Premonition about Hurricane’s in New York

Here is a science fiction book that I published for a while on this site. I took it down because a publishing company is interested in putting it out. It needs some editing but it has won several small literary prizes. I wrote it back in 1999. It took a few years of editing and rebuilding the middle section to make it work the way I wanted it to. However the vision I had of New York being hit by a hurricane is in it. In actuality the entire novel came from visions I had of the future. I have taken an excerpt from the novel and am publishing it here. In the book the only two cities still left (in terms of major cities functioning as such) are New York and Washington, D.C. The main character Psyche and her boyfriend Ira live in Washington D.C. she is unknowingly working on a secret black op project for the government through a private company. Her discovery of this comes after this part of the book. It takes place approximately 30 years in the future:

I scooped Chi up and sat next to Ira to watch the news.

“New York City has been devastated by this unforeseen monster. Shouldn’t the NWFS have warned of this killer hurricane?” the anchorman and actor, Bill Surnow, queried. Shaky video footage from surveillance cameras around the city ran behind him. Buildings swayed from high winds and water suddenly crashed through the streets, the camera went blue. “More after we take a break,” a disembodied voice said.

I grabbed the cordless phone and dialed my mother, simultaneously asking Ira, “What’s going on?”

“Didn’t anyone tell you?”

I shook my head. “There’s a busy signal.”

“Yeah, I’ve been trying all day. They say the lines are down from North Carolina to Maine.”

I dialed my mother’s cell and waited as it endlessly rang.

Ira’s voice cracked. “I’ve already tried that number, too.”

The heroic New York, having survived terrorist attacks, plagues, and earthquakes, was now being washed to sea. The images were gruesome and horrifying. I couldn’t stop thinking about my mother’s short white hair. Her hunched feeble body and the familiar smell of her sandalwood oil, drowning.

The fear mom had to have experienced, seeing the ocean pitched like a tray of water – the sound of breaking bricks and mortar splintering, and glass shattering – people screaming.

Mom alone. Trapped in the brownstone.

Warren Street bursting with salt water, busting down the cobbled street, exploding two hundred year old row houses into broken brick walls with rocking chairs and baby’s cribs, sofas and teddy bears pouring out of holes – everything taken by the water — people struggling to grab anything floating by to keep themselves steady in the raging flood. The water infested with rats and trash, the tide crashing hard against each new building it sought to destroy.

My home.

My mother.

I was outside myself.

It wasn’t like me to cry even now the hot tightening in the deep of my throat felt like a far away tunnel. I was frozen. Emotionally paralyzed. “I spoke to her yesterday. She’s all right. Right? She’s okay, isn’t she?”

Ira moved gently across the sparse room and caught my hand in his. Its warmth momentarily penetrating my numbness.

The commercial break ended. A grim Bill Surnow stood at the anchor desk to announce, “Early estimates for Hurricane Xavier are thought to include hundreds of thousands dead and many more missing. One source reported most of Brooklyn and Long Island shore entirely decimated. There is little hope the area will ever recover.”

Bill Surnow cut to a local reporter who was standing in the middle of an ER in Queens. “The hospitals are inundated with the injured. In Manhattan F5 winds cracked and shattered windows, glass chards sharp as daggers hurtled in every direction. The scene more gruesome than words could describe.”

I dialed my mother, Miriam’s home again. Again, no use – Mom’s cell phone message in a feminine dulcet voice, sang “All circuits are busy.”

The University where she worked, recited in an ancient automated voice, “You’re call can not go through. Please hang up and dial again.” I went through lists of friends and relatives, but to no avail.

I bottled up the urge to throw the phone across the room and instead demanded of Ira, “When?”

“Around noon the Weather Service started to see signs of a hurricane gathering…”

“But how?” I asked him.

“The conditions were just right off the coast of North Carolina…”

“But why? Nothing…” I stopped myself because my voice was starting to quiver. It was as if my cranium had cracked like a polar ice cap and it was melting so fast the water was drowning me. I raised my voice at Ira, “It’s impossible.”

Ira, who had arrived at my side to give comfort, retreated. “Take it easy, Psyche everything is going to be OK.” He said this with all the skill and assurance of a man who had never had to utter such words.

“Don’t tell me to take it easy. And it’s not going to be OK. My mother is missing. She’s probably dead and you have no answers. No one has answers.” I grabbed my coat and headed toward the front door. Ira followed me.

“Where are you going?”

“I need to think.”

“You can’t go out, it’s dark and late.”

But I darted past him and left. The storm that had hit New York was coming into town and it was cool and misty out. Ira busted out the front door and ran after me. “It’s dangerous.”

“I need to be by myself.” He tried to grab me, but I shook him off. “Please. Just leave me alone.”

“When will you be back?” He pleaded. He looked concerned and confounded. In eight years I had never raised my voice or shed the smallest tear in front of him.

It was starting to drizzle and I wiped a gathered tear of rain from his cheek and said, “As soon as I can.” A moment later I broke into a run and headed into a dark alley.

I felt a drop of water run down my face and I wasn’t sure if it was me, or the rain. But it didn’t matter. I roamed the streets dotted with city lanterns and sickly trees. The cold moon followed as if mocking my pain with a twisted snarl on her face. The rain halos around the street lamps tainted with memories of Brooklyn – things I tried to hold back but couldn’t – waving good-bye to my mom from the car as she stood on the stoop, never thinking it would be the last time I saw her.

That image I couldn’t shake no matter how long or far I walked.

I hadn’t noticed time slipping by or the pound of my footsteps or the chill or the rain soaking through me until I hit the Potomac and I stared at the obstacle it posed on my quest to loose myself. I had walked at least five miles and I knew I had to get back before Ira started a vain attempt to find me. It felt like the edge of the earth and the edge of time, I was crashing and splintering like a fine piece of porcelain hitting concrete.

And then I saw them. A woman about my age, in her early thirties, holding a small limp girl in her arms and struggling to walk the rain slicked stairs.

Logic told me not to, they could have been afflicted with a plague or a crime may have been taking place, but I ran toward them. Something compelled me. And for the first time I can remember, I discarded logic and apathy.

By the time I got to them the mother was struggling to put her dying child in the car. She was about to lay the girl on the sidewalk to open the door when I took her from the woman’s hands. She looked at me as if I had always been there like some sort of guardian angel. We said nothing. She opened the door and I slid the girl into the backseat. Seconds later the woman was backing out of the driveway, barely getting the driver’s side door fully closed as she sped down the street.

On the way home I wondered about them, whether the mother had gotten the girl to a hospital in time, if the girl would survive. Helping them had for a moment made me feel a little less helpless. And through my personal darkness I treasured that feeling like an heirloom.

Ira was fully dressed and ready to start his search when I let myself in. It looked like he had been crying. The flat screen was a cacophony of devastation behind him.

“If I wasn’t so happy to see you I’d strangle you right now,” he said grabbing me.

“I’m not a child.”

“And what? You didn’t think I’d be worried? Why are you punishing me like this?”

“This isn’t about you, Ira.”

“Yes it is. It’s about you not letting me in. I want to help you, but you make it impossible.”

I nodded. He put his arms around me and held me until I couldn’t be held any longer without breaking down again. “I’m sorry,” I said.

There was a repeat of an earlier news broadcast. It was a press conference with none other then my boss Paul Lamont. I sat down to watch it.

Lamont looked too put together, in a suit that would have cost an average person a year’s wages. He was unnaturally relaxed for the circumstances. “There has been a rush to judgment by the scientific community about the Atlantic’s rise in temperature and global warming. For years I’ve poured over countless studies, reviewed thousands of reports and culled through all the supposed proof. I’ve never found a correlation. The evidence is overwhelming for a natural shift in the Earth’s climate. This has occurred many times before human history. It’s unfortunate that we happen to be living during one of these intense global changes.”

I yelled at the screen, “Fucking asshole! Those studies were done by oil companies – they have no credibility. They’ve been discredited by every independent survey done by the scientific community.”

Paul then took a question from Bill Surnow. “What about the ozone hole?”

Paul responded, “Another natural phenomena caused by radiation emitted during solar storms. We’ve seen evidence of holes before in layers of igneous rock. And it’s been repairing itself over the past forty years.”

“Bullshit,” I said.

Ira cautioned me, “Just hold on a minute,”

Bill Surnow asked his follow up, “Are you suggesting all the horrible tragedies that have occurred over the past forty years, are simply a result of natural earth changes?”

“Absolutely,” Lamont said. He waived away any further questions and left the podium.

Ira sat down beside me. “I saw it this afternoon, but I don’t get why they’re still trying to cover up the global warming thing when it’s been proven countless times.”

I hit the rewind button and replayed Lamont’s speech, freezing a medium shot of him and examining it carefully. “There’s something strange about this. I was taken in to see him this morning at work.”

A curious Ira walked back in. He asked, “You were?”

“Strauch was there, too.”

“The President was at Digibio?”

I continued to stare at the screen trying to determine what exactly was different about Paul Lamont. Was his hair a little longer? I went through the catalogue of images fresh in my mind from the boardroom meeting. Yes. But without a physical picture, I couldn’t be sure. His clothes were obviously different. The suit most patently not something he would wear to work. Of course he must have changed. Then I noted something that confirmed my suspicion.

“This was prerecorded,” I said.

“What makes you think that?”

“When I saw him this morning he had a cut on chin.” I paused the image and zoomed closer, pointing to his chin. “There’s nothing there.”

Ira squinted. “They knew this would happen.”

“Yeah, and they didn’t give us any warning.”

“But why?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I can’t think about it right now.”

 

Think about this when you decide how to vote. Is this the world you want for your children? One in which science is disregarded and we have slick politicians ready to lie to you in order to save only themselves?

Best wishes and good luck,

Denise

 

Chapter 2 – Sleepless Night

(2044, January through June)

 

 

 

Gale force winds and thunder, garbage cans crashing over, objects slamming into walls and fences, and Ira slept through all of it like a kitten cuddling at his mother’s breast – but not me. My mind and heart were on fire.

Chi followed me, meowing for treats. It was cold downstairs. The angry wind forced its way between door and window cracks. I grabbed Ira’s ratty old sweater. The first present I had given him. It was the only thing left from that period of his life, perhaps a small reminder of how far he’d come since the penitentiary. I barely knew him then. We had dated about a year. He told me he worked for an Internet research corporation, a consumer watchdog group that kept an eye on the defense department – it had some crazy name I forcibly forgot.

There was never any question. I was instantly in love and hopelessly naive about human nature. Turned out he was part of a watchdog group of hackers who stole classified information and sold it to reporters for a premium. To him it was noble, the people had a right to know and he had a right to make a living. Really, it was closest to intellectual prostitution although he saw himself as a twenty first century Robyn Hood. He could have been building something great instead of hunting down and exploiting government weakness. But who was I to judge? I knew his heart was good and his intentions were pure. And I loved him. He loved me. So I waited.

We avoided talking about it. And if we had to refer to that period there was a code – words that lessened the pain or importance for both of us. Anything to make it less real than it was. Usually if I referred to it, I said, “When you lived in the country.” He usually said, “During that time.”

When I was hired at Digibio, they ran a background check. Nothing came up in the preliminary. A month later they revoked access to anything but the chlorophyll research lab and the cafeteria. But it didn’t really bother me.

The teakettle was singing. Only one bag of Chamomile left, hopefully it would help put me in a coma. And I could wake tomorrow discovering it had all been just a horrible nightmare.

The lights browned. The drawer had only three emergency candles left from the previous storm, which had ended two weeks prior. It had lasted thirty-five days straight and the power had consistently gone out during peak hours. According to the weatherman another hurricane was due to hit North Carolina. But other than historic value there was nothing left there. Both Carolinas were dead states. Neither state had money for scrims and except for folklore about people surviving off the land in the forest – there wasn’t a soul within a hundred miles of New York or D.C. And now all that was left was D.C. There were reports of a smattering of survivors in Seattle but the numbers were low.

I walked to the sofa and stared out the window, drinking tea. Chi sat on my lap. The rain was fierce and reminded me of New York, in my mother’s old brownstone. There had been a very bad storm when I was ten. We had both woken for different reasons. The thunder and lightening had cast shadows of monsters on the wall scaring me out of the room – while Mom contended with a real beast. She was setting out buckets all over the living room to catch the water oozing out of the fissures and cracks in the ceiling. Later I found out she had been afraid the whole damn roof was going to cave in on us, but at the time she pretended it was a game – a fun thing to do together. She had me searching for bowls, buckets, and hats – until each little fissure was represented by a counterpart on the worn hardwood floor – and when a bucket would fill, she would grab one of the mongrel cups or bowls from my loot while pouring the buckets contents into the kitchen sink and then dutifully replace them.

But even though she presented a calm rational exterior I knew something was very wrong. And I remember admiring her. She was fearless, capable and godlike. Nothing could harm me with her protection. She was able to keep the world away with her brilliant mind and convert anyone in her circle of influence to her point of view.

But that night I saw panic when she didn’t know I was watching. It was complicated seeing it and not wanting to see it. So I chose to believe the buckets were a game, knowing it was a protective lie – a lie affirming her love for me.

The streetlights flickered in the rain. Some UV scrims down the block looked as if a colossal box cutter had sliced them – they flapped in the wind like serpent shaped kites.

D.C. was tolerable. It was cleaner than New York and had a much more reliable and quick acting body pick up service unlike the Corner Hut Drop Off Centers of New York, which were always teeming with mutant flies and reeked of decaying flesh no matter how often the workers cleaned them out. It was an ineffectual system and a health hazard. But you hardly ever saw the dead on the streets like you did here in D.C., even if they didn’t stay long on the walkways you were still confronted with them daily.

Maybe it was a bit healthier here but I preferred New York. It felt more like an old city, with people doing all different sorts of things besides just working for the government or on some government related project. More than anything it was my connection to a personal history I missed – even if New York barely resembled the one of my youth and even if it never snowed anymore and the winters felt like warm fall days from childhood. I knew it. Somewhere under its fading, wilting petals the stem was the same.

And despite the elaborate scrim maze providing the best UV protection in the world (or so we were told by our government) I had preferred shabby New York. If only I could have gotten my mother to move. But that was like asking lead to turn into gold. And even though it got tiresome always wearing a protection suit or carry a UV umbrella or coating my skin with titanium dioxide which made me and my mom break out like hormonal teenagers if we so much as looked at the stuff, she would hear nothing of the virtues of my new city. She desperately loved all that was left of New York.

On the steps of the apartment building across the street a black shape moved. It was big enough to be a person but could have been a box or a piece of furniture left out for trash pick-up which had caught in the gale force wind, but most likely it was one of the infected. A crack of lightening lit the street clearly and I saw the woman. Skeleton Plague. Aptly named for the visual state it left its victims in – their skin and fat tissues were literally cannibalized by their bodies immune system and the results were a horrifying sight – skin turned paper white, taught and veiny, held up by the jagged tent poles of their bones.

The government said Skeleton Plague was communicable, but it was an autoimmune disease. The scientific community was still debating its genesis and treat-ability, but that was it. We knew something was turning white blood cells into cannibalistic machines, whether it was UV-B, UV-A rays or some other solar radiation mixed with pollution we weren’t certain. There was always a new outbreak during solar flares and there had never been any evidence of it being contagious, but people were afraid and the CDC had decided early on it was best to treat it like all the other plagues that had come down the pike and keep its victims quarantined. Those that got it generally spent a lot of time outside and didn’t alter their behavior during solar flare warnings or relied only on the city scrims to protect them. The woman had probably escaped from quarantine in a vein attempt to see her family one last time, but they wouldn’t open the door for her.

In the next crack of lightening I saw her convulsing. She was in the last throws of life. I called the health department and a few minutes later I saw a Hazmat team take her body away. No fanfare, no ceremony. Life reduced to inconvenient garbage. It hadn’t always been like that. I could almost remember a different time. Mom told me crazy stories about her childhood and what seemed like an Edenic period at the turn of the century. I never really believed her until I was in college and studied history.

…..

Blessings to all – our thoughts and prayers are with all of you on the east coast,

Denise

Premonition about Hurricane’s in New York

Howdy all…

I’ve been thinking about and feeling guilty and horrible that I haven’t had a chance to blog or follow-up on checking all the e-mails that have come into this blog. I am in the middle of cleaning up the novel Americhrist which I have decided to publish via ibook rather than through a traditional publisher, despite talks with one company – there are too many changes they want me to make and this book is as much a work of fiction as it is a vision of the future of this country. I believe all the best sci-fi/fantasy writers (like Philip K. Dick, H.G. Wells, Margaret Atwood, just to name a very few) were not just writers but visionaries who saw patterns and perhaps in some cases had the gift of precognition.

While I’ve been re-reading this book – I have to say it kind of freaks me out. The first draft was written in 1999. So many of the things predicted have already started to come to pass – which I’ve had to change in the book because when I wrote it, “Junk DNA” was the name for what is  now called “non-coding DNA” or “dark matter DNA.” At the time it was thought to literally be junk, doing nothing. But since 2008 it has been proven that there is pertinent info in this “Junk DNA” hence the name change. Science now realizes that Junk DNA also known as RNA does have a purpose, much of it still unknown.

I also read in Discover magazine that one of the solutions to a drought in the book is actually in development right now. So there you go. That’s not some of the much bigger things which I won’t blow here.

For all those interested in getting readings I am working on a podcast. I’ve been doing research and will probably have that together in the next 6 weeks or so. Once I have everything figured out and all the technology in place I will ask those of you who are interested in getting a free reading in exchange for using your voice on the podcast to let me know through this site or via an e-mail address I’ll set up when the time comes. I’ll then have people call in during a time frame and do it live and then broadcast it later.

I have also put together a small class which will start soon. I’m going to tape these and put them up as podcasts as well. The purpose of these will be learning the basics of all sorts of divination – astrology being very complicated will only be touched on lastly. The main function of the lessons will be how to learn to be your own psychic, use simple tools like a pendulum, how to see or feel auras, hot to tell if your dream is psychological or psychic, how to do psychic protection, channeling or communicating with one’s spirit guides, numerology, tarot, perhaps the Kabbalah as it relates to the tarot and divination and again touch on the basics of astrology. Different people will find they relate to these tools differently and the one that speaks to them. Of course knowing all of these things is great but usually you really need to connect with one and use that to its fullest and that’s it.

One doesn’t need to be “psychic” to use these oracles. The oracles themselves pull from the ether and give the information you can use. However the information is more general if one isn’t psychic. For example getting a reading from someone who is an extraordinary psychic is very freaky for most people – the psychic will get names, see people in your life, may even know the layout of your home  and pieces of furniture you have (if you are asking about finding an item that’s lost). Most people who work as psychics are not necessarily psychic but rather trained in how to use oracles. So my point here is that you don’t need to be born able to read minds and seeing the future, auras, or dead people to ask the universe for guidance and actually get it.

I have mostly taught professional psychics how to get more precise information through channeling and trance work. In this case I have purposefully put together a group of people who will run the gamut of abilities none are professional psychics  however  they all have one thing in common is their honest desire to learn. I will give them exercises you can try yourself or start your own group and pair off with interested parties.

In the case of my group I know all of them in varying degrees however none of them know each other which will be important because I’m going to pair them together and give each other readings to help build confidence and try out the techniques. I would encourage people who are interested in learning how to use their abilities to work with people they don’t know at all or very well so they can be impressed by their own ability to get information out of the air. This builds confidence and ability to trust in ones intuition. Hopefully, these lesson podcasts will be helpful to those of you who want to expand into that arena and at least be useful for those questions that you need answers to quickly and help guide you on your journey.

For those of you who are interested in getting a reading from me on the other podcasts I’ll let you know when I’m almost there and you can contact me through an e-mail dedicated to that issue.

So sorry if I haven’t answered your e-mails. I haven’t checked anything but my personal e-mail on occasion. Once I get sorted I will start checking the e-mail for this blog and I will again put up an e-mail address for those interested in getting free readings through the podcast.

I read someone mentioning that they weren’t a psychic but they felt things were getting worse. I have to say that I have felt we as a whole have been lucky so far. I wasn’t surprised by this latest banking scandal in fact I wasn’t surprised either by the huge drought in the Mid-West. We (as a group) have continuously chosen the dark path and than every once in a while we’ve skipped over and decided to choose the light. The more generous, loving, kind, non-judgemental and considerate we are to one another the better our world will do. Unfortunately this isn’t the course that a great majority of people have chosen and in fact I feel our whole culture has moved from being psychologically normal to having a personality disorder. It seems every man for himself is just fine – instead of coming together as a whole and fighting to put the world back on the right path, we have a divisive and evil elite who are doing everything they can to subjugate humanity for their own personal feeling of superiority – in reality if the middle class is eliminated and the world is one big third world country and the one percent have 99,99% of all resources then science, art and culture will come to a grinding halt. And so I ask what will that .01% have? A world of crappy healthcare, where progress reverses and arts stop evolving. Who will be able to afford an education? Who will engineer buildings, cure cancer, paint beautiful paintings? If these sick freaks hoard all the world’s resources they are cutting their noses off to spite their neighbor’s face. What mental illness is this that encourages greed, selfishness, lack of compassion and judgmentalness – I think you guessed it, NARCISSISM. We live in a culture where people  just want to be famous to see their face on TV and other people watch them because they want to feel better about themselves – this voyeurism has broken down our culture more than anything besides the Reagan era’s love of greed and selfishness. There’s a reason every religion and all spiritual teachings speak of these qualities as being the road to darkness – THEY ARE.

It’s hard to resist being judgemental in a world that constantly judges. It’s hard to be kind when half a dozen people you meet a day, or more, are totally disrespectful and rude. But try to resist being caught up in the storm and do your best to show kindness and respect and love for your fellow-man – the results will be exponential. In essence we need to start really caring about one another not just about those in our immediate environment. Take the time to help someone out – a stranger – even if it’s just telling them their tire is flat or give directions or report gun shots in the middle of the night – whatever you can do to make a difference for the better – do it – nothing is too small to count.

Many blessings,

Denise

Howdy all…

Read the future…

I got an e-mail from someone who read the book I wrote which is posted on the blog under the heading Americhrist. It’s kind of a big undertaking since it’s 100,000 words and on a computer it can be a lot, but, anyway many have taken the time to read it and I thank them for it.

I started the book shortly after the non-election debacle of President Bush (or the coup) . I could see the horrifying future unfold in front of my eyes, the dark path of destruction and I started having dreams of this group of survivors in 1997-1998 who lived in a forested area. Anyway it all kind of hit me around 1999 and I wrote the first draft by 2000. I did finesse it quite a bit for a while, but the basic concepts never changed. When I began reading it to my writing group, members would say, “Wow, what an imagination you have.” By the end of the Bush-era each of them confided to me how the book haunted them and felt it was one giant premonition. Despite it winning literary prizes and placing in competitions it has yet to be properly published due to the sensitive nature of the subject material and the fact that literary science fiction is currently a dead market.

I had hoped with the regime change of Obama that my book would be a relic of some nearly missed path, but unfortunately if you want to know what I see for our world and the way I think things will go, read it. I’m convinced that this was all precognitive and this has been further confirmed by the fact that a church I made up called The Wrath of God (a main player in the book) was actually formed around the time I was writing the book. I found out about this recently. Now a reader sent me a link about the Beast in the book where the Plutocratic theocracy exits… as it turns out something very close to it is currently being built. I found this out when the reader sent me a link to the site. The link is down below for anyone interested in checking it out.

I know I’ve kind of gone dark with my predictions because I don’t want to bum people out. However if you want what I saw in full living color read that book. It’s not just a metaphor (although there is some of that in it) the world is one I saw in dreams, and on astral trips. I have no idea if this is the world of 30, 50 or a 100 years from now. I do know that it is the world we are headed for now, without a doubt in my mind, unless we do everything in our power to change it. I had hoped writing that book would help to change the direction of the world for the better. My goal was to open people’s minds to this as a potential reality and get people motivated to change. I had of course hoped that it would not be needed.

I do believe that we always have the power to change ourselves and our world even at the last second. But we keep coming to these cross roads and going deeper into the darkness rather than turning toward the light. Perhaps this sort of culling is a natural part of the evolution of a planet and perhaps we are not meant to be the “caretakers” anymore since we really have blown it many times before and now we have poisoned our water, air and soil to the degree we may not recover for thousands of years. The earth may need to rid herself of the majority of our species in order to remain sustainable for life of any kind to exist.

Well, anyway here is the e-mail and interesting link a reader of the blog sent me via e-mail. I’m reprinting it here with the link for anyone interested.

Hi Denise….

Not sure you’ve seen this. It’s exactly what you talk about in Americhrist.

http://blog.ted.com/2010/07/dont_build_your.php

To all my awesome readers I want to say, keep praying working on your own life and elevating humanity with your goodness – many blessings to all of you,

Denise

Read the future…

OK, Super Weirdness…

I just googled the title of my novel Americhrist and found that it is an actual church! And one that freakishly seems in keeping with the one in my book. My novel just gets creepier and creepier. It seems almost like I tapped into the future and just dictated back to myself from 30 years in the future. So much of it has already come to pass…

And a footnote in it is a 3rd WW which doesn’t kill everyone and isn’t really like the first two which I can see coming in all the nations charts I’ve looked at.

Getting chills yet? I am. I remember when I was writing the book the writer’s in my writing group were all saying, “Wow, Denise you have such an imagination,” and stuff like that. That was back in late 1999 early 2000 as I was writing it I was reading it. As time passed and I went through editing, and the Bush administration went forward with their agenda they all confided in me at different times that they thought often about the book and how bizarrely accurate the forecast was looking and becoming.

You can click on the page Americhrist if you want to read it. The book is posted here. Here’s a link to the freaky church with the actual name. It seems they are being sued for defimation which would make sense if they are anything like the weirdos in my book and I’d have to think they would be… knowing me.
http://www.landoverbaptist.org/tos.html
And a link to the explanation of AmeriChrist Ltd. which seems to be in keeping with the twisted “Christian Values” in my book:
http://objectiveministries.org/shutdown/

Seriously if everyone read the novel I think it would scare most of the population into doing something about global warming and the twisting of Christianity found in churches exemplified by the AmeriChrist of my book.

Best wishes and happy holidays,

Denise

Here’s a link to my book to make it all that much easier:
https://astrologyandpsychicpredictions.wordpress.com/americhrist/

As a side note there seems to be some part of my brain that taps into very specific information when I’m writing. Perhaps it’s like automatic writing or something. Every story I’ve ever written (fiction) within months I’ve met people with that story or with the names of the main characters or it has become a headline story much later. I guess the psychic in me can’t get out of the way no matter what I do.

OK, Super Weirdness…

World Economic Collapse…

If nothing proves else proves that we live in 2 Americas the wealthiest one percent and everyone else then this should: How is it possible that we have double digit unemployment – the worst since the Great Depression, inflation, people continue to lose their homes, businesses, jobs and the majority of the middle class has slipped down from upper to middle, or middle to lower, yet Wall Street remains in a bubble of its own?

How is this possible?

The wealthiest one percent aren’t directly effected by the down turn. But they eventually will be. The market, which is in some sort of fantasy driven bubble, will eventually get hit when no one can buy things anymore. I don’t know about you guys, but I end up at Target a lot because I have a toddler. I’ve noticed everything I normally buy for her is at least a dollar more per item. That’s some serious inflation! And only about ten percent of the people are shopping there compared to just a year or two ago. I’m not an economist, but that doesn’t bode well for the economy.

Slobbadon wrote a post which I skimmed over, but according to an astrologer he’s been following the crash is due next winter. Frankly, I keep feeling the labor pains and then they disappear. I feel the Oh, No, energy and then it recedes and the economy seems to stay afloat through the sheer will of investors and a lot of lying which I’m sure will come out later.

But whenever the next crash comes, and it will come, we are still in trouble. There’s talk of unemployment being high for a very long time. Reason being is most jobs have been shipped overseas. What I don’t understand is why our government doesn’t make it financially impractical for this to happen. Whatever happened to regulating this with tariffs and import/export duties? If if cost company A more money to manufacture their flashlights in China due to taxation and an international wage law that required Company A to pay a universal minimum wage (based on Europe or the US standards) and on top of that they had to pay shipping and exporting and importing taxes, chances are pretty good they’d just take those jobs back to the US.

There have to be solutions. It’s not right that our corporations exploit people in other countries (in old timey Dickensian fashion) and it’s not right that laws don’t seem to apply to companies. People died here in the 30s trying to get rights for unions and fair wages only to have it be pissed away and thrown out with the bath water during the Reagan years. Thanks Reagan for setting us on the course of economic ruination of the middle-class, you know the trickle down economics where the lack of cash trickles down to the point of starvation and we become akin to a developing nation.

Sometimes I wonder if we can change our trajectory, the one I envisioned in the novel Americhrist (published on this site). It feels all too real, all too inevitable which is why Obama really needs to push back. He’s a wonderful man, but so was Carter, and if he’s not careful his presidency could go the way Carter’s did. It seems there is enough of a majority of mentally challenged people in our country who not only can’t relate to an erudite, intelligent, thoughtful, peaceful, diplomat, but who actually hate people like that. It seems there are Americans who just love the sound of a big fat bully bellowing. Sad.

Get involved.

Bug your congresspeople and Obama to put the public option back on the table and pass it!

Best wishes all you kind, intelligent and gracious people,

Denise

And seriously read the book Americhrist it will make the hair on your neck stand up. I wrote it in 2000, the first draft was finished shortly after Bush took office the first time around.

World Economic Collapse…

The Family…

Anyone out there see Bill Maher last night? He had an author on named Jeff Sharlet who wrote a book called “The Family: The Secret Fundamentalism at the Heart of American Power,” all I can say is if you haven’t read the hypothesis I put forward in the book (which is published here on the website) “Americhrist” then this will seem too crazy to make up (which I thought I did through conjecture, inference and intuition.) But as it turns out my theory that there was and is a secret cabal of crazy nut jobber Fundamentalist Christians who think the ends justify the means is actually very, very, very, very real and ten times as scary. They believe (as Hitler did) that because they are wealthy and in positions of power they are the “chosen” people and therefore the rules do not apply to them, only to us “little people.” Again this is one of the themes of the dystopian novel I wrote back at the turn of the century. I always knew they sort of believed it in their heart of hearts but this man Jeff Sharlet actually lived with them and they gave them their philosophy which provides no moral judgement for Hitler, Pol Pot, Stalin, etc. Basically any mass murdering psychopath who happened to get into politics – because, as you guessed it, they were “chosen” by God.

This theory is eerily close to, well, actually it is exactly the same argument Hitler made and believed. So there you have it, self-admittance by this group at the heart of our government which is by nature cruel, destructive, murderous and evil by any moral standard. Accordingly however they (as all socio/psychopaths) believe they are exempt from morality because of their station. I can’t think of the exact Hindu lore that addresses this very common phenomena when human beings are given power but it is something to the effect that one of the Gods is talking to a king and he’s about to crush an ant and the God says not to kill as that ant was the last one who was king. Absolute power corrupts absolutely, right? I guess even proximity to power corrupts the weak minded. Or perhaps it is the hunger for power and excess that leads them toward the centers of power only to have access to a darkening of their souls.

On another note, I looked at the transits to the Dow Jones and they are similar to the transits that occurred during the last big crash. However I’m not getting a feeling of impending doom there. Instead I have a feeling there is something strange going on, a propping up, perhaps an artificial structure holding the market up that may break later. We’ve seen a lot of this over the past 20 years as deregulation has occurred so has real accounting, accountability and truth.

Best wishes,

Denise

The Family…

Americhrist Gets Its Own Page

I’m publishing the entire book on its own page, instead of a chapter a week — this way if anyone gets into the book they don’t have to wait and read it. Also because it is fiction, it will keep it separate from the issues on the front page. The book really is an extension of this blog, or I should say this blog is an extension of the book, it did come first after all! 

Please excuse any silly mistakes that would be found by a copy editor such as their instead of there, stuff like that. After you’ve written 100,000 novel it’s hard to see these things no matter how many times you read it. Also my editor friend complained about my punctuation which I tend to avoid because it gets in the way of my flow. I personally don’t find it distracting, but it you are like my friend try to forgive me as this, too, would be fixed when it is properly edited by someone other than me. 

So you will be seeing what editors and agents have seen. And hopefully it will be polished again and readable at some future point in book form. I hope you enjoy it. 

The book came from a vision I had of the future, one in which Armageddon didn’t happen, no big war or dramatic explosion, just us killing our world through global warming and all the bizarre side effects this phenomena will include. 

The book got its title from 2 themes in the book. You’re a smart audience and I’m sure you can figure out why and how it got its name once you read it. 

Hope you enjoy it!

Best wishes.

Americhrist Gets Its Own Page