None of This is What You “Think” It Is
The Video is contributed by the Sage of Quay and the historical excerpt is contributed by An American. I heartily endorse both Michelles research and that of My Lunch Break but none of their conclusions. They are intellectual archeologists doggedly excavating the recesses of history for evidentiary artifacts but ill equipped to coherently state the case. As I’ve said before because you can make a fine pair of sneakers that doesn’t mean you can be Michael Jordan. In order to be the pontifex maximus one must attend Seminary School. When I was back there in Seminary School I was shown an HBO short take of Americas founding fathers sitting down to a banquet of human flesh. I was shown many things back then like the surveillance state movie already covered when Greg managed to dig it up and another movie no one can find about an orgy in King Herod’s court being terminated by machine gun wielding SS soldiers wearing gas masks. Back then much like the females I had known I Understood none of it but later when I became the instrument of Gods wrath it all made sense. We have already explained the so said mud flood and I shall include the link on the bottom but those of you reading from all over the world better remember what the Native Americans said: “Wonderful, wonderful are the works of the white man, but the Great Spirit will destroy them all.” - Jack
“Had either survived the conflict, according to their code
of honor, it would have been the duty of his brother to
have put him immediately to death. Throughout the excit-
ing scene not the slightest partiality was exhibited. The
faintest shadow of emotion could not be detected upon the
countenances of the savage stoics as they gazed upon it.
They were stretched side by side on the spot where they
had fallen—buried in the customary manner—and left to
test together in peace, at last.
The week succeeding this tragedy, a party of ten or
twelve, including the Rolling Thunder and myself, started
on a long journey, its object being to ascertain whether the
buffalo droves had changed their feeding grounds, before
the warriors set out on their annual hunt. In the course of
this trip we crossed a valley, the singular appearance of
which has very frequently since been the subject of study
and reflection.
On the summit of many of the mountains we passed,
were broad, level tablelands, destitute of a solitary tree, and
covered with rank grass. Upon every one of these elevated
plains was to be seen a mound, in most instances in the
form of a half-circle, resembling the overgrown ruins of an
ancient fortress, and plainly the work of human hands.
Finally we descended into a ravine, walled on either
side by rugged cliffs which led us a day’s ride to the south-
west, when we emerged into a valley about four miles wide
and thirty long. It was surrounded on all sides by very high
mountains, exceedingly bleak and barren. There was not
a tree, or bush, or even a blade of grass to be discovered
over the entire surface of the valley. It was covered, to the
average depth of fifteen feet, as near as I could judge, with
broken pumice stone, a substance precisely similar to the
lava of Vesuvius. That it was the result of volcanic erup-
tions there was no possible doubt, inasmuch as numerous
tracts down which it had flowed from the mountain tops
were distinctly visible.
The Rolling Thunder, in order to convince me of the
correctness of a belief, universal throughout the Comanche
nation, conducted me to the western side of this strange
valley, where I saw, with infinite astonishment and sur-
prise, the dilapidated ruins of a large town. In the midst
of the falling walls of a great number of buildings, which,
in some remote age, beyond doubt, had lined spacious
streets, was what appeared to have been a church or cathe-
dral. Its walls of cut stone, two feet thick, and in some
places fifteen feet high, included a space measuring two
hundred feet in length, and, perhaps, one hundred in width.
The inner surface of the walls in many places was adorned
with elaborate carved work, evidently the labor of a master
hand, and at the eastern end was a massive stone platform
which seemed to have been used as a stage or pulpit. In
my surprise at beholding so unexpectedly these evidences
of civilization in that wild region, I turned to the Rolling
Thunder and asked if he could explain it.
This is the legend of the Comanches, as he related it:
Innumerable moons ago, a race of white men, ten feet high,
and far more rich and powerful than any white people
now living, here inhabited a large range of country, extend-
ing from the rising to the setting sun. Their fortifications
crowned the summits of the mountains, protecting their
populous cities situated in the intervening valleys. They
excelled every other nation which has flourished, either
before or since, in all manner of cunning handicraft—were
brave and warlike ruling over the land they had wrested
from its ancient possessors with a high and haughty hand.
Compared with them the palefaces of the present day were
pigmies, in both art and arms. They drove the Indians from
their homes, putting them to the sword, and occupying the
valleys in which their fathers had dwelt before them since
the world began. At length, in the height of their power
and glory, when they remembered justice and mercy no
more and became proud and lifted up, the Great Spirit
descended from above, sweeping them with fire and deluge
from the face of the earth. The mounds we had seen on
the tablelands were the remnants of their fortresses, and
the crumbling ruins that surrounded us all that remained
of a mighty city.
In like manner, continued the Rolling Thunder, the
day will surely come when the present white race, which
is driving the Indians before it, and despoiling them of
their inheritance, and which, in the confidence of its
strength, has become arrogant and boastful and forgotten
God, will be swept from existence. For the Great Spirit is
just—and as certainly as the rivers flow downward towards
the salt sea, or the sun rises in the morning and sets at
night, so certainly will He yet restore the land of their
fathers to the red man, when the days of his affliction are
passed.
It would, indeed, be difficult to adopt any other hypoth-
esis than the one entertained by the chief. The evidence
before me was too clear and palpable to be controverted,
that at some period, more or less remote, this valley had
been inhabited by a people skilled in architecture and evi-
dently possessing, in a high degree, a knowledge of mech-
anism and the arts. Whether the Rolling Thunder’s ac-
count of their destruction is correct, or his belief that their
successors will eventually be disposed of in the same sum-
mary manner is orthodox, will admit of argument; never-
theless, there is no doubt that, in common with all the
tribes of the Comanches, he entertains this belief, in gen-
uine sincerity. It is this unwavering faith in the future
ascendancy of the red man, and the final restoration to
him of all the possessions he has lost, which prompts him
to perpetual resistance, and which so often led the Rolling
Thunder to exclaim, after I had described some marvelous
invention—“Wonderful, wonderful are the works of the
white man, but the Great Spirit will destroy them all.”
153 – 156: Three years among the Camanches : the narrative of Nelson Lee, the Texan ranger, containing a detailed account of his captivity among the Indians, his singular escape through the instrumentality of his watch, and fully illustrating Indian life as it is on the war path and in the camp : Lee, Nelson, b. 1807 : Free Download, Borrow, and Streaming : Internet Archive
Ragnarök II by Jack Heart & Orage – The Human: Jack Heart, Orage and Friends
This book is the reason I am the most censored writer on the internet. If I was you, if I could get it, I’d read it and find out why lest you have to do this all over again. Publication will be discontinued after we publish my next one, so you better try to get it now.
Those Who Would Arouse Leviathan by Jack Heart, Hardcover | Barnes & Noble® (barnesandnoble.com)
There are many stories of giants that are commemorated in the mythology of American Indians, and not all of them are about a white people, although some definitely are. Despite myriad accounts, much of the substance of such myth remains unsubstantiated, leaving some tantalizing clues, questions, and theories.
In all of it, however, remains notions of rage over being conquered, and the idea of vengeance and comeuppance. The worship the modern society dispenses upon them is nothing short of fascinating, as after all, we are talking about fellow humans.
There are many prophecies, from a wide range of races, which often direct the actions of those who seek to fulfill them, yet what is often missing from the prophetic record is context. Context can be as simple as the intended scope of the prophecy, up to the complexity of an entire narrative tradition that spans time and perspective.
The reality of all phenomena in this world is the three states such must participate in. No one is immune to this, not even the American Indians. If history teaches us anything, it is that life is defined according to capacities and limitations.
When it comes to morality the actual record is easily just as uncompromising. American Indians happily sacrificed fellow humans, including women and children. They engaged in genocidal slaughter, cannibalism, torture, and happily used the White man to erase their rivals. War was such a constant condition for American Indians that it was simply the way life was lived. When American Indians met Europeans, what changed was that they started losing battles, and failing completely in war.
To end this I will merely suggest this piece be taken in within the aforementioned context.