You know nothing about your reality
HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, SUCKER!
Flashback! Twenty-one years ago.
So there I was, gingerly tasting about my third sip of morning coffee, when through grainy sleepy bugs my eyes trailed off toward the TV. Not too fast, not too slow, but methodically, the silhouette of the plane silently dove into the skyscraper. I gagged as I swallowed, the building erupted in flame and the world changed forever.
Something about that snapshot of memory, now etched like a bronze plaque in my mind, didn’t wash then and still doesn’t wash now, even though I’ve relived that moment thousands of times on video from every angle — the sudden flash just before impact that some thought was a last minute missile, the missing piece of the wing as the plane approached the building, the nose of the plane poking out the other side of the skyscraper before the screen suddenly went black.
Such a perfect gash. Not a trace of flame, for one perfectly pregnant moment. That intervening millisecond has been stuck in the throat of my mind ever since.
Through hundreds of other crash videos, rocket sledges slamming into concrete barriers and all sorts of test collisions, not once have I ever seen another crash like that one, where not a speck of debris catapulted backwards in the direction of the projectile that hit the solid target before smoke and flame engulfed the scene.
Through all the video angles I have since witnessed, only a silent, pristine entry in the supremely solid steel cladding is all I’ve ever seen, testifying to the astonishing fakery that has deceived the world all this time.
I tried to write this on last year’s anniversary of this corporate carnage, this Communist circumcision of American freedom, but was instantly assailed by those who claimed to know about Dov Zakheim’s special plane that could fly 500 mph under 1000 feet up and was muscled up to penetrate the steel side of the south tower.
What remains glaringly inconsistent about this assertion is that any plane fortified in this manner would suffer the same fatal cramp as astronauts would have encountered on their way to the moon.
No plane of any type could fly that fast at that altitude, never mind one strong enough able to penetrate the side of a building and disappear into it without leaving a mess outside the point where it hit, just as no space vehicle could transport Buzz Aldrin through the Van Allen Belt without broiling him on one side and freezing him on the other.
So there is your authentic history, and there is your totally fabricated, stricken by lies reality today, as you choke on your poison mask, condemned by your poison PCR tests, terminated by your poison Remdesivir, and still denying it all through your media poisoned mind.
Though it is unnecessary to provide more evidence, have a little more to erase any possibility that I have not just told you the truth.
The logic I used many years ago to reach this same conclusion is already firmly implanted in your thoroughly deformed mind. If the other three “hijacked” planes were fabrications, where does that leave the phantom monster that struck the south tower? Statistically speaking, that would place them irrefutably out to lunch.
How about that plane in Pennsylvania that government operative Donn deGrande Pre said was shot down by an F-16 pilot he knew personally? Did you happen to catch that crash scene in Shanksville? Debris barely enough to fill a suitcase.
Damn, what does that do to the Todd Beamer story? (The phone call: “Mom? This is your son, Todd Beamer.”) Oh those poor passengers who tried to wrestle those boxcutters away from the hijackers!
And the tiny hole in the Pentagon, clearly made by a missile, that just happened to wipe out the Navy auditors investigating Donald Rumsfeld’s missing trillions he had announced just the day before.
And that third plane, not so clearly a drone in Naudets’ snapshot which supposedly hit the North Tower, and stewardess Betty Ong’s famous phone call (“I see buildings!”). Also going 600 mph, according to news reports.
Pile on top of that Building 7 and Larry Silverstein’s tearful explanation (“There was such a loss of life we just had to ‘pull it’.”) before he later collected his $7.4 billion from his $400,000 investment.
Or Christie Todd Whitman’s statement there was no radiation problem long before we learned 350,000 had died from cancer due to the bombs that were used.
Or the five Israelis shipped in from Israel “to document the event.”
I could go on, but let’s switch to a short form description of how you should regard the event after all this time.
Disregard anything about the hijackers or the planes. They are both ruses meant to distract you from the real issue, which were the bombs that vaporized the structures.
Reexamine the decision to get rid of the debris as fast as possible so people would not notice how thoroughly every shard of those towers was so thoroughly demolished that they couldn’t possibly have been destroyed by an ordinary fire of office furniture.
The operant phrase that applies to all the leaders, journalists and celebrities of the time as well as all the flunkies who followed them right up to this very day is “guilty of treason, mass murder, and especially obstruction of justice.”
But most of all, discern the ethnic identity and duplicitous character of all the explainers of this dire event. Too many websites today that explained that 9/11 was a Jew job from start to finish have been murdered as well. The utter demolition of the towers has continued right up until today with the utter demolition of the country and perhaps even the world with the same cast of characters whose evil ancestors track back even to the Kennedy assassinations.
And perhaps those missing shards of debris that would have fluttered to the ground had an actual jetliner crashed into the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001 were replaced in a real sense by all those bodies — 1200, they say — who dove to their deaths in desperation — gesticulating wildly like paper airplanes in the wind — with a government that sacrificed them to that totalitarian monster now in the process of doing the same thing to us today.
John Kaminski is a writer who lives on the Gulf Coast of Florida, constantly trying to figure out why we are destroying ourselves, and pinpointing a corrupt belief system as the engine of our demise. Solely dependent on contributions from readers, please support his work by mail: 6871 Willow Creek Circle #103, North Port FL 34287 USA.