Tag - prose

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Weather Wars

Weather Wars

After a long and bleak Spring, I’ve just experienced my first clear and sunny day in as many months. The cold draught of the Northern Extractor, the Arctic array that blasts an icy chill down the backs of Northern Europe, failed for approximately twenty four hours.

In that time Britain roasted in the sun, the warm air remained unhindered by a fleet of private and military planes, dumping chemtrails from dusk till dawn. There is a certain temperature when the aluminium/barium chaff broils to gas, riding the currents under the intense glare of direct sunlight, until they almost evaporate. Once the heat’s taken hold there’s no stopping the domino effect, at least not until the Northern Extractor is repaired.

For days the town reeked of brine, far thicker than usual, and unusually the stench seeped miles inland. The sea was evaporating, ever so slightly, but still enough to notice. So odorous was the air, that passers-by hurried along the promenade, wincing and holding their noses. The angle of the sun alone has never bore so deep into the waters, except now its ably assisted by an invisible sibling.

The Black Sun isn’t dark, in fact it has no colour, because it lies outside the visual spectrum of the human eye. Yet it is there, it has arrived, as  it slowly traverses its elliptical orbit in the holographic sky. It may not give off light, but it does give off heat. It’s microwaving the world right now, and incrementally melting everything in sight.

It’s why the governments of every nation persist with their war on weather. For if they lose, the lands will burn and the seas will boil. Although its probably already made the news in Britain, right now an electromagnetic anomaly over Northern France has unleashed a punishing attack of lightning storms. Reported as striking over three hundred times a minute, I can actually see the glow on the horizon from the other side of The Channel. That’s what happens when you pump too many exotic minerals and chemicals into the sky, controlled weather modification or not, it almost always spins out of control.

In Britain’s short-lived heat wave, where the skies remained clear and the sun kept on shining, over a quarter of the country’s energy consumption was provided by solar power. I knew, as soon as I heard that little titbit on the radio, that the chemtrail jets would be back in force, and oh how I was right.

Imagine what would happen to the world’s economy, how far the precious stocks and shares of global movers and shakers would tumble, if every person on the planet could produce enough energy to serve their own needs. Without external influence or outside intervention, free and unhindered, with a potentially unlimited supply. It would mean the end of civilisation as we know it. At least for those who profit from the way things are, rather than the way they should be.

Because society, for all its grandiose claims of freedom and democracy, is a bi-product of exclusivity, and the race’s survival is a mere surplus of its success. For those who steer the fate of humanity, would rather see us all dead than relinquish their power over our lives. As a people, as one whole race, we cower in the sight of self-proclaimed gods, those whose power over nature holds us to ransom. However, deep down, behind the veneer of respectability, beneath the skin of the cultural hive, our species’ greatest fears, are for, and of ourselves.

Only within our most primal instincts can we see the truth, and discover our deepest understanding of a brutal, yet necessary subjugation. For without tyranny, and the abject poverty of existence we share in this unnatural world of ours, we would soon become our own worst enemies. And but for a few broken generations, we’d all be back out there, naked in the rain, and howling at the Moon.

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