Saturday, 3 June 2017

The Rickmansworth Nightmare


The Rickmansworth Nightmare

Escaping the Matrix

You must first read my article “The Awakening” to fully understand what is happening here. I appear to be slipping back and fore between dreams, but they are too real to be dreams. I am also beginning to have doubts about slipping though distortions in space and time or passing through Gateways and crossing dimensions, I suggest what this man has to say might be true.

He talks a lot about Perception, Conception and Holograms. I am being asked to believe his theory that we are living in a Matrix and the Matrix is shaped by frequencies sent out from Saturn’s rings and amplified by the Moon. He is suggesting what we experience as reality is not true reality but our perceptions are being influenced by intelligence from outside. But who controls the Matrix?

We are not who we think we are. He says Quote. ‘It is the “Queen Bee” (Saturn-Moon) that broadcasts the waveform information “hack”, and humans decode this into a world they think they see, and perceptions and behaviours they think is “them”. We can be completely controlled by the Matrix and be no more than human robots responding to data input. End of quote.

I really want to believe, but it is a big ask.

He must have his finger on the pulse. He travels the world giving lectures on his theory that we are living in a hologram. He can fill the Battersea town hall to the brim explaining with video presentations to people wanting to know more about this; his 10 hour lectures are the norm.

Maybe I did not slip through a distortion in space and time, or drawn into a Worm Hole maybe there was no Gateway, maybe this is the second time I have escaped the Matrix. It was only my perception that I am a middle aged male when in fact I am a female of the opposite species. So on re-awakening it was the real me and not who I thought I was? Does that make any sense?

I would like to regard this as my second and hopefully my final awakening; I prefer reality beyond the Matrix.

All this happened a while ago but to bring you up to speed Mother seemed to know of my arrival. As I was coming down the stairs she said “Oh so you’re back?” She had just come in from the garden and was holding a pot plant. It was though I had never left.

I inquired “what’s that?”

She replied “it’s a plant”

I said “I can see it’s a plant, but what’s it called?”

Briefly hesitating and ruefully looking at the plant she shook her head and admitted apologetically “I never gave it a name “

Exasperated I said “No, no what’s the plant called?”

“You mean like Nathan or Phyllis?

“No like Rose or Lily”

“Rose and Lily are both girls’ names, it’s just a plant in a pot; it’s called a Pot Plant”

It was early Saturday morning I knew I was not going to get a lot of sense out of her so I decided to quit while I was still behind.

From here on in and for the sake of anonymity and to protect mother’s identity I will refer to her as Mrs. Flugelhorn.

When Graham and I were a unit mother took him aside and said confidentially “Look Graham I would appreciate it if you did not associate with my daughter”

He answered “Mrs. Flugelhorn I love and respect your daughter and would never do anything to hurt her”

Mrs Flugelhorn’s brow furrowed “no, no you have missed the point completely, she is weird”

I first met Graham at a Country and Western show in Rickmansworth; he was dressed in a cowboy outfit. We talked for ages and ages about everything, friends, foibles (foibles?) family and hopes and fears for the future. I was amazed we had absolutely nothing in common, a firm foundation for a long and happy marriage.

They say love is blind likewise mother’s tattooed friend Thelma, you can find her up at the Red Lion blind most Saturday evenings. On second thoughts blind is the wrong word; smashed is the word that escapes me.

It is death that stalks us all and it was a problem Uncle Crisis recently had to face. You see he has his father’s ashes but lacked a burial plot for them. He said he may be forced to lay the ashes on top of his mother, my Auntie Jekyll in the same grave. I asked him about an epitaph, he said it will read ‘In Death as In Life’ I suggested before they put chisel to marble perhaps he should re-think the epitaph.

Death? It reminds me of the sad story of poor Mr Humphries the widower up the road. His wife committed suicide you know. She did leave a note. It read your dinner is in the oven…….so am I.

Talking about Polar Bears reminds me of an incident concerning my friend Tamzin; actually Tamzin is my second best friend Patience is my very best friend. Miss Frenzi the teacher was explaining to the class that a Farrier re-shoes horse’s hooves as a shoe repairer repairs people’s shoes.

Tamzin stood up and shouted out “that’s Cobblers miss”. Miss Frenzi scozhotographer was going to do a 10 second time exposure thus enabling her to run round the back of the students and appear for a second time in the photo, on the extreme right …again complete with blacked out teeth.

A few days later showing her the offending photograph Miss Frenzi said crossly “Your parents will think we have no discipline here, now we will have re-assemble the whole school and get the photographer back, it’s all time and money”. I can only surmise it is small transgressions like this that has caused this ‘bad blood’.

Father is a bit Mutton Jeff; I was telling mother and Tamzin about Colonel Carter-Brown who lives at Ruthin Castle near Plaxtol Mill. I told them he organizes tours for Japanese tourists, fly fishing, arranges lovely afternoon tea parties on the lawn, hosts old time dancing and has exquisite balls; father cried out from the kitchen “wash yer mouth out Brigitte”. Exasperated I looked at my mother and whispered forcefully “MOTHER, FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE!” She closed her eyes, patted the back of my hand reassuringly saying “never mind pet, don’t fret it’s just your father”.

I shall refuse to talk anymore when father is around after the last episode when I was telling Tamsin of a movie about a gigantic Octopus. I just happened to be describing its huge tentacles when father cried out “Brigitte I will not tell you again”. I tearfully pleaded “Mother for heavens sake make him wear a hearing aid”

Tamzin’s mother told my mother that Tamzin moans and cries out for Gandalf in her sleep. God ONLY knows what she gets up to in her dreams; that’s Tamzin not her Mother. I don’t like to pry as dreams are very personal and private things aren’t they? Trouble with Tamzin she is too trusting.

Her mother had to tell her not to do cart-wheels in front of the boys; she said all they want to do is look at your knickers. Tamzin said “I know that mother; I know thaaaaaat with emphasis on THAT,” that’s why I keep them in my bag”.

To sum up, if this is the real me and if this is to be my permanent home I am going to have to establish some guidelines here, a new set of ground rules for Graham for a start.

http://www.bibliotecapleyades.net/biggestsecret/esp_icke94.htm Moon Matrix Theory Explained



Thursday, 1 June 2017

Rickmansworth Got Talent.




Rickmansworth Got Talent.
Or
Escaping the Matrix

Like mortality, finite is a word that we as human beings use when we believe there is a beginning and an end, but in the wider scheme of things if we are not of substance but pure energy then these two words exist only due to the data being transmitted to us by the controllers of the matrix. I suspect this pure energy is the universal singular consciousness shared by all beings of interstellar origin.

But in our case it is the interference by the Matrix that gives us solidity and supposed purpose and it is the controllers of the Matrix who determine the narrative. Are we in reality pure invisible energy that exists throughout the Cosmos unlike man-made electromagnetic energy like Radio and TV signals? So the question is who controls the Matrix, is it a civilization so far advanced than ours that this floating piece of blue green space debris and its inhabitants is an experiment, but more importantly is it possible to escape this Matrix?


I have escaped the Matrix on a couple of occasions. Each time I thought it was just another dream but I recognised the faces and heard the voices. In dreams the faces are indistinguishable and there are no sounds. If I am in someone else’s play what is my part and will death be my release from the Matrix when I as a globule of pure energy move instantly elsewhere in the Cosmos, who knows. It was not to be another dream for I recognized the faces and heard the sounds. Have escaped again I am not sure?


We had arranged to meet for breakfast in the Côte d'Azur café in Rickmansworth high street next to the garage. Pastor Dickie and his wife Mildred ordered the early bird special, beans on toast. I plumped for Porridge on toast and Tamzin’s parents Mr and Mrs Lacy ordered the chef’s special; they took a courageous chance on this one as no-one was really sure what the Chefs special was. Tamzin ordered the Carte De Jour, not too well done with Béarnaise sauce, asparagus and a bowl of chips. I blushed crimson, were Miss Pringle our French teacher present she would have had convulsions or even palpitations and wondered what was the purpose of teaching schoolchildren French for years.


Tamzin does have her moments of pure genius however proved by her brave but brief foray into the beauty industry. It was an internet adventure where she hoped to rival the ‘House of Yves Saint Éclair’ in Paris. Her discovery was a beauty product for the removal of unsightly ladies moustaches and private hair. Most importantly what set it apart from the propriety brands was the user could actually harvest the base material for themselves needed for the hair removal…Tree Sap.


We agonized for days over a brand name; I suggested ‘Airs and Graces’, my best friend Patience suggested ‘air on a G String’. Finally it was Tamzin who came up with a corker, ‘Brazilian Scream’ She reasoned this was the interpretation of the sound she expected to hear from the user as one ripped off the Sap-impregnated Elastoplast from the offending hair. We all concurred. Even though we copyrighted the product sadly the idea never found real favour with the general public.


Tamzin was keen to cement her mark in Rickmansworth and perhaps encourage the Rickmansworth Council to affix a blue commemorative plaque on a wall in the high street. We decided to move one step at a time on this one. Our first opportunity came when the Red Lion Pub held a ‘Rickmansworth Has Talent’ show. We decided even without a musical agent we could have a good chance of taking this one out. A name for our act was going to be a big problem. We eventually plumped for The Irish Rovers; plural you will note.


I was to play the washboard and sing Tamzin was to play the Tin Whistle.
 We were to give a special rendering of ‘Whiskey in the Jar’. I warned the organizer our version ran for 25 minutes but if they preferred a longer rendition we could accommodate them with a special version that ran for 1¼ hours, in that one I have a washboard break of about 20 minutes. He said as he had a dozen or so contestants lined up they would have to go with the shortened version.

I thought it was going very well. It was only after about 15 minutes when the pub was almost empty the grumpy organizer walked up to the stage and ordered us to leave. When I asked why, his excuse was the patrons were fed up waiting for the ‘Daddy Oh’. Well that was their loss and Rickmansworth’s potential musical reputation down the drain.


While I have your attention I must recount one of Father’s many anecdotes. He had previously related this story to Lord and Lady Bêsant-Carter at our house over a glass of port at one of our regular Bridge party’s, a story about a warship that was hit by a torpedo in the North Atlantic. As the ship was about to keel over into the icy waters the ships Pastor gathered everyone on deck and invited them to join him in the well-known Hymn ‘Abide with Me’


A small voice was heard to call out from the back of the assembled men. ‘What key are we in Jack?’ Personally I think it is an anecdote told in bad taste, and I did not hesitate to tell Mother so.


I must tell you about my friend Graham, I hastily add he is NOT my boy-friend. I met him at a First Aid refresher course. He partnered me in the mouth to mouth resuscitation. Twice I had to remonstrate with him for attempting to put his tongue in my mouth. I warned him in no uncertain terms that I valued my virginal disposition much more than crappy first aid merit badges and one more violation of my disadvantaged helpless position of being pinned to the floor I will punch ‘is lights out.


I told mother about Graham attempting to kiss me on the……. erm escalator at the shopping centre. I told her I suspect Graham is experiencing his first sexual awakening. Mother said “Bridgette dear of course he is, he a 25 year old male for heaven’s sake”. She also warned me if I continue to frolic with males of the opposite species on escalators in shopping centres I also run the real risk of coming home with child. I did not realise mother had a sense of humour; I know father does because he married her.


It was Mother that first accused me of being gullible and I believed her. Father must also think I am gullible. He recounted another one of his ‘untold stories’ concerning the Titanic he said most people are totally unaware of. He said when it was sinking and only a few passengers and crew remained on deck the Captain ordered the orchestra to lead the survivors in the Hymn ‘Eternal Father Strong to Save’...…or something like that.


At the end of the singing they were to observe one minutes silence in memory of those still struggling in the water after which the orchestra would then segue straight into the Charleston, followed by musical chairs then the Hokey Pokey. Drinks would be served, fancy dress was optional. I asked Mother how long had Father indulged in bad taste.


Graham has just rung up and asked mother if I am free this evening. Mother exploded “free, FREE GRAHAM? She is not THAT cheap”.


I pointed out the advert to Mother. ‘WITCHCRAFT LESSONS’ to galvanize her interest I pointed out there were discounts for seniors.


She said I can forget my birthday present it is not going to happen. I think I will turn her into a frog.


Later I asked her to rethink her decision..... I pointed out to her it was a simple mistake the advert read STITCHCRAFT LESSONS.


I am afraid to sleep now because I might leave my earthly body and find myself on the outer edge of one of the universes as a bolt of pure energy …..and for all his faults I was beginning to like Graham.