1entity @Draxstick

Somehow one day we forgot to understand the old world.. History is full of missing pieces, I believe that whatever happened back then is far more extraordinary than we could ever imagine.

In 1967 Britain had more electric vehicles on its roads than every other country on earth put together, and they were all delivering milk. There were tens of thousands of them. The milk float: open sided, battery under the floor, top speed of about 15 miles an hour, and a whine you could pick out in your sleep. It was charged overnight at the depot and was back there by lunchtime. It carried glass bottles. Each one was collected from your step the next morning, washed and refilled. A bottle went round like that 20 or 30 times before it broke. The foil cap went for scrap. There was no other packaging. The milk had come from farms within a few miles, through a local dairy, and was on the step before 7. So here is what the country had. A zero-emission delivery fleet. Reusable containers with a return rate any modern scheme would kill for. No plastic. A supply chain you could cycle the length of. A man who noticed if an old lady's bottles were piling up, and knocked. It was dismantled in about 15 years, because a supermarket could sell milk a few pence cheaper in a plastic jug as a way of getting you through the door. Every piece of that system is now the subject of a government target for 2040. It was running in 1967, silently, in the dark, and nobody thought it was worth a mention.

The best stress control, detox and meditation program app available now in the App Store #EiriuEolas

We've ALREADY been invaded by aliens - by and through their "human" agents - psychopaths. This session excerpt with the Cassiopaeans is from 7/22/10. Laura reflects on all the reasons as to why a full and truthful Disclosure could probably never happen. [...] A: Remember we once told you that people would unite against the "invasion" at the time just before the earth changes? Q: (L) Well, yeah. We were talking about the Nephalim and their stun guns and that sort of thing. But it looks like psychopaths are the new Nephalim, and they're already using stun guns - tasers. And then we asked if they were going to try to stage a fake alien invasion. All of this disclosure business is trying to point people in the direction of alien invasions, trying to get them prepared for some kind of fake alien invasion. Then you said yes, but a real invasion might take place first or earth changes would happen. Now, it's just been pressing on my mind, becoming more and more clear, that we don't NEED an alien invasion with psychopaths ruling this world as their transdimensional agents. And it has occurred to me that when you said that way back when, that basically the invasion has already occurred! It's here, now. It's psychopaths in power! Everybody is looking and waiting for some kind of aliens; well, aliens are a supernatural phenomenon. Yeah, there is a certain physicality to it, but it strikes me that that physicality doesn't have... what do I want to say? Endurance? It doesn't "vibrate" right in our reality. It can come and go, but it doesn't stay here. So they need agents. They've always needed agents. They've always needed human-looking beings to control, to manipulate, or to even "download into" in a funny sort of way, like a possession or an activation. It's like they're sitting at some control console in some hyperdimensional* place controlling their agents the way we control remote control toys. So anyhow, this is what I've been thinking. Everybody's waiting for something to happen, like disclosure, or after disclosure. But it's already happened. It's here NOW! Any so-called “disclosure” will be a fraud unless they come out and say that it is a supernatural or hyper-dimensional phenomenon, which they are NOT going to say because that completely counters their entire world view that worships the physical universe. That’s where the whole Darwinism, material science, exclusion of scientific study of the paranormal, and so forth, comes from. That sort of thing can NEVER be studied honestly because it would destroy their reality construct. (Perceval) That's a great screen. (L) Yeah, they're trying to prepare people for physical, material aliens – “Disclosure” - because they're going to TRY to pull the alien invasion trick or the "alien god" trick and they'll say, "Worship the alien god! Join behind us! We're his high priests!" But it's not going to work. (Perceval) It's almost like that's been held in reserve if it's necessary. They've prepped people with the idea of aliens. (L) It's like this gigantic counterintelligence program. And the main thing that I've seen them working to counter is the idea, the concept, the understanding that this phenomenon is a supernatural one. To make that clear, what we have always called supernatural, which is not necessarily "supernatural", is really just hyperdimensional. We've been aware of these things – this other reality – for millennia. They come and go. It's like the finger in Flatland. We're Flatland! Am I on to something with this? A: About as accurate as you can get without making direct predictions. Q: (L) Who was it, this scientist guy... Was it Werner von Braun who said they were going to create this illusion about an alien invasion, and that it was all a big lie and a big fraud? And the real reason he said it was that he knew that it was a paranormal or a hyperdimensional phenomenon. Is that what he meant? A: Yes. Q: (L) Because that fits. We've already been invaded. It's already a done deal. (Perceval) An invasion of psychopaths. (L) Yeah. [...] *Hyperdimensional means anything that goes beyond the space we live in day to day. We normally picture the world in three dimensions of space: left-right, forward-back, and up-down. Time is a fourth dimension: not just where something is, but when it is. A hyperdimensional idea or space includes those, and then adds still more directions or measurements that we cannot see or walk through. So: hyperdimensional means a space more complex than ordinary 3D space, counting time as one of the dimensions we already use, plus further dimensions beyond that. 3D = ordinary space (width, depth, height) 4D = space plus time (where and when) Hyperdimensional = more than those familiar dimensions; extra axes that math and physics can describe, even if our senses cannot A simple picture: a shadow is a flat, 2D version of a 3D object. In the same way, our 3D world plus time can be thought of as a “shadow” of a larger hyperdimensional space. The extra dimensions are not extra rooms down the hall. They are additional ways a thing can vary; extra coordinates in a larger map. In short: hyperdimensional means a space more complex than ordinary 3D space, counting time as one of the dimensions we already use, plus further dimensions beyond that.

Heads of state today lack the intelligence and experience of what I saw in the ’80s and ’90s. I don’t know if somebody put something in the water. They are just not there. They have no understanding of what’s happening.

I don't think that people realize that the cosmic justice and balancing system is waiting for humanity to signal that they are willing to fight to the death to restore our world to sanity. Once that signal comes through, loud and clear, the system will act.

The cheapest cuts on the counter are the only ones that make their own sauce, and the reason is a protein currently being sold back to the same people in a tub. Shin. Oxtail. Brisket. Cheek. Neck. Mutton shoulder. Muscles that did actual work for a living, threaded with connective tissue, which is why they are tough and why they are cheap. That tissue is collagen. It will not melt in a hot pan, which is what everybody discovers the first time they fry a piece of shin and produces a wallet. It needs low heat and hours, which is the entire job description of a slow cooker: one temperature, all day, while you are out. Somewhere above 70 degrees the collagen lets go and unwinds into gelatin, and it keeps going for as long as you leave it alone. Gelatin is the stickiness on your lips. It is why a pot roast thickens itself with no flour in it. It also does the things fibre was advertised to do. It holds water on the way through, so the meal moves without anything having to scour its way along. A third of it is glycine, the amino acid your skin, joints, gut lining and connective tissue are built out of, and the one thing muscle meat is short of. It slows a meal down and keeps you full for hours. Fibre promised bulk, regularity and a settled gut, delivered bloating, and has needed defending for 50 years. This arrives inside the food, tastes of Sunday, and asks for nothing. The dear cuts cannot do any of it. Fillet has no work in it and nothing to convert, so the expensive end of the counter needs a chef and a sauce made from another animal's bones, and the cheap end needs a lid. The method: fat side up, lid on, 140C for 4 hours or the slow cooker on low for 8, and no liquid beyond what comes out of it. Done when a spoon goes in without resistance. Next morning the pot has set into clean white fat over a dark, wobbling jelly, and both of those are food. Meanwhile the industry takes that same gelatin out of hides and bones, dries it, powders it, and sells it at £30 a tub to people who buy trimmed steak and take the skin off the chicken. Buy the ugly cut. Put the lid on. Leave the house.

In 1950 chicken was 1% of all the meat eaten in Britain, and nobody felt short of anything. The pan lived at the back of the stove. Potato peelings, the water off the greens, crusts gone hard, a few weeds off the plot, and a scoop of meal stirred through it. It went down the garden warm in the morning, and six hens came at the sound of the bucket before they had seen what was in it. The hen was not a meat animal. She was an egg machine that ran on the things you were going to throw away, and a great many households kept a few at the bottom of the garden. Four or five eggs a week per bird, for years, plus a bucket of manure for the vegetables. The state agreed. During the war you could register as a domestic poultry keeper, hand back the family's egg coupons and take a coupon for feed instead. A household with a few hens in the garden was looked at and judged not to need rationing. The meat was an afterthought and mostly somebody else's problem. Table birds then were surplus cockerels off the egg farms and hens who had finished laying. The old girl went in the pot rather than the oven, too worked to roast, and she made the best stock anybody in that house would ever taste, because everything that makes stock is what a bird accumulates by living. We had it right, and it took about 30 years to undo. An egg is a whole animal in a shell, assembled by a hen out of scraps. Every amino acid you need, choline, B12, A, D and K2, and the fats a brain is built from, all sitting in the yolk. A hen on grass and insects and kitchen waste lays a yolk of a colour most people under 40 have never seen. Nothing on a shelf is that dense at that price and nothing ever has been. Set the other route beside it. In 1953 Britain produced 5 million chickens a year. By 1996 it was 778 million. A 1957 bird weighed about 905 grams at 8 weeks. Put a modern commercial strain on the same scale at the same age and it comes in over 4,000, on half the feed per kilo, and most never reach 8 weeks because they are killed at about 35 days. We took an animal that handed you something every morning of its life, redesigned it to grow breast muscle at a rate that would have been thought a fantasy in 1957, and sold the result as the healthy option. And the garden flock went, which is the part nobody argues about because nobody notices it. What left the garden was a household's ability to produce a complete food out of its own waste, without money, without a shop, and without asking anybody. Every one of those small independences has gone the same way in the same 50 years. The pig at the bottom of the garden. The allotment. The coal in the shed. The bones from the butcher, free, for the asking. A population that can feed itself slightly is a population with slightly less need of anybody. Three hens at the end of a lawn will still give you a dozen eggs a week for years, on food you currently pay somebody to take away in a bin. If you cannot keep them, find the house in your village with a box by the gate and an honesty tin, and buy from them instead.

This is one of the best speeches about climate change I’ve heard. Humble, sincere, from the heart, and rooted in fact. He is talking to them, not past them. WE NEED BUILDERS, not critics. @KonstantinKisin did you changed any minds?

Chief Nerd @TheChiefNerd

4 years ago

Konstantine Kisin Gives a Reality Check to Indoctrinated Woke Students at the Oxford Union “The only thing that wokeness has to offer is to brainwash bright young minds like you to believe you are victims” @KonstantinKisin

353 5K 13K 1.1M 1K

@dstvstreamp Except channel 203 is not working on Stream!! Well done Canal+!!

"Right. Three things flagged on your bloods." "Three." "Blood pressure first. 134 over 84. Stage one hypertension." "It was 134 in 2015. You told me that was fine." "It was fine in 2015. The line moved in 2017." "To what?" "130 over 80." "So the reading hasn't changed." "The reading hasn't changed." "What's two?" "Fasting glucose, 103. That's prediabetes." "Since when?" "2003. Before that it started at 110." "So I'd have walked out of here in 2002." "The evidence moved on." "Did my blood?" "..." "Three?" "Cholesterol. Your thirty-year risk is elevated." "My thirty-year risk." "New guidance, in March." "I'm sixty-eight." "..." "So a room full of people in 2003, another in 2017, another one this spring." "That's roughly it." "Has any of them met me?" "It doesn't work like that." "Do they get paid?" "Some of them consult for industry, yes." "Right." "..." "What's the plan?" "A statin, something for the pressure, and we'll monitor the glucose." "How long for?" "Ongoing." "So I come back every year." "Every year, and bloods each time." "And every year there's a chance one of the lines has moved again." "..." "When I walked in this morning, what did I have?" "Nothing, on the day." "And when I walk out?" "Three things to manage." "..." "Doctor. If I'd sat in this chair in 2001, on this exact blood, what would you have said?" "I'd have said you were well and I'd see you in a couple of years." "Same body." "Same body." "..." "What have I actually got? Not the numbers. The thing that's wrong with me." "You're at risk." "Of what, this afternoon?" "..." "Book me for next year. I'll have four by then."

"That is why those who care about building a future for themselves and their families in South Africa should do what the organisers of the Comrades Marathon did and ditch the authorities that are no longer working for them," writes @DavidAnsara. thecommonsense.co.za/columns/comrad…

Grass covers about a quarter of the ice free land on earth, and there is not a human alive who can eat a blade of it. Grass is cellulose. Cellulose is glucose, the same sugar as in bread and honey, chained end to end. The only difference is the bond holding the chain together. Starch links its glucose one way and you carry the enzyme for it. Cellulose links it the other way and you carry nothing. One bond, and half the planet's surface goes from dinner to lawn. So you eat the leaves and you get nothing. It goes in green and comes out green, which is roughly what a salad is for. The cow opens a hundred litres of fermentation on the same mouthful. Microbes it does not make, doing a job it cannot do, snapping the bond neither of you can touch. Out come acetate, propionate and butyrate, and the whole animal runs on those fats instead of sugar. Then the microbes die, wash downstream, and get digested as protein. The cow is farming bacteria and eating the crop. Eat the cow and you get complete protein, heme iron, zinc, B12, retinol, K2, creatine and carnosine, not one of which was ever in the grass. The man with the leaves is doing an impression of a ruminant, badly, with no rumen and a vinaigrette. Two and a half million years and we never grew the enzyme. We found the animal that had it and put a fence round it. Stop chewing the lock. Eat the key.

1979: fasting glucose over 140 makes you diabetic. 1997: lowered to 126. Millions of new diabetics. Same blood. 1997: prediabetes starts at 110. 2003: lowered to 100. A third of American adults, created by a footnote. 1984: high blood pressure is 160/95. 2017: lowered to 130/80. American hypertension goes from 32 per cent of adults to 46. Thirty-one million new patients in a morning. 2001: the cholesterol target is 130. 2004: lowered to 100, and to 70 for the high risk. Statin eligibility expands by millions. Eight of the nine men who wrote that 2004 update were on the payroll of companies selling statins. They disclosed it only when forced. 1994: a WHO panel invents osteopenia. Bone that is not thin enough to break, given a name and a prescription. Half of older women qualify. Nobody got sicker on any of those dates. A committee sat down and a number moved. The threshold drops, the market widens, and the drug is already licensed and sitting in the warehouse. Your grandfather was healthy at 145/92. You are ill at 132/81. Nothing about the body has changed. Only the paperwork, and who profits from it.

Calling r*pe “non-consensual sex” is like calling robbery “non-consensual shopping.” Stop softening violence.

I have suffered with emphysema for 6 years, I was at a stage where I could not even change my clothes without help, walking more than ten feet was out of the question. My day has been spent trying to breathe for so long that I was at the point of asking do I want to live like this? Then I watched Daniel's video's and saw his improvement and thought what have I got to lose. I purchased the DMSO pharmaceutical grade liquid and also the DMSO creme. I started using the creme on my chest bronchial and back areas, then in my nebulizer. I know this may be hard to believe but after just two days there was a difference, I no longer have my wheezing cough, my oxygen levels are up, and I am looking forward to getting off of my home oxygen soon. The DMSO really does work, something so simple and inexpensive brings such great healing and quickly. Thank you Daniel it was your videos that documented your healing that gave me the hope I needed to try.

Fake pastors, an AI-generated church, a Bryanston address that doesn’t add up and a two-day conference with plenty of promises but very little substance… welcome to Empower 2026. goodthingsguy.com/the-fake-churc…

For over a decade, every film about food on the biggest platform on earth was made by somebody selling you the alternative, and the British public did not see the inside of a working farm once. Start with the number that built the genre. Netflix told a generation that animal agriculture causes 51 percent of global greenhouse gases. It came from a non-peer-reviewed report which reached that figure partly by counting the carbon dioxide that cows breathe out. Breathing. They costed the breathing. The scientific community rejected it almost unanimously. The IPCC never touched it. The FAO's figure is 14.5 percent. The makers of Cowspiracy eventually revised theirs to 18, and did it in a tweet, which is the traditional venue for correcting the central claim of a film watched by millions. That is the standard, so take the rest at the same register. What the Health informed viewers that an egg a day was about as good for you as smoking five cigarettes. An egg. Five cigarettes. Every serious body on earth disagrees, but the line was memorable and it cost the production nothing to say. Seaspiracy went with empty oceans by 2048, lifted from a projection the original scientist had long since moved on from. Several contributors then complained publicly that their words had been carved up. A film about deception, assembled that way, is at least thematically consistent. The Game Changers had elite athletes, slow motion and an executive producer with money in plant protein. Nobody hid it and nobody had to. You can sell a nation a diet and the pea flour to go with it inside the same ninety minutes, and be congratulated for your bravery. Understand what those years actually were. Budgets, researchers, lawyers, a global distribution deal and a commercial interest in the outcome, all pointed at one job, which was moving people off animal food. Meanwhile the men and women who produce that food had no film, no platform and no budget, and were told what they were by people who had never stood in one of their fields. Then a shopping company handed a man who used to review hatchbacks a camera and a thousand acres and asked him for jokes. What came back was the first honest look at British farming the public has had in living memory. The crop that drowned in March. The price the farmer is not allowed to set. The council refusing a barn on a farm. The cow condemned by four millimetres of swelling on her neck. The pigs that died. The £144. No retracted figures. No contributors saying they were stitched up. No number quietly halved in a tweet a year later. Instead it has been cited twice in the House of Commons and got English planning law rewritten, which is more than the empty oceans of 2048 have managed. Ten years of the most sophisticated food messaging ever assembled needed cow breath and a cigarette metaphor to make its case. One farm, filmed properly, needed the accounts. The country has now spent five years watching the thing it was never shown, and the people who spent a decade describing British farming on its behalf have not enjoyed it one bit.

A pig is an omnivore. Whenever somebody tells you humans are omnivores, ask them to put the pig on the table next to us and go through it feature by feature, because the pig is what the word actually describes. The pig has a long gut with a genuine large intestine and caecum where microbes ferment fibrous material into short chain fatty acids it absorbs and uses. Yours does almost none of that. The pig will eat acorns, roots, tubers, grain, windfall fruit, carrion, eggs, insects and the occasional unlucky bird, and it will thrive on any mix of them, because that is what omnivore means. Not tolerates. Thrives. Bears are the same story. Raccoons. They have the plumbing for a genuinely mixed diet and it is not a compromise for them. A wild boar rooting through a beech wood in October is not making do. That is an animal operating exactly to specification. Now run us through it. No fermentation chamber worth the name. No cellulase. A caecum reduced to a decorative worm. Stomach acid at a pH that sits with the scavengers rather than the browsers. A gut around 40 percent smaller than a primate our size ought to be carrying. And a gallbladder for hitting large fatty loads, which the grazers deleted entirely. Omnivore is a description of dietary equipment, not a description of dietary willingness. I can drink diesel. That does not make me a tractor. We eat plants the way a dog eats grass. Occasionally, opportunistically, and never as the thing keeping us upright. The pig is the omnivore. We are the thing the pig would be terrified of if it could think straight.

With 28 Days to go, it seems like the South African National Hockey Team are having a hard time heading to the 2026 FIH World Cup. They're trying to raise R2M between roughly 60 people. That's R33 333 a head. Considered in perspective that we have degenerates in government spending R436,619 a head for showboating at FIFA, some very serious moral questions arise. You can't fund a national hockey player at R33K a head, but you can take some random podcaster on a trip at R440K a head. Cool story, bro.

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