Hello friends, I hope you're doing well;

I come to you with something strange to tell.

(But then again, who's to say what's strange

In these times of sudden, surprising change?)

The tale I have relates to all the things

Come to light throughout “the happenings”,

Unglimpsed mysteries behind Q's posts,

Shadow powers, influence like ghosts,

The keystone to what would hospitalize…

(Ninety-nine percent, in terror hide their eyes…)

I've recently found some things that seem to show

That we have more than we seem to know.

Sources created in mutual isolation

That point to an identical conflagration;

Sources waiting “hidden in plain sight”

For somebody to give their bark a bite;

Coincidence of claim that asks t0o much

Of rationalism's failing little crutch.

Thus, fellow humans, I come to you,

To share what I am forced to view as true,

And paint a picture that can't be unseen

I tell you– what a long strange trip it's been!

Something evil is knocking at the door.

And this isn't just some moral metaphor.

It's real.

And to survive, we must begin to deal…

But from the start a problem that we face

In trying to get the truth installed in place

Is that the truth is of a sort we're taught

To discount and scoff at without thought;

Most people lack all hearing, smell, and vision

Outside the Overton window's strict permission.

But then, what is this “window” in our face

That neatly tucks the narrative in place?

What is this box that public thought maintains

Is the only good shelter for rational brains?

The Overton Window is nothing but the way

Social conditions dictate what we say

And think, and what we will even permit

To enter into our belief system's orbit.

Most people don't examine half the thought

Implicit in the worldview that they got

Fed to them in childhood or at college–

Who reads the cards that make his house of knowledge?

The social instinct that's so strong in us

Gives us thoughts we ride in like a bus,

We placidly sit, and ride from here to there

Content, though never stopping anywhere,

As long as we have our friends along

To play a game, or sing a familiar song.

>>6095716

And so the frames of popular belief

Bind our minds like kindling in a sheaf.

And any truth that doesn't fit just so,

Drops in a box of things we never know.

And such truths get tamped down like powder and shot

Before the spark that makes the musket hot.

And so I tell you: people, please wake up

And dump the poison kool-aid from your cup,

Served from such a strange cafeteria

As the murky kitchens we call 'mass media'.

Think outside the beliefs you only hold

Because your mind's too timid to be bold;

The herd-verdict doesn't hold up in courts

Outside the hoof-beats that it brays and snorts.

The safe thoughts chosen so we'd get along,

Burn all alike when they turn out all wrong.

I say all this because I know I must

Convey thoughts that will tend to make heads bust

With the strangeness and terror they contain.

But it is what it is– we must just take the pain,

And adjust, those who can. And pray.

As we will see, there is no other way.

So here's the story in a mini-nutshell:

An influx is coming, here, from some kind of hell.

How can we see this? Let's go source by source,

And try to chart our explanation's course:

1.

We have Q's drops, the stated and the implied:

The track in which these other facts will ride.

We know PURE EVIL in some unknown form

Lies behind the churning of the storm;

We know our enemy's “not of flesh and blood”–

But has this idea ever been understood?

Have we grappled with what this could mean?

What party is Strzok's “espionage machine”?

What power stays tenaciously in place

Entrenching the smirk on Jeffrey Epstein's face?

What levels does his temple bottom out in?

Have we really grasped “the thought of Satan”?

We know that symbolism is a key–

Have we understood this thoroughly?

Do symbols interact with our free will?

Do good and evil battle for that hill?

How far-flung are the nerve-ends of control

We know wrap Reddit, Twitter, Facebook, and /pol/?

Behind all others, one question quietly screams

Shadowing all, hidden beneath the seams;

One question that all others turn upon,

Which yet is never asked by the “anon”;

One question towards which every line converges

One anxiety that every nightmare urges:

Who's the boss, after everything?

What black hand pulls the final string?

This we do not know and do not ask

Even though we have no other task…

2.

[to be continued]