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A Sneaker Peek at Dead Sea Trolls And
CA-Fukushima Bonfires for Halloween

By Yoichi Shimatsu
Exclusive to Rense

Recently back to Land of the Free, after a long sojourn under blanket censorship and facial-recognition by street lamps in my birthplace Japan and its giant neighbor, this homecoming arrived a strange land where reddit is now an abridged version of Readers Digest and an inaccessible VOAT is bleating like a goat hanged upside-down soon to be halal mutton. Then again, where I’ve landed is not really America, it’s the West Coast.

Southern California is now being taken back by the local equivalent of ISIS, one of these arsonists being a female “traveler” (aka Mexican illegal) just arrested for the roadside arson that destroyed 22 homes in Canyonland, northeast of LA. The Getty burn has been consuming upscale homes with manicured gardens also started suspiciously close to a highway shoulder.

Although the mainstream press and liberal politicians, beholden to the undocumented vote and slush funds from the cartels, refuse to admit it, 200 flaming acres a day are being lost to a scorched-earth campaign in an unreported guerrilla war. The sight of Canadian tanker planes and converted airliners may be thrilling but water bombing the wildfires is not going to end this second phase of the historical war for the western states or El Norte depending on which side you’re on. Appeasement is the term to describe California’s political class whose toleration of terrorism is abetting the arson offensive in Southern California.

It’s not clear yet what’s the greater threat to the Golden West, the drive-by Molotov cocktails of the Make America Mexico Again revolucionarios or the native species known as liberal Democrats, such as San Francisco Mayor London Breed, a lesser-known female protege of the drug dealers’ defense attorney of choice, Willie Brown (in addition to his “main squeeze” Kamala Harris). Willie should be appointed honorary consul-general to Istanbul not only to better represent hashish traffickers and “refugees” in law courts but also to impress the awe-struck Turks with his harem.

Safe Injections

Over an early morning cup of coffee in the South of Market no-man’s land inhabited by homeless vagrants, an African American security guard spoke to me with rising anger in his voice of how the mayor has been giving food stamps and cash to every penniless newcomer, thereby encouraging their move from Oakland and other cities that are throwing these pariahs into jail. By now riled, he added, “Now she’s talking about the city paying for ‘safe injections’, but how can a clean needle packing heroin or opioids be safe? That’s plumb ridiculous!”

So Democrat-run deficit-ridden SF is going to allot taxpayers money for intravenous heroin delivery for the victims of social injustice. Since I’m also deprived of home ownership, I’d rather take my share of the loot in caviar and champagne instead of Mayor Breed’s magic carpet ride.

While waiting for an overnight bus in West Oakland, with time to chat with a couple of homeless men, one of them a black military veteran in a wheelchair due to an IED in Iraq, I started to realize that a fix to help oneself sleep on a sidewalk or even dying of an overdose might be better than the relentless boredom of confinement in a VA facility. Meanwhile, white millennials coming off the BART metro e-scootered and pedaled bicycles past us to their apartments in the gentrifying ghetto. They live in the low-end black neighborhood because buying a flat or a house is beyond their wildest dreams and a vape or medical marijuana will just have to do instead of mowing the lawn. Did anyone just say “The American Dream?”

These random impressions don’t fit into anything resembling a harmonious, much less egalitarian society or community-shared sense of happiness promised by the phony liberals, but that’s not any different than the rest of this disintegrating world. This appalling situation is arguably worse because Americans had every advantage left by their hard-working forebears, and blew that lead though wasteful wars, an absurd school curriculum that has failed to teach civic values and constitutional rights, hypocrite political pandering to corporate lobbyists, mindless shopping sprees and now the opiate of smart phones and movie downloads.

Smoking California

There was smoke on the horizon but I’m never worried with a bottle of water in the backpack, along with a face mask and a pair of walking shoes as the bus packed with millennials, who can’t afford the price of car and cost of gasoline, rolls toward Southern California. In the darkness, the mind wanders back to the coast of Fukushima where I was only outside witness of those rectangular boxes of pearly opaque fog. In rare moments, tritium becomes visible, as in the summer of 2013 along the shoreline south of the TEPCO nuclear dumping of radioactive waste-water. The most striking aspect of the geometric perfection is that heavy water should be expected to sink to the ocean floor but, with seeming magic, instead amasses on top of the sea surface to glow with heat from emitted beta rays and released neutrons.

Fukushima-sourced tritium and its companion deuterium, along with hot particles from uranium decay elements, comprise the primary driving force for California wildfires since at least 2014 and perhaps months earlier. The fires raging on the northside of the Sonoma wine country provide the clearest model for this bizarre phenomena. The admixture of tritium-and-fissile particles forms a liquid film over the sea surface due partly to surface tension but more because of the negative-charge electromagnetic repulsion between tritium-released electrons and the electrons surrounding the nuclei of the hydrogen and oxygen atoms comprising the water molecules.

This mass of heavy water, like all liquids, seeks evenness of distribution, thereby spreading out in a circular pattern over the seawater, Due to the faint influence of the jet-stream, transmitting its power as between a pair of cogs, this vast “heavy-waterwheel” rotates clockwise, spinning off powerful winds onto the California landmass. The rotating layer spins around a central “hub” located atop the Farallon Islands, the U.S. Navy sea-dumping site for nuclear reactors and radioactive waste. The waterwheel and also the Fukushima-caused Arctic ozone hole are examples of unintended and unplanned Earth engineering, which the science and technology establish refuses to examine.

The consequent flow of tritium-emitting super-hot beta rays and uranium-decay elements on to land is electromagnetically attracted to PG&E power transformers and transmission lines. Once bombarded by beta radiation and free-radical radioactive particles, these high-voltage systems soon explode with fire and fury, setting pastures and forests ablaze. The nuclear energy industry has sown the wind, and now the western coast of the USA and Canada is reaping the whirlwinds.

While San Onofre is shut down and Diablo Canyon dormant pending closure, Washington State’s Columbia reactors, which powers Seattle, are operating along with the massive Palo Verde nuclear complex, on the edge of Phoenix, which provides nearly all of its electrical output to Los Angeles. The home-destroying fires are just part of price for nuclear-powered air-conditioning and television, without which there’d be no Hollywood, Burbank, Disneyland, Walmart or shopping malls. Some elements of the American way of life could survive a permanent blackout, for instance, football and baseball and even ice cream.

There is a ray of hope amid this Armageddon to be found in those neighborhoods that have installed filtration systems for recycling “gray water” sprinkled on their roadside green belts. None of these conservation-minded communities have not gone up in flames since they can just turn on the sprinklers. As for the obnoxious climate change hysteria, it’s a total waste of research funding since the major factor contributing to so-called “global warming” is radioactive destruction of the ozone hole over the Arctic region and tritium-caused fires in the NorCal region.

Let’s not forget the ultra-nationalist Mexican arson campaign in the southern part of the state, appropriately centered around the city named after Santa Ana, the dictator who ordered the assault on the Alamo. Yes, it’s a touchy issue, but if the Wall does not go up, these attacks are going to result in door-to-door gun battles like in Syria. The bus stops by Angels Stadium and so I start walking toward the regional train station. California dreaming, I sought you in a blaze.

Night at the End of the Tunnel

After a nightmare about Beyond Meat pepperoni atop a soy-cheese pizza, I got up bleary-eyed with a queasy stomach. Now that reddit has become an online Readers Digest and VOAT is a dead goat about to become halal mutton, my plan to resume the Pizza gate series to finish off the Podestas, Schiff, the Clinton and Obama gang could now be doomed by a lack of tip-offs. So instead of pounding the keyboard, I switched on the TV, and as promised the presidential surprise turned out to be the assassination of Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi. It’s striking how the bearded Caliph of ISIS eerily resembled the cult guru Shoko Asahara of the Aum Shinrikyo responsible for the Tokyo subway gassing. These evil twins must’ve been created by the same make-up artist and scriptwriters from the same nefarious nexus of intel agencies or so my sleep-deprived brain theorized while vegan coffee sputtered in the percolator.

The intelligence agencies that plan these covert operations are not known for their creativity. Stick with the same game-plan even though it’s guaranteed to fail again. This time around, on their third try, the special forces improved on their earlier claims of terminating this obnoxious Caliph, an asset left over from Barack Obama’s Islamic foreign policy and his trans-Syrian pipeline scheme.

The news clip of a bomb crater and a burnt-out bus raised the question of what exactly blocked that tunnel he had hoped to cross before the air-strikes. Was the obstruction caused by a bulldozer or bunker-buster or a record-setting Halloween pumpkin from Alaska? The little details make for a better story. Oh, yes, and give us a look at the body. Guru Asahara just disappeared into prison and Shinzo Abe never gave the Japanese public the satisfaction of seeing his disgusting corpse being zipped in a body bag. Now the same goes for the Caliph of our erstwhile allies, the decapitators for Obama’s pipedreams.

Video provides a semblance of reality, even when it’s transparently false. The world audience was so disappointed at not watching Osama bin Laden’s sheet-wrapped manikin splash into the Arabian Sea. If he wasn’t dead, they wouldn’t drop his corpse into the waves, right? Dummies don’t ask, and that means they can’t think. Now that you get my drift about fake news being more effective than no news, it’s better to give people any substitute to chew on, like those leathery dog “bones”. I should be founding a P-school (school of propaganda and public relations) at Columbia and USC to upgrade their j-schools’ current training in mass delusion.

The Art of War as Deception

Speaking of which, the rare uses of deception for positive purposes especially strategy, I should apologize for raising such petty objections while the Disney SFX team is busy with making up witches and Donald-like Frankensteins (Trump not the Duck) for their Halloween extravaganza, meaning their production of a death mask of the ghoulish Abu Bakr has to wait till Thanksgiving. Just maybe my skepticism is uncalled for, especially when the other pieces of the assassins’ jigsaw fit together perfectly.

The “escape” of ISIS prisoners during the Turkish border offensive was probably factored into the intelligence plan to pinpoint the Caliph’s whereabouts. Could tracking the escaped prisoners’ movements by satellite and observer drones, plus perhaps RFID implants inside stitched-up wounds, enable detection of their regroupment at Abu Bakr’s hideout? Did the U.S. Marine pullout from the border region lower the precautions normally taken by the ISIS field commanders? For propaganda purposes, the social media-savvy ISIS cadres would organize a rally around their great leader.

Affirmative to all of that. What fools these mortals be! Erdogan invaded only to see Team Trump snatch victory from the jaws of a feigned “defeat”. This episode once again shows why America with its ingenuity and cold-calculated pragmatism is a perennial world power and all the rest are distant contenders or already losers.

Idlib is in easy range of offshore carrier-based jets and drones, meaning air-strikes could be mounted quickly when and where least expected. Likewise helicopter-borne American commandos racing in at night for the kill. Deception is classic Sun Tzu, the essence of the art of war. Given the fact of withdrawal of U.S. Marine ground forces, the tactical decision to “take no prisoners” was the only option. Now, as the shock sets in, the demoralized ISIS rank and file are finding themselves surrounded by rival Islamist militia groups that have scores to settle. That bloodbath is not at issue for Americans. So by playing that ace up his sleeve, Trump wins the game of one-upmanship against Obama’s take-down of a fake Bin Laden. Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi is one ghastly specter that won’t be haunting anybody on a soon-arriving All Soul’s Eve.

Salish Sea Follies

With the morning hour getting too late to fry bacon and microwave biscuits, I slipped a hand into a 10-piece candy bag purchased for Halloween and unwrapped a pair of Reese peanut butter cups for breakfast. Umm, being overseas for so long I forgot how awful they taste, and gummy, too. The PB cup is nowhere near as good as my childhood favorite at the matinee movies, a big flat bar of Turkish Taffy made of nuts and fake nougat. It’s impossible to eat whole, so there’s a secret involved. It shatters when suddenly slapped hard on the back of seat in front of you, scaring the daylights out of the kid who’s spilling his popcorn. Those broken bits took a lot of time to chew on while watching detective Charlie Chan solve mysterious murders and then as we drooled in awe as the ray guns illuminating the invisible monster in “Forbidden Planet”. (FYI, today’s authentic imported healthy Turkish confections are nowhere in same league as that made-in-USA candy bar invented in Coney Island, which lasted through three movies due to its ersatz blend of corn syrup and emulsifiers.)

The morning news announcer ended dourly with noticeable sourness over Donald Trump accomplishing what Team Obama’s failed to do, which was to kill the most hated man on the planet or perhaps the scariest actor ever from the CIA. Trying to flush down the gummy residue caught between my teeth with a cup of black coffee, I didn’t notice the start of the next show, “Litton’s Weekend Adventures: Rock the Park” starring trail guides Jack Stewart and Colton Smith. Since the episode featured the Salish Sea, where I once took radioactivity measurements following the Fukushima meltdowns, I took a wait-and-see attitude. Otherwise, I would have hit the kill switch and gone back to sleep.

What? You’ve never head of these super-heroes? Neither did I until that moment, my reason being better than yours since I’ve been out-of-country for years and basically don’t watch TV other than youtube captures to get a laugh from the goofy Dems’ impeachment comedy. Now the only real “rock the park” adventures that I know of are: to lose your picnic basket to a grizzly bear in Yellowstone; 7 seconds of free-fall after rock-climbing without a rope on Half Dome in Yosemite, getting toasted by PG&E infernos in the forests around Lassen or, NASA forbid, experiencing a close encounter of the worst kind during an alien landing on top of Devil’s Tower. For the latter, hum this yoga tone-mantra: G-D-A-A-E (ancient Sanskrit abbreviation for “Gum Durnit Aileen Abduksion Ekspedision!”

Since nothing exciting has happened in the National Parks in the decade since the rat-borne bubonic plague outbreak at Camp Curry, Jack and Colt have to ham it up, by making the tidepools along the Salish Sea seem awesome. Actually, in real-life exploration, it quickly got to be boring for me to make sense of sea squirts writhing in death throes along a rocky beach south of Fukushima and then trying to find any survivor organisms along the Fukushima coastline other than monstrous sea urchins, mutated to the size of baseballs. I wrote those findings up in a September 2011 essay titled “The Death of the Pacific”.

Later on the other side of the Pacific, it became monotonous counting batches of crustaceans in order to estimate the 2 million or so that were dying onshore. Not getting wet from a freak wave was the only challenge while looking for any survivors among the shattered seashells in tidepools along the California shoreline poisoned by radioactive water that had crossed over thousands of kilometers . Coming upon a dead radioactive sea-lion by the San Onofre nuclear plant was a relief, enabling an autopsy with dosimeter.

A greater-by-far adventurer, the now-legendary commercial diver Dana Durnford can attest to days-on-end rubber-boating up the Salish Sea, the Strait of Georgia and Hecate Strait on his odysseys to survey the post -311 loss of thousands of marine species. Doing these extreme voyages while on a wheelchair was as heroic as anything in the Odyssey. Hecate, there’s a lovely Halloween story for you, she being the Greek goddess of witchcraft, sorcery and necromancy. She’s pronounced “heck-uh-dee”, but don’t say it too loud, my little chickadees.

As opposed to the early phase of biological collapse, I was hoping that the Rock the Park episode might come across some signs of recovery from Fukushima toxicity. Instead, little by little, it became clear that the nuclear industry had extended its tentacles into this ABC program. Jack and Colt come off an nice guys and honest, but they are paid to be actors reading lines from a script. To their credit, there was initial acknowledgment of the collapse in the salmon population, which was forcing local orcas to leave their hunting areas in the Salish Sea (north of Seattle and Puget Sound).

Then the program took a turn for the worse on the San Juan Islands, where a resident marine biologist hailed the natural abundance of 3,000 visible species in the tide pools. Leading the pair at low tide to the pools, the bio-expert fished around the far end of a boulder to pull out a wretched moss-encrusted sea urchin, dripping onto a pool of blackened empty shells brightened by the iridescence of an empty turban variety. Then the biologist walked off and came back over a ridge with a huge orange starfish, which was obviously from an aquarium. That fakery dragged the episode down to zero scientific credibility.

Luckily for Colt, an aching neck from a prior backpacking hike, kept him out of the water. Jack bravely tried free-diving, but was deterred by the chill temperature of the seawater, and so switched to scuba gear. The pathetic strands of kelp, lacking massive fronds of pre-Fukushima years, were thin and sparse. On the sea floor, fallen fronds were laced with holes left by hunger-driven urchins. The navies of sea otters that used to keep the urchin population in check were reduced to a few survivors, with only one spotted by the cameraman. In a gratuitous intervention, as the camera bobbed in the current, the image of an non-moving jellyfish was obviously an overlaid computer-graphic image.

After years of field research, I could readily detect from this episode’s clips the many signs of a marine killoff, whatever cheery assurances were expressed in the voiceovers. With local friends, I toured the Olympia Peninsula of Washington State several years ago in search of marine debris from Fukushima and came across high radioactivity readings in shore plants on the south shore of the Salish Sea and on buoys that had drifted over from Japan. To my surprise, the coastline was devoid of boats, nets and trash from Japan, and later learned that the Japanese government had quietly funded the coastal clean-up in Oregon and Washington done by inmates in these state’s prisons.

Subaru’s Media Manipulation for Japan’s Nuclear Industry

I watched the credit roll and noted the name of the program’s single sponsor, Subaru, the Japanese car-maker renowned for its low-carbon hybrid engines, a warning sign of a business entity somehow linked with the nuclear-power industry’s climate-change hoax. Sure enough, in 2003 Subaru in cooperation with the Tokyo Electric Power Corporation (TEPCO) co-developed the R1 electric car prototype. Subaru belongs to a corporate alliance called CHAdeMO to promote e-car use worldwide, along with Mitsubishi Motors, Nissan, Toyota and TEPCO.

TEPCO and Toyota were the major sponsors of the 1997 Kyoto Summit, which foisted the climate-change scam on a gullible international community, in order to convert drivers to e-cars powered by nuclear energy. That explains why TEPCO is hand-in-glove with Subaru sponsorship of Rock the Parks and dictated conditions to the Litton producers and ABC, specifically denial of Fukushima radioactivity impacts on the coastal region of the USA and Canada, which are directly on the path of seaborne radioactive debris and fallout in the rain and fog.

Adding to the propaganda threat, the Litton production company based in Charleston, SC, in partnership with ABC created the Rock the Parks series in compliance with a federal program for educational and instructive (E/I) programming for children and youths, which makes its role in the Fukushima cover-up all the more toxic.

Twilight Saga of the Floating Shoes

Poisoned candy is an urban myth, right? Nobody in their right mind would deliberately give harmful substances to trick or treaters, one might assume. Well, in 1974 an 8 year-old boy named Tim O’Brian ate a piece of cyanide-laced candy slipped into his bag by his own father, who had taken out a $40,000 insurance policy on him. Since then, parents routinely rifle though the night’s loot to toss out anything that is not in its original packaging.

What accounts for the origin of this pagan holiday that the Christian missionaries adopted as a time to pray for the souls of loved ones? The end of October is a curious season of cooling outdoor temperatures. It’s when mushrooms pop out of the backyard soil, like the small white button cap that poisoned and just nearly killed my neighbor’s little dog, who has an acquired taste from leftover pizza and has been suffering diarrhea and sleepiness over the past week. There are other types of venom to be wary of in this season, crossing the line between a costume party and Satanic black mass, especially along the waterways that flow into the Salish Sea.

One of my local friends has been fascinated with the clusters of occult groups along the Northwest Coast from Portland through Puget Sound’s Port Townsend and Marrowbone Island, the home ground of Stephanie Meyer, who wrote vampire novel “Twilight Saga”. That TV series starring those strange creatures Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattison was shot in the town of Forks on the Olympic Peninsula. On the Canadian side of the border, the city of Victoria on Vancouver Island is considered the world capital of occultism while the Vancouver suburb of Burnaby hosted the largest concentration of the Brofman sisters’ NXIVM cult, along with being where the spooky dark “Smallville” TV series was filmed. (By “coincidence”, the harassment campaign against Dana Durnford was organized at the University of Victoria, right there in the epicenter of Satanism, which does offshore research for the U.S. Navy.)

One of the more gruesome of the occult rituals has been the serial amputation of the right foot of teen boys clad in a sneaker, which enables its flotation down the Salish Sea. Since 2007, some 16 foot-stuffed sneakers have been found on beaches south of Vancouver. The brands include New Balance, Nike and Ozark Trail, this last being an intriguing rare find, perhaps in reference to the birthplace of Bill Clinton. Nike was the pagan goddess of victory, and New Balance could refer to restoring the power of devious darkness.

One of few victims pinned down by a DNA study was an unknown teenager from India who had illegally immigrated to the Seattle area, leading to suspicion of Boeing’s private airport outside Seattle. The other conjecture among locals, due to current flows, is that the bloody sneakers might originate in the San Juan islands, with whispered allusions to the massive luxury compound of the rather odd Bill Gates, a proponent of global population reduction through death on an unprecedented mass scale throughout the developing nations. The Gates Foundation is, without doubt, a spooky operation.

Needless to say Halloween is the biggest annual celebration, greater than the solstices and equinoxes, for the Wiccan covens and other wackos on the dark side, whereas Christmas and Easter are shrugged off as non-events to ban from public places. As for promoting blood sacrifices, the movie “Joker” was released in the run-up to this Wiccan holiday. With these dark thoughts in mind, I search for another bit of sweetness from the Halloween trove. What will it be? Certainly not PayDay. A black chocolate Kit Kat, perfect for the occasion. Mothers and Fathers, keep your children indoors because these have become dangerous times when banshees scream and vampires’ eye-teeth gleam