Every event, every crisis, every broadcast it isn’t random. It’s energy work on a mass scale. In magic, we repeat, we raise, we direct. The same is done here, just inverted. Rage, grief, fear, obsession harvested like gold. The Anunnaki mined the earth. Today they mine the soul. Screens. Black mirrors. You think you’re scrolling, but you’re feeding. Every argument, every defense of your “side,” every justification of death is a thread tied tighter to the ritual. You can feel it. The charge. The heaviness. The distortion. This isn’t about freedom. It isn’t about truth. It’s about keeping you a pawn on the board, burning energy you don’t even realize is being siphoned. This is the great divide. The split. The psyop. Not to free you, but to keep you bound in cycles of chaos, drained and distracted, blind to the hand that moves the pieces.
Stop giving them your current. Division is the spell. Recognition is the break. Stop bleeding your power into their hands.
