and letting the chill air take from me my thoughts.
I open my eyes to the sky and I see my owl from earlier passing over my head, silent and fleet. Mrs. Brown, my old homeschooling teacher, used to tell me “Anything can happen”. She’d wag her finger and wink. Anything can happen. I wish it could stop.
The wind picks up and my coat is whipped to the side as my phone rings.
“Hi. Holly?”
“Celestial…” she sounds reluctant. Bad news. Glorious.
“What’s going on?”
“Everybody is here. They’re at the estate.”
“Now?”
“Yes!”
“All of them?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll be right there.” I click the phone off. My heart is throbbing, but I don’t allow my expression to change. If the Order wants to show up unannounced to try and bully me into something, I’ll show them why I am it’s Head.
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Post by Caylus Ark on Feb 27, 2020 22:33:48 GMT
3
The doorway swings inward, twenty feet high double doors engraved with our Family’s crest, ivy hanging loosely from the brown mauve walls. The structure lets out a weighty creak as the old entrance opens, and I realize I am anxiously awaiting entering my own home.
“Everybody is going nuts here,” Holly greets me at the door, ushering me inside.
The chef and the maids are huddled in clumps in the grand foyer, gesturing and murmuring amongst themselves. This basically never happens; the Order convening spontaneously is a security nightmare, and breaking tradition might be the greatest of all heresies among the Old Men in suits.
I raise my voice and clear my throat, projecting clearly. I am in action mode. It’s like I’m on autopilot.
“Can I have your attention please! I love all your cute faces, but please take them home for the day. You will all be paid a full day’s wages. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.” There is a general rumble of laughter among them but I am already floating towards a corner of the room with Holly who is looking at me with big eyes.
“You have to keep it together while you lead this meeting, Sil. You literally have to.”
“I know. I know. Fuck, I do - I - I’ve been fine today. I’ll be fine.”
“Just. Don’t. Switch. Okay?”
She pauses for emphasis and drops each word like a stone. Suddenly it occurs to me what is at stake. I feel actual fear - something I have not felt in a long time. Not a place I wish to return to.
“Holy shit. If the Order finds out how fragmented I’ve become, they’ll eat me alive.”
“We were practicing that technique - that one with the dolphin. Think of a dolphin.”
I start mumbling about fucking dolphins not helping and she cuts me off.
“Breathe. They are terrified of you. That’s why all twelve of them came here at the same time. Just remember that.”
I nod. “As long as Light didn’t give them any of my triggers…”
“No. Don’t get me wrong - he’s evil, something barely human. But he’s been your adoptive father for twenty years...and he’s not the sentimental type, but your mind is basically proprietary for him at this point. He wouldn’t risk somebody ruining that.”
I nod.
“Go. Hurry. You can do this!” She calls after me as I race towards the stairs.
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Post by Caylus Ark on Feb 27, 2020 22:35:07 GMT
Our theater is at the farthest reach of the estate, a stand-alone building nestled against a cliff sheer, bordered by pines. If you kept walking straight behind the property and noticed the cliff (before you fell off of it), the entire town of Avarest would sprawl out under you like a carpet of homes. That’s how my father saw the whole world. He soldered the discrete edges in man with gestures alone, bending them.
Decrepit branches frame the bare markings of an old path leading to a dusty door. The engraving on the silver handle says nullius en verba. Trust No One.
It’s almost hard to believe that we own this place, buried under a cake of dust, decrepit. Some of this may have been antique once, but the wood was hollow now and pale. The curtains hung ajar, slightly torn. And the backstage was dimly lit, which sent me stumbling blindly into the open dressing room, where I caught myself with an outstretched palm.
A candle was lit, and as I rose I perceived hundreds of finely crafted fur chest pieces, robes made of fine purple silk, metal chest plates and other embroidered outfits that looked to span the vast ages of man.
What if I blank out now and wake up in front of the stage? I shuffle past a blouse worn by Queen Elizabeth and what looked to be a perfect replica of Dorothy’s slippers. And perhaps they actually were Dorothy’s slippers. I slide onto my knees and look at them more closely. My head begins to throb as I bring my hands around them and pick them up gingerly. And then…
I was here once.
My father brought me here and showed me these slippers. He told me they were the color red. Yes, he was alive then. Before Light. I am looking up at my father, but his face is a blur. Or maybe my eyes just won’t meet his.
I can see the slippers now. I can remember the color red. Red like blood. Red like the forbidden fruit. And he is whispering in my ear, he is telling me that when we left for oz, the whirlwind tore everything apart, but we end up somewhere better in the end. The new world has color, and the old world had none.
I’m clutching my palm over my right eye when the memory stops - I’ve dropped the shoe. It’s as if my eye was hurt or bleeding, but it’s the same as ever. Still, I feel the skin around it, shivering in the cold dark.
Where am I? I realize I don’t even have my phone. The candle light flickers.
He was wrong. The new world is the one without color.
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Post by Caylus Ark on Feb 27, 2020 22:36:03 GMT
I find myself in front of the stage.
The vast empty theater had its curtains drawn shut. Dust streamed through the skylights, but the foggy day offset the contrast and the empty auditorium seats shrunk into the days gloom.
I am clutching a staff, and the wood is so fine that it is soft against my bare skin. Somehow I feel a reaction. A resonance between this object and my interlaced fingers.
I look straight ahead and into a mirror; I am wearing a beaded dress that looks to be ancient. Strings hang and dance from my torso and my face is covered by a facemask with a crow’s beak. It flares up on either side, left and right, with feathered wings.
Fanning out before me are twelve figures in black cloaks. They are silent, and I cannot see their eyes. While they stand on stage, I am down below as director. The whole thing seems absurd, but the energy in the room is deathly serious.
I realized that we have finished the initial ritual of conjunction and was not present to witness myself lead. I wonder, of all my aspects, which one it was that led these men and women of terrifying renown, some with the power of nations or agencies, some with the ear of billions.
Meeting with the utmost of ceremony.
The utmost of secrecy.
But they aren’t my family. I have no family.
They aren’t my people. I have no people.
I swallow and take a step back, banging my staff lightly on the floor. It is encrested with emerald and painted in gold finish, but flecks of silver lace through specks of unpainted wood.
“I hereby call to order the hundred-and-seventeenth meeting of the Watchtower coalition, supervised by the Thirteen kin who are known as the Order of Minerva or elsewise as The Illuminated Brotherhood. All call to order. Nullius en verba.”
“Nullius en verba,” says the Illuminati in unison.
“First order of business.” I suck in my breath, circling my gaze over their hooded faces one-by-one.
“I have an offer you can’t refuse.”
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Post by Caylus Ark on Feb 27, 2020 22:37:57 GMT
Despite themselves, a few of the robed and hidden figures could not stifle a murhater confusion and muddled glances amongst themselves.
“I will be resigning from my post.” Celestial continued. She took her mask off in one smooth motion, revealing her stark grey-blue eyes.
“Furthermore, I will not be handing over any of my assets to the order. The Watchtower records will remain in my possession. Any further operations of the Order are up to your discretion, but know that if I oppose them, I will utilize my resources against you. Any questions?” There was no room for debate in her voice.
The shock in the room was total. A vacuum sucking in the silence, releasing a pressure of its own.
One of the figures cleared their throats.
“My apologies, Anakim Celestial, but that’s simply not possible. Our order is established through blood and never broken, not even in death. Resignation is never an option.” His voice was hard, but firm. Celestial noticed across the stage that some of the figures were nodding their assent. Yes, they may not approve of her; they may even dislike her or covet her post. But their positions from birth had been absolute. Just as they exalted themselves above other men, they exalted her - for she was the chosen representative of the secret chiefs. She was the Anakim. Light himself proved that.
“I’m afraid it’s not open for debate,” Celestial replied languidly. Her tall, waiflike body was hardened by a steely resolve and her stoic posture basioned her words. “However, I understand this decision will have consequences, and I understand that some of you may be,” she scanned them cursorily, noting the tension in their stances their robes could not hide, “unhappy with my decision. Thus, I am offering a compromise. I will continue my work as Veritas Muse.”
Despite themselves, another of the cloaked members laughed aloud. She had a sweet voice laced with poison, Celestial noted as the woman said: “You will continue? Did you forget about your contract? Did you forget that we own you, just as much as you own us?”
“You have every idea what I’m capable of, don’t you? That in and of itself should scare you. My resources. My inheritance. My...contacts.”
Celestial started, her eyes flashing like a tiger. She begins to pace the area of the stage, ever so slightly, almost prowling. “Or is it that you don’t? That none of you do?”
That seemed to give them some pause.
“I don’t think any of you have any idea what Light has done to me. What he wants from me. What I am capable of doing. Do you really think I am stupid enough to come in here and say what I am saying now openly, without subterfuge, if I had no contingency plans?”
The thick tension hovered like a cloud in the dusty theater. Celestial half expected the Phantom of the Opera to fall from the sky in this moment, if nothing to capitalize on the drama.
“When I said I’d make you an offer you can’t refuse, I meant it. I mean you literally can’t refuse. Because I have the cards. And you haven’t even seen my ace.”
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Post by sun on Mar 13, 2020 1:39:34 GMT
I Love your mind and imagination Caylus ...You have achieve great evolution with your entity ...
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Post by Caylus Ark on Mar 13, 2020 3:42:18 GMT
I Love your mind and imagination Caylus ...You have achieve great evolution with your entity ... The character light from the story is El |
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Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
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Post by Twinkle Twinkle Little Star on May 27, 2020 5:44:53 GMT
me me me me me me me me me me me me
ego ego ego ego ego ego ego ego
blind as bat blind as bat blind as bat
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https://www.libertynetwork.ca/
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Post by https://www.libertynetwork.ca/ on Nov 10, 2020 7:00:46 GMT
hey cal id like to offer you to come join this network ,theres a lot of people on there and everybodies on the same page,for the most part, i think people could benefit from your brain and your heart,,..your knowledge and wisdom , i know you said you would do anything to change your country, but how bout the whole world..can we shoot for that instead? heres the link www.libertynetwork.ca/ its free to join,its .ca ,but theres people on there from all over the world,i know ive been trying to bring as many as i can, .i hope you join,i think you should ,we need more leaders.intelligent ones... the networks about exposing whats going on in the world and making changes..and we are all very dedicated .so i hope to see you there ...we really are at that now or never stage..you see how the masks are already becoming an "natural" everyday fixture in there "new normal" ..theres a short window to shift all this collective emotion,..help us..its a lot to handle..i dont know what else to say...we need ya girl...dont make me beg ya  |
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Post by youknow on Apr 3, 2021 21:18:25 GMT
How old are you caylus? The reason i ask is because your el has obviously groomed you and many other underage girls like you for pedophilia. Though why you like to suck donald trumps cock i fail to comprehend, but anyway thats who your pedophile  is. You, your friend and melania are all being tracked by the fbi and other agencies and the grooming centers of glp and lop are also being closely monitored for pedophile activity. jes letting you know. Tell your dirty pedo EL from me he couldn't crack open a beer can let alone crack my psyche, stoopid fuckwit You are indeed the product of a pedophile group and your monarch programming is all part of that. You will all be facing arrest soon enough and i will never ever offer you any assistance, simply because you are a threat to my people and totaly a satanic deranged bunch of very sick idiots. As for you and your rediculuos satanic pedo initates attempts to hit me with your pathetic dark spells...like i say... you couldn't organize a piss up in a brewery.. fekless bunch of mentally ill and deeply addicted losers. Your choices as i already told you will see you locked into a hell the like of which you cannot begin to imagine. You mean nothing to me as you are indeed a product of tech and satanic et's without the tech you are just a silly little girl who can barely wipe her arse and the same goes for all 3 of you lil bitchy witches... See you girls prolly in some mental ward and your pedo hanlders including donald trump who is el, in jail ... sad to lose you but something as melania would tell you i dealt with some 3 xmas's ago. i dont bother with hostilities ever.... i dont need to, trump does all the pedo work on your girls. adios loser chicks |
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Post by Guest on Apr 5, 2021 22:20:56 GMT
Q? is that you? ^
I once asked G.A. where QA*** was hiding and she brought up an article about them hiding in plain sight.
lol
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is.