Note to readers: This post is about Sam Cooke and Louis Farrakhan, written in 2016 by Tyrone McCloskey and me – I did the photo work. At that time (2016) I was seeing twins, and identified Sam Cooke as a set. I later backed away from such things, as I was seeing too many. I settled on maybe half a dozen, which included Rihanna, Drake, McCartney, Janis Joplin, Anderson Cooper. Drake and Rihanna are because I had photos of the two together. However, this could explain why I had such trouble working with Cooke last week, that I was unknowingly dealing with two of them, one of which would line up, the other not. This is how we discovered the Joplin twins, and I am very sure about that work.

I completely spaced this out, and have forgotten doing the work back then. Tyrone remembered.

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Note to Reader: This blog post has been put “under review” as we have had growing pains in developing the technology we use to identify twins, replicas and zombies. The eyes behind the technology are getting better, so as you read this piece note that if you are troubled by its conclusions that we will be looking at it in more depth and with better eyes. For the time being, it is speculation.

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Tyrone wrote: A while ago, while Mark was still on vacation, I took a look at photos of Sam Cooke and wondered which pundit he might have become. Of course he would be a zombie because he fit the basic criteria: Musical star, dead at 33 (Ca-Ching!), his death being sensational tabloid fodder but made no logical sense. He was also a business man and had secured an agreement with future Beatle handler Alan Klein to mint money for his efforts. Naturally, after Cooke’s death, Klein controlled the posthumous windfall. Where that money actually went is of no concern because these assets are wage slaves, I’ll wager, and they never expected royalties. They are, indeed, very well paid wage slaves, but these are basically pensioners, not investors.

Not even playing a hunch but just off the top of my head and expecting to have to go through a list of suspects, I started with Louis Farrakhan as the possible zombie. He was the right age and an opinion maker, to say the least. Not exactly one of the house Toms at FOX, but a paid pain in the ass for the Intel circus known as the Nation of Islam. He was also an accomplished musician. Well, since I’m no master of the split personality portrait, I threw it out to Mark, Straight and friends to run these two, Cooke and Farrakhan, to see if there was a chance.

Ding Ding Ding! Mark posted quickly that it was a match. This zombie, however, was further back in queue, so only now are we presenting.

Continue reading “Louie, your goose is cooked-“ →

If you wanna find out what’s behind these cold eyes
You’ll just have to claw your way through this disguise.

Part of the propaganda thrust behind the fake moon landing psy-op were these words:

We choose to go to the Moon! … We choose to go to the Moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard; because that goal will serve to organize and measure the best of our energies and skills, because that challenge is one that we are willing to accept, one we are unwilling to postpone, and one we intend to win …

This past year has for me been one of forward movement after years of beating the bushes looking for rabbits in a land where the rabbits actually live in caves. I never imagined  I would know who killed JFK. I thought with his moon speech that he had been misled by people around him.

That speech was deliberate scripted incentive to make that fake program go forward. After Dallas, we were honoring a fallen hero. It was intended as such.  I suspect that one of the men watching the fake television transmissions of the fake landing was JFK. He was in Hyanisport, perhaps on Chappaquiddick, on a yacht in the Mediterranean, or perhaps on an island near Greece.

The only reason that I cannot know for sure if he lived to see the fakery to its conclusion is that he might have died of natural causes, Addison’s Disease among his ailments. John F. Kennedy, I now realize, was a phony of historic proportions, a lying psychopath with an unusual gift for fake charm, even portraying a real human being.

But set him aside. Understanding him is for me the key to the postwar era. Everything, all of the major events of my life, were fake, or were hidden behind a shroud. There were no moon landings, the assassinations were fake, Martin Luther King was a fraud, as were Reagan, Clinton, and now of course Donald Trump and Bernie Sanders. It is ongoing, so proper movement is forward, not backward.

I’ve been beating around this bush for a while now. The fake death of John Lennon and discovery of the McCartney twins left me in a state of flux, ready to take a quantum leap, but frightened as well. I know ridicule awaits. Even though it is a peanut gallery, I still hear the insults. My saving grace is that I can give as well as take. I have savaged people in debate, so if you want a piece of me, bring a first aid kit. You will be wounded.

Dealing with ridicule is merely a test of character. Since I believe in me, and have read and wandered and questioned far more than anyone I know, I am in a place few will ever access. I can sympathize with my critics, and at the same time sigh a relieving sigh, a “fuck you” in response. You cannot know what you do not know unless you ask the right questions, and so far, most of you have not done so. Until you do, you will not break through the veil.

It is easy now to look about, understand the nature of the fake political contest before us, see that David Bowie and Prince recently faked their deaths, that votes are not even counted for real, that our music and movies and news are all scripted to keep us thinking (or failing to think) alike. I have stopped now and then to marvel at how mundane life on this planet is without the fake events! We are all mostly just living our lives quietly, trying to stay afloat. The mass shootings,  serial killers, assassinations, accidental deaths of prominent people … fake, fake, fake, fake.

War and poverty … real. Avoidable, but real.

I am in this place, but did not intend to travel here. The freedom is exhilarating. The lack of insight of almost all around me is exasperating. But life is fun.

I am not going to waste a lot of time on this. Oh hell, I already have wasted a lot of time on it. I wanted to know if the music truly died on The Day the Music Died. It’s a tough call, but my answer, if had to give an answer, would be no. Nobody died, or maybe four strangers died, or four corpses were brought in to serve as cadavers, or the whole thing, beginning to end was faked.

Start with the plane crash itself: Nobody saw it. That does not mean it did not happen as we are told, but we are missing a critical element, eyewitnesses.

This is the crash site. Three bodies are visible. Closest to us is said to be Richie Valens, and then Holly to the left, and in the field beyond, the Big Bopper. The pilot, at the time of the photo, I assume is still in the wreckage. He too died, we are told.

The plane is said to have cartwheeled 540 feet before coming to rest against the fence. We don’t have photo evidence of that – only verbal reports. Photographs are confined to the place where it finally stopped. Even so, if that is true, the plane would have been moving slowly by the time it got to this point, so that centrifugal force was no longer tearing at the victims, and they were gently deposited here. After all, the fence is not damaged. The plane merely came to rest there.

Given that, it is hard to imagine how the plane, at this time lacking force of movement, was able to deposit the Big Bopper forty feet away and across the fence – forward motion.

This is a better shot of the crash. That is said to be the body of Richie Valens. In those days they did not “Photoshop,” per se, but rather cut and pasted in photographic studios. If Valens’ corpse was added to this shot in a studio, they did a very good job. The grass around his right shoulder and left forearm looks real. The shininess of the hair and jacket is odd, meaning it was probably taken with a flash photo, I suppose, but I see no other evidence of flash reflection in the photo. I would think that a flash would illuminate the area under the wing of the plane in the foreground just beyond the body, but it only casts a shadow caused by sunlight, and this on an overcast day. As can be seen in the first photo above, the body is very close to the wreckage, so a flash should illuminate that area. This indicates that a flash was used to take a photo of the body but was not done at the crash site. This indicates pasting.

(There are as many as ten men in various photos, always just standing, observing. If “Valens” is pasted in, why not them too?)

Then there is this:

The head was badly crushed and deformed, the calverium region wide open and the brain tissue almost completely eviscerated.

That is from the death certificate. The “calverium” region is the top of the skull, and “eviscerated” means “disemboweled.” This person’s head is intact, and, to boot, there is no blood. The calverium is present and uneviscerated.

Buddy Holly’s death was said to be equally gruesome, with his head split open, half his brain tissue missing, and his chest soft due to the internal organs being crushed. The face was badly cut up. We have no photos to support this. It could be just good taste.

Again, going back to the top photograph, there is no evidence of any of this, so we have to guess that the photographer simply withheld the most gruesome shots. Or, that these bodies were actors, or that they were pasted in in a photo studio. All is possible, including real death of the real people. I don’t rule that out.

Here’s an analysis by a blogger named Hoi.palloi, who seems to have a keen eye for this stuff.*

Then you have the convenient halo of “snow” hovering around the tops of the bodies, making convenient cut-outlines framing their rotated bodies-and-chunks-of-ground-and-grass which seem undinted [sic] by their apparently collapsing into it. The snow on the bodies doesn’t look consistent between pictures, and neither do their heads, but the plants are always happily tucking them in for the Big Sleep.

Finally, for me anyway, there is this shot:

I do not know who the grieving man is, but that appears to be the face of a young child on the middle body. The third body from the left appears to be mere clothing arranged to look like a body. This is a fake photo [or a real photo of a staged scene], and it could be a well-known fake, for all I know. But it does come up under the heading “The Day the Music Died,” so someone is presenting it as real.

This post was inspired by the recent death of Prince Rogers Nelson, whose death is also suspicious.

The list of dead musicians is long – next I want to look at John Denver, as we have now a video that has recently appeared and is said to have been filmed in 1996, a year before his death. Something fishy about it, and it is not that he is fly fishing in New Zealand.
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*After I began to look into this, I discovered that others have had the same suspicions over the years. There is nothing new going on here. It is just not widely disseminated. Googling “fake death Buddy Holly” leads you right to debunking sites, but not to any real evidence.

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PS: I should come clean here. I was coy about offering up that they might really have died. I do not think that at all. I think that the wreckage might have been real, perhaps hauled in on the back of a truck and deposited there. Snow then covered the tracks. Everything after that is fake – there were no cars or men standing around, no corpses – that was all pasted in in a photo studio. Most likely no plane took off that night, none of the suposed victims were even at the airport. It was all a manufactured event.

[Note: This post was written in Portland,  and we have seen homelessness here all about, people sleeping in streets and doorways. In one instance we were walking down the sidewalk within a few feet of a bearded and poorly dressed man, and I was approached by a woman hawking some snake oil having to do with travel. I kindly refused her invitation to listen to her presentation. The man a few feet away said “Well, she didn’t want to talk to me.” He knew what what up, his perceptions are keen enough.]

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There are nagging problems in this world that seem never to be solved … addiction and homelessness, for instance. I think the underlying presumption in the minds of those we call “right-wingers” and “progressives” is that the person suffering the problem is helpless.

I have already alienated the pwoggies by suggesting that mental illness is wildly overstated, so I might as well go one step further and suggest that helplessness and victimhood are as well.

I don’t truck with right wingers in these matters … I don’t care about bootstraps or economic betterment because that usually involves some form of wage slavery, or what was referred to in the sixties as “selling out.” In right-wing authoritarian type of mind, these problems are solved by getting a job, working 40,60,80 underpaid hours a week in submission to some over-important cracker. That is just another manner of destruction of the human spirit … and not “empowerment.” (But keep at it, son, and some day you too can be a cracker!)

But the pwoggies are no closer to answers with their shelters and shrinks and drugs. These people are down, seemingly defeated, and possibly on the way out. If there is to be redemption, it has to come from inside. If it does not come from there, it will not happen.

It will not be found in drugs, twelve-stepping, religious faith or getting a job. For each person the answer, if one exists, is buried under a life of defeat that results in resignation of the spirit. For each person redemption comes from that same source. To step in that person’s life and “do for” him or her is to further rob the spirit. Just as giving a person money robs that person of ambition, so too does stepping in to solve  spiritual problems result in robbing the spirit.

But a bed is nice, and so is food. If we can provide that and dispense with all the other bullshit, maybe these people can find some dignity in knowing that there is a tomorrow. Each one has unique qualities, though perhaps drugs and booze have done so much physical destruction that only a skeleton remains. Even so, the recovery journey has to come from self-leadership and self-discovery. Otherwise, it will not happen.

Keep the shrinks away, however. They ain’t got a clue. Keep the preachers away. They are false leaders. Keep the right wingers and pwoggies away … each has a roadmap to a dead-end.

So I tend to agree that food and shelter are necessary to help the homeless people among us. But that is about all I can offer as a solution, and imagine that I am no closer to the answer than anyone else. These are, after all, complex humans, each one a riddle.