It's a downer to express the largest-scale tragedy of my lifetime

over and over again.

I've combed through 10,014 medical malpractice reports of young people who had been strong and without complication up until receiving the one-eyed technocratic snake bite that supposedly has nothing to do with their suspicious deaths,

I've gone through 25,117 autopsy reports (not every report: I scanned bunches of 250 reports in 10 groups of 25 reports or 25 groups of 10 reports at a time for very specific details, though I've read some of the reports 5 or more times) of elderly people who had survived world wars, epidemics, pandemics, and many outbreak and spikes, only to succumb within 72 hours of receiving whichever junk SGT inoculations that have nothing to do with their untimely deaths—

that occurred in North America
over a 2 week period.

I'm not supposed to talk about it.

I'm not supposed to express anything
other than expressions of agreement
that Delta variants and the unvaccinated
are killing the vaccinated

or express nothing at all.

I'm not supposed to express that I know the ingredients, and the processes involved to source ingredients, on chemical, molecular, cellular levels; that I know the MSDS and LCSS documentation, and patents, involved.

But, I do express it, just as I did again above.

When someone claims that their significant other didn't die from the shot that they had received within 24 hrs of dying,
I'm supposed to agree with the cheap, disloyal, dumbed-down, brainwashed, bootlicking, unscientific, pseudo-intellectual, spineless coward

who is hurting from losing a loved one.

I'm sorry.

I'm not supposed to express that we've known since 1991 that the synthetic chemical digitized mRNA, that isn't really mRNA, causes the host to spin-off variants of multi-drug-resistant and multi-vaccine-resistant super microorganisms—subtype variants of virions and bacteria that are often variants of variants of variants.

I'm supposed to stay zipped-up
or—encourage!—offer support
and congratulations to people
who are suiciding and committing
****** and euthanasia

without proper informed consent.

Be positive about it. Smile. Nod.

Have it be whatever you want it to be.
Use mockingbird skills to make it real— abracadabra!—it's en vogue, all the rage
to parrot percentages of efficacy,
to virtue signal over standing with
trillion $ industries and special interest
against Earth and humanity.
Insert cash money and mirages
into the soul-******* jukebox, baby.

Rage With The Machine.
Rage For The Machine.

Yesterday's false-positive
is today's false-negative.

Thomson Reuters will fact check you
into a cancer case to vindicate delusions, stubbornness, and negative pride.

I'm not supposed to express that within the principles and disciplines of medical ethics and the Hippocratic Oath, it's ethically corrupt and illegal to use political and emotional coercion, especially while simultaneously dangling fear over the intended target, to enforce/push any drug treatment, regardless of situation.

I'm supposed to use dope and *****
and a movie
to switch tracks
from my passionate obsession.

I watched a movie that included
a medical health scam to entrap the people
in a fashion similar to when the Germans believed that they were receiving vaccines
that helped to defend against typhus.

If we ever find ourselves in opposite sides
and positions as we are currently,
please offer proper informed consent
to the people.

Snowflakes drape the violets—
a splash of how the human spirit
can be, personified.

The pale faces and minds dangle
on the precipice where the lost begin

and end themselves.

I sense their impending strokes,
aneurysms, Myocarditis,
failing immune systems, acquiredautoimmunodeficiencysyndromes,
sterilization, and aggressive cancers
loom on the horizon
of the frozen ground of their minds.
I sense the digital serpent coiled
in their ribosomes and nuclei.

"Which brand did you choose?"

Choose? A momentary inner wince
is contained in polished discipline.

"I don't need to take your shots,
I've been selected to slither through
the polygon window."

Lackluster irises reflect the violets
that bounce to hits of heavy, wet snow fall,
their petals open to the waning light

in defiance.

"You rolled over like *******,
brag over begging for more."

It soars over his head like the dark,
pregnant snowclouds roiling above
us.

Hopefully, only 7 years remain
of watching people **** themselves
and their loved ones in denatured
cowardice and mindless obedience—
enough to appease the hyper-capitalist
bloodlust for progress and ignorance.
I can survive 12—7 years will be
enough horror and tragedy
to fill lifetimes.

Don't speak of that for 14 years,
and don't speak of this for 7 years.
Don't ever mention OPERATION F,
and only mention Project D
without disclosing Appendix A & B. In
3 years, that is.

Yes, Master.

Hopefully, enough of the cowards
and mindlessly obedient **** themselves
and each other during the next 7 years

in order for the poor and the meek
to inherit the Earth—push through
the snow in defiance,

sow the spark and glow
of human spirit and nature
in the garden once again.