Hounds On Parade

Noel Joshua Hadley Poetry | Poetry
Noel Joshua Hadley

Hounds on Parade

by Noel Joshua Hadley

SPREADING my palms wide for a Hollywood committee,

I will propose the plot of my yet unproduced movie

about long-eared droopy-eyed hounds howling mayhem

through a small American town.

 

“Picture the opening act if you will,” I’ll tell them.

Glaziers inch across the intersection on Main Street and Elm

carrying a larger-than-life pane of glass.

A painter climbs his ladder.

 

The mailman is out and about on his usual dog free route

while the mayors wife cools her trophy pies along the garden sill.

School children are paying the squirrels no mind

as they manage the slow droll walk past the bandstand to class.

A mason bends over wet cement with his trowel.

 

Not forgetting, of course, the fat sheriff,

enjoying his morning donut and a steaming cup of joe,

totally unprepared for the radio call that will,

in a few short minutes, interrupt his lazy calm.

 

Coonhounds, harriers, foxhounds, and afghans,

wolfhounds, greyhounds, deerhounds and otterhounds.

Hounds by the hundreds will be led

by a howling brigade of bloodhounds, beagles, and bassets,

rolling tail deep in mud before pawing recklessly

through the town’s only department store.

 

The aging barber will undoubtedly have his back turned

whenever puppies run past the window, therefore going mad by days end

in wild speculation of what red menace

could annihilate his town.

 

“It’s about the end of the world,”

I will inform the corporate board as part of my proposal.

 

Imagine if you will an initiate stepping out of the closet.

He is clothed in an apron and a noose hung around his neck

when hounds wreak havoc on the local lodge,

but that is only the beginning of their assault.

 

Hounds by the thousands and the tens-of-thousands

and even the hundreds-of-thousands will arrive

in Washington D.C., in Rome, and London

because they host obelisks aplenty

and a pee break is mandatory.

 

A parade route also builds up an appetite, you see,

which is why hounds by the million will not be pleased to learn

that the Bohemian Grove and the Bilderberg meeting

did not think to include a dog dish.

 

At the Vatican, the pope can only hope to outrun them

when they fall in hot pursuit of his pope mobile,

and a long overdue inspection of gold

will soon be underway at Fort Knox.

 

Some snooty Frenchman will be hunting humans

in the woods when his hounds switch allegiances.

Now the hunt is turned upon him.

 

Every dog has its day, which is why

the Military-Industrial Complex spirals

into full-scale panic mode, given the latest news.

Nobody is receiving next week’s Media script

because the clap-clap-clap of monkeys

in the back room is silent.

 

The Illuminati are no longer laughing it up over cocktails

when they are laying in a puddle of slobber,

drenched in drool.

 

The audience will sit back in their sticky theater chairs

chewing on popcorn and sipping soda, gleefully watching

the greatest horror flick of all time.

Disembodied Nephilim with nowhere to run.

 

We’re talking ninety minutes or two hours,

maybe even an extended director’s cut

of fat pawed loud-mouthed wraiths from the Middle-Ages

unleashed through an inconspicuous town

before turning their attention on the world stage.

 

Last of all, a Jew still sporting spots on his face

breaks into a sweat as he closes the lid of his laptop computer

from his bagel shop in Pasadena, where he runs the world.

He listens in to the howls of hell

rounding the corner.

 

“Oh man!” the audience will howl with laughter

at the start of every repeat viewing.

They have rehearsed the end of the world a dozen times already

and can’t get enough of the hijinks.

 

“Our reptilian overlords don’t have

the faintest clue what is coming!”

IN the summer of 2019, I was seated in the wine cellar of a walled Medieval town high above the Dordogne Valley of France, not far from Sarlat-la-Canéda, making phone calls, writing reports. I have given this story in other places and it appears as though you’re about to hear it again. Rob Skiba is a name you that you might be familiar with. Though he had made a name for himself as a Nephilim researcher, more recently Rob had taken a dive into the deep end of the pool via flat earth research. The recorded interviews I conducted between he and Rick Hummer, a fellow flat earth investigator and close friend of his, was published while still occupying that very wine cellar. Read all about it. Chicago Is Not a Mirage.

Word quickly spread. Within a few short weeks, dozens of flat earth researchers began accepting my invite for a private interview, if not a series of interviews. From a 17th-century tower built by King Louis XIV, and with a stunning view of the Alps, I sat down with Robbie Davidson, founder of the Flat Earth International Conferences, conducting multiple sessions. While staying in Dumfries, Scotland, David Weiss agreed to take part in the interviews, as did Bob Knodel of Globebusters. There were others. But when I asked the interviewees to discuss the moments that shaped their lives, among the many PSYOPs, false flag attacks, and hoaxes that were discussed, only these men committed commentary to the false 9/11 narrative.

The resulting recordings ballooned into The Unexpected Cosmology, a book which became a website and was even intended as an anthology. And of course, the following discourse was originally a chapter. It was Walt Disney who stated, “Disneyland will never be completed. It will continue to grow as long as there is imagination left in the world.” Those sentiments remain applicable here as well. American Sensationalism: The 9/11 Interviews was always intended to be expanded upon with the inclusion of new researchers. So I’m sorry to say the project became stagnant during the Covid-19 psychodrama. I took a break to tackle other projects. We lost Rob Skiba. Rob offered hours of private conversation regarding his life but we never got around to the big one. 9/11. It was in the cards. Sadly, Bob Knodel died soon afterwards. Voices are being squeezed from an entire generation. Gnosis passes with them.

In the aftermath, the FE community became fractured. People began going their separate ways. Robbie Davidson, among a noted few others who were interviewed for the project, got up and left the movement altogether. It is not my intent to erase his or the contributions of others if only brief. They came, they went, their testimonies remain.

The original vision may have hit roadblocks but it is not forgotten. I expanded this paper a few years later to include testimony from author Pauly Hart, a dear friend of mine. I had wanted to continue that trend every year thereafter but you know how it goes. For the 25th anniversary of the attack I have redirected my efforts to its first large scale expansion, including Andrew Hoy and Darrin Geisinger into the mix. Perhaps others will lend their experiences to the recorder in time.

The following is their report.

Read the 9/11 Interviews

Watch the Interviews