Jay Reynolds
Senior Member.
The purpose of this thread is to discuss a recently released audio drama called "Clouds of Unknowing".
In the story, a militia has been formed and is preparing to shoot down what they believe is a "chemtrail" spraying jet using a surface-to-air-missile.
To me, it's sad to see that the hoax of chemtrails has risen from a 15 year old publicity stunt by neo-nazi Larry Wayne Harris to the point where a man like G. Edward Griffin can declare it the "Greatest Crime in History", and a "Crime Against Humanity".
A state of mind has been inculcated in which men and even women have been misled so far that they willingly issue public threats to shoot down aircraft which are overwhelmingly commercial passenger flights.
And now, from the confines of Mt. Shasta, CA, we have an entire group of irresponsible people performing a drama in which such an act is seen as justifiable, noble, the act of "Freedom Fighters" for "Truth".
Let's look closely at what is being said, who is involved, what impelled them to this point, because the worst case scenario of the chemtrails hoax is that real physical harm can come from it if true believers take it upon themselves to conduct a violent act.
From the video above:
Act 1: Fade in
Just sunset, southwestern United States.
Scrubby desert wilderness.
Sunlit mountains are seen in the hazy distance.
The light blue sky is filled with contrails.
They are numerous. They create a crisscrossing patchwork of long white clouds. Soem contrails are straight, dense, and newly-laid, most are wispy wind-blown smears covering the entire sky.
The target is approaching. On course to fly right over.
Roger that. Green station?
Yes, Captain.
Time to intercept.
One Minute. I see the target. Laser sighting, NOW. Got him!
Station 1, do you read me?
Ona low hilltop stands a man, as we zoom in closer we seee he wears a camouflage military field uniform matching the desert colors. The uniform has no insignia. He is a white man about 40 years old, sweating, very pale, and red-eyed. At his mouth is a wraparound microphone attached to an earpiece. He scans the sky with binoculars.
Station 1, standing by.
Prepare to launch.
Right.
The man on the hill pulls off camouf;age netting to reveal a large white surface to air missile. He pwers up the missile by pressing keys on a computer on the weapon's platform. The rocket's nose rises to the sky.
Sir, it has acquired the target.
Are we gonna open a can of whup-ass Captain?
Red, time to intercept.
Green station?
Thirty seconds.
Sir, I got three riders closing on Station 1, from the west.
Identify!
We see three risders on horseback from Station 1's point of view. Riding three abreast, the sun sets behind them and throws long shadows across the desert floor.
Target now within range.
We see the jet flying high above them, a long white contrail extends far behind it.
Station 1, riders almost on you. Stand down.
Station 1 hits keys on the computer keyboard. The missile freezes and shuts down.
We are powered down, Captain.
It's the Bureau Ranger. Jesus H. Christmas, With Station 1's parents!
Station 1, One, do you copy?
We lost the Tanker.
Did you tell them about this, Station 1?
No...
We're losing daylight..
We'll have to wait for sunrise.
That's nuts, this whole place will be crawling with hostiles.
How do we get out of here?
We don't.
Sir, Ranger has weapons.
Gung ho.
We hear the metallic clicks of firearms locking and loading.
Men, show respect. We got a real hero there. Army combat, two tours, purple hearts, shot to pieces.
Hostile?
What do I know, safety's off. Fire only on my command.
The scrubby desert hilltop, vivid in the light of the setting sun, the man stands beside the white missile, which is stioll aimed toward the sky. He doubles over in pain, then he falls tto his knees, clutching his stomach.
Station 1, what is your status?
1 falls on his side, he draws his knees to his stomach,
It's OK, I'm OK.
We hear horse hooves approaching him, then we see the shadows of horses and the riders thrown on the white missle and the stricken man.
You've got nerve for this?
The man barely looks up.
Finally.....
The Ranger is American Indian, she is short, muscular, and dressed in the green uniform of a US Forest Service Ranger. She is hard-looking, but very handsome. The man onthe ground before her will now be identified as "The Son"
How?
I've been onto you for days.
With the Ranger is Da, age sixty, he is a tall thin weathered white man who wears casual white linen pants and shirt, he dismounts.
The other rider with him is Ma, age sixty, a white woman, she is beautiful but severe, and now, very worried. The holster on her waist holds a revolver, she takes off her cowboy hat, using it as a sunscreen she looks around from her saddle.
Son, can you put me on speakerphone?
Have your folks hear me loud and clear.
With difficulty, the Son pulls his walkie-talkie off his waist, sets on the speakerphone function, he pulls off his earpiece.
Ready.
People, you have entered a restricted area.
Da kneels beside the Son.
Da, this is not the way, not this.
Son struggles to speak. No more.....books.
Now hear me, Leave. At Once.
Ma still scans the countryside. Somewhere nearby, hidden in camouflaged foxholes are the militia lookouts, who now have their eyes and weapons trained on the intruders.
Wherever you are, I think I know you, I'm not leaving without my Son.
The Son shakes in pain.
He can't help you now. She dismounts.
If you leave. Right now. You are free to go.
She looks at her Son, Bad timing, huh?
The Son is curled in a ball, but manages to nod.
Da, a fire, please. Daughter will need some wood.
The Ranger moves over and kneels beside the Son.
Either you convince me why you have to do this, and I will help you, or I will stop you.
The sunset is glorious but very fast, a wood fire is started, darkness encloses the hilltop campsite.
Fade out/Fade in
In the story, a militia has been formed and is preparing to shoot down what they believe is a "chemtrail" spraying jet using a surface-to-air-missile.
To me, it's sad to see that the hoax of chemtrails has risen from a 15 year old publicity stunt by neo-nazi Larry Wayne Harris to the point where a man like G. Edward Griffin can declare it the "Greatest Crime in History", and a "Crime Against Humanity".
A state of mind has been inculcated in which men and even women have been misled so far that they willingly issue public threats to shoot down aircraft which are overwhelmingly commercial passenger flights.
And now, from the confines of Mt. Shasta, CA, we have an entire group of irresponsible people performing a drama in which such an act is seen as justifiable, noble, the act of "Freedom Fighters" for "Truth".
Let's look closely at what is being said, who is involved, what impelled them to this point, because the worst case scenario of the chemtrails hoax is that real physical harm can come from it if true believers take it upon themselves to conduct a violent act.
From the video above:
Act 1: Fade in
Just sunset, southwestern United States.
Scrubby desert wilderness.
Sunlit mountains are seen in the hazy distance.
The light blue sky is filled with contrails.
They are numerous. They create a crisscrossing patchwork of long white clouds. Soem contrails are straight, dense, and newly-laid, most are wispy wind-blown smears covering the entire sky.
The target is approaching. On course to fly right over.
Roger that. Green station?
Yes, Captain.
Time to intercept.
One Minute. I see the target. Laser sighting, NOW. Got him!
Station 1, do you read me?
Ona low hilltop stands a man, as we zoom in closer we seee he wears a camouflage military field uniform matching the desert colors. The uniform has no insignia. He is a white man about 40 years old, sweating, very pale, and red-eyed. At his mouth is a wraparound microphone attached to an earpiece. He scans the sky with binoculars.
Station 1, standing by.
Prepare to launch.
Right.
The man on the hill pulls off camouf;age netting to reveal a large white surface to air missile. He pwers up the missile by pressing keys on a computer on the weapon's platform. The rocket's nose rises to the sky.
Sir, it has acquired the target.
Are we gonna open a can of whup-ass Captain?
Red, time to intercept.
Green station?
Thirty seconds.
Sir, I got three riders closing on Station 1, from the west.
Identify!
We see three risders on horseback from Station 1's point of view. Riding three abreast, the sun sets behind them and throws long shadows across the desert floor.
Target now within range.
We see the jet flying high above them, a long white contrail extends far behind it.
Station 1, riders almost on you. Stand down.
Station 1 hits keys on the computer keyboard. The missile freezes and shuts down.
We are powered down, Captain.
It's the Bureau Ranger. Jesus H. Christmas, With Station 1's parents!
Station 1, One, do you copy?
We lost the Tanker.
Did you tell them about this, Station 1?
No...
We're losing daylight..
We'll have to wait for sunrise.
That's nuts, this whole place will be crawling with hostiles.
How do we get out of here?
We don't.
Sir, Ranger has weapons.
Gung ho.
We hear the metallic clicks of firearms locking and loading.
Men, show respect. We got a real hero there. Army combat, two tours, purple hearts, shot to pieces.
Hostile?
What do I know, safety's off. Fire only on my command.
The scrubby desert hilltop, vivid in the light of the setting sun, the man stands beside the white missile, which is stioll aimed toward the sky. He doubles over in pain, then he falls tto his knees, clutching his stomach.
Station 1, what is your status?
1 falls on his side, he draws his knees to his stomach,
It's OK, I'm OK.
We hear horse hooves approaching him, then we see the shadows of horses and the riders thrown on the white missle and the stricken man.
You've got nerve for this?
The man barely looks up.
Finally.....
The Ranger is American Indian, she is short, muscular, and dressed in the green uniform of a US Forest Service Ranger. She is hard-looking, but very handsome. The man onthe ground before her will now be identified as "The Son"
How?
I've been onto you for days.
With the Ranger is Da, age sixty, he is a tall thin weathered white man who wears casual white linen pants and shirt, he dismounts.
The other rider with him is Ma, age sixty, a white woman, she is beautiful but severe, and now, very worried. The holster on her waist holds a revolver, she takes off her cowboy hat, using it as a sunscreen she looks around from her saddle.
Son, can you put me on speakerphone?
Have your folks hear me loud and clear.
With difficulty, the Son pulls his walkie-talkie off his waist, sets on the speakerphone function, he pulls off his earpiece.
Ready.
People, you have entered a restricted area.
Da kneels beside the Son.
Da, this is not the way, not this.
Son struggles to speak. No more.....books.
Now hear me, Leave. At Once.
Ma still scans the countryside. Somewhere nearby, hidden in camouflaged foxholes are the militia lookouts, who now have their eyes and weapons trained on the intruders.
Wherever you are, I think I know you, I'm not leaving without my Son.
The Son shakes in pain.
He can't help you now. She dismounts.
If you leave. Right now. You are free to go.
She looks at her Son, Bad timing, huh?
The Son is curled in a ball, but manages to nod.
Da, a fire, please. Daughter will need some wood.
The Ranger moves over and kneels beside the Son.
Either you convince me why you have to do this, and I will help you, or I will stop you.
The sunset is glorious but very fast, a wood fire is started, darkness encloses the hilltop campsite.
Fade out/Fade in
