Apathy is a noun defined as a lack of interest, enthusiasm or concern.... and I feel it almost all of the time now. In talking to others apathy seems to describe the condition of the vast majority of people these days. 

For the past several years between the governments of the world and the mainstream media we as a population have been constantly bombarded with trauma and fear to the point where we just don't care anymore. The things that once brought joy don't do so as they once did, things that once excited us no longer do. 

Apathy can definitely be brought on by depression or schizophrenia but more often than not it is brought on by trauma. People can be treated supposedly by lifestyle changes or medications and therapy but honestly when those don't work because the trauma is ongoing and continuous what can people do?

Over the years mental health has become a much less taboo subject and people will readily discuss Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome but why is nobody discussing PRESENT Traumatic Stress Syndrome? Every single day we are bombarded over and over with fear mongering to the point where none of it has an impact any longer. Another possible pandemic? Massive fires all over the world? Government corruption? Chance of nuclear war? Human trafficking? Climate change? Gender lunacy? Aliens? Vaccine injury? The failing economy? The Apocalypse? It has gotten to the point where most people don't even care anymore! 

People feeling apathy toward all of these "emergencies" seems like it was the plan all along. Bombard the people with one "emergency" after another until NOTHING feels urgent anymore and nobody cares. It seems like a reasonable supposition that people who don't care about anything will just go along with whatever TPTB decide to mandate. A lot of those apathetic people will do exactly that, in fact the majority will.

What TPTB failed to take into consideration with this is that among the apathetic there is a subset of people who are also incredible assholes who while feeling apathy will still buck the system simply because "Fuck you, that's why!" While not caring about any of the so-called "emergencies" we still don't like being told what to do and will do the exact opposite just because we can. 

As long as there are still assholes there is hope- if anyone is left that can still feel it anymore. 


(Maybe I should have put this in the Rant forum?)

I belong to the Aliens subreddit, and was having a discussion with somebody that I thought I'd share here to get some input.

Tom Delonge is at it again with his cryptic tweet bullshit.  I have nothing against Tom, but his appearance on Joe Rogan was a joke, and he even did an Ask Me Anything at the other site, which was an even bigger joke.

The gist of both was, "I know things, and know people who know things, but I can't tell you."

So on this subreddit, we were talking about Tom, and I mentioned to somebody that Steven Greer called Tom, Elizondo, and all their TTSA-former-intel-spook A-Team ilk, a bunch of government plants.  Which to me was funny, because I sometimes look at Greer and wonder the same thing about him.

The other redditor said that Greer in the past said Tom is part of the Disclosure Project.  I said, then Greer is contradicting himself, because he just said that about not trusting TTSA.

So this got me wondering.  Apparently Greer and Delonge were friends in all of this, years ago, to the point that Delonge would hang out with Greer at Greer's house.  I'm thinking they had a falling out, possibly around the time Tom started meeting all these high-up, in the know, government agents and officials.

Greer has maintained that the aliens are benevolent, and want to guide us in the right direction.  Delonge seems to be going with the "threat" narrative that Elizondo/TTSA likes to push.

Then I started thinking, why Tom Delonge in the first place?  Is it because he's long been known as a UFO-enthusiast, and is super popular among the younger generation?  Is it because "they" know that more and more people don't trust the government, so the message/narrative might be better received from Tom's mouth over, say, some unknown government agent, or even the president?

I'm not saying Tom is malicious in this, I think he means well, and so does Greer.  I also agree with Greer that Tom is being used.  Hell, if I was suddenly invited to these secret meetings with people in the know, and they put on an act and told me terrible things about the alien threat, I might have gone along with it too.  Probably not though, I'm sure I mistrust the government more than Tom ever did.

The TTSA crowd keeps calling them a threat.  I think the only threat they pose is to the petrodollar, and that has all the elites riled up and terrified.  Say the aliens came here to break our chains of the rampant corruption throughout the world's governments, businesses, etc.  The elites would positively shit themselves.  Maybe THAT is the big threat to national security.

As for now, I side with Greer.

Since it is a little quiet on the boards this early Tuesday afternoon in the garden, BIAD suggested to me that
I should post the prequel to the short story 'The Devil Is In The Details'. So after waiting as he fished the
yarn out of his shed, I did just that.


Hag.

"Do yer' think 'ah could have yon milk now...?" she asked and stepping away from the hearth, Wicked Hetty adjusted
the remains of her dress and watched the wide-eyed young man brandishing the kitchen knife. In a dream, that youngster
would be of a braver stock and look towards vanquishing this wretched Witch that had invaded my home.
But this is reality and that panting boy is me.

"...Midnight always finds me thirsty" she cooed and beguilingly stroked my late-mother's crocheted quilt lying over the
back of the rocking chair.

The clock on the mantle-piece ticked on past the witching hour and in the golden light of the blazing fire, I could see the
terrible skinny frame of the intruder before me. Adjusting my grip on the wooden handle of the only weapon that can save
me from the thing that lived in the well, I waited for the woman to pounce.

"Yer' a good-lookin' lad, has anyone ever telled yer' that?" the creature whispered as she slowly moved around the
room. The smell of long-forgotten vegetables floated in the air between us and with every step of her filthy bare-feet,
my stomach churned with the stink.

The milk that Hetty had commented on, sat on the table with my late-night supper of a slice of buttered bread and a
chunk of homemade cheese. The drink and cheese were from the only cow we had left and since my Father was still in
Underhill, it could be said that the single livestock was mine.
I was the guard tonight.

My Mother had died during the snowstorm of last winter and since then, my Pa had let the farm go. I had tried to do
the repairs on the barn and even though his treks to the tavern in the village became more-and-more frequent, I could
see that I was failing to fix the real problem in the only home I had ever known, my Pater's heart.

"Did yer' know Judas liked te' eat cheese...?" the harridan said candidly. "It's true, the betrayer always had a weakness fur'
a nice slice of rat" Nearing the wooden table, the toothless mouth stretched into the nearest feature she could muster to a
smile. I wanted to ask who this Judas-fellow was, but the terror stayed my hand.

"Leave the meal alone" I warned, moving the blade with faux-menace and I could swear Hetty heard the weakness in my
growl. The wind stirred the flames in the fire again and the ghostly moan from up the chimney only underlined how lonely
the whole scene had become.

The witch placed her long taloned-hands behind her back and sighed as she eyed the fare-denied, it was what the young
Lord up on the moors would call a stalemate. The clock tapped it's foot as the quietness prowled the room.

"If yer' let me eat yer' supper, 'ah'll pay yer' with counsel..." the swamp-voice slid from under the lank strands of black hair.
"...There are things in the world that can be a boon te' a lad like yer'self" Hetty added and tossed in a giggle that sounded
like a heron swallowing a fat toad. "Egg in yer' beer -so to speak" and the wolf-grin came again.

I breathed in deeply through my nose and prayed that my Father would return tonight. The woman from Hell was
beginning to gain ground and even though I was of twelve years, a man I was not. I would cede, it was only a matter
of time.

"Aye, time... it's a bugger..." Wicked Hetty hissed and my all-at-sea stomach rolled again as I realised the charmer was
reading my thoughts. "...But fur' a nibble of yer' matzah, this lady will tell yer' trues that can make yer' a future that the
bonny lasses will water te" she announced and took a single step closer. "A veritable feast, nay?" she offered and because
I am just a weak child, I nodded.

The fire called to my dreams as I sat in the rocking chair that my Mother had favoured. The wind was still lurking around
outside as the night blundered towards the dawn and probably, as I gazed into the flames, my downfall. The hopes of
daylight seemed a hundred leagues away and the wish to hear the sparrows waking in the eaves was a longing that only
children hold to, when the bogeyman would leave the darkness of under the bed and the warm breath of your mother
would alight on your brow.

Hetty sucked on her bread and watched me from beneath her matted mane. "Yer' miss yer Ma?" she asked flatly and
waving a grimy-finger towards the earthen jug, I nodded to her in agreement of my woe and for her to refill her cup.
she drank and sighed her contentment.

"What are you going to do to me?" I asked into the fire and steeled myself for the terrible answer. The knife lay on the
stone hearth and near enough for me to snatch if called upon, but my heart had already told me that I was the lesser
in the room now. With a belch to underscore of her filling, the Witch from the watering hole leaned forward and placed
her broomstick arms on each side of the empty plate. My eyes ached to seek comfort of the knife at my feet and yet, I
watched for the interloper called Wicked Hetty.

"Yer'll be thinkin' that 'ah'll be wantin' te' chew on yer' soul or that little-thing between yer' legs, divn't yer?" Hetty
rasped and suddenly fell into a fit of choking laughter. I could have killed her then... I could have. The cemetery that
was her mouth proved that two gravestones of ivory still existed there as she shrieked at her filthy-thoughts and her
depraved musings. The knife was still there.

The mirth was short-lived as the coughing took her body and threw it onto the wooden floorboards with a verve that
whiffed of demon possession or the Saint Vitus' dance that I'd heard of from the priest in the village. As her wretched
gown rode up over her legs, I was forced to witness her dirt-smeared form buck and shudder in her prone torment.
My heart waved goodbye to my childhood.

It seemed like a minute -or a month later, when the convulsion eased and Hetty caught her breath and rose from the
floor. "Eeeh, yer a bugger" she tutted and I wasn't sure she was talking to me. The time, the precious time of my life
moved with the pace of the snails that slept in the lea of the thatched roof as Hetty gathered herself at the table.

"The swallows are gatherin' on the wire and me-bones aren't what they used te' be..." the thick tones eeled their way
to where I was sitting. "...And the bill is always te' be paid" Dragging a stale breath down her scrawny throat, Wicked
Hetty began.

"Hear this lad, fur' what 'ah'm tellin' thee are secrets that will fill yer' descendants pockets and empty
yer' young body of lust.

The heavens are filled with glue that has nay substance and doesn't twinkle with light.
Old Scratch will come and seduce the land with coins of whispered trivia.
Candlelight will burn on the moon and the sea will become hungry fur' land.
The doorways inte' other realms will be opened by breaking the small.
Ghosts will talk in boxes and their falsehoods will taste of sugar.

The skies will fill with shining birds and deadly arrows, Man will war in the name of yer' Gods and kill with eyes
that are nay his own. Honour will become somethin' vanished and the weak will be mocked on vines of deceit.
The cart will be ousted fur' a dragon that bellows it's venom inte' the clouds and noble currency of sweat will be
replaced by the doubloon of covetousness.
For Mankind, love will fall into the abyss of the deviant and the wolves of lechery will scramble and snack at each
other within the walls of the castle.

Heed my words, for they have the veracity of the saints and swim in the tears of rectitude"

Throughout the entire speech, the witch had her eyes closed and a green glow seemed to emanate from her
whip-thin body. The smell of decay had been replaced with the scent of something I would only appreciate in
my later life. The smell of an aroused woman.

It was only when the glimpse of a breakfast-foraging mouse skittering along the window-sill caught my eye, did I
return from the spell Hetty had created during her parlance. The words dripped with wonderment and unsettling.

"But old-Hetty knows that yer'll be needin' te' prime the pump..." she growled and sucking another gob of air over
her quivering lips, she forced herself to her feet. "...Me-final part of the payment will set yer' on yer' path"

The welcoming air of the dawn outside seeped into the room and began it's scrimmage with the fire's embers and
the bouquet of ruin from the woman in the rags that had allowed it in. The open door tickled my mind with hints of
escape and skedaddle, a waking land of dew-soaked undergrowth and yawning deer.

The sun danced on the tips of the corn sheaves that stood near the broken fence that I'd promised myself I would
repair before Autumn and the smells of the day talked to the wild-thing that awaits inside all boys. Fishing with a
pole and the feel of a girl's hair.

"Aye, yer' can run te' the woods and sit with the rabbits..." Hetty consoled "...but would yer' Ma be proud of yer'
hotfoot?" The sight of her skin-stretched hips hiding under the sunlight-allowing robe made me turn away from
her silhouette at the doorway and deftly plucking the knife from the hearth, I stepped towards the entrance and
stood beside the devil's daughter.

A Blackbird began it's boastful chorus in a nearby elderberry bush as we left the stale atmosphere of my home and
soaked in the vista of our dusty farmyard. The Witch and the boy... in formation. The earth turned and the cow would
need milking. More trues.

"When you see fourteen summers, yer'll travel past the meadows on the other side of Underhill and reach a place
called 'Auld Cloots 'O The Green'" Hetty said softly. The daylight seemed to take away any of the menace that I had
imagined during the night and now, I felt I was just standing in the morning with a foolish, smelly vagrant.
But a deal is a deal.

"Oh it is" the crone agreed and I would swear she wanted to pat my shoulder. But she didn't. "The hamlet is known
for it's making of ale and the twisted spire of it's church." the scruffy Witch supplemented and for a second, the flight
of the passing swallows seemed more interesting.

"Heed me, boy or 'ah'll take yer across me knee..." Hetty growled "...'Ah'm puttin' thee on yer' path te' great destiny"
and without a glance, wandered away to where the remaining three hens pecked among the dirt near the well.

"People are like the seeds these buggers search fur' and what 'ah'm tellin' yer will make yer' the cock of the rock, son...
yon revelations will come in handy to a man that ploughs a wake in history" she said off-handedly as she suddenly
reached for the brown chicken near the wooden horse trough. "She's a beauty, is she not?" Hetty asked as she stroked
the frightened bird under her arm and pondered the sunlight on the surface of the contained water.

I realised that the nightmare-that-was-now-a-daymare, was not going to go away until she had delivered her prattle and
so I nodded and walked to where she waited. "Smart boy" she whispered and dared to nudge me with her dirty elbow.

"The village is also known for a strange rock that resides in the centre of it's well-kept green and protruding from the
stone is a sword... yer' sword" Hetty imparted during her poultry-petting. "On the day yer' take that falchion, yer will
place yer' feet on the terrace to kingship" she declared and released the hen back to it's feathery kin.
The half-assed fluttering dowsed the drama of her action and she knew it.

Wicked Hetty -the Woman of The Well, went home then, the soft shuffling of her bare feet in the yard's dust sounded
like the final breaths of a man who had awoke inside his own coffin. Without any fanfare, the skeleton-that-cackled slid
over the stone edge and was gone. Vowing I would never pull water from that cistern again, I began my chores and
attempted to shrug off the strangeness of the previous darkness.

"Psst..." the female staring over the smooth-stoned rampart of the well -hissed. "...What is your name, me-lad?"

I could have hurled the knife right then and purged my soul of the words she'd imparted to me last night, I could have
had her body hauled up out of that well and in the ground before my Father came home at noon. I could have.

"Arthur..." I said cautiously "...My name is Arthur" and that awful smile came again.

I've been reluctant to post this article since it appeared yesterday, it's August and the House of Commons are
on holiday, a time when Journalists bugger off to their second homes in Cornwall or southern France and Silly
Season would normally be in full bloom.

But the 'Big Cats In The UK' controversy is now put to bed, yes?
We'll see.

Quote:BEAST OF BRITAIN ‘Clearest ever’ photo of big cat prowling the British countryside discovered by film-makers

'Film-makers have found the “clearest ever” photo of a big cat prowling the British countryside.
Researchers discovered the snap of the powerful-looking panther-like creature in long grass at a former colliery site.
It was taken by a visitor to ­Whitfield Valley Nature Reserve in Stoke-on-Trent, who accompanied it with a note
specifying the location. The photographer did not sign or address the letter and dated it March 17, but gave no year.



The pic was found in a zoology centre’s archives by the assistant director who said: “It’s clearly a large cat of the
Panthera genus. “It’s so clear we can even see its whiskers. "If it’s genuine, then it’s probably the best photo of a
British big cat that exists.”

The image is featured as evidence in a documentary on the existence of big cats in the British countryside.
Panthera Britannia Declassified also brings to light DNA evidence of at least one wild big cat near a sheep-kill last
year in Gloucs [Gloucestershire].

Producer Tim Whittard said: “This astonishing lost photograph and amazing new scientific discovery form only
a fraction of the collective evidence on display in the film. "The research process was intensive and exhaustive.
"We used real science and real experts and tried to be as objective and analytical as possible.”



He said big cats are probably the offspring of those released after 1976 when it became illegal to own them
without a licence in the UK. He said: “These majestic big cats were fashionable status symbols. The story is a
sad one really.” The film is available on Amazon Prime...'

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I'm good for one sting every summer.  It's been a yellowjacket every. fucking. time.

Today at work, I had my arms up, setting up a machine, and one flew right into my sleeve.  I didn't even feel it until I put my arm down, and I thought, huh, maybe a metal splinter got stuck in my shirt, and then my arm was on fire.

I naturally slapped the shit out of my arm, and out tumbles fuckface onto the floor where it was enthusiastically stomped.

The weird thing is, each time the sting has felt different.  A few summers ago I was up a ladder, and one landed on my elbow, and of course stung me.  It felt electric, like somebody dropped a stun gun onto my arm for a split second.  It left a welt, but the pain was gone in a half hour.

Last summer, one tagged my leg, and it felt like somebody flicked a cigarette cherry onto my leg.  It burned for 20 minutes, and was gone.

Today, this one got me good.  This one felt like somebody tossed a staple remover into a fire for a minute, took it out, and pinched my arm.  This was now 8 hours ago and it's still throbbing slightly.  Maybe it's because of where it got me.  Inside of my arm, 2 inches above my armpit.  That's tender.

Anyway, fuck yellowjackets.

So, we have an Amazon Studio , a decent music device with Alexa. I renamed it computer so that is what it answers to when requesting playlists and weather alerts. 
When ever I am watching one of my Star Trek series or movies and they ask the computer to initiate self destruct sequence, my studio starts counting down and I have to stop it because I am afraid what is going to happen.
Not to mention it ignores my wife sometimes and I have to ask it like it's some jealous girlfriend or something. 
Just a minute ago it seem to get in an argument with my wife and she threaten to unplug it if it didn't shut up .

Then there is our roomba , the little round robotic vacuum that I renamed Terminator. He is an asshole . Sometimes he does a great job and sometimes he just does a small area and re-docks on the charger.  

This is how it all begins, trusting AI a little bit at a time until they have full control. 

I might just unplug them all !

The CCP says no one can take more than 50k out of the country so how can the upper echelon of the CCP afford a 20 million dollar condo in N.Y. or all the homes and ranches across America ? I agree with Chris but I also think to many American's in power will do nothing, unless, we get real leadership change.

Quote:The Chinese Communist Party has brutalized its people, become an existential threat to other countries and is destroying the planet in more ways and on a larger scale than any other nation state. Nevertheless, the CCP has stayed in power for over 75 years, and after all the disaster's it's withstood, it's not clear what could make it fall. That said, there is one thing the US could do that could go a long way in making the CCP lose legitimacy in the eyes of the people.

It is accepted by the system that the last wolf in England was slain in 1390 by a chap called
Humphrey Head in the Lake District area (Coniston) of these cold rainy isles.

However, when the sun goes down across the northern lands...

Some of you may know this but let us say your grand dad stole an apple; He is caught and he and everyone for 3 generations will go to prison. I checked this video out because I had read a news article about a family who had been found to have a Bible in their home. All got locked up to include there 2 year old child.

Another over budget behind schedule Airfarce project.
https://www.airforcetimes.com/news/your-...st-flight/

Quote:By Rachel S. Cohen

 Friday, Jun 30

Boeing and the U.S. Air Force today completed the inaugural flight of the service’s first T-7A Red Hawk, marking the start of the engineering and manufacturing development phase of the program. (Courtesy of Boeing)
The Air Force’s new T-7 Red Hawk training jet flew for the first time Wednesday in St. Louis, Missouri, the company said in a release.
Its flight marks the beginning of the T-7′s final development phase before Boeing starts producing military-ready jets. Red Hawks will replace the Air Force’s six-decade-old T-38 Talon trainers as the main platform that prepares American and foreign pilots to fly fighter and bomber aircraft.
Over the course of the hour-long trip from St. Louis Lambert International Airport, Maj. Bryce Turner, a test pilot with the 416th Test Squadron at Edwards Air Force Base in California, and Steve Schmidt, Boeing’s chief T-7 test pilot, gauged how smoothly the plane maneuvered and tested secondary systems like the auxiliary power supply, Boeing spokesperson Randy Jackson said.
The pair vetted how well the plane handled positive and negative g forces, as a pilot experiences when accelerating or flying upside down, and practiced in high-altitude airspace, Jackson said.
“The stable performance of the aircraft and its advanced cockpit and systems are game-changers for U.S. Air Force student pilots and instructors alike,” Turner said in the release.
As the first Air Force training jet designed in the 21st century, the T-7 offers students a digital cockpit, more realistic simulators and software that can be updated as real-world threats evolve.
The airframe that flew Wednesday is one of five test aircraft that will be delivered to the Air Force before it starts receiving fully finished jets at its schoolhouses. The Air Force plans to buy 351 Red Hawks starting in December 2025 under a $9.2 billion contract awarded in 2018.
But design problems with the escape system and ejection seat have set the production timeline back by multiple years.
Air Force officials now plan to decide in early 2025 whether to begin building operational jets, meaning the service would start receiving aircraft two years later than originally intended.
Some problems stem from an effort to make the jet more accessible to pilots of any race or sex. Earlier airframes were primarily designed to accommodate men based on body measurements from decades-old military studies. That means many women’s torsos or arms are too short to safely operate the jets or to eject.
The Air Force has said that testing showed T-7 pilots could be at high risk for concussions, unsafely speeding up when their parachutes open, or losing their visor. Further tests earlier this year aimed to resolve those concerns.
Jackson said a successful high-speed test in February laid the groundwork for future rounds to ensure the escape system is safe, but did not say whether specific issues remain.
Boeing claimed in the release that the T-7′s cockpit egress system is the “safest of any trainer.”
“This first flight with the Air Force represents our team’s commitment to delivering a new level of safety and training for fighter and bomber pilots,” said Evelyn Moore, Boeing’s T-7 program manager, in the release. “We remain focused on engineering ways to better prepare warfighters for changing mission demands and emerging threats.”
Meanwhile, T-38 maintenance issues have slowed the training pipeline amid a longstanding fighter pilot shortage.
Air Force Times reported in March that a private contractor’s delays in restoring the T-38′s J85 engines threatened to slow pilot production for at least another six months. The engine enterprise may not fully recover until April 2024, despite improvements in the supply of spare parts and repair rates, the service said.
“It’s an old engine. … There’s a lot of moving parts,” Air Education and Training Command boss Lt. Gen. Brian Robinson said Feb. 16. “But as a customer, I just want to produce pilots.”