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Enthused, Enamored or Evasive
Upon My Return to Swiitzerlland .. .. .. Upon My Return to Sw tzer and
Angelliina Lazar Muses .. .. .. nge na azar Muses
This has been a pattern, I have seen. Most are agents who I deal with at this level, I have found. They ve lost their humanity, lost their virtue, lost their ability to connect personally. They are robotic and virtually have no soul; they re of another race, another breed, another creed, ever doing another deed They turned into something else, and are no more . Especially, the Swiss: they are a programmed race, I ve concluded. It is the country of the illuminati, there is no doubt in my mind. Superficial eyes cannot see this. But it is so Their people resemble more robots than actual people amidst all the nationalities of the earth. It is their country of choice. Where they harbour their wealth and keep it away from prying eyes so as to organize themselves compactly and succinctly in a controlled state with a pre-programmed agenda. One that is theirs, and theirs for all the world. It is a police state: where they operate globally from this very pretty central hub. This is where the global private banking headquarters finds its abode. It is where all the international institutions are based, entrenched, poised and prepared to serve the New World Order. No wonder they frown over foreigners as they feel superior to any and all of them. They have been trained and programmed to think and act this way. Reptilians, illuminati and masons abound in this small country of big heads. No wonder I don t like these people much. They are void of life, void of spirituality, void of God, yea, void of virtue
They are money-centered, egocentric, extremely selfish, inordinately arrogant. Everything revolves around their money: the money which they unfairly earned, thinking all prerogative and privileges are theirs for that taking. And take, they do. But where there is no money, they squash those beings, ridicule them, stamp them out so that they will always remain non-factors - if only it were up to them, if only there were no God above. And this they do so as not to waste their unimportant time which they would rather wile away amongst themselves, speaking would-be nothings, thinking they are veritable somethings . They are not a real people - without real justifiable emotions, without essential godly virtue, without innate true joy. Lifeless and listless, they are paranoid in a quiet sort of way. Never stepping out of line for any single solitary instance. O, no; everything is so contrived and programmed, working like an exact Swiss watch in painful synchronous motions, it boggles the mind people could live in such a staged fashion, so oblivious to Life and the Living. The stakes are high; the punishment even greater if they conform not and submit not o, so perfectly. No worries there . They shall never step out of line. O, no, not they! For even that was programmed within them, in case the ghastly thought emerged; and so, another trigger was put into place, only this one, internal, which kicks in and steps up to the plate to take over if ever they had a spiritual revelation to enlighten them they are on the wrong path, not the one that leads to Salvation. And so, you see, they live perfectly . Perfectly lifelessly. . . And amongst all the seemingly perfect beauty: amongst the valleys and the mountains, the myriad of lakes nad mini-lakes upon which is situated their perfect au couture landscaping, draped upon an already perfect natural landscape, which none of them will ever enjoy as please: they are not programmed to do so; therefore, the conception doth not exist (end of story; stick in a period make that an exclamation mark; exit right, curtains down; next scene begins). The veriest life has been siphoned out of them for the sake of money and power. And so, they know only their assignments, timed to the very, very minute. All other time does not exist for them, and so they wile it away. For all other time for them is down-time, where they make certain to do nothing at all of any importance. The other times (the up-times) and only times that count, they feel they are all-important gods upon the earth, creating their own order, way and being, secretly enslaving the masses. Ironically, though, they lost the higher order of all, the only Way, their very being. . . All other peoples do not exist for them as any significant factors in this life; for them, they are but monetary, economic, financial and political infidels on a micro, macro and global level. And this unceasing quiet underlying
animosity towards all those outside their own circles thickens the air with this, their pulsating emanating energy, wrapped in a coat of ultra-arrogance and boastful pride, with all their puffed up states and egocentricity, ostentatious behaviours, exacting mannerisms and bizarrely inhumane thought patterns, you can almost cut it with a knife. It is that thick a spiritual heavy dark and invisibly opaque fog they live in and abide by. No wonder they never see anything, or at least, as it really is .
They are not their real selves, but programmed into something other , something very other . And so for all us other others : just know, they were never that which we are, although pretend to be... They are contrived. - Programmed how to think and what to do. And what fits not into their scheme fits not into their mind. The best thing, I think for Switzerland would be for their conductors to run their trains purposely tens of seconds late, even a daring minute and a half or so (but let s not time it); for their watchmakers to willfully allow some of their finest creations defects with which to puncture their perfect synchronicities over the very very decades and pedantic, fastidious painstaking Swiss centuries; for them to allow even their chocolate to freely exhibit some dark spots in the odd bar here and there; and for the odd village to grow imperfect flowers in not such opaque and vibrant colours! Maybe then, they would begin to open up their eyes to human possibilities and a joyful spontaneity they are void of in their natural - excuse me - contrived state. Maybe then, they could begin to smell the roses if they d only simply allow them to grow wildly in lieu of perfectly pruning them on time in their most exacting seasons; and perhaps they would best be off to go ahead and just allow some weeds to grow amidst their perfectly manicured gardens and perfectly tilled land and perfectly mowed greener than green and super
green lawns. Perhaps a freak hodge podge of willy nilly colored roses with now, here s an idea a splash of other flowers, tulips, daffodils, non-matching, will do the trick - planted haphazardly in various yards across some cantons will do the trick so but may they be not any specific, certain and specified colours rigidly planted and rigidly spaced equally one from a painstaking other. Thus, we can effectively create a landscape less contrived, breathing more from the depths of its bowels, allow them to enjoy whatever they planted, and allowing nature to be well, just that: nature! .
And perhaps, most of all what I would like to see is some of their poshest bankers actually opening up their ominous doors of their ritzy banks a little late some days, randomly causing lines to actually form on the ever famed Bahnhofstrasse, inciting investors with their perfectly pressed hankerchiefs in their breast pockets of their double breasted navy blue suit (the one he wears on Thursdays, let s say, as opposed to his Monday one), forcing them to actually use their hanky to wipe off actual sweat that could viable form on their brow dripping down to their perfectly teased brow. Perhaps it would cause them to actually huff and puff, creating an audible sound from them, and on a good day, it would even prompt them to complain passionately instead of being too engrossed and focused on their endlessly all too sinister silence day and night, night and day month after month, year after year, decade after monotonous decade of pernicious and total lack of any and all emotion! Voila!.... Maybe if they just allowed life to flow as God intended, and people actually entered into the real scene of Life, painted right before them by the Mighty Hand Above - which they remain oblivious to - they would enjoy real spontaneity, without knowing the outcome in advance! Then, I say, their very clock yes, the Swiss one all too particular and pedantically made - would turn back on them, and hopefully, even fail them! The scales, then, would tumble off their eyes wide shut, mercilessly, relentlessly, and finally as their minds would actually become enlightened as they found room for God within their hearts, within their souls, within their lives Just maybe All in all, we shall see about this very soon, as I must return for a visit just about now to see what is and what has become of all their isn ts they swear by and abide in...
It is then that I ll assess how much more entrenched their sordid trends became, and the detrimental effects, thereof, which snowballed upon their detrimental quasi-foundations of contrived being-ness which they lived in far too long already . Switzerland: beautiful from the outside each and every village (no exception), every town, every city too perfect to imagine, much less to gaze upon.
Yet no one is able to enjoy one of them with all their heart and all their mind, for that, they seem not to possess. And if in some strange fluke of some freak moment their heart succeeded to surface, well, then - instantaneously, on queue - the quasi-mind would knows immediately what to do. It would shove the heart down deeper yet into never-never land, rebuking it for daring to show it still remained there half-alive somewhere inside, lost amidst the questionable organs they possess. For it must never be forgotten that the heart must continue to remain enslaved to the programmed minds and states and bodies and their non-beings so as to leave them virtually soulless and spirit-less, heartless and void of any and all innate emotion. How s that for perfect packaging, a diplomatic decorum extraordinaire, and a perfect vision for any studio sitting any which portraitist could at any time paint any hour of the day of any which puritan Swiss persona, perfectly posed, perfectly primed, perfectly gauged, and perfectly paid . . . Switzerland: the Disneyland of international bankers and sinister illuminati. Regulated via stealth mode, but just short of being visible. For even the surveillance is pre-programmed and tucked away carefully with an exacting placement here, there, and everywhere. All is hidden and controlled at every corner, every bank, every single five star hotel, their fine dining restaurants, each and every significant key alcove and glitzy junction that could serve as a meeting place: all this must be factored in and perfectly fitted with apparatae. And it is behind this invisible curtain that the symphony is made to function in perfect synchronicity, as though it were all per chance Switzerland: a dangerous place to make one s abode if one still wishes to remain alive; that is, full of life. Where one could easily lose their heart, their soul their mind, their life yes, while still living . To live lifelessly forevermore, soul-lessly, and heartlessly, perfectly programmed in your mind. Thence, not being aware of anything that s real, being swooped into this ever neverland, one could create that which exists not, incorporating it into a veritable quasi-life of synonomous superficial values, serving their bogus powers pretending they, too, are gods; correction: who have convince themselves that they, too, are gods, giving every indication that they are unto their golden dawn ever emerging upon their horizon which never seems to draw nearer, save in the myriad of visions in their convoluted minds. Then, you too, could live for the age of aquarius, an age conjured up by their
imposter of a god they serve, decimating their life even whilst they quasi-live here upon the earth! The one whom they mightily serve with all their beings, yet totally clueless and ever oblivious of doing so in some strange impossiblish way. For only through some internal real looking glass or absolute peep hole, fashioned from Above, do they ever see and know, but that is never allowed to actually register! And so, totally void of any and all godly reality from on High, they continue to remain totally void of life and real substance, unable to save their souls and their minds and their hearts and their beings. And think that all admire them and are envious. Astounding!. . . A fairlyland of a state, which looks so perfect, yet exists not in real time; for even their time is contrived, and operates on some other platform from another, let us say, tinsel world: one which really exists not, but is forced into being .
A contriived natiion off a contriived peoplle .... A contr ved nat on o a contr ved peop e
Switzerland: the biggest sham of all countries, living for itself and for its own native people; correction: human bred computers. Yet behind all the curtains of all of its façades, lies a lurking menacing living beast with myriads of hands and feet and minds, moving all in synchronicity, gathering every region of the world, ushering them under its feet as a much desired footstool. Allow me to correct my verbiage: ushering the world under its claws where it yearns for all the world to be: under its umbrella; under its very, very jurisdiction; under its super-scope and microscope; under its up-to-now dormant domain; under its veriest territory so that she can adopt them each region of the globe as another ever bliss Swiss canton. And all this is accomplished oh, so diplomatically, oh, so quietly and unassumingly, oh, so punctually and prettily. Under the perfect beauty of the most shallow still life nature I ever did see. Even their nature, I believe, is not fully convinced it is real;, and so, it, too, just poses perfectly in case one of its masters might snap a picture of it any which moment. Yes, so it just sits pretty, all day long, untiringly and ever so obtrusively, hardly blowing in the wind, with every blade of grass in place, petals on the roses intact, and even the leaves in autumn conspire to turn gold and red on queue so that they will make a better snapshot whenever someone passes by who might just think to capture the fleeting moment.
It reminds me of what their very people do in all their padded leather oversized chaises amidst their perfectly decorated hotels or banks or offices or homes or luscious gardens or anywhere else they might feign retire to to pose and think (but think as they ought and as they are taught) . . . Let us see how I shall fair in convincing them that life is actually real and dynamic, charismatic, invigorating, even titillating!. . . . A dreaded task. - But much needed. For much will be divulged in these appalling conversations which will rock their foundation and mine. Much, indeed, revealed. Much discovered. Much recovered. Much rebuttled. God Be with Me as I Enter into the Land of the Non-Liiviing .. .. .. the Land of the Non-L v ng
Where they do not serve Christ, but lo, the other one - whose name they never seem to get just right; rather, they conjure up for him a host of various titles, names, insignia, signs and symbols. B ut never will they just admit his real name, admit it s really him they serve, admit their his and he is theirs, admit the truth, admit the lie they live in . That is WHY between me and them, there IS NO CONNECTION.
THAT,, My Friiend,, iis WHY .. .. .. .. THAT My Fr end s WHY
O, Switzerland of mine, looketh I forward to seeing you nigh as much as thou lookest forward to gazing also upon me xo~A
Africa with a Real Emotion, Called Love!
. . . Love, Meet Switzerland; Switzerland, Meet Love ! !