''The economy had collapsed about two years ago, and we were told the government ran out of money. There was nothing left in our Social Security accounts and our pensions and retirement funds were raided. Like the movie Dr. Zhivago, there was no more private home ownership and most people had to share their houses.'' I was walking down the street trying to discreetly look down, so as not to call attention to myself to the soldiers stopping people randomly in front of military Hummers at the intersection of the street. If one solider looked at me for any reason, I could be taken away from my wife and children, never to be heard of again, to some detention camp out past Palmdale in the blazing desert. There were rumors that millions of people were warehoused in these camps where they were put to force labor, tortured and killed. All done by men and women who said,, “I’m just doing my job.”
The supermarkets had been closed for over a year and if you were lucky you might get some beans, rice and water at a supply center. A soldier wearing a light blue helmet in fully military gear, like they wear in the Middle East motioned me over, my heart started to pound. He said nothing and arrogantly gestured that I walk over to a scanning device that would read the biochip implant in my forehead. I carefully hid my anger, not at the soldier, but at all the Christians who argued like idiots about the “mark of the beast.” Once upon a time, I was famous; the author of many books, many that covered the topic of Bible prophecy. I never talk about that now, because to believe in Bible prophecy puts you on the terrorist watch list. But, where did these Christians come up with this weird idea that a Police State could not use a biochip or microchip implant without it being the mark of the beast?
The chip is just surveillance technology and unless it is accompanied by a willful act of worship to the Antichrist, it cannot be the “mark of the beast.” My internal thoughts were interrupted by the soldier who ordered me to move along. As I continued down the street, men, women and children were shabbily dressed like refugees from a black and white World War II movie. This was once California, where men and women with lean bodies would jog up and down the street in brightly colored, body-fitting exercise clothes and designer running shoes. I remembered all the greenery and the golden California sun. Now they were gone! We had to do our part to save the earth.
Southern California now looked like Iraq or some third world nation. Houses were falling apart, bullet holes were sprayed across the stucco covered with graffiti and enclosed in barbed wire. People barricaded themselves inside their houses, with bars over their windows and the stench of garbage and human waste everywhere.
The economy had collapsed about two years ago, and we were told the government ran out of money. There was nothing left in our Social Security accounts and our pensions and retirement funds were raided. Like the movie Dr. Zhivago, there was no more private home ownership and most people had to share their houses and bathrooms with the millions of people who had fled up through the Mexican border to escape the Chinese troops who came up Central America from the Panama Canal.
I saw about two hundred school children around 9-11 years old, wearing what looked like a combination of boy scout and girl scout outfits, mixed with military garb. They were marching in military procession and some were chanting, “Come on now who must die?” and another group of marchers would chant back, “The individual must die!” Without breaking stride, the other group would shout, “Why must they die?” and then in response, “The new day has dawned, and we that where once many are now One! The individual is the enemy of the One!” Then together they shouted with upraised fists, “The New Order is One!”
Low flying helicopters flew above us, aiming surveillance devices at us. Everywhere I looked, people stared vacantly like soulless zombies. Very few people could think, most just walked about in a trance. The drugs in the water supply, vaccinations and the endless bombardment of EMF waves, along with hypnotic suggestions through the media kept people in a trance-like state. I, like a few others, managed to retain my mind, by forcing myself to think critically. I discovered early on that you could choose not to enter the trance-like state. But, you had to always maintain that dead and vacant look in your eyes. If somebody thought you were thinking, they would report you and you would disappear.
The passivity was suffocating and in every social interaction (if you could call it that) you had to believe that you were part of the “One.” You had to really believe it or people could tell. But, as you believed it, you could learn to put your consciousness, memories, thoughts and feelings in an invisible box inside your mind. So, if you were interrogated with drugs and torture, all they would find is the zombie-like consciousness of the “One.” For all practical purposes, you had died. But then at some point in the future, when it was safe again, the box would reappear in your mind and the real you could come back!
At every moment of the day each of us lived in a perpetual state of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from the terror and torture you were endlessly subjected to. At any moment, armed troops wearing black face masks, could smash down your door. If they sensed any resistance, you would be taken away or shot. They would search your house trying to find guns, food, booze, drugs or anything they might use or sell. Usually, your wife or daughters were sadistically and violently gang raped in front of you. They made you watch as they tortured them and raped them over and over again.
They would watch your face very carefully and if you showed even the slightest emotion they would rape them again and shout, “the New Order Is One!” With everything in me, I could not hold back the shedding of a single tear that rolled down my cheek. A soldier noticed it and I cannot begin to describe what happened next. http://www.newswithviews.com/McGuire/paul107.htm
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