Do I Delete? Does it Matter?

I have produced a lot of digital content over the past two decades. The platinum blonde years were my least favorite however, it’s time to do spring cleaning…a new race is upon us and we travel light. So, do I have a right to be forgotten? They pass laws in Europe so people can legally remove themselves from the internet. I don’t quite get it, but it sounds like my recent dilemma; do I delete old profiles and pictures now? Is there a “cleaner” brand I would like to BE? Erasure. Deletion. A lot these days you hear about data swipes etc. Is it nowhere? I drove by a street called Nowhere Road. It veered off to a hairpin turn down a hill and another hairpin turn to the right, out of sight. So, we aren’t going there. There is no there there.
Do I want to be forgotten? I used to think; NO! I need the publicity! If I’m forgotten, I am nothing, I fade away. That convoluted mess of mass consciousness soup called the internet, it is what it is, and I am a part of that. For many years I used my life force to help grow it with my mark. I was a drop of water among other rain drops. We are the wave, the race, all of us.
My online content is my journey, in full video glory. There’s a few I can think of I should pull down, a few photos deleted, comments, etc. Right? I have dozens of sites, impossible task. Who am I kidding? I already know I have been assigned two scribes, one on the right, and one on the left, and they write down my every thought, impulse, what I say and keep record of it. They have been super busy for the past 18 years. I’ve been busy too, in fact I capture as much as I can. Of the 5 (guardian angels) one is in front, one behind, one above and on the left and the right, my scribes.
“Legacy editions” in publishing are sacred cows. Why? Because a legacy indicates, as all transitory words, an object, a second party implied. The future generations will know me for this…, you call it. But what medium will it be? Is it going to be a 3D ray that suddenly pulls it out of the virtual black hole where it fell when the hardware we used turned to dust because we use sound waves now? That’s a well known concern.
But also as well known is the fact that we do exist in linear space time as well as time space. Square root is the physics. But in quantum, if you go back and delete your legacy online or where ever you want to delete data, in actuality, you add that fact; the fact that after creating for so many years, in the end you went back and destroyed as thoroughly as possible, everything you could, to your legacy. Whoa! That’s heavy. It says something profound. Deletion is a lie. It doesn’t exist and in fact is a trap. It says to ease your anxiety, let’s pretend it didn’t happen. If we begin thinking as simply as A STRAIGHT LINE, A SINGLE LINE. Everything begins with this in geometry.  The illusion of 2D and 3D it is easy to get sucked in and begin to feel it in a clairsentient way as real. It is indeed, as real as every other dimension, or none.
So, where is the point? The singularity, that first cause? It seems in our 3D reality, the source is A CORPORATION. A corpse is an dead body. A corporation is a dead body and every where you do down the rabbit hole, no matter what it is, you find a corpse.  Empty. Facebook is a corpse. Who owns the internet? ICANN? India? Who knows. Who cares. They are all dead.
All my older content, in retrospect, does need to be there. It just shows that I earnestly created for decades. I won’t be deleting things, taking them down. In fact, I am turning OFF SPELL-CHECK TURN OFF AUTO-CORRECT who likes to put words in your mouth as you type. I guess the ethers have a voice too. So, when we delete something, it’s still there, just hidden.

delete: effaceur, rayer, biffer (fr)

effaceur: to throw into the shadow, humility, self-effacement

rayer: a beam of light like a laser emanating from you

biffer: to run the pen through,network of lead bars over the window, grooves dug into metal

 If I consider everything as having the same consciousness as I experience it, and I do, then deleting is like believing, as in suicide victims, that stopping the physical body eliminates their internal pain. Which is, of course, a lie. Keeping lies around is NOT SAFE, it isn’t safe. By contrast, even one morsel of truth, when sincerely acted upon, consistently over time, can straighten out distorted geometry in your organs and cells and in gradations infinity just as consistently. It isn’t magic, it’s physics. You can consider it magic as the cosmological human is magic.
Apply your ray-beam of focus (your eyes) on you and get comfortable, it’s a beautiful journey.
c.2016 Music Alchemy TM



Source: Dear Vladimir: It’s Not Us

In this recent article by Anna von Reitz, it is addressed to Putin but it is about Britain, specifically about the Crown and it’s continued possession of what we call America. Anna says to Putin that Americans were gullible and that’s how we were tricked. Also, the other party are tricksters to begin with, looking to trade people’s property for their “cre’er” – credibility, debt in other words. So, I opened my handy French-English Dictionary, and found the following golden nuggets.

Gul·li·ble comes from GULL in French: Dupe, to gull, to take in. dupery, trickery, trick, sell. n. dupeur; Cheat, trickster. Now you know why its not in the dictionary.

Gullible in the English dictionary: disposed to believe on little evidence,CREDULOUS, trusting, naive, innocent, simple, green. also; impressionableunsuspectingunsuspiciousunwaryingenuousinnocentinexperiencedunworldlygreen

Credulous – the root of the problem is this word. it stems from “cre-er” – to beget, invent, appoint, as in “A King begets someone’s land and offers them “credit” in exchange. It suggests obtaining resources by searching, to find means…to find resources ”

(like a parasite?) hmmmm.

Being gullible indicates immaturity. Childhood is past. I’ve grown out of the tricks. This is why we let it happen, it describes what Americans are to begin with; “ingenious, otherworldly with a child-like innocence” which is also a very good thing! It is THE THING. That is what makes us special as humans. Don’t forget that. The down side of that is being vulnerable and inexperienced. Improving that should be a central focus until you sharpen your skills and grow up. Then we can’t be taken advantage of. This is important to realize, what Anna is doing is an “adept-level” declaration. We all have wanted to say this.

THE OPPOSITE OF GULLIBLE: In-cred-ulous would then mean; ‘We suspect you are a trickster. We don’t want your credit, no thanks. We will keep our lands, thank-you-very-much.’




Benjamin Franklin, Where are you?


The first Post Master of our country was Benjamin Franklin. I read lots of books by him and about his daily routines, I would read samples of his handwriting and all the lists and charts he made. He was a cartographer and a real learned man. He took his office of Post Master seriously and had the personal virtue to back up his claim as well as full authority with the Universal Postal Union earth-wide. This image is freaky and regardless of the mantra and coding, I do not advocate. I cannot guarantee the authenticity of it.

I quote Judge Anna von Reitz in her recent search for our real Post Master and her adventures, isn’t it always, discovering the backbone of our lands. She amazes me.

Postmasters, Post Masters, Post Master by Anna von Reitz

I keep returning to the old Gary Moore show, Tell the Truth, an early television game show where three people all claimed to be a particular individual and the contestant had to figure out who was scamming.
For example, the actual man to be identified might be a famous scientist credited with inventing the modern jet engine, and by a process of asking questions of the three men on the panel, the contestant would finally have to make a guess, and the real scientist would be asked to stand up.
“Will the real Felix Stonebrunner please stand up?”
This is the sort of problem we have with identifying the “real” Post Master of the United States—-if there is one.
Let’s begin by explaining why this is important and what the office is really about.
The Post Master of the United States is the Trustee responsible for the well-being and maintenance of peace and order and freedom of transportation on the land jurisdiction of the United States.
The Postmaster of the United States provides a similar function on the High Seas and Inland Waterways, ensuring freedom of transportation on the seaways in the international jurisdiction of the sea.
Between these two deceptively similarly named offices, we are guaranteed the free flow of goods and information and persons by the UPU, the Universal Postal Union, whether we are on the land or the sea.
Both the Office of the Post Master and the Office of the Postmaster are ultimately international offices and both function in the international jurisdiction of the sea.
The realm of both offices should be envisioned as a sort of “international free zone” that exists within each country served by the UPU. This is where we get the concept of “Post Roads” — roads designated as international highways for the purpose of transporting the mail, and “Sea Lanes” which are routes across the Seven Seas that are similarly held sacrosanct and designated as international zones where ships of all nations can sail.
Post Offices are international stations or hubs, connected by Post Roads and Sea Lanes to every other Post Office on Earth.
This system allows us to send a letter to Zimbabwe and be reasonably sure that it will get there or send a shipload of wool to Portsmouth and be assured of the same result. And now you also understand why passports are also issued by the Post Office. When we go from one country to another and receive the “stamps” on our passports we are essentially mailing ourselves from one destination to another and making use of the international Post Road and Sea Lane agreements to do so.
From the beginning of this vast international service, and for obvious reasons, the UPU has had to employ security agents to prevent piracy and theft and other interference with its functions. In the United States, these agents are called Federal Marshals when operating on the land jurisdiction within each state, and  United States Marshals when operating on the international jurisdiction of the sea outside of or between the states — interstate jurisdiction.
Also for obvious reasons, the UPU has to have and maintain treaties known as Postal Union Treaties with each national government to allow and maintain this international transport system within the borders and maritime jurisdictions of each country on Earth.
The proper functioning of the postal system throughout the Earth is also vital to the insurance industry worldwide, which has to insure the safe passage of goods from Point A to Point B via this transportation system, and to national governments which must rely upon it for the safe transportation of its people to and from foreign destinations.
As each state of the Union is actually a nation-state and the fifty states together merely function “as” one entity for a list of stipulated international purposes—one of which is international/interstate trade, control of which is delegated to the federal government — the federal government has and maintains a Postal Union Treaty with the UPU which applies throughout all the various states.
The office of United States Post Master (land) and office of United States Postmaster (sea), are responsible for enforcing the Postal Union Treaty and for securing, maintaining, and operating the Post Roads, Sea Lanes, Post Offices, and all the functions related to these— but the key international role of interest to us is that of the United States Post Master acting in his role as the Trustee of the land jurisdiction of the United States. This is the office that Benjamin Franklin occupied, and which he passed on to his relatives.
In the confusion after the Civil War, the unofficial corporate government doing business as “The United States of America”established a corporate office called “The United States Postmaster General” to perform the day to day functions of the international office, but as the corporation had no ability or authority to appoint the Land Trustee, the actual office of United States Post Master was vacated and remained so. Even though the functions mandated by the Postal Union Treaty got done, there was no Trustee to defend the land jurisdiction overall.
As with so many other things, life appeared to go on as normal after the Civil War, but wasn’t really normal. The office of United States Post Master is not the same as the office of The United States Postmaster General nor is it the same as the Postmaster General of the United States. You can begin to glimpse the plethora of semantic variations obscuring the nature and authority of this office.
You can also see why it was desirable from the standpoint of the British Monarch and the British Crown operators to usurp the authority of this key land jurisdiction office.
Leaving us without an effective Post Master acting as our Trustee on the land jurisdiction allowed the British Monarchs to disrespect the land jurisdiction of the states and to bring their sea-based jurisdiction onto the land by default. There was nobody with the authority in the international system to stop them.
As best as I can see and determine, the actual office of United States Post Master, once occupied by Benjamin Franklin, was vacated after the Civil War. We’ve had nobody actually and officially functioning as the Land Trustee for the United States ever since.
Pope Benedict XVI attempted to do an end run around this situation by appointing James Thomas McBride to act as Post Master for all of North America — Canada, United States, and Mexico — in a move intended to provide jurisdictional support for the actual states and people against the continued usurpations of international banks and the British Crown.
In this office, McBride issued The Universal Postal Union Treaty of the Americas 2010, declaring an end to the vicious mischaracterization of people as mere “things” and mandating the return of land assets to their rightful jurisdiction, including the removal of false deeds and land titles held under color of law by the banks and the British Crown. As proof of his authority to do this, Pope Benedict XVI gave McBride the Seal of St. Peter.
The rats accused McBride of using their private Zip Codes (which are deceptively the same as Postal Extension Codes) and incarcerated him. From the opposite end of the issue, it can just as easily be claimed instead that they have usurped upon our Postal Extension Codes and attempted to enclose and adopt them for unofficial and unauthorized use— but that will require prosecution by the UPU and a complaint brought by American State Nationals who are exempt from Zip Codes and fully allowed to use identical-appearing Postal Extension Codes.
On top of all this craziness, we have two primary candidates who claim to be the actual Post Master and Trustee of the Land Jurisdiction we are owed internationally: Russell Gould of Colorado and Keith Livingway, most recently to my knowledge anyway, living offshore in Costa Rica.
Both men claim that they “captured” the office via claim on abandonment following the end of the bankruptcy of the United States of America, Inc., in 1999.
Neither claim seems credible to me, and my questions have gone unanswered. So in the tradition of “Tell the Truth” I am making my questions public. (Just imagine me on the stage as the Contestant, asking questions, trying to find the real United States Post Master.)
To Keith Livingway — who calls himself “The United States Postmaster General”: since the office of “Postmaster General” was created as a corporate office after the Civil War, how does capturing that title — like a brand name released by any bankrupt corporation — give you any claim to be, or even be associated with, the office of United States Post Master acting as Land Trustee?
To Russell Gould: — who claims to have gone to Rome and to have successfully claimed control of the office of United States Post Master at some time following the 1999 bankruptcy settlement — as above, the corporate offices released by the bankruptcy have nothing to do with the actual office of Land Trustee that was vacated during the Civil War– so if the Pope later and separately acquiesced to your claims and appointed you to act as the United States Post Master (and therefore as the Land Trustee) where is your proof of that vital international appointment?
If so, why would Pope Benedict find it necessary to appoint McBride nearly a decade later?
Why have you been unable thus far to use the authority of the Land Trustee to prevent the continued usurpations of the British Crown and the international banks upon the land jurisdiction of the United States?
You appear to be exercising authority related to the office of United States Postmaster (sea jurisdiction) rather than United States Post Master (land jurisdiction) and to have support from the United States Navy and Special Operations and Coast Guard. Is there a miscommunication about the nature, jurisdiction, and authority of your office? Is your office that of United States Postmaster (sea), instead of United States Post Master (land)?
Inquiring minds and 390 million people deserve to know.
Recently the people of the United States have returned to the land jurisdiction and officially re-conveyed their native states to the land jurisdiction, which day to day places them under the protection of the King of Spain and which also requires the British Monarch to act as our Trustee on the High Seas and Inland Waterways—and to knock off all the predatory plundering, pillaging, mischaracterization and false claims that the British Monarch has indulged in against the American People.
As per The Universal Postal Union Treaty of the Americas 2010, our status as living men and women must be honored and all the false claims and titles held against our private and public property must be released by the British Crown Corp, the international banks, and other participants in the numerous crimes committed against us.
Any actual, factual, United States Post Master is responsible for the enforcement of this and all the other international treaties owed to the land jurisdiction of the states and the people living here and it is a duty long neglected—- so, will the actual, United States Post Master, vested with the authority and responsibility of enforcing our international treaties, please stand up?

Spirit Speaks of Man and Monarchs




Of Man

There’s not one atom of yon earth but once was living in man, not the minutest drop rain that hangeth in its thinnest cloud but flowed in human veins; and from the burning plains where Lybian Monsters fell, from the most gloomy glens of Greenlands’ sunless clime to where the golden fields of fertile England spread their harvest to the day, thou canst find one spot whereon no city stood.

How strange is human pride! I tell thee that those living things, to whom the fragile blade of grass that springeth in the morn and perisheth ere noon, is an unbounded world. I tell thee that those viewless beings whose mansion is the smallest particle of the impassive atmosphere, think, feel and live like man, that their affections and antipathies like his, produce the laws ruling their moral state; and the minutest throb that through their frame diffuses the slightest motion, is fixed and indispensible as the majestic laws that rule yon rolling orbs.

Of Monarchs

Behold a gorgeous palace that amid yon populous city, rears its thousand towers and sums itself a city, gloomy troops of centinels, in stern and silent ranks, encompass it around; the dweller there cannot be free and happy, hearest thou not the curses of the fatherless, the groans of those who have no friend?

The King, wearer of a golden chain that binds his soul to abjection, miserable, [degradedness, lacking self-respect, wretchedness] the fool, whom courtiers nickname Monarch, whilst a slave even to the basest appetites – that man heeds not the shrieks of penury [extreme poverty, lack of necessities], he smiles at the curses which the destitute mutter in secret and a sullen joy pervades his bloodless heart when thousands groan but for those morsels which his wantonness wastes in unjoyous revelry, to save all that these love from famine, when he hears the tale of horro, to some ready-made face of hypocritical assent, he turns smothering the glow of shame that spite of him, flushes his bloated cheek.

Of Drones

Those gilded flies that basking in the sunshine of a court, fatten on its corruption. What are they? The drones of the community, they feed on the mechanics labor; the starved hind for them compels the stubborn glebe to yield its unshared harvests; and yon squalid form, leaner than fleshless misery, that wastes a sunless life in the unwholesome mine, drags out in labour a protracted death, to glut their grandeur; many faint with toil that few may know the cares and woe of sloth.

Faerie Queen on Kings and Parasites

Faerie Queen on Kings and Parasites

Symmetry on Kings and Parasites

Mab Queen of the Faeries by Percy Bysshe Shelley Part III


Mab and the Celestial Car: this the closest image I could find that could be even close but the reins were blue beams

Whence, thinkest thou, kings and parasites arose?
Whence that unnatural line of drones, who heap
Toil and unvanquishable penury
On those who build their palaces, and bring
Their daily bread?—From vice, black loathsome vice;
From rapine, madness, treachery, and wrong;
From all that genders misery, and makes
Of earth this thorny wilderness; from lust,
Revenge, and murder……And when reason’s voice,
Loud as the voice of nature, shall have waked
The nations; and mankind perceive that vice
Is discord, war, and misery; that virtue
Is peace, and happiness, and harmony;
When man’s maturer nature shall disdain
The playthings of its childhood;—kingly glare
Will lose its power to dazzle; its authority
Will silently pass by; the gorgeous throne
Shall stand unnoticed in the regal hall,
Fast falling to decay; whilst falsehood’s trade
Shall be as hateful and unprofitable
As that of truth is now.Where is the fame
Which the vain-glorious mighty of the earth
Seek to eternize? Oh! the faintest sound
From time’s light footfall, the minutest wave
That swells the flood of ages, whelms in nothing
The unsubstantial bubble. Aye! to-day
Stern is the tyrant’s mandate, red the gaze
That flashes desolation, strong the arm
That scatters multitudes. To-morrow comes!
That mandate is a thunder-peal that died
In ages past; that gaze, a transient flash
On which the midnight closed, and on that arm
The worm has made his meal.

The virtuous man,
Who, great in his humility, as kings
Are little in their grandeur; he who leads
Invincibly a life of resolute good,
And stands amid the silent dungeon-depths
More free and fearless than the trembling judge,
Who, clothed in venal power, vainly strove
To bind the impassive spirit;—when he falls,
His mild eye beams benevolence no more:
Withered the hand outstretched but to relieve;
Sunk reason’s simple eloquence that rolled
But to appal the guilty. Yes! the grave
Hath quenched that eye, and death’s relentless frost
Withered that arm: but the unfading fame
Which virtue hangs upon its votary’s tomb;
The deathless memory of that man, whom kings
Call to their mind and tremble; the remembrance
With which the happy spirit contemplates
Its well-spent pilgrimage on earth,
Shall never pass away.

Nature rejects the monarch, not the man;
The subject not the citizen: for kings
And subjects, mutual foes, for ever play
A losing game into each other’s hands,
Whose stakes are vice and misery. The man
Of virtuous soul commands not, nor obeys.
Power, like a desolating pestilence,
Pollutes whate’er it touches; and obedience,
Bane of all genius, virtue, freedom, truth,
Makes slaves of men, and, of the human frame,
A mechanized automaton.

When Nero,
High over flaming Rome, with savage joy
Lowered like a fiend, drank with enraptured ear
The shrieks of agonizing death, beheld
The frightful desolation spread, and felt
A new created sense within his soul
Thrill to the sight, and vibrate to the sound;
Thinkest thou his grandeur had not overcome
The force of human kindness? and, when Rome,
With one stern blow, hurled not the tyrant down,
Crushed not the arm red with her dearest blood,
Had not submissive abjectness destroyed
Nature’s suggestions?

Look on yonder earth:
The golden harvests spring; the unfailing sun
Sheds light and life; the fruits, the flowers, the trees,
Arise in due succession; all things speak
Peace, harmony, and love. The universe,
In nature’s silent eloquence, declares
That all fulfil the works of love and joy,—
All but the outcast man. He fabricates
The sword which stabs his peace; he cherisheth
The snakes that gnaw his heart; he raiseth up
The tyrant, whose delight is in his woe,
Whose sport is in his agony. Yon sun,
Lights it the great alone? Yon silver beams,
Sleep they less sweetly on the cottage thatch,
Than on the dome of kings? Is mother earth
A step-dame to her numerous sons, who earn
Her unshared gifts with unremitting toil;
A mother only to those puling babes
Who, nursed in ease and luxury, make men
The playthings of their babyhood, and mar,
In self-important childishness, that peace
Which men alone appreciate?

Spirit of Nature! no.
The pure diffusion of thy essence throbs

Alike in every human heart.
Thou, aye, erectest there
Thy throne of power unappealable:
Thou art the judge beneath whose nod
Man’s brief and frail authority
Is powerless as the wind
That passeth idly by.
Thine the tribunal which surpasseth
The shew of human justice,
As God surpasses man.

Spirit of Nature! thou
Life of interminable multitudes;
Soul of those mighty spheres
Whose changeless paths thro’ Heaven’s deep silence lie;
Soul of that smallest being,
The dwelling of whose life
Is one faint April sun-gleam;—
Man, like these passive things,
Thy will unconsciously fulfilleth:
Like theirs, his age of endless peace,
Which time is fast maturing,
Will swiftly, surely come;
And the unbounded frame, which thou pervadest,
Will be without a flaw
Marring its perfect symmetry.

Why Are They Trying To Kill Us? Because They Can’t Die



I found Percy Bysshe Shelley’s epic “Poem of Mab, Queen of the Faeries” on a scribd site for editors, a translation. Along with the poem I found the associated commentary. The poem is lengthy and I am practicing the phrasing in order to recite it in an audio/video recording I plan to upload on my youtube channel. I printed out the text of the poem double columns per page single space. It came out to 22 pages. As I have been making my way through it, I have had to stop at least once per page and using my French-English and old Webster’s Dictionaries, try to figure out what these ancient usages originally meant. Basically, I’m on page 5 and have been working on it for at least 3 weeks! This is definitely taking longer than I anticipated. I am learning a lot, however, and the things I am learning are so profound, who woulda thought? I certainly didn’t know I would discover what a human soul is, what wealth is, what a monarch really is, where penury aka destitution comes from and so on. The names that have emerged as well, they are historical in some context and for me to understand what I am saying, I have to dig into the etymology (my favorite topic!) joyfully and get to know some interesting characters. One of them popped up while I was skimming to the end of the document (finally) just to see what was upcoming. The name Ahasuerus was introduced when Queen Mab, who is called “Fairy” is asked by the spirit of Ianthe, called “Spirit” if there is a God. Fairy’s response is to summon Ahasuerus to the stage so Spirit can ask him that question. He is described by Fairy as such:

“Therefore a wondrous phantom, from the dreams

Of human errors dense and purblind faith,

I will evoke, to meet thy questioning.

Ahasuerus, rise!

A strange and woe-worn wight (living being)

Arose beside the battlement,

And stood unmoving there.

His inessential figure cast no shade

Upon the golden floor;

His port and mien bore mark of many years,

And chronicles of untold ancientness

Were legible within his beamless eye:

Yet his cheek bore the mark of youth;

Freshness and vigour knit his manly frame;

The wisdom of old age was mingled there

With youth’s primæval dauntlessness;

And inexpressible woe,

Chastened by fearless resignation, gave

An awful grace to his all-speaking brow.

I really can’t reference any more here, this is just one stanza so you can see I have my work cut out for me. The following comments about Ahasuerus are but a fraction of what is published since this poem was one of many during the early 1800’s that was brought forth from earlier ancient works about the wandering Jew, which a volume was penned by Moncure Daniel Conway. Verbose as they are, Jews have a lot to say. This is but one version of a myth that I suspect, from my other research, is really about a North American Indian. But, that’s another story.

‘Ahasuerus the Jew crept forth from the dark cave of Mount Carmel. Near two thousand years have elapsed since he was first goaded by never-ending restlessness to rove the globe from pole to pole. When our Lord was wearied with the burthen of His ponderous cross, and wanted to rest before the door of Ahasuerus, the unfeeling wretch drove Him away with brutality. The Saviour of mankind staggered, sinking under the heavy load, but uttered no complaint. An angel of death appeared before Ahasuerus, and exclaimed indignantly, “Barbarian! thou hast denied rest to the Son of man: be it denied thee also, until He comes to judge the world.”
‘A black demon, let loose from hell upon Ahasuerus, goads him now from country to country; he is denied the consolation which death affords, and precluded from the rest of the peaceful grave.
‘Ahasuerus crept forth from the dark cave of Mount Carmel — he shook the dust from his beard — and taking up one of the skulls heaped there, hurled it down the eminence: it rebounded from the earth in shivered atoms. “This was my father!” roared Ahasuerus. Seven more skulls rolled down from rock to rock; while the infuriate Jew, following them with ghastly looks, exclaimed — “And these were my wives!” He still continued to hurl down skull after skull, roaring in dreadful accents — “And these, and these, and these were my children! They could die; but I! reprobate wretch! alas! I cannot die! Dreadful beyond conception is the judgement that hangs over me. Jerusalem fell — I crushed the sucking babe, and precipitated myself into the destructive flames. I cursed the Romans — but, alas! alas! the restless curse held me by the hair, — and I could not die!
‘”Rome the giantess fell — I placed myself before the falling statue — she fell and did not crush me. Nations sprang up and disappeared before me; — but I remained and did not die. From cloud-encircled cliffs did I precipitate myself into the ocean; but the foaming billows cast me upon the shore, and the burning arrow of existence pierced my cold heart again. I leaped into Etna’s flaming abyss, and roared with the giants for ten long months, polluting with my groans the Mount’s sulphureous mouth — ah! ten long months. The volcano fermented, and in a fiery stream of lava cast me up. I lay torn by the torture-snakes of hell amid the glowing cinders, and yet continued to exist. — A forest was on fire: I darted on wings of fury and despair into the crackling wood. Fire dropped upon me from the trees, but the flames only singed my limbs; alas! it could not consume them. — I now mixed with the butchers of mankind, and plunged in the tempest of the raging battle. I roared defiance to the infuriate Gaul, defiance to the victorious German; but arrows and spears rebounded in shivers from my body. The Saracen’s flaming sword broke upon my skull: balls in vain hissed upon me: the lightnings of battle glared harmless around my loins: in vain did the elephant trample on me, in vain the iron hoof of the wrathful steed! The mine, big with destructive power, burst under me, and hurled me high in the air — I fell on heaps of smoking limbs, but was only singed. The giant’s steel club rebounded from my body; the executioner’s hand could not strangle me, the tiger’s tooth could not pierce me, nor would the hungry lion in the circus devour me. I cohabited with poisonous snakes, and pinched the red crest of the dragon. — The serpent stung, but could not destroy me. The dragon tormented, but dared not to devour me. — I now provoked the fury of tyrants: I said to Nero, ‘Thou art a bloodhound!’ I said to Christian, ‘Thou art a bloodhound!’ I said to Muley Ismail, ‘Thou art a bloodhound !’ — The tyrants invented cruel torments, but did not kill me. Ha! not to be able to die — not to be able to die — not to be permitted to rest after the toils of life — to be doomed to be imprisoned for ever in the clay-formed dungeon — to be for ever clogged with this worthless body, its load of diseases and infirmities — to be condemned to [be]hold for millenniums that yawning monster Sameness, and Time, that hungry hyaena, ever bearing children, and ever devouring again her offspring! — Ha! not to be permitted to die! Awful Avenger in Heaven, hast Thou in Thine armoury of wrath a punishment more dreadful? then let it thunder upon me, command a hurricane to sweep me down to the foot of Carmel, that I there may lie extended; may pant, and writhe, and die!”‘

Basically, he is being punished by not being able to die. So, in his effort to relieve his suffering, he is trying to kill everything! He just wants relief! I don’t blame him. In my efforts to find out the back story I ventured into a rabbit hole, which, it turns out, is very deep and I am not fit for the climb-down just yet. This is already way longer than I planned. So, he’s tired, he wants to rest but he cannot. His punishment was supposedly assessed by Jove, or Jehovah for denying Christ. This is the crime the Jews say they are being eternally punished for. This part I think is made up, reason being, they say they want to repent for it but the Catholic Church won’t let them and stands firm in laying his crucifixion upon them. The reality is it appears in other legends, much older; that of German, Finnish and Native American (which is where I think the Jews stole it from). There was an earlier indiscretion in which he summoned daemonic spirits of magic so he could have wealth! The price for this favor from the daemon was he could never die and would wander the earth forever. There is always a price, right? In other words…be careful what you ask for and who you bargain with. There are no short cuts and if you take them and get to time-travel artificially, you may end up like this miserable sucker who is now in a position to have to kill everybody!

This is speculative and I am not the first to travel this road, but my imagination is healthy and it has taken me to writing this article. Maybe you can get some ideas of your own out of it. Thanks for reading…