Mr. Tea

Let's Talk About Ceps
And come the fuck on, are you really pretending the average person who's into occult rituals is a "lefty"?
 

luka

Well-known member
i dont understant teas non sequitur? please explain. i feel a missed a few steps of the conversation.
 

...

Beast of Burden
You can't turn to the same tactics you were deriding luka for just 30 minutes ago. We want more like that desert fox comment.

Imagine youve been successfully MKULTRA'd. they've done to you whatever it is they did to version. as the truth serum hits your blood stream they ask you: whats your relationship to the official 9/11 narrative?

I don’t know what you’re on about, I’ve always been completely upfront with my political opinions.
 

line b

Well-known member
I don’t know what you’re on about, I’ve always been completely upfront with my political opinions.
I dont see how I posed an overtly political question in the comment youre responding too. All I'm on about is how you feel about the official 9/11 narrative, the day/event itself. I dont mean it to badger or lay a trap. Im genuinely curious as my thoughts are semi nebulous (version's generalized skepticism) and I want to take the pulse of the board and soak up whatever information is offered
 

luka

Well-known member
he beleives it was Al-Qaeda plain and simple. he doesn't think there was any government collusion and thinks the very suggestion there was is an outrage and an insanity.
 

luka

Well-known member
you need to read his famous world war 4 essay. he thinks muslims were (are?) an existential threat to the West.
 

luka

Well-known member
In Zurich hotel bars, I see, the tendency is reversed: love in the corner, in low light, a mute tragedy. Slack over black marble, there are room-length windows behind me, with trace reflections of us stragglers, and the road outside bathed in halogen mire, stars smeared out and striated by passenger jets. This has a bleak loveliness, I concur. I'll spend one morning, one lunch, and a few hours of afternoon in the city, with its fragrant alleys. Then back to the brittle embrace of Canary Wharf; all effusive, with steely, gentle glamour. Touch down in London City Airport; rattle back to the flat (that, apparently, I almost own) along the DLR.



Switch on TV, and drink some more, and ingest more print, and probably feel content, once ingested. File findings, with due creative license, which will be brought. My lay out: almost complete.



"I'm a very anxious person," she told me, and it hardly registered at the time, I couldn't relate or take her seriously, however hard her lips sparkled, "and when I got into Xanax and Valium and Klonopin, I absolutely loved it." Seriously: I thought she was joking.



To follow the assassination of Paris, I reckon up, in this sheer, icy bar outside Zurich airport, the erasure of London. This secretly tied up in those torrents, I conclude from high wage work. I do some good just knowing this - through internal resistance to bureaucracy, vandalism, cynically enacted by engorged elites, and oligarchs with armies, and the parasites that pay me.
 
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