I have been praying and thinking a lot lately, because I have never been a spiritual teacher before, basically instead a soldier in many lives. My blogs are still mostly about this-worldly events. I am not creating an escapist religion, but one about retaking OUR world, our countries, our fate! And that is one way Virtus is like Judaism and Islam — victory over self, and then victory over our enemies!
Anyway, it has been a good while since I last had a sign of divine support. I was asking our Father: “Do I still have Your support?” I have had many, many supernatural experiences, among them the most jarring one being a vision of gunfire 24 hours to the minute before the faked Charleston Church Shooting massacre, which launched the entire leftist-negro demolishing of Confederate statues, the banning of the Rebel flag, and now the entire 1619 worldview of white America as being wicked oppressors, which has led by extension to the entire US Constitution — and its core, the Bill of Rights — being denounced as the product of barbaric white slave owners.
Dylann Storm Roof was a key chunk of the DESIRED take-down of the First and Second Amendments! His faked crime justified Facebook and Twitter censoring and deleting us off the Internet.
I also had a vision (it was no dream) of Margi as a platinum-blond East Prussian young woman, sitting in a white monokini on a summer beach there. If you have read Hellstorm, the 1944-45 East Prussian part was harrowing. Suddenly, I “got” some things about Margi…..and phobias she has that never were triggered by anything in this life.
“To understand is to forgive,” as the French sometimes say.
It is like that Louisiana boy, James Leininger, who began having PTSD in 1999 from being shot down and slowly drowning as his cockpit filled with water during the battle of Iwo Jima in 1945….. Yes, severe trauma from a previous life is possible, if it is not processed between lives.
So I was asking for a sign to continue and to finally do my assigned task, once that is gigantic and for which I am not fully prepared — to actually change enough of the human race that we can win this thing…. yes, despite them having, under Biden-Harris-Schumer-Soros, just about full-spectrum dominance, as the phrase goes. This near-total power is something which the jews never had in Weimar Germany, with the entire German military of the day, the Reichswehr, and over half the newspapers NOT being under jewish control, but under that of a rightwinger named Hugenberg.
Today, in horrible contrast, they control just about everything and just about everybody.
Today, Whites are fat, pathetic cowards – and aging, at that. Win a civil war from a wheelchair?
Today, we have low-T in the men, chemtrails in the air, fluoride and estrogen in the water, and white guilt in their minds.
In some ways, things are at their depressing nadir. So I appreciate God sending me an either encouraging or motivating sign.
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This morning it was ….motivating.
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I saw a basement room, and a young white girl, a prisoner, and a jewess, who looked like Edith Hamilton, the “Wicked Witch of the West” on “the Wizard of Oz.”
The jewess was stroking her hair from behind, sort of Stockholm-Syndroming her, being “nice.”
“Your hair is getting much too long; time to cut it, my dear” she said, suddenly menacingly.
As other white children watched, me beiong one of them, she and two orderlies grabbed her, closed a kind of vise-like round metal disk with a hole in the center around her head, and bound her hands and legs to a chair they brought out, like an condemned electric-chair prisoner.
Then the jewess took out a scalpel and, starting from her scalp, began to expertly, surgically, cut her entire face off — nose, mouth, cheeks, eyes, forehead, eyebrows – the entire face. It came off in one piece, with one big yank by the jewess — as the girl uttered an unearthly wail.
What we children saw was a live girl, her eyes wide as saucers, but minus a face — just a blood-oozing, glistening skull.
Then the jewess cried: “Who’s next?” The kids screamed in a terror you cannot imagine, and began scurring away, but the room was locked.
They seized and did this to another child, a boy, and the rest of us went limp and fainted.
I fainted a number of times as an adult, and now I know why. This was the first time I have ever relived anything consciously from the Manchurian Candidate program for the kids of the elite.
Trauma-based mind control to the max. You are supposed to repress it, and never know you are controlled.
It’s real.
In the 2004 movie by this name, this woman had been the man’s fiancée, but after a tour he did in the Army, he came back from one specific assignment very, very changed, and like another person, one that had a mystery in him that scared her. “I just can’t go back to you. I’m sorry, but you are not the same person.”
In the 2004 movie, the trauma is far less than what I described.
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So I got up.. and my heart said to me:
“These people…. they just have to be exterminated. And their overthrow must begin now, though I know I will never be ready enough.”
Not of the little jews — they are getting Pfizer-vaxxed themselves! — but the luciferians at the top…. beings that are no longer human, but terrifying, ABSOLUTE EVIL.
To ever give up to them, even if we are without bullets, food or water… to EVER surrender to their savage will, would be an impardonable madness.
You must fight to the death, and then, if weaponless, you must kill yourself or each other by mutual warrior suicide-pact.
A spirit filled me: Onward, men, to vengeance and victory!
This was how MY day began. 😉 Thank you, Almighty God.
John, are you 100% sure your vision of the frazzledrip like memory is real and that it really happened ?
Yes, comrade. I would never harm my “mojo” by lying. If I watered the truth down, what else do I have? Only the love of the truth. That is my magic.
The beautiful thing was that by having not only read but taken deeply to heart The Power of Now, it did not retraumatize me.
PTSD can lead to re-damaging flashbacks, but this was actually tough love from the Aryan gods.
I felt a calm power from it, like these Viking men:
https://johndenugent.com/images/13th-warrior-Viking-prayer.mp4
John, that’s shocking to hear. Do you remember what the girl and boy who were tortured looked like ? Why did your dad hand you over to those demons ? If this is real i will dedicate my own life to end these scum. I would love to be the one to turn on the human sized microwave set to the lowest effect to prolong their agony. Many blessings and healing from the Gods to you and Margi always.
Thank you for your blessing. I know I am over it all because I could bear to see it and it had almost no effect except a grim rage.
Both kids had light brown hair. I am sure they were killed after the effect was achieved on the other kids of extreme trauma.
There was a National Public Radio (US) show in the 1990s about a child-rape “ranch” for American luciferians in Mexico. Pedos paid good money to rape attractive children (blonds probably preferred, esp. by jews). so that produced a steady income. But there was also an arrangement for “snuffing” a child who was perhaps too damaged mentally and/or physically. They rented you for $5,000 a movie camera so one could tape oneself raping and simultaneously strangling the child. Supposedly that was the supreme orgasm for the jaded, and one got to keep the video.
In this book
….the author, August Bullock, likely a jew, discussed something called “the horror filter.”
It is when we mentally block out, or, in psychological terms, “repress” something so horrible it is unbearable.
It is still there, in the subconscious.
But you have no conscious memories of it, though later, maybe much later, they can resurface.
As I have written, two thing triggered in me an absymal feeling of hopelessness, grief and doom, though not actual memories.
One was seeing the Robin Williams movie (not a comedy), “One Hour Photo.”
In the very end of this thriller, Williams’ character, a broken man and loner working at a dead-end Walmart-type job at a photo counter, is being interrogated by a policeman. The cop realizes that Williams, who did not actually harm anyone physically in what he had done to get arrested, is suffering himself from some truly scarring childhood trauma.
Suddenly Sy’s faced contorts and he screams that no one should be allowed to harm children.
I left the movie theater (in the Back Bay area of Boston) and went outside into the snow. Huge snowflakes were falling, lit up by the lights outside the mall.
Suddenly my body turned into an oven, and sweat began pouring out of every pore in my body. I will never forget my socks being soaked, and copious sweat even between my toes. I took off my parka and then my sweater — it must have looked very, very strange to any onlooker — but the sweat kept oozing rapidly out of me.
I was not thinking of anything or remembering anything. But deep inside there was some enormous upheaval going on.
Then the Boston Globe had a huge article on Catholic pedophile priests.
Especially tragic was how the Archdiocese of Boston hounded and harassed a family where the boy, an altar boy, had been molested by a priest, one John Geoghan, who by the end had molested an incredible 130 kids with full Church knowledge and support.
This “lifer” in a Massachusetts state prison, Joseph Druce, had the high honor of strangling this piece of human shit to death. I corresponded with him.
The Church invented dirt on the family, branded the family as frauds and as greedy gold-diggers who were defaming a kindly man of God and the Holy Church in oerder to get rich.
The boy, the victim, seeing the Church now also destroyihg his family, then hanged himself.
OMG.
I got up — and went for a long walk on Winthrop beach (lower edge of this aerial photo, with Boston off in the distance).
It was a nice day, breezy, the seagulls were flying about, and the waves were rolling in. One could smell the mussels and seaweed. it was a perfect day and setting for clearing my mind, taking a deep breath in the salty ocean air, and shaking it all off.
VERY suddenly, as if my unconscious mind felt that now the time had come to communicate something, to un-bury something, to release something awful that had to come out, or at least begin to, I began sobbing.
It was so strange to be sobbing on a perfect day and not know why. I was very sorry for the kid, but this seemed to be about something more…… PERSONAL?
There was a “black box” inside nme, as in an airliner, of a kind of hardened emotional steel, and it was protecting the details of a disaster, of a chld that crashed and burned.
Then my nightmares became more frequent — a man standing in the doorway.
An old man with boots on stomping on a nest of little baby birds.
Finally, I called an adult sexual-abuse victim hotline. The gal on the other end, obviously a trained person. was so wonderful, having that soothing, motherly voice that a really good woman can have.
I asked her if it was possible to have nightmares from being abused but not to remember any details.
Yes, she said in a very kind way. Then my whole chest began trembling, and I began to TRY to cry, but it just came out like gasping, like something beyond a scream. Crying would have been trivial. It was something monstrous beyond all possiblity of belief.
But the truth is that even after two years of therapy I still could not remember any details.
It was all still repressed with heavy black bands of steel.
Only the feeling of horror was there.
This thing, now, with the girl’s face being ripped ofm, this was the first time I saw something from that time. It is simply beyond trauma; it is cosmic evil from another dimension.
But the gods wanted me to be spurred by it to action, and to see and myself to prove that ANYTHING, any tragedy, can be overcome.
As for my father, he was a victim as well. I knew him as a good man, a conscientous father, a self-made millionaire, a war hero, and a leader admired by everyone. Thogh old-school, he even learned to say “I love you, John” to me in the 1990, which is not how dads were back then. “No mushy stuff” 😉
This crime goes back generations, actually centuries. There is nothing high-tech or modern about rape and torture. The Wikipedia article on MK-ULTRA way overemphasizes sleep deprivation, drugs and other modern stuff. Bjut harming and killing children in front of other children to fry their brains and establish true mind control does not need any modern technology.
My father called me once around 2000, in a very, very unusual call. He was frankly “sloshed” and told me he would ‘tell me about the Philippines.’ Then he thought better of it and said ” — but not tonight.” Then he hung up.
In my opinion, tens of thousands of Americans have been MK-ULTRA’d, and thousands have been put through the even FAR worse Manchurian Candidate program. Its goal is not to create a mind-controlled hit man but to take an elite kid and make him into a mind-controlled leader.
I believe I can say in full confidence that seeing a litel girls face being ripped off its th worst thing you can see, followed by another thing I am convinced I saw, because it also made me nearly pass out, children being fed into a large version of a male-chick macerator while other children must watch.
What thE egoic mind does is bury the truth. The horror filter makes you go into denial.
And that is why earth stays a hell. The egoic mind denies the awful, awful truth, so the evildoers are not stopped.
Excerpts from Unshackled, the MK-ULTRA surbvvor account which is less horrible that what Manchurian Candidates go through:
When I was only four years old, Dad started making me kill babies,
his hands forcing mine. Each time he made me kill a precious baby
(really, he killed it), he said that either I would do exactly as he said, or
he would kill the baby himself, after giving it additional pain. Dad never
made an idle threat. When I resisted, he immediately tortured the infant
and laughed, forcing me to watch.
Although the guilt of killing the babies was unbearable, I knew they
were better off with my killing them as quickly and painlessly as possi-
ble, than if my father tortured them first.
I couldn’t possibly live in both my home and ritual worlds with a sin-
gle mind and consciousness. I’m certain I would have either gone insane
or died from the cumulative emotional shock and physical pain.
Since he kept me up late during those rituals-going to bed around
3:00 AM was the norm-I was often sleep-deprived the next day.
Exhausted, I sometimes accidentally slipped into a trance state. When I
did, I had flashbacks of the rituals. The strange words spoken at them
poured out of my mouth. To a psychiatrist unfamiliar with ritual chants,
my words might have sounded like “word salad,” a kind of gobbledygook
spoken by some people who suffer from schizophrenia.
Each time I did this, either Grandpa M. or another relative drove me
in his ear-usually a station wagon-to a flat-roofed, one- story facility
some distance from the city. Mom usually sat in the front, passenger seat
while I lay down on the back seat to keep from throwing up from motion
sickness.
The driver usually parked just beyond a dull-colored, plain metal door
on the right side of the building, near the back. Each time, I was whisked
through that side entrance, then a short distance down the narrow corri-
dor into the first empty room on the right.
Each time, I was made to lie on my back in that private room on a
single-sized hospital bed, with my wrists and ankles in leather restraints.
Up to my left, in a cement wall, was a white-covered window. The door
to the corridor was across the room. It was also made of dull-colored
24
Unshackled
metal with a small, criss-crossed, wire-reinforced window that a tall,
putty faced, brown-haired man in a white medical coat occasionally
peered through.
Whenever Grandpa M. brought me there, he talked to me alone in the
room, reminding me that I had to stay there until I stopped “talking.”
After he was gone, the room became my safe place. Alone and undis-
turbed, I was able to remember what I unconsciously repressed at home. 6
In that private room at the facility, I fully remembered the secretive,
occult rituals. I remembered that Dad took me to several different buildings
in the Reading area. I remembered a large, encircled hexagram on the
floor of each ritual room-white if the floor was painted black, and black
if the floor was light colored. I saw the flickering white candles that
were placed carefully on each point of the star, where it touched the
circle. I heard the otherworldly chants of my relatives and other adults
who walked around the circle, clad in long black robes with pointed
hoods.
I recalled ritualistic activities that my father and other adult cult mem-
bers performed in those buildings. Their “sacrifice” might be a child to
be raped, an animal to be killed, or-on special days-a (pure) infant or a
child to be slaughtered. Afterwards, during the inevitable anticlimatic
orgy, I was ordered to sexually service the adults.
I remembered another night when Dad took me into a large wooded
park near our neighborhood. There, he bound me, naked and inverted, by
my wrists and ankles to a big wooden cross that he’d laid on the ground.
After he restrained me, he inserted a cattle prod into my stretched vagina
and electrically tortured me in a way that quickly broke my mind, creat-
ing an alter-state that compartmentalized a deep and powerful rage.
During some of the indoor rituals, Dad told me that child sacrifice was
sanctioned by God, because He had commanded Abraham to sacrifice
his son. He also said that unholy communion-cannibalism and drinking
victims’ blood-was sanctioned because, after all, Christians professed to
drink Jesus Christ’s blood and eat His flesh during communion.
Dr. Black
Alone in the private room, I remembered more: Dad and Grandpa M.
transported me to private meetings comprised of men who spoke
Early Years
25
fluent German. All of them boasted about being a Nazi, and bragged
about their special heritage. One Nazi was neatly groomed with an erect
posture. I knew him alternately as Dr. Schwartz, Dr. Black, Joseph, and
Yusef, depending on which adult was talking to him.
The doctor (whom I’ll call Dr. Black) was slim with short, slightly
wavy, shiny black hair and dark, glinting eyes. He was intelligent and
seemed to have a scientific mind. I once saw a narrow, gray metal slat (a
brace?) beside his inside, right ankle. His shoes were shiny and black,
and he usually wore a plain, neatly pressed black business suit.
These Nazis provided Dad much-needed respect and acceptance. He
seemed unusually happy and relaxed in their presence, whereas most
other groups of men made him stiffen.
[All these black, wavy-haired Nazis were German JEWS! Molesting and killing blond children and telling them they were Nazis! It is crystal-clear from further in the book that Dr Schwartz was Henry Kissinger.]
John, can fake memories be implanted by hypnosis ?
I suppose so. The Holocaust is “real” via television, a kind of hypnosis….or white guilt, or diversity is our strength…… repeated over and over to the unconscious mind.
Absolutely insane. I will try to make a donation in the not too distant future. Take care.
Wicked Witch of the West? What’s this got to do with Evelyn Rich?
Heh-heh! 🙂
Are you implying there might be something suspicious about a white nationalist attending Yale (the Clintons’, Bushes,’ Skull & Bones’ and the CIA’s favorite school) and then common-law marrying a jewish woman, and then having three ipso facto jewish kids with her, and then never focusing on jewry, just on the semi-retarded blacks?
Don’t worry — I might be a conspiracy nut, too 😉 We can help each other overcome hate. 😉
Am publishing today my Ireland piece.
https://photos.app.goo.gl/XwviRrwXHUHCviJYA
È letteralmente inginocchiato a IsraHell.
Giusto,il Biden bambino bianco nazista non esiste più.
“Perché i bianchi continuano a lucidare le scarpe di questi Semiti?!”
Era tutto il mio discorso precedente.
Non conosco la vita di Biden come te,non so se si è venduto a questi Demoni o se è sempre stato come loro.
Ma un “Giudeo importante” non si piega in questo modo!
Non ho parole.
https://www.maurizioblondet.it/gli-ultra-ortodossi-minacciano-israele-piu-delliran/?utm_medium=push&utm_source=onesignal&utm_campaign=push_friends
Vorrei tentare di comprendere la loro mentalità ma mi trovo di fronte alla mente più contorta e delirante del pianeta.