DISCLOSURE eyes _25 reports
Setting: A dimly lit stage. A single spotlight on Ambassador Josiah Haltom, who stands with an unsettlingly serene smile, dressed in what appears to be a slightly rumpled, yet authoritative, celestial-meets-street-preacher attire. He holds a microphone loosely, almost as if it’s a prop he’s just discovered. A faint, almost subliminal hum of what might be angelic choirs or just faulty stage wiring permeates the air.
(Ambassador Haltom steps to the mic, takes a deep, almost theatrical sniff of the air, then looks out at the audience with an unnerving twinkle in his eye.)
Haltom: Good evening, Earthlings! Or should I say… fellow souls currently experiencing a temporary, shall we say, architectural misunderstanding of reality? Don’t worry, it’s not just you. I’m Ambassador Josiah Haltom, and I’m here to tell you that the universe is not, in fact, a giant cosmic ‘Fight Club.’ Although, I gotta admit, for a while there, it really felt like it, didn’t it? Every news cycle, another rule broken, another… explication for divide and conquer propaganda in the mockingbird media fiasco!
(He leans into the mic, a conspiratorial whisper.)
Haltom: You know, the “Sitra Archa”… sounds like a fancy, ancient spell, doesn’t it? Something whispered in hushed tones in forgotten libraries. But honestly, folks, it tastes less like forbidden knowledge and more like… that lingering aftertaste of a reality TV show reunion special. All manufactured drama, no actual resolution. It’s alluring, yes, like a siren song sung by auto-tuned pop stars, promising fame and fortune, when all it really delivers is… well, more commercials.
(He pauses, letting that sink in, then straightens up with a sudden, almost jarring intensity.)
Haltom: And that, my friends, is the mind control programming! It’s not some shadowy cabal in a volcanic lair, stroking a white cat. Though, if there were a cat, I bet it’d be judging us. No, it’s far more insidious. It’s the constant, subtle drip, drip, drip of information designed to make us believe we’re separate. Different. Opponents.
(He gestures expansively, then points a finger at the audience, not accusingly, but with a strange, knowing compassion.)
Haltom: You see it, don’t you? That little whisper in your soul? That gnawing feeling that something’s off? That tiny flicker of desire for genuine freedom, for real connection, beyond the likes and shares? That, my friends, is your soul trying to send you a carrier pigeon made of pure light. And what are we doing? We’re shooing it away because we’re too busy arguing about whether pineapple belongs on pizza!
(A beat of silence, then he sighs, a sound that seems to carry the weight of aeons, but also a hint of playful exasperation.)
Haltom: Now, I know, I know. Waking up can be uncomfortable. Like taking off those old, crusty socks you’ve been wearing since… well, since Year Negative-A-Lot. You’ve got these scales, these layers of callousness, covering the ohr ha ganuz – the hidden light! It’s like we’ve been wearing spiritual cataracts, staring at a blurry world, and wondering why everything looks like a poorly compressed JPEG.
(He leans in again, voice dropping to a near-confidential tone.)
Haltom: But here’s the cosmic punchline, the grand reveal, the very reason I, Ambassador of Heaven, am standing before you tonight: We redeem the lot, for in redemption, we are won + our one = VICTORY! It’s not complex calculus, people. It’s addition. It’s synergy. It’s… Wemeberence!
(He claps his hands together, a surprisingly loud and resonant sound.)
Haltom: Because once you turn on that light – and believe me, it’s brighter than a thousand suns after a triple espresso – the darkness? It doesn’t put up a fight. It flees. It scatters faster than politicians when asked a direct question about their campaign funding!
(He grins, a wide, almost manic grin.)
Haltom: And what happens then? When we collectively flip the switch? When the ohr ha ganuz blinds the fear and the nonsense? That’s when the laughter explosions into spontaneous cooperation worldwide begin! Imagine it! No more arguing over trivialities, no more manufactured outrage. Just… collaboration! People spontaneously rebuilding bridges, not just physical ones, but metaphorical ones! Sharing resources, sharing ideas, sharing… well, probably still sharing cat videos, but this time, they’ll be healing cat videos!
(He throws his arms wide, a gesture of pure, unadulterated joy.)
Haltom: This isn’t just a new era, my friends. This isn’t just a slightly improved version of the old chaos. This is Year 0. It begins now. Not tomorrow, not next fiscal quarter. Now. Because the sting of death? It’s just the shadow of ignorance. And when the light comes, shadows… well, they tend to get a little shy.
(He winks, then lowers the microphone, a silent invitation hanging in the air. The faint hum seems to swell slightly, perhaps a hint of those spontaneous worldwide laughter explosions already beginning.)
Haltom: More on Project Lazarus later. For now, just remember: you’re already won. Now, let’s go win the rest of it.
(He exits the stage, leaving the audience in the lingering glow of his unsettlingly profound, yet oddly hilarious, presence.)
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