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Fred opened a file called "Boo"

"Look Ma! No Math!"

Published on Apr 14, 2017
Aug Tellez has been involved in underground secret operations such as human cloning, genetic engineering experiments, trauma-based mind control, and time shifting, From a young age, he was used for many of these secret government operations.

In this video I talk with Aug about "Inner Earth", heart energy, the Demiurgic soul trap system, time operations, the aurora borealis, and more.

Aug's YouTube Channel:

Aug's Wordpress Blog:

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Published on Feb 15, 2017 by Polarization Nation Media


I called the historic Super Bowl tie/overtime using Unified Code Theory.
My speculation about the winner was incorrect, but the predictive media foretold the first super bowl tie and overtime in fifty one years.

Tie score was a 2-11's and an 88 code .
Half time was a 33 code - 3-12=3 and 1+2= 3 , 33
28-28 = 10+10 drop the zero-11
Final score 34-28
That's a 7-10, drop the zero = 7+1= LI code

I've already unpacked the Dylann(6) Storm(5) Roof(4) countdown code and it's relation to the Vince Staples rap song "Jump off the Roof" assassination, and it was referenced in Obama's farewell address hosted by the White House YouTube page. We saw some jump off the roof symbolism in the opening of Lady Gag's performance at the Halftime Show.

The escalating manufactured race divide tactics of the media can no longer be ignored. I speculated we were seeing teams representing mythological and or socio-political groups being rigged into symbolic championships that signify coming events. Although the Falcons certainly have the Masonic Hiram Abif and Egyptian Horus symbolism present all over, the pairing of the Patriots with Atlanta can also suggest white conservatives and black America.

Patriots are the white conservatives.

ATL is black America.

White over blacks could mean something with the Roof case going bad or a white on black crime - say trump supporters hit Obama, or blacks hit the White House and rednecks bring out their cache of guns ? There's a few ways they could incite those LA Riots 2.0 sparking off all over- Ferguson seemed to be a beta test of that and it worked. Now agent provocateurs are even at the pink pussy hat marches too. They're getting everybody fired up for something. The wood has been chopped and the gas has been poured; I'm now waiting for the spark.

Whitney Houston Code

Whitney E. Houston has an anagram of "White House, not NY."
We are being told the next 9-11 like event will be at the White House, not in New York City again. Her career and personal biographical data are laced with 9-11 codes as is the Oscar Winning film The Bodyguard and it's legendary soundtrack.

Whitney Houston performed at Super Bowl xxv.
-SB 25=2/5

-On 1-27-91

Proceeds for the Halftime Show went to American Red Cross Fulf Crisis Fund. The amount of the proceeds?
$531,650 = (5+3+1=9 & 6+5+0+=11)

The Bodyguard album was awarded 17x platinum on 1-11-1999.

Also, when Whitney Houston's "star spangled banner" was re-released, it was on 9-26-2001- another 911:
9, 2+6+2+0+0+1= 11


Feb. 21st, 2017 11:14 pm
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Fred had been waiting for the dawn. His phone was overloaded with messages and email since the image had leaked onto the web. People were getting furious over the ramifications. Many more people were beginning to get curious. Even motivated. One of his emails was particularly inspiring, stating the that the information had given her a new found hope. A new reason to live.
Fred thought of something he had read years ago. It was an article that discussed the importance of vocabulary. The writer described that people with a larger vocabulary set were generally happier in life because they had more words to define their perception of the universe. People with a limited vocabulary had less terms to define things, therefore their concepts of the universe were limited in scope. Which increased the likelihood of depression, lack of imagination and anxiety issues.
The concept were as deep as the ocean but Fred had known about the image for years; for him it was old news. He was far beyond in the "Theory of the Cube" by now. He needed to let the "Machinations of Men" work their course. Fred chuckled thinking, "Funny how a small breath could cause a hurricane." he lit another smoke and coughed upon inhaling. "Damn." he thought. "If it wasn't corporate espionage that would eventually kill him, it would be these fucking cigarettes that did."

Fred was waiting in front of the Temple of Ten Thousand Buddhas. He was contemplating the concept of idols versus so called "false" idols. Was an image of Buddha a false idol? Technically no. Most the statues of Buddha look similar. They all seem to depict his likeness. This made sense considering plenty of art and written depictions of Buddha were drafted while Buddha was still walking around. But the Christians and Jesus? That seemed to be another matter entirely.

Most Christian churches that Fred had ever been in had paintings of Jesus on the wall. For the most part, Jesus looked similar in all the artwork Fred had seen. A caucasian, with long wavy locks and a beard. What were the odds that Jesus was white? What were the odds that Jesus was even his real name? Jesus meant "little Zeus", so why don't preachers address this fact? Why don't preachers ever talk about the present avatar of the Christ being based off a painting distributed to American soldiers during WW2? Those depictions are a false portrait. Yet most Christian churches around the world have this avatar pronominally displayed as their main focal point. Fred had seen hundreds drop to their knees before this false idol and pray to it. Wasn't that sacrilege? Didn't the Biblical Jesus say to pray to his Father in Heaven? Then why did people pray to a statue?

According to pagan and occult studies Fred had studied, praying to a statue charges that statue. Which meant that most peoples prayers in church were being misdirected to a material object?

Who knows? But it gave Fred and interesting thought. "If there was such a technology, I wonder if a metal crucifix could have advanced equipment attached to it and "catch" or "read" people's prayers?" Whoa. Crazy thought, he let it go into the ether. Philosophies were never concrete. It was all too subjective and abstract. People would argue for years over the particulars, even willing to go to war over words written thousands of years ago. Where people just gullible and stupid? Or was there really something to all of this dogma? Well, that was why he was at an Oriental Temple. He wanted an outside perspective. Since it was only 06:00, he had to wait for the monks to come out of their sleeping chambers.

Bored, Fred began to day dream. The sun had not risen just yet but was pushing the darkness back across the vault. His breath steaming the in cold morning air, Fred opened his phone. He was cold. But he was glad he still wasn't back in Montana. That place was really cold at this time of year. Being in a frigid California morning in February was nothing compared to a February morning in Montana. He thought back to his days there as a painter. It was remote and quite. There were no friends or family to pester him and he didn't go out much. It was a perfect place to get a lot of painting done. And he had too. In about eight months time Fred had painted nine quality pieces that would have made great prints or shirts. Only he didn't remember where they were now. That was before his accident. Now he had the military and the collective on his back and there wasn't time to dabble in paints anymore. Even if he hated the weather, he did miss Montana. He opened his phone to a surprise. The first notification on his phone had something to do with none other than Montana! He clicked the link:

Mr. Montana written and performed by G.W. a.k.a. Canibus
Published on Feb 21, 2017

Yo, Montana?

He didn’t, he didn’t pick up, uh
Let me try, let me try to get him on the line first and then once I have him, I’ll send you a message telling you to call me back

Mr. Montana, I missed your message
You wouldn’t understand what I’ve been dealin’ with brethren
The sand glass is empty and I ain’t got faith in nothin’
So I can’t pick up, I’m in a bunker

You never fronted, never sold me out
I apologize but that's not what this is about
This is about the direction the world's spinning in
Occupy Hip Hop with Lisa Fithian*
The powers that be are preparing for something
They definitely ain't preparing for nothing
I've been saying in my music for years
I tried to educate the audience - my peers
I tried to build with my brothers and sisters

Regardless of color or ethnic religion

Regardless of any financial position
It's tougher than talking to a brick wall
Looking for help to build an Ark before Babylon fall
The fate of humanity is tailor-made
We stuck between a rock and a razor blade
No substance - drunken - blinded by consumption
Marching towards our own destruction
Unawares, unprepared

Open they back - looking for spine, nothing's there, just fear

The horrible beauty, humanity deserves it
To be mass murdered - look at what they worship
Slaves and yet none of this pleases me
You know what I say, "The Dead got it easy"
We're Slaves and yet none of this pleases me
You know what I say, "The Dead got it easy"

Peace Nasir**, I missed your message
You wouldn’t understand what I’ve been dealin’ with brethren
The sand glass is empty and I ain’t got faith in nothin’
So I can’t pick up, I’m in a bunker

I can’t pick up, I’m in a bunker
The underground ain’t got nearly enough substance

Conspiracy Worldwide sterilized
Alternative media radio stations got fired
All these little rappers still got dreams
They talk big money but they got beans

The ones who got more they got more because they got yours
Either or they was on all fours
They're all just a bunch of whores

Security can't even afford lunch when they go on tour
The whole worlds a stage, all the way back to the Bronze Age
Man ain't a damn thing changed
So I don't care what they talkin' bout
They lie so much they ain't even worth calling out

They so far past being watered down they got cotton mouth
Bout to be starving from drought
Rap no longer educates the listener
Rap Music just Pacifies prisoners

A Bat is just a flying Rat, you a lying piece of crap
Underground rap, nothing but a trap
You saved the world and they don't even know your name, God.
Rap Music ain't got no graveyard
I wouldn't wanna' be buried there anyway
Fuck YouTube and pennies they pay
You see Montana? This what we up against
If this is all we got, then we ain't got nothing left
Hip Hop used to communicate ideas
That's right I got some smart ideas
I'm gettin' older and in all my years
I never thought music would manifest all my fears

Mr. Montana, I missed your message
You wouldn’t understand what I’ve been dealin’ with brethren
The sand glass is empty and I ain’t got faith in nothin’
So I can’t pick up, I’m in a bunker

I can’t pick up, I’m in a bunker
I told you, the underground ain’t worth nothin’
The underground ain’t got nearly enough substance

* Lisa Fithian is an American political activist and protest organizer. She began her work in the mid-1970s as a member of student government in her high school and at Skidmore College.

**Nazir is a Redguard member of the Dark Brotherhood of the Elder Scrolls universe. By Bethesda Studios. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pql29L1xpz4
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Fred had been on a long stretch of road. He was someplace off of interstate 5, near Empire Mine in California. His phone had no reception in these hills and he was not a local; therefore he was lost. He had been listening to some talk radio program heading east. The radio host mentioned the upcoming radio program entitled "Transgressions of Atom". The host then mentioned that the show would be upcoming in five minutes before cutting to commercials. He turned the radio down. Fred glanced to the blue numbered clock on his dash. It was five forty five. He would have to wait fifteen minutes.

So much had been bouncing around his head. Primarily the missing memories in his brain. Secondly the serenity of peace that came with amnesia's ignorance and thirdly, that he may have just unintentionally birthed the one world religion. He began imagining dominos, like a chain reaction, falling one by one into place.

"The Christian folks would go wild."
"The archeologists would debunk."
"The geologists would deny."
"The Hebrews would make prophecy."
"The atheists would nervously reconsider."
"The Muslims would vouch."
"The smithsonian would plead the 5th."
"The Satanists would rejoice."

By the time Fred had recapitulated his list of the western worlds religions it was a minute to 16:00. He turned the radio up. He was expecting to hear one thing but heard another entirely. The radio programing coming on air was titled "The History of Rocky Road Ice Cream."

That wasn't right. He checked the dial on the radio. It was set to to proper channel and it was the proper time but where was that science program? What was it? Oh yeah, it was called "Transgressions of Atom". He wondered why the program had changed? Then it dawned on him. The night he had blacked out! His phone had been drained of all battery. Maybe the vehicles clock was wrong because of some type of power surge, or gap? He had to pull over. When he had stopped at the gas station previously, he had removed his jacket and tossed it in the back. He couldn't reach it while driving, so he pulled in at the upcoming reststop. Parking, he popped the back hatch and retrieved his coat. As he pulled the coat out, a book and his phone fell to the asphalt with a violent tumble. Fred cringed. "Not the phone!"

As he reached for the phone he thought, "If I was just feeling good and "flying high", dropping that phone felt like free falling thirty thousand feet!" He looked to the screen. With a smattering of relief, he saw that the phone had not cracked. He grabbed the book from the pavement, closed the hatch and was returning to the drivers seat when he paused... His phone said "17:02". Befuddled he slumped into his seat comparing the dash clock with his phone. "How in the..." He looked to the book in his hand. The title was "Heroes, Villains and Fools". The book was slightly open to page ninety three. Distracted, he began to read:

Importance of social typing
by Orrin E. Klapp 1962:

"People in public life feel typing as a powerful force. It is a key to their
failures and successes. Unfavorable typing can "dog" a celebrity through
out his career. In my opinion, it was unfavorable typing more than any
thing else that caused the defeat of Thomas E. Dewey as a Presidential
candidate in 1948. Richard Nixon, also, was impeded in his candidacy for
President in i960 by unfavorable typing. Both of these men have lived
lives as correct as one has a right to expect a politician's to be and
considerably more exemplary than those of many American favorites.
Favorable or unfavorable, an almost inevitable result of the typing
process is that a public personage has at least two selves. People build up
an image that satisfies them. Celebrities typically feel that they have a
public self that is different from what they feel themselves to be. Of
course, anyone may have this experience; but it is aggravated by the
intense and continuous force of popular typing as well as studio build
ups and public relations techniques which foster and create images.
Movie stars complain of restrictions on their private lives by the demands
of the public image. We notice, for example, that Kim Novak cries and
shows frustration from "the system" which manipulates her life; she is
rigorously supervised, told whom to date and whom not to date; her name
was changed from Marilyn to Kim (to avoid similarity to the public image
of Marilyn Monroe); she is one of the most recent versions of the screen
goddess—a human being who has been converted into a piece of valuable
property. Again, Marlene Dietrich, at fifty-five, projects an image of
glamor, with the help of make-up, massage, and dresses costing $12,000 —
the image of a "world weary woman"—but in real life a friend describes
her as "an old German shoe."
The mystery of why some celebrities are severely criticized and others
receive no blame for (are even helped by) the same kind of conduct is,
in my opinion, largely a matter of getting out of touch with one's public
self. As is well known, misbehavior does no great harm to some
entertainers (the dope-scandals of Gene Krupa and Robert Mitchum, the
alcoholism of John Barrymore). Others may be taken to task for minor
faults. A television singer, Eddie Fisher, lost his sponsorship after six
seasons on NBC because of a falling off of rating, due in good part to a
love triangle of comparatively innocent proportions as triangles go
breaking an idyllic marriage with Debbie Reynolds to marry glamorous
"Liz" Taylor. Countless stars have gotten by with worse; it is even expected
of some of them, but Eddie, somehow, got characterized as a
"sneak" in the minds of many Americans. It seems plain that were it not
for the type established by his "idyllic" first marriage and fatherhood
(belonging to that species of marriage illustrated in the popular mind by
Doug Fairbanks and Mary Pickford) and the ballyhoo of this theme by
television and magazines, fans would not have been so outraged by a
typical American readjustment. The key to the mystery, I say, is staying
in contact with the nature of the established type (through feedback in
the form of fan mail, and so on), and acting consistently with it in public.
The same standards are not applied to all—even in the same field or
profession. Consequently, when a person's career depends upon a public
image, a type-analysis is called for. He must know his type to know
what criticisms he is vulnerable to, and also what other types might be
alternatives (conversions) within the social type system, that could change
his character for better or worse."



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