AFTER FIVE consecutive decades of turning out Hollywood movies, I’m somewhat surprised that Steven Spielberg never got around to making an American western. Oh, haven’t you heard? Every meaningful Spielberg movie is based upon a lie. That’s my working theory, anyway. The list includes Schindler’s List, Lincoln, Munich, that entire beach scene in Saving Private Ryan, and the slave ship movie, Amistad. I should probably pause right away and throw in a disclaimer. Everything in this paper is based upon my skeptical inquiry or opinion. Rather than calling anyone a liar, you can simply choose not to believe the official narrative. And rest assured, this paper isn’t really about Steven Spielberg. It came about with the absence of an idea, which goes something as follows. I was recently reclining on a couch, just staring up at the ceiling, and I thought to myself: “Why hasn’t Steven Spielberg directed a western movie? It only seems logical that he would.”
I don’t know. Maybe Duel was a western. You tell me.
It was only a thought.
Already, I get the feeling that you’re still hung up on Spielberg. Okay, let’s randomly pull one movie off the shelf. Schindler’s List. And then let’s fast-forward to one iconic scene. We find ourselves in the company of a bored, disgruntled, and shirtless Nazi commandment of a concentration camp, which we can only assume is Plaszow. He’s positioned on the balcony of his house with a hunting rifle over his bare shoulders. His house, by the way, is located upon a hill high above the camp so that he can look down on his prisoners—as a sadistic boy might simper over bugs with a magnifying glass, or a flamboyantly gay but closeted French king might randomly choose whom he might decapitate for his upcoming birthday from his castle. He then lifts the rifle to his shoulder and begins casually scanning for prisoners. The magnified image through the Nazi commandment’s telescope now fills the movie screen. Right this very moment, you should begin to see the magic in movies at play. Pulling the trigger, a Jew drops to the ground. Discontented with his kill, the man pulls the trigger again. Another Jew is murdered. Bored with his target practice, the shirtless man then turns his attention upon a beautiful, sexy, woman lying on a bed just inside his house, breasts exposed. She’s a Jew, by the way. A prisoner from the camp.
The entire episode is fiction.
The real Plaszow camp was located on the other side of a hill from the commandment’s house, and completely out of sight from his balcony. A man named Amon Göth lived in the house with his fiance Ruth Kalder, an aspiring actress whom Göth had met while working as a secretary for Oscar Schindler. After the war, Göth was extradited to Poland, where he was, according to Wikipedia, “found guilty of membership in the Nazi Party (which had been declared a criminal organization) and personally ordering the imprisonment, torture, and extermination of individuals and groups of people.” Sure, Amon Göth did have two Jewish housemaids selected from the camp, but they were not ravishingly beautiful, as Spielberg insists, nor was there ever any information provided that would naturally lead one to conclude that they were his sex slaves. If you want to know the identity of his naked beauty, it was Ruth Kalder. They parented a child together. Kalder actually described Göth as a cultured man with a singing voice. Spielberg transformed him into a dumb-ass jock.
Spielberg’s account is based upon a novel by Australian Thomas Keneally, who personally visiting the concentration camps in 1980. Keneally had no real knowledge of what transpired there. The clever and imaginative penmanship simply derives from his head. One might argue it makes for good storytelling. And who really cares about being honest when telling and expounding upon the accomplishments of those Nazi assholes? Feel free to pause here and re-read that last sentence over and over again. Take as long as you’d like. Try not to let cognitive dissonance win the day. Steven Spielberg’s audience is told that they are looking into real historical events, but have absolutely no clue, while the Master shaman is tugging at their heart strings, that they’re being lied to in order to pave the road towards Zionism.
Sure. Fine. Whatever. “But Amistad,” you protest. “The African slave trade….”
They lied about that too.
The above picture derives from Yosemite Valley in California, circa 1870. Pay close attention to its inhabitants because they’re black. Look again. Take as long as you need. Black indigenous peoples were documented in California, but also Salt Lake City and New England. I’ve just given you two American coastlines and a central point in-between. The official narrative tells us that Yosemite was not discovered by European explorers until the late 1850’s. This photograph represents one of the earliest attempts at documenting its inhabitants, and they’re not escaped slaves from the Southern Confederate States. That should tell us something far beyond the fact that we’re gazing into the faces of a people closely resembling the Miwok or Ahwahnee tribes. Black people were already accounted for.
If you want me to stop beating around the bush and lay out where I’m going with this, then here it goes. I am firmly convinced that all three sons of Noah’s household were represented and pre-existing in America before the Spaniards arrived. Blacks. Reds. Whites. Even the viking narrative is another distraction. Our present day Slave Masters lied to us about the blacks. They’ve lied to us about the reds. And they’ve lied to us about the whites. More specifically, they lied to the blacks and the reds and the whites about their own inheritance. One people group was forced into slavery. Another became primitive and was thereafter tossed into reservations. And lastly, the whites, well…. either a kingdom was forcibly removed from them, or they just blended in. Point is, the land we know today as America was forcibly removed from everyone.
Also, giants. Lots and lots of giants. And mummies. Far too many to count.
Giant mummies. Caucasian mummies. Red-hair, blue-eyed mummies. They could be found in Nevada and New Mexico. Ohio and Missouri. Both coasts, California and Florida. Even Canada. Some time ago I interviewed Joe Taylor, director and curator of the Mt. Blanco Fossil Museum in Crosbyton, Texas, and he talked about mummies. You know, the kind with elongated skulls, which you can read about here. Mummies and Sasquatch. My reader likely already knows what the Smithsonian did with those. If you’re still genuinely curious, as in, you don’t know what the Smithsonian did with the giant mummy bones, here’s the short of it. They backed a truck up to each find, just as quickly as a local small town newspaper could report upon the discovery, and hauled them into oblivion.
Still, I wonder how many have grasped the Smithsonian’s far more sinister plan in blinding all three people groups, that includes you and me, to the truths of their heritage. Here’s a hint. It involves the red skins. The Native Americans were driven into the reservations they currently cling to for a purpose.
The absurdly posed photograph with a Southern Paiute Indian resembling Tonto features the one-armed man, Major John Wesley Powell, and, from what else I’ve gathered, a horse with no name. It actually derives from a series of photographs with the same Paiute Indian. They’re all staged. They were taken sometime in 1870, only a year or two after Powell led, according to Wikipedia, “the first official U.S. government-sponsored passage through the Grand Canyon.” Emphasis is my own. We are told that Powell lost his arm during the battle of Shiloh, April 6–7, 1862, while fighting for the Union. I have sometimes hinted that the Civil War’s true purpose was to scrub Tartarian history from the books, which is meaningful here, because the one-armed Powell left the Army an officer and then made his way to the Smithsonian Institution.
If you insist the name should be the Smithsonian Institute rather than Institution, then you’ve just been Mandela Effected.
After the American Civil War, it was the Smithsonian’s policy to exclude any evidence of direct foreign influence prior to the man and the myth, Columbus. To do so, the Smithsonian Institution harvested “Manifest Destiny” in order to obscure the origins of the tribes being systematically displaced and annihilated across the western plains. Powell’s campaign, which he led to his death in 1902, was to erase any existence of foreign influence in America.
Others will similarly argue that the Smithsonian engaged in an academic war against the growing threat of Mormonism. This also is true. The Mormons not only asserted that the lost tribes of Israel could be found in the America’s, but that America itself was the promised land. And they convinced a lot of people. Decades before the Zionists settled upon modern day Israel; before archeologists and map makers showed up and finally agent Mark Twain was brought in to report on it; an entire century before the Elders of Zion executed their war for the creation of the Zionist state, hence Schindler’s List; the Mormons were successful in convincing a host of Americans that “the New World” was really the promised land of Israel. If this makes absolutely no sense to you, then I’d ask you to dig into the cognition of a mid 18th-century mind. Make an attempt at it. Try.
I highly suggest you read my paper on the convergence of Mormonism, Freemasonry, and the military in California. I Do Not Believe in the 1849 Gold Rush. The Mormons were Freemasons. Mormonism was and still is a spook operation. Before you tell me the connection proves everything about Mormonism and their claims to the Holy Land is as filthy and abominable as butt sex while eating a baloney sandwich, consider the possibility that we’re dealing with the total destruction of a lost civilization. The Masons created Mormonism in order to defeat an idea. Kind of like how the CIA brought flat earth out into the open several years ago and then strangled the Movement when they were good and ready. Flat Earth. We call this controlled opposition. We’ll let that thought simmer.
And besides, for all the talk that Powell toiled against Mormonism, particularly because he was the son of a preacher man who lost most of his congregation to the Mormons, it’s rather strange that he brought a Mormon missionary onto his Colorado River expedition. Mm-hmm, Jacob Hamblin, Mormon. The Mormons even had a name for him. “The Buckskin Apostle.” As we tend to find, spooks swim in the same circle.
Almost from the get-go, the Smithsonian’s bullet points of indoctrination included Darwinian Evolution and the Uniform Gradual History, which involves the belief that the Earth goes long stretches of time without catastrophes, hence Evolution. The Smithsonian created neither of these intellectual spook properties. They simply served as a government-sponsored curator to the propaganda. That’s not to say they didn’t have their hand in adding to the deception with inventions of their own. A man named Dr. Ales Hrdlicka, first curator of physical anthropology of the U.S. National Museum, now the Smithsonian Institution National Museum of National History, created something called “the land bridge theory,” and it goes something like this. Nobody except Columbus brought a boat to America. Nobody. They simply walked. Over a land bridge.
Men like Powell and Hrdlicka passed around the cup of poisoned hemlock, and just about everyone drank from it. You know how Masonic-trained pastors will preach sermons regarding how bad and abominable butt sex is but then hand their congregation a baloney sandwich and tell everybody to take a bite? This is something like that.
If you’re failing to understand how easy it is for our Slave Masters to create official history with a wave of their hand, then I’ll direct your attention to the sarcophagus of British mineralogist and Freemason James Smithson. Recognize the name? Smithson is the founder of the Smithsonian Institution. He never visited the U.S., and yet he’s buried at the Smithsonian Castle in a sarcophagus that lists his age of death as 75 rather than 65. No, that’s not sloppy detective work on their part. And it’s not because the Smithsonian doesn’t care about getting their fact straight. The Smithsonian is outright telling you they’ll make up whatever crap they want, and you’ll love them for it. Hollywood will make movies fleshing out the plaques with make-believe dates and facts in their museums, and you’ll continue loving them for it.
In a recent paper, I detailed how the very term racism derived from a man named Richard Henry Pratt. Brigadier General Pratt participated in the Washita River campaign alongside George Custer in 1868 and later took part in the Red River War in 1874. His doctrine included the line: “Kill the Indian to save the man,” and he wasn’t talking about physical death. The idea was to call anyone a racist who dared believe the segregation of distinct cultures as something separate from their Caucasian conquerors was a good thing. This was done in order that all people groups might be assimilated into the stew pot of Victorian society. You can read about that and Aunt Jemima syrup here. The History of Racism. Put it in slightly different terms. Go around and call someone a racist and the New World Order has you working for them.
The hope is that my reader can understand; the United States Corporate Government doesn’t give a damn about the “Native American.” That’s not why Big Brother beat them bloody and then delivered sections of land as some sort of make-up gift. The reservations were a part of the psyop. It’s kind of like how the European invaders forced black natives into slavery, freed them in a fake war ultimately intended to land all Americans into corporate slavery, employed the CIA to create the Civil Rights Movement and Black Lives Matter, and then pimp them out for the ritualistic destruction of society. Statues. Again, there’s no end to the psyop.
The Native American reservations were designed as a safety net for the land-bridge deception.
Because remember, nobody arrived by ship before Columbus. They simply walked. Lewis and Clark explored America by canoe while Sacagawea followed along on foot. Get it? The Smithsonian told the Indians “they walked,” and the Indians agreed to it. House rules. To this very day, when giant bones or Caucasian mummies are discovered in America, the Native Americans have a right to “not recognize their legitimacy” on the basis that it disagrees with the narrative, and the narrative is this. Everybody else may have taken a boat, but they walked. And more importantly, they were here first.
How tragic. Just about everybody settles or sells their soul, sometimes by simply agreeing to the lie, for a sliver of the pie. Forgive me, I’ve adopted a recent penchant for profane words. But I’m finally only beginning to identify with Danny Glover’s repeated phrase in the Lethal Weapon franchise: “I’m too old for this shit.” Nobody, and I stress nobody, will receive a slice of the pie unless they agree to go along with or turn a blind eye to the psyop, and we know where that road leads. I’ve said it a thousand times. Everyone who cashes in Yahuah’s inheritance for a sliver of Satan’s providence will receive their portion in the Lake of Fire.
Everything the government has ever told us is a lie.
And another thing I just realized. Spielberg never made a movie about the Smithsonian.
Ten years ago I was at the height of my ignorance. I visited Washington D.C. regularly as a city of divine beauty and inspiration—stars and stripes bleeding from my eye-balls. I’ll never forget that moment I visited the Smithsonian’s Holocaust Museum for the very first time and there was a man standing near the entrance handing out information as to why we’ve been lied to about everything.
The guy was just standing there off to the side—totally passive. He wasn’t shouting. He wasn’t getting into anyone’s face. He just stood there with a sign that read something along the lines of “THE HOLOCAUST WAS A HOAX,” or something to that effect, and was willing to speak with anyone who engaged.
And let me tell you, I have rarely experienced so much hate as I did while entering that museum. People were shouting, grinding their teeth, calling him horrid names. He was probably even spat upon.
I didn’t dare approach him—not yet. I simply watched people fling hate as a substitute for pooh. The plan was, I’d comb through the museum and then engage him on my way out. I hadn’t prepared for kind words. Upon finally exiting two or three hours later, the man was gone. And believe me, I looked for him. I’ve passed through Washington D.C. now dozens of times, and with every visit, whenever I’m in the vicinity of the Holocaust Museum, I keep a careful lookout for the HOLOCAUST HOAX man.
To this very day, I think about him often.
Ten years ago I was so blinded and programmed; we’re talking completely lost to the heliocentric globe machine; as to think to myself: “Now I’ve seen it all. Finally, I’ve beheld with my own eyes the canker-breath, douche-bag of the earth.” And now that Washington D.C. has essentially become the very seat of Satan on Earth I believe him to be one of the bravest men I ever might have known.