SiriusB Shaman #crackpot #magick #conspiracy disclosurenews.it
The city didn’t know what hit it the night Tesla threw the switch.
High voltage tears holes in the quantum substrate. Rips seams in causality like a cheap suit catching on barbed wire. The brass thought he was chasing kilowatts and parlor tricks, arcing kilovolts dancing between resonant coils for the rubes. They were dead wrong.
Tesla knew what every two-bit grifter working the metaphysical racket figures out: this timeline is just one thread in a tapestry somebody else is weaving. Pump enough voltage through the right toroidal geometry, spike the frequency past what the human nervous system registers, modulate the standing wave just right, and you generate access. Raw, beautiful electromagnetic access to the manifold.
The Mary Celeste appears during storms. Crew vanished like smoke in 1872. High voltage potential in the atmosphere, lightning strikes ionizing saltwater, the right electromagnetic cocktail hitting critical threshold. Suddenly you’re sailing nowhere. Everywhere at once. Displaced across the probability matrix. The sailors who’ve seen her won’t talk sober.
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Free energy was Tesla’s cover story. Kept the money men salivating, kept Edison frothing at the mouth, kept the whole magnificent circus running while he built his apparatus. His glorious, terrible resonant transformer array.
We’ve had the tech seventy years now. Refined the harmonic frequencies until they purr. Teleportation and temporal displacement, same filthy coordinates in the same elegant four-dimensional equation.
Tesla succeeded. Many of us have jumped. You pass them on the street every day. They remember things that haven’t happened yet. Or happened wrong.
This year? This year it grows stormy. The voltage potential is building again. The fabric’s getting thin, the impedance dropping.
The question is whether you’re ready to find out which side of the seam you’re standing on when the next discharge hits.