Book Review: The Truman Prophecy (2015), Excerpt #12

From Part I: Dorothy Scarecrow: Great Lakes Field Office, DOD

Truman_Front[Excerpt from The Truman Prophecy, due for publication 12/25/15.]

“Hello, this is Balph,” answered chief psychiatrist and professor of neuroscience for ‘mastering the human factor’ of Jade Helm North.

At the other end of the line, a woman’s voice said, “Dr. Bufort, I’m Analyst Smith of Ultra Homeland Security Headquarters, running the People’s subsection, Institution section of the Citizen branch of the Civilian division.”

“Geshundheit!” responded Balph.

“Excuse me?” asked Smith.

“Sorry, just kidding, what can I do for you?”

“We’ve been analyzing what appears to be a coordinated lecture and community outreach program to fight what participants see as criminal attacks by government agencies and associates. This program is given the umbrella name: Toto Worldwide foundation—Toto being the little dog in the movie The Wizard of Oz…?

“Yes, Ana, I’m up to date on my movie classics. I even remember the scene with the Wizard, where Dorothy and her band of losers—Strawman, Tin Man, Cowardly Lion—having inadvertently killed (my favorite character) the Wicked Witch of the West, go claiming their reward… of all things a trip back to Kansas. (!)

“The Wizard cranks up his Illusion machinery to full-tilt boogie and tries to scare the entourage… when little Toto walks over to an enclosure, pulls a curtain, and exposes a little gray-haired man running the Ozmatron controls. Then Dorothy reads the riot act to the Wizard, and gets her dream cruise home in a balloon.

“Is that the size of it?”

“Well, yes,” conveys Ana, a little flustered by the pompous manner, “we believe that Toto is a symbol of truth for this group.”

“We know, we know. Founded by former dead end windmill tilter Hiram T. Chance, who wrote The Truman Prophecy and obviously has delusions that individuals can make a difference. We’re tracking all his activities and those of the Toto Affiliates and Chapters, as they call them. Building a list.”

“A list?” queried Ana.

“Yes,” replied Balph. “We don’t do any detailed idea analysis, rather go by keyword searches and behavioral data. Based on algorithms for similar operations, we assess thresholds for threat management. Basically, all these people associated with Toto, or Dorothy, or the book—just as everyone who ever once mentioned the words ‘2d Amendment’ or ‘End the Fed’ or <anything> Truth—are high candidates for roundup.”

“You mean, sending to the reeducation camps, the FEMA facilities.”

“Right, but frankly, as the defense department we’re not going to have time for a lot of education and training. Besides, a lot of these people are highly resistant to our techniques. So we’ll just turn most of them—especially ‘leaders’ and backtalkers—over to our Abu Ghraib wannabes, for torture and subsequent extermination.”

Even as devoted to state security as Ana was, the casualness with which Bufort described mass incarceration, torture, and murder took her somewhat aback. The imposition of martial law—certainly under cover of a false-flag cataclysm—was where the rubber met the road. Soldiers, fusion cops, tanks, guns, and chains on human flesh. “Oh my!”

Ana had a strong sense she was majorly effed up as a human being, but this guy—former chair of the department of neuroscience at Harvard—made her feel as normal as a suburban girl taking homemaking class in the ‘50s.

At the same time, thinking practically, she’d spent time in the military. There was a reason for all those acronyms: FUBAR (fouled up beyond all recognition), SNAFU (situation normal, all fouled up), JANFU (joint Army-Navy foulup).

Preparing for a military takeover, talking about a military takeover, planning a military takeover, etc., was like day and night from actually DOING a military takeover. Especially in this country, even considering how far it had slid down the rails toward tyranny and nearly universal abdication of responsibility for doing anything about it.

Balph and his glib, media-savvy, ivory tower, whackaholic, wazoo-sexual, psycho analyst buddies could no more lead men on the ground to successfully—for the government, that is—hard stop a semifunctional market economy than she could make wine from pixie dust.

That must be the point then, the martial law option was a charade… intended solely to create more anxiety in the minds of the masses, to make them even more cooperative with the domination agenda. Train them, when they look at the grim alternative of what might happen otherwise, to bark like seals in love of servitude, as Huxley put it. All along creating more thought managers (seal trainers) like Balph and co.

Or like Analyst’s own multimillion-dollar little fiefdom. (!)

Then it dawned on her as well that the whole objective of the neurarchy was manufacturing perception, consent, and thereby establishing control: The neurarchs would only crash the grand collective-consensus perception—that we’re Americans and live in a free country—as a last resort. To do so, a la military takeover, would decisively end the control game. [Not to mention, there was a meaningful chance that the people would overthrow the dictatorship and its controllers.]

She also saw that the psycho operatives like Balph had no idea or interest of how to curtail or impede the broad liberating potential of the Prophecy’s elements that her chief of staff Everett and his core analysts were picking up on.

Ana offered, “Well, Balph, I wanted to suggest some possible scenarios where these Toto groups feed into the independent jury movements, into symbolic gestures like the Snowden-Manning campaign, and ultimately into a ‘Society of Independents’ over whom coercive-government control would cease to exist. Then maybe to form joint task force(s) between us to nip these things in the bud.”

“I appreciate that, Ana, but basically ‘homey don’t roll dat way.’ Think of us as Pavlovian manipulators in a modern Fra nkenstein laboratory aiming to turn the masses into complete automatons… thus neutralizing any threat to the global state collective. Our work is all about establishing severe threats on the psychiatric level—who won’t succumb to scientific control—then ending these threats by lethal action.”

“But to do that requires martial law,” Ana said.

“That’s right,” Balph replied.

“And martial law fatally disrupts your control.”

“That remains to be seen.”

“Okay, well, Mr. Bufort, I’m sure you’re working with Google, DARPA, the NSA, CIA, Facebook, et al, on advanced concepts and technology for culling potential Independents from the herd… without the necessity of martial law. I certainly wish you the best. I just don’t see how that work meets the challenge what really is going on,” she concluded.

“Be careful, Analyst Smith. We also have a net over anyone in the secret government who questions what we’re doing. Hope you will forgive a mixed metaphor, but, in these days of the cream rising to the top, it pays to be a team player.”

“Understood. Thank you for your time. Goodbye,” she ended the call.

“Good bye.”

That was interesting, she thought. Looks like our group is on its own with doing anything officially to put try to put the dampers on ol’ Hiram Chance. Hi Chance, now that’s funny. “Hey Everett!” She was at the office.

Her trusty Boy Friday walked in, expecting to redo today’s latte order. “Yes, Ms. Smith, what can I do for you?”

“In a day or two can you assemble everything the team has been looking at regarding The Truman Prophecy and its participants? I want to especially check out what their planning for resurrecting grand juries. Then let’s send out a couple of our brighter officers—seeing Everett frown, she added, ‘at least a high-school diploma and can read at an eighth-grade level… and, oh, who received high marks at the academy for matching suit coats and slacks’—to visit Chance’s supposed right-hand man, Reverend Brother Al.”

“You bet.”

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