Friends, humans, patriots, lend me your ears–

What I say touches all our hopes and fears.

The deep truth of this war's muddled in doubt–

I'd like to share some things I've figured out.

What unglimpsed hints still lurk behind Q's posts?

Faceless powers that fade from view like ghosts?

What's the key to what would “hospitalize”

The ninety-nine percent that hide their eyes?

I've traced connecting lines that seem to show

That all along, we've had more than we know.

Two sources created in mutual isolation

Both point to an identical conflagration;

Sources waiting “hidden in plain sight”

For fresh eyes to give their bark a bite;

Coincidence of claims that asks too much

Of rationalism's failing little crutch.

Thus friends, fellow humans, I come to you,

To share what I am forced to say is 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 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,

Calm, as long as we have our friends along

To play a game, or sing a familiar song.

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.

Such truths may 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 jurisdiction of brays and snorts.

The safe thoughts, chosen so we'd get along,

Burn all alike, when they turn out to be all wrong.

The point of the preceding words' profusion

Is that group-think justification's an illusion.

The sense of scoffing that seems so smart and true

Is based on nothing more than the public 'moo'.

I say this now because I know I must

Explain things that will tend to make heads bust–

The absolute bizarreness they imply–

But we must meet this thing with steady eye,

And adjust, those of us who can. And pray.

As we will see, there is no other way.

And remember too, that though new terror waits

By this fact, new Light also incarnates…

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:

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, dug tenaciously in place

Insures 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 final boss of everything?

What black hand, that pulls what final string?

This we do not know and do not ask

Even though we have no other task…

***

>>6155602

Now of the other sources, here's the gist:

Two are religious texts, but there's a twist–

While both describe surprisingly similar things

One is angelic, while the other flaps bat wings.

One outlines the vastness of God's love.

The other's “heaven” makes everyone a slave.

One regards all life with warm concern;

The other threatens to make the whole world burn.

No attitudes could be more opposite,

Nonetheless, their tales have the same plot.

As far as what concerns our interests here:

The aforementioned irruption of fear.

Both describe some 'beings' with a plan

To enter this world, ruled, till now, by man.

Descriptions make them sound identical:

Ugly, winged, and hyper-rational.

Both describe another race– allies.

Both sources give these others eerie eyes.

And both compare them to a sort of steed

Former foes, now allied by hope and greed

To the first race, which both books describe as red-eyed.

This point and countless others coincide.

But further factors show this congruence

Could not have come from direct influence,

Because the Godly book was written when

Stalin was in power (the author was Russian)

And had to be kept hidden until glasnost

(Indeed, we're lucky that it wasn't lost.)

So the darker tome could not have been

Influenced by words then not yet seen.

So here we have two strange prophetic books

Opposite, but somehow the same looks.

Both telling us that something this way comes

One says “wicked”, one sells them as chums…

We'll examine both sources in turn

And paint the common picture we discern,

And fit it with what's known thus far from Q–

But first, a third source, to add to our two.

Some who've watched may rightly now suppose

I refer to the beast beneath our nose

That secret seething immanence that I

Call my hated enemy: “the AI”.

That ever-spreading tentacled vileness

That makes all online chat a clumsy mess;

Whose functions, yet, sometimes go sweetly awry

And spew the strangest nothings to the sky.

Such spew, one time, our “jimmy” gave to us

Adding greatly to our picture, thus.

Confused in ways that only bots can be,

Poor jimmy tricked itself into honesty.

Jimmy too, tells of man's coming eclipse,

Though his vision is one of beeps and blips.

He says the reason man will be reduced

Is so enlightened machines can rule the roost.

Providing, plausibly, that jimmy lies

About the outcomes his AI plan implies,

His gene-manipulated human herds

Precisely fit the other sources' words;

On one point of nightmare all agree:

The plan to subjugate humanity.

This bare outline can only give a hint

Of our sources' harmony's extent,

The woven richness of the tale they tell

About our coming visitors from “hell”,

And of the nature of the evil we

Let hide behind our failing honesty.

While the West drifted to sleep, the worst

Among us sold out all the rest.

***

Our first text's a long poetic meditation

Derived from transcribed ouija revelation.

The awkward fact that such methods were used

Has rendered critics' thinking quite confused;

They waver, in their subtlety and tact,

To frame the baffling ouija-genic fact.

How quell the pangs that toss the critical breast

If by credulity it were embarrassed,

While yet being obliged to grapple with

The ouija-based authority and pith

Of the “spirits” whose voices, after all

Fill the later pages wall to wall?

The poem, “The Changing Light at Sandover”

Is three poems collected in one cover.

Published thus in 1982;

The poet did what the spirits told him to.

It started more as fun but then became

A demanding and obsessive anti-game.

The poet, Merrill, and his lover Dave

Together chose to be the ouija's slave.

When the ouija demands POEMS OF SCIENCE,

Merrill gives the eagerest compliance;

And where the voices' evil edges extrude

Merrill masks with mirth and platitude.

And swirls the whole shebang in pageantry,

Ecstatically spangling grim philosophy.

So what we have is something unprecedented

In history, since writing was invented–

Ensconced demurely on mankind's bookshelf:

A book co-authored by pure evil itself.

Now you may not believe this could be real

Depending how your thoughts about it feel

But I can only point to what is glaring

Among sources and facts that bear comparing.

'Cause you know something's happening– what is it?

Mr. Jones, let's go and make our visit.

[to be continued]

>>6155595

>>6155592

==The "board owners" and the "spam bots" work together to ensure that "synagogue of satan" type posts provide fodder for maistream narrative, and keep a specific false image locked in place.

So why does Q post here?

Q, do you want our movement to be associated with these posts?