Jeff Russell

In the run up to the French Revolution, Marie Antoinette was accused of diddling her own son, the Dauphin and the heir to the French throne. Even the most basic of searches reveals Marie Antoinette never said “Let them eat cake”, yet the phrase has been welded to her identity since at least 1787. She did not have to utter the infamous quip because she lived it. She had a mini-farm built called the Petit Trianon and massive gambling and fashion habits. Meanwhile, to be a regular person in 18th century France was to be “virtually without worldly goods” reports Owen Hulton in The Poor of 18th Century France, 1750-1789. Often, “a bed, a cupboard, a few cooking pots, bed-clothes, shirts and shifts progressively patched and worn constituted the entire assets of a working family.” Marie’s huge menagerie of domestic animals, including the ones on her show farm, included an array of tiny dogs that crapped and pissed wherever they wanted in the Versailles palace, chewing holes in embroidered damask that cost more than a laundress would make in her entire life. The 18th century equivalent of tabloids (called the libelles, compare the word to libel in English) accused Marie of molesting her own son. At her trial, Marie refused to dignify the accusations with a response, stating “if I did not respond, it was because it would be against Nature for a mother to reply against such an accusation.” Her son the Dauphin was isolated, groomed, and tortured into accusing his mother of incest by Jacques Peré Hébert, who once skipped town at the age of 23 when he was rightfully convicted of slander and was fired from his theater job at the time for stealing. His contemporary, the French historian Ferdinand Brunot, called Hébert “the Homer of filth” for his talent for appealing to the lowest common denominator with his rumor-monging and false accusations. Hébert became quite the demagogue in his day, launching a movement of Hébertists whose goal was to de-Christianize France and to force priests to marry. Hébertists organized the first Festival of Reason, renaming the Notre Dame the Temple of Reason. For Hébertists, unlike their modern couch potato keyboard warrior equivalents, often launched physical attacks on those they felt were “too moderate” such as the Girondins. Even Maximilien Robespierre was considered too moderate by the Hébertists in 1793.

The Reign of Terror saw about 17,000 elites separated from their lives. Though I am sure it felt good to see the formerly be-wigged marching to their dooms after being scooped up in wooden carts, the revenge of the common man does not seem to have done much to stop subsequent Marie Antoinette wannabes from going about their rich and clueless lives.

It’s Hollywood, baby

Jews were expelled from Russia during its Revolution after throwing in their lot with Bolsheviks and other revolutionaries. The Jews who escaped to America founded Hollywood. In the 1800s, newly arrived Jews joined their brethren in the garment trade and vaudeville live theater. Both of these industries were largely overlooked and dismissed by wealthy whites. Live theaters were gradually overtaken by cinemas, and since Jews dominated the theater trade, the transition to film was natural and smooth. Many Jews in the garment industry founded the major entertainment houses: clothing salesman Carl Laemmle founded Universal Pictures; furrier Adolf Zucker founded Paramount Pictures; glove seller Samuel Goldwyn began his own moving picture studio.

Nobody could accuse the founding Jews of Hollywood of laziness. They worked hard, they became entrepreneurs, collaborated, sacrificed, and clawed their way up to do it. We can witness the hardy Louis Mayer, a poor kid who was born in the Ukraine and quit school at the age of 12. By the time he was a young adult, he renovated a vaudeville theater in Massachusetts before moving to Hollywood and founding MGM Studios. One of his producers, fellow Jew Arthur Freed, was famously accused of sexual harassment on several occasions, including by 12 year old Shirley Temple. Freed pulled out his penis and began to fondle himself in front of Temple on her first day on set. Temple claims to have laughed it off before running away in her autobiography. Sure.

Hollywood was a great success, and it has always been disproportionately Jewish. What the persecutors of the Bolsheviks and other revolutionary Jews failed to realize is that Jews thrive on persecution and they hope to be punished. Like Christians and Muslims, the fastest route to heaven for a monotheist with one life is to die for his religion. Nobility and the erasure of the most hideous of sins is conferred via martyrdom. Look at the grisly fetish that Jews have made of their own holocaust, seeking to relive the “experience” of progroms, ghettoes, and gas chambers in their various holocaust museums. I argue that wanting to relive a holocaust (I refuse to capitalize the word as holocausts happen every damn day) is barking, drooling madness, and that is why we don’t see modern Cambodians LARPing the Killing Fields or Rwandans basking in the glory of the Tutsi slaughterhouse of 1994.

You could round up all the Jews better than Hitler and you would still fail to eradicate the hidden forces that make them into a menace. For instance, if every Jew was suddenly and permanently raptured, do you think pedophilia would screech to a halt and no child would ever have to worry about being sodomized, tortured, or sold to ravening human ghouls for money ever again? LOL if you think that; clearly you do not know much of the world and will be forced to learn the hard way.

Chemtrails

This morning, the beautiful blue sky was marred by a giant X where two planes had deposited a cloudy, aerosolized mixture of poisons called chemtrails or contrails. About 30 minutes later, the entire sky became overcast. Speculation abounds concerning chemtrails, which were simply not a thing when I was growing up in the 70s and 80s. One hypothesis has it that they are doing weather modifications — Marjorie Taylor Greene believes that Hurricane Milton was in part caused by elite creeps playing God via chemtrails. I don’t think she is wrong. Chemtrails also seem to contain an array of biological poisons and nanobots designed to hijack healthy creatures via the air they breathe and the water they drink and make them sick. Remember that a healthy populace is not as easy to enslave and dominate as a perpetually ill one.

I would be lying if I claimed I do not have fantasies about shooting a surface-to-air missile at a chemtrail plane. I would smile as I watched it plummet to the ground, knowing its pilot was screaming his last words into the com. I hate chemtrails and I vicariously hate their pilots, which are the kind of just-smart-enough goons who fail to connect poisoning the Earth with poisoning their own children. There are campaigns to encourage regular people like myself to go to chemtrail airplane hangars to try to talk sense into the pilots. The idea that a chemtrail pilot bro who just follows orders would immediately abandon his well-paying job because some woman shows up at his work asking him to stop is hilarious and tragic. We all know the only thing that stops these people is a special sort of vest and a one way trip to Paradise for everyone in the vicinity. We also know that the second we complete our final boss in this game, there will be 10,000 missions of a nearly-identical variety that only others may complete because we will be dead.

Oh, the futility!

Epstein had his hands in an impressive amount of torture and blackmail. The one nice thing that can be said of the guy (he is probably still alive) is that he is a good multitasker. The big outrage is now that nothing is being done to the pedos. Prince Andrew was dethroned but he obviously is still alive. There are some disgraced diplomats who were obligated to resign/apologize. Trump is still alive and President of the United States at the time of this writing. Except for Ghislaine Maxwell, nobody is being held accountable for Epstein’s crimes, and it is highly doubtful that Maxwell is suffering as much as the average prisoner. Epstein and his pals seem to have done horrible things to infants and children, including literally eating nursing infants whose raw intestines apparently taste like cream cheese because they are full of fermented mother’s milk. Mark Tramo, a UCLA professor of biology and physiology, was caught in a convo with Epstein commenting that infants suck harder when they hear the sound of their mother's voice. He has since been “cancelled” and his web page on the UCLA website has been removed. In other words, he was lashed with a wet noodle and told to sit in a corner for ten minutes.

If we hauled every Epstein associate into a quick tribunal and then dispatched them to public hanging squares or Pay-Per-View torture chambers where they could be creatively assaulted by their own victims’ families, the spectacle would be extremely satisfying. There is no doubt that Epstein’s team of baby-eaters richly deserve to have their own skin flayed off in strips. We should then salt them, roll them in tar, and drop them in the middle of a desert with just enough water to make things truly miserable. While we were at it, we could gather up the chemtrail pilots and more importantly, their masters, and boil them in hot oil, immersing them slowly, taking them out, and then dipping them back in again a little further each time. We would, of course, surgically remove their larynxes first so they could not scream. We would feed these crispy, deep fried critters to imprisoned private equity, health care, and insurance CEOs. For laughs, we would remove the tongues of these CEOs first so they could not taste what they were eating. They could suffer the kuru without enjoying the behavior that results in kuru. We would then feed the CEOs to hungry pigs and alligators, or maybe sharks depending on what was available. We would do this while they were alive. Or maybe we could just leave them in the bottom of a pit until they starved and went fully insane, their driving Wendigos of unearned wealth having become impotent. Basically, we would make death the best outcome for these people. They would beg for it and we would not give it to them.

We could slay them all and there would be more of them within a generation at most. Humans are not all that smart and many of us start out in life extremely depraved. Not all monsters are made; some are born.

“So what do you propose we do, Kimberly Steele?” I will talk about that in next week’s essay.

Spiritual retardation begins with the misunderstanding of what dreams are and where they take place. Dreamland is not an entirely separate place at all. Instead, it is a layer of existence superimposed upon our physical world. You are in dreamland right now; the only difference between your waking and sleeping life is that when you sleep, you aren’t as easily able to perceive the physical layer and you are more able to perceive the layers accessible to the mind and consciousness. I refer to this layer of existence as the astral plane in many of my essays. Dreams are a kind of temporary blindness to the physical that enhances all of the other senses and unleashes them on the more subtle strata of existence. The physical is still there and you are still attached to it. Only death can sever the bond. Sleep, as I say in my soon-to-be-published book, Sacred Homemaking: A Magical Approach to a Tidier Home, is a kind of little death.

Dreams are collective and personal

Just as your normal life takes place in both collective and personal realms, dreams are at once uniquely oriented towards you as an individual and representative of other dreamers. Another crazy aspect of dreams is that human beings are not the only beings who dream, not by a long shot. Everything that exists dreams, and that includes animals, the computer speakers on my desk, the chair under my butt, the house in which I live, the town that encapsulates the house, trees, rocks, tiny little amoebas, single atoms, and what we call the Universe. My book, Sacred Homemaking, is about unleashing the transformative power of allying oneself to these various consciousnesses by tiny and seemingly innocuous acts of recognizing them and thanking them for their help. You don’t have to get my book to see if this works. The next time you leave your residence, thank the door for keeping you safe and wind, weather, and burglars out. You can do this mentally or out loud. Thank your bed for your night’s sleep no matter how poorly you slept. Clean and thank your toilet each night. Do all of these things every day and then come back to this essay in a year. Has your life improved? What do your finances look like? How about your relationships? In my own case, everything across the board started to improve once I acknowledged the consciousness all around me. I think you will be astonished at how well it works.

The Mall

For whatever reason, Reddit has been the hot spot for discussing the collective dreamworld over the last decade or so. TikTok is gaining ground. Before the advent of online spaces, there were not many ways for people around the world to discuss the collective dream space, and we should thank the higher powers for the gift of being able to chat about these liminal concepts in international, online forums. Perhaps you are familiar with Mall World, which is a dream of a large 1990s-era shopping center with piped in Muzak, towering escalators, a massive food court, and endless retail stores in various states of openness and hospitality. In my own case, I dream of Mall World about once a month. In my case, the mall can be the endangered, rambling, indoor type that dominated American culture from the 1970s-1990s or it can be a more rustic, improvised, downtown setting where chain stores occupy several floors of decrepit, decaying buildings and one floor connects to another via an old fashioned, fire escape stairway.

In 1975, a deluxe shopping mall opened in a suburb all of a hop, skip, and a jump away from where I grew up. This mall was called Old Chicago, and it was a magical place inspired by the architecture of Louis Sullivan (and the Chicago Colombian Expedition in general) that combined an entire indoor amusement park with retail shopping. My mother took me there once or twice, and though I was only four or five years old, it remains indelibly imprinted upon my memory. A circus performer named Jimmy Troy fell to his death the year the mall opened during a trapeze performance. This did not bode well. By 1980, it was mostly shut down, because those who built it had not completed construction upon it even as it began to fail. Old Chicago was torn down in 1986.In my dreams, I often go to Old Chicago, where it still very much exists along with the hopefulness and naivete of the late 70s and early 1980s. It was a magical and wonderful place, truly bizarre and only possible in a brief window of an equally brief period of civilization. In my shopping mall dreams, the malls are almost always on the verge of closing. Clearance sales and Everything Must Go signs litter picked over clothing racks and merchandise. It is always about ten minutes before the stores close. I believe that this part of my mall dreams has to do with my awareness that the retail shopping era is on its way out.

Entire maps have been made of Mall World, but in my case, I don’t find they are accurate. Some Redditors agree that their worlds and maps match; mine seem to be mine alone.

The Bathrooms

The collective Mall World and the School (I will discuss this one in a minute) has public bathrooms, and most dreamers agree they are disgusting. One Redditor complains:

“I want to use the bathroom, but it’s either filthy or there’s no door or even a toilet. Just an empty stall. It’s one of my many recurring dreams where I find myself in a place that I can’t escape, and when I run out, I find myself in another identical place. I hate it.”

I have dreamed of the Bathrooms. They are huge, usually equipped with locker areas, showers, and large sinks designed to serve a stadium. The sinks, floor drains, and toilet areas are clogged with all manner of wet toilet paper and paper towels. Hair and heaven knows what else cause flooding on the floor and around the drains. Privacy is a no go and so is actually going to the bathroom; I will often wake up during the bathroom dream because my physical plane body genuinely has to pee and all the dreamworld has to offer is a massive, useless community labyrinth of a bathroom.

Freud would probably say dreams of the Bathroom are about sex. I would probably say he was a simple-minded, coke-addled moron. The Bathroom exists because it is actually there, and it is what each of us see in our mind’s eye when we use a public bathroom. Someday when the world is less populous and stadium style indoor plumbing is a phenomenon of the distant past, people will no longer dream of the Bathrooms. Maybe they will dream of the Outhouses, or That Hole at the Edge of the Forest. I don’t know.

The School

I love the original Silent Hill film because it revealed so many of my own nightmare spaces and reassured me I was not alone in having them. In Silent Hill, a little adopted girl disappears into a liminal mining town called Silent Hill. Her adoptive mother, Rose, goes on a quest to save her and ends up trapped in the dream world, albeit after rescuing her child, Sharon. Sharon has a dream alter-ego named Alessa who runs around and generally haunts an abandoned school. The school is a maze of winding rooms and passageways. Just as it happens in my nightmares, Sharon/Alessa and Rose are chased into various school rooms by menacing monsters from which they must hide. Occasionally they are forced out of their hiding spots to battle the monsters.

Another film that closely resembles my school dreams and nightmares is the Thai production ReCycle, which is the story of a young woman writer who travels through the dream and nightmare world while guided by a little girl. We later find out that the writer is connected by blood to the dream characters and that she must conquer parts of her own shadow in order to escape.

My husband and I both dreamed about high school well beyond being forced to attend high school. In my own case, I was spooked with high school dreams until I was 40 years old. My husband suffered a similar fate. In my dreams, I could either not find my locker or my classroom, and I often had to walk home in a severe thunderstorm or at night and then could not figure out where I lived. My husband reports dreams of having all of one year left and feeling incredibly demoralized at being stuck. I have had the same sort of dream about both high school and the college dreams that took over once I had passed the age of 40.

The Elevators

One particularly icky liminal space that shows up over and over in my dreams is the Elevator. People must crowd to get in it. The floor one lands upon is a form of Russian roulette — it could be safe and empty, or it could be a passageway to a monster maze of being chased through and endless parade of scary rooms.

The Old Mansion

In my case, the Elevators can occur in Mall World or they can be part of a sinister old mansion. In my dreams, I have often inherited or bought a decrepit, hulking property, half of which has been boarded up and abandoned. The lower floors of the property are mysterious and full of potential dangers, including monsters or endless hallways in which to disappear and be eaten. Bathrooms in the Mansion are often disgusting and old, but instead of stadium size lavatories, they are gross pink, green, and blue porcelain holdovers from the 60s and 70s. Bathtubs with whirlpool jets spew dead spiders and earwigs if the water is turned on full blast. Dripping, mostly empty shampoo bottles and wet toothbrushes occupy mildewy tile corners and sit atop rusty, dusty fan units.

The Hotel

In more recent times, I find myself dreaming of a large hotel in which I rent a cozy room. This dream is seldom sinister. The Hotel seems to be connected to Mall World and is often in a desert setting such as Las Vegas. Going outside involves unbearable heat, so I find myself retreating to the inner sanctum with its heavy, white curtains and bay windows. I feel lucky to be in such a nice space.

Apartments and houses

I will often carve out living spaces for myself or for my husband and I in hidden apartments. One of these exists within the School or College setting and from the outside looks like a utility door underneath some stairs. On the inside is a windowless, cavernous, warehouse-like space where I have some bookshelves, a kitchen, and sitting areas among the stacked boxes.

I have dreams that my parents (my father is no longer alive) have moved to an octagonal or round house designed like a non-spinning carousel. It is a place of excessive luxury and expensive furniture.

The house where I grew up also figures prominently in my dreams. I dream of it so often that I am intimately familiar with a variety of dreams that concern it.

Animal dreams

I am sure this is the case with other pet owners, but there is no end to the dreams I have about animals, and in my case it is almost always my current pets, which happen to be cats. I dream of cats almost every night, and frustratingly, I often lose cats or am saddled with cats I cannot care for in those dreams. I take very good care of my cats on the physical plane, so when I dream of a cat being abducted, hurt, lost, or killed in a dream, I will wake up angry at the unfairness of it. Obviously I feel I can never do enough for my cats.

Another dream I tend to have is the Menacing Animals in the Yard dream. I will be in the yard or trying to get to the house where I grew up and some large, wild animal will pop up such as a tiger and will stalk me and attack me as I try to escape to safety. I am not afraid of snakes in real life, but masses of giant snakes converge to prevent me from re-entering the side door. I have no idea what these dreams are about or why they happen.

Other people

If you dream of someone, most of the time it is a bad idea to speak to them or anyone else about it unless the dream was entirely positive. People who have erotic dreams about someone often make the mistake in thinking their dream affections are returned on the physical plane — I have had more than one woman make a pass at me based on lesbian dreams they had about me. I was kind about it but I was grossed out.

Before I did a great deal of spiritual work, I had terrible dreams about other people. Many of these dreams involved being attacked by hordes of strangers who would force themselves into my house. I had to physically attack them. Nowadays, I rarely have dreams of strangers trying to enter my house, and when I do have those dreams, it is far less defensive and they are not trying to force their way in. I believe this relatively new barrier is a result of a near decade of doing a daily banishing ritual. The strangers and the consciousness of strangers may still want to mess with me in my “house”, but their bad intentions have far less power than they did before I erected the formidable barrier of the Sphere of Protection.

There is a nasty class of spirit called a Mimic that likes to impersonate loved ones and humans in general. Often these beings will have human features that are warped, like deformed arms, overlarge or over-small heads, and skewed eyes. If you encounter one, invoke the name of a god or an angel and it will either burn up, melt, or disappear.

The Hat Man and the Hag

These two characters have been around since the beginning of human dreams. Even in ancient Sumeria, people reported being harassed during sleep by entities called Lilu and Lilitu, who were what we would call incubi and succubi. The Lilu would impregnate women with children, and that certainly raises questions about modern tales of alien abduction and more ancient folklore about fairies and changelings. The Hat Man and the Hag also used to reoccur in my dreams and astral travels until my daily banishing squelched them. People around the world report encounters with these two asshole entities, and anyone who doubts they exist is the one who should get his head examined. I am not sure how much more evidence anyone could possibly need to figure out the Hat Man and the Hag are real and dangerous, despite them both existing on the astral level of existence and not the physical one.

The Road, the Flying Bridge, and the Parking Lot

Much like the Mall World dream, the Road dream is one that won’t be dreamed in future, less-industrialized epochs when cars and planes are confined to the distant past. In my own case, I hate driving, I have always hated driving, and I sincerely hope that I can fulfill my plan to quit driving forever when I reach the age of 70 in 18 short years. I don’t drive on the highway — I outright refuse to do so. Nevertheless, I dream about the highway and usually this highway is punctuated by bridges that go nearly straight up into the air. I often drive my car off these bridges and die after a long fall. Cars are my personal hell and I am living that hell every day, having chosen to drive as a condition of living near my family. For reasons I will never understand, the city of Plainfield is a place I am often forced to drive to in dreams and it is always a terrifying drive full of flying bridges. I am not sure why I associate Plainfield specifically with bad juju in the dreamworld.

Many people have the flying bridge dream and even more dream of the Parking Lot. Nobody can find their car in the Parking Lot. The car, which in my case was parked in a sea of other cars, has disappeared, usually with a few cats in it who will starve to death as a result. Because I have lost my car in the Parking Lot, I must now walk home, a feat of endurance that could take a damn month of sleeping on the street.

The City and the Train Depot

The City in my case tends to be Chicago as I have always lived near Chicago. Just as it is in Meatworld, Chicago is a dreary, gray, intimidating place built more for vehicles than people. I often go to Chicago for schooling just as I did for my undergrad years. Getting back home is fraught with danger. I am often trapped in a terrible neighborhood that is thick with predatory human beings and I have no way of reaching the trains home except on foot. The sun is rapidly setting and with it, danger exponentially increases. Each unfamiliar alleyway looms with scary characters. Intersections are crazy, often bisected by electrified train rails or underneath busy, impassable bridges with no pedestrian walkways.

Once I make it to the train (if I make it at all), the train depot is crowded and dangerous. It is a dark, hellish, red-lit space with illogical platforms and confused queues of others who are both sure and unsure of where they are going. It is also the only way home.

Dream relief

I complain a great deal about my dreams but they are not all bad. I have wonderful dreams about friends and family, fun flying dreams where I meander about in the air, and college dreams that are about learning where I believe I actually am legitimately learning new skills. The problem with dreams and with human wiring is that we are biologically designed to remember the negative more than the positive. This is an evolutionary feature and without it, our species would never have survived. That is why it is so important to relentlessly focus upon and build the positive instead of wallowing in the negative. You’ll be hearing more about that from me in my next few essays.