Storms are Promiscuous
They fuck everyone in their path.
Do you taste it? That metallic taste on your tongue before lightning illuminates the dark then quickly retreats. Its job is to get our attention. A storm is coming. And storms are promiscuous. They fuck everyone in their path.
The air is pregnant, not with hope, but with engineered doom.
Not stormy in the old sense, but electrically swollen.
A premonition of a server farm dreaming of electric sheep…and then waking up and slaughtering the sheep.
We are told with performative, precision-engineered TED Talk smiles, that half of all white collar work will evaporate in a few years. Wait, what?
Do not go to college, the AI experts say. No point. As if it’s a PSA warning.
Don’t smoke.
Don’t drive drunk.
Don’t go to college.
In parts of China, 95% of doctor visits are performed by kiosks with cameras and AI diagnostic engines. You step forward. Breathe. Cough. Complain. And the machine examines, diagnoses and prescribes. Perfectly.
In 2022, AI couldn’t do basic arithmetic reliably. It would confidently tell you that 2 + 2= 5.
By 2023, it could pass the bar exam.
By 2024, it could write working software and explain graduate-level science.
By late 2025, some of the best engineers in the world said they had handed over their coding work to AI.
On February 5th, 2026, new models arrived that made everything before them feel like a video game.
If you haven’t tried AI in the last few months, what exists today would be unrecognizable to you. (the free versions are already obsolete)
And this AI quickening quickens everything.
Enter Epstein.
Forget about the cosmological corruption for a moment. Practically speaking, If every sealed name were dragged into noon light, if every wicked, whispered compromise were translated into plain English, what happens to a nation’s credit? What is a dollar backed by, if not trust? And what is trust when the Temple-Mint turns out to have been a blood-sacrifice-blackmail-factory in which shame and sin are alchemically transformed into currency?
Yet, the demons must be exposed and punished or the public might tear down the country themselves. Quite a pickle.
The air is pregnant.
Not with hope.
With something clinical and malformed. I feel like we are in Rosemary’s lovingly nested nursery room, waiting for a baby too dark to name. I always wondered why that movie disturbed me more than any other horror film. In the film an actor sacrifices his wife and child to Satan in exchange for fame and wealth. Polanski’s wife was murdered by the Manson Family in a Satanic ritual not long after he made the film. She was 8 months pregnant. I’m not saying it was an announcement or confession, but was it?
Epstein was working on genetically designing a pig without cloven hooves so he could eat pork and keep Kosher. He was cheating God at every turn. The goal of his entire financial enterprise seems to have been to Short God.
He believed everything is hackable:
ethics, flesh, gravity, and even God.
AI discombobulates labor.
Sinful scandal disassembles legitimacy.
One hollows out your life’s work, the other hollows out your soul.
And in between stands the new Babylon.
Mirrored glass, debt stacked to the heavens, screens glowing like votive candles. The whore laughs with perfect veneers while collateral debt obligations metastasize beneath her silk. When covenant collapses, the innocent pay first.
Biblical-era infanticide was never framed as “choice” or “progress.” It was named plainly: sacrifice. Molech didn’t pretend to be compassionate. The fire was the point. Children were offered because children represented the future, and power understands that if you control the future, you rule the present.
We are approaching the day the system simply refuses to authenticate.
Do you feel it? That stillness before glass shatters inward. The convergence of algorithm and indictment. Of machine efficiency and moral rot. Of revelation and replacement?
The question is no longer whether the storm is coming.
It is whether the storm is geo-engineered. A weather weapon of Biblical dimensions.
Babylon is not merely falling.
This is controlled demolition.
The charges have been lovingly placed on the main support columns.
The order has come in:
Time to “Pull it.”
As I woke this morning, I thought, "What if the open borders wasn't about votes? What if it was about hiding the slaughter of the Covid-19 innocents? When is the next population census?
Wow. You've really been on a roll putting out amazing stuff in the past few weeks. The machines will surely note you for having some of the most accurate descriptions of conditions in the late human era. Oh boy, do I feel it coming! Right now, I am in the Kübler-Ross Bargaining stage, trying to outrun/outsmart it. I'm short-term renting in a house in Sicily, wondering if I can find a way to ride this shit out here. Last week, when the heat went out, AI told me it was most likely a diverter valve in the boiller. It was right of course.