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May 24, 2024





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The Elon-12 Chronicles, No. 1:
“Good Job, X-i-41520-Y10”

The dream was interminable. He was at the local annex of the science museum with many others like himself taking the test that showed his interests so that he might be better served, and it was so confusing. The questions made no sense, and the purpose was lost on him, and he knew it was a dream, a kind of nightmare, but not so much frightening as numbing. When the test was done—he automatically knew when it was done—he took his palm off the reader, tapped the finish button three times, put his palm down on the reader again, and the screen said, “Good job, X-i-41520-Y10.” He forgot for a moment what the power of 10 was doing there on the end of his ID…and then he remembered it had once said “MD” at the end of his name until it was the last thing no longer necessary. They said it wasn’t really his name anyway but just an ID…but that was neither here nor there and his name…well…he didn’t dare try to remember it. 

It was exhausting to be in a dream or nightmare like this. It had something to do with his being retired…a retired physician…a real medical doctor with no means of livelihood except living on The Wage for All. Instead of “seeing a doctor,” now you simply went to the clinic, put your palm on the reader, were diagnosed presumably, it was never clear, received your painless treatment by hi-speed infusion, or other means, and left. There were no physicians…no people…in his nightmare.

In real life, it’s not like the patients couldn’t talk with anyone. You could press a button to talk to a technician, but it didn’t work out very well. He had heard that some of his former colleagues still worked for World Health Organization, WHO, and he wondered about that.

He tried to wake up, but he couldn’t. Something pulled on him and, if he resisted, the force field would pull him out of his skin, leave him naked like a medical school training video of his body with no skin—his skin hanging limp on a hook on a wall. It was so real, such vivid, glowing reds and dark blues of his naked blood vessels…  And this was not something he saw on the screen—it was in his own imagination.

And he was back in the nightmare again. Now he was at the weekly Free Association Station. Again he put his palm down on the reader and thought, as he was supposed to think, inside his head without speaking, “X-i-41520-Y.”  Before he realized his mistake, he felt that little inkling in the back of his brain that warned “doom is coming.” Quickly, he made himself think for the auditor, “I’ll do better. I’m X-i-41520-Y10. Will I be punished?” The answer was a relief, “No, the error is forgiven, but never again forget your power.”  

Ignoring with all his might that he had no idea what the voice meant, he did know he was now supposed to begin the task of free-associating for the inner auditor: “Blue, green, plant, growing, soil, fertilizer, water, spout, hose, spray, sky, wonderment…”  As he thought that weird association, “wonderment,” he knew what was coming next. “I’m sorry,” he thought almost aloud, another mistake, and that jolt of “doom” made him want to die. Right there, on the spot, die.

“May I go to the doctor?” he begged, hoping that would work, and because it was a nightmare or more nearly a dream, the answer was, “You’ve been there once already today, so that’s fine. We thank you for your compliance.”

That wasn’t so bad.  

He tried to wake up. He sat up on his pad and felt that awful drawing on his body, a force pulling him out of his skin…  

He remembered hearing the rumors they were putting things into our bodies, but he was a scientist at heart, and he knew it was absurd. Some had whispered that it was no longer safe…that the newest ones were not really vaccinations…and then—he had hardly noticed—they stopped whispering. It was a relief at the time not to hear the whispers…and science was not allowed.

He decided to listen to music, and it worked. The screen came up beautiful and lovely with soft music so indistinct it could hardly be heard. It took all his attention to lie still while he drifted back to sleep.

He remembered his dream of being a physician, and he remembered seeing his profession disappear. It was finalized when the FDA, NIH, DEA, and CDC had been combined into WHO America and then simply WHO. It made him want to cry…  It was odd…  

He was now 50 years old, and he had been retired at 45, which seemed like a mere few years after finishing his training. He had gone into medicine to use his intelligence to help people, and when that hope seemed to be fading, he hung on to the idea his profession would at least remain one of the last remaining “essential” occupations.

Now he was genuinely awake.

He sat up in bed. The screen seemed so bright he could not think for himself, and he fought to remember that first day, not long after he had started medical school. He and his fellow students had been among the first to receive the new miracle technology, the screen, Elon-12, inside his head—the fusion of brain and AI—that each individual would always be allowed to control…

He still did not know if he were in a dream or a nightmare or completely awake and conscious. He struggled to stop talking about himself in the abstract as “he.”  

Clarity! “He” wants to talk with you directly. 

I want to talk with you directly:

I’m trying, I’m sorry, the screen, the feeling in the back of my head….I apologize for not resisting when it was… I beg you to send my broken message everywhere… please, please, please send it everywhere. 

To be continued.


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Matt Blackman
Matt Blackman
2 years ago

My God What a Blessing Covid-19 Has Been. We know the True Giants of Science.

A must read letter from Canada acknowledging those giant who stood up against industry captured health authorities, governments, pharma and a corrupt media to expose the truth at great personal and professional risk! Brian Peckford is a form Canadian Premier (Newfoundland-Labrador) legally challenging the vaccine mandates in the new communist dictatorship of Canadastan…

Thank you Peter McCullough and medical heros and many more not mentioned in this letter for standing up to this tyranny!

Caroline R
Caroline R
2 years ago

This is a great opening.
I’m totally drawn into your world.

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