Do Banksters Kill Millions Of People? –

July 23, 2012 by Bob Livingston Source: Personal Liberty Digest

In the public’s mind, the war trials following World War II demonstrated that evil must be vanquished and punished. But the Nuremberg Trials were simply a propaganda showcase. In reality, the only difference between the “good guys” and the “bad guys” was that the “good guys” had more guns.

What the people of the world did not see and still do not understand is that the real issues of World War II were never allowed to come up for public debate — certainly not at the Nuremberg Trials. The issue was that both sides prosecuted the war with paper money.

What are the facts? The facts are that both combatants were equally guilty of promoting esoteric warfare on their own populations as well as on each other. Someone(s) who wanted to initiate a new world human drama lined up and supplied both sides [the same people, by the way]. The cost of human life was incidental to the money creators. But if there is a “cause,” people will die and sacrifice their own flesh.

Both the United States and Germany should have been on trial at Nuremberg, Germany in 1945 for war crimes. Oh, the German high command was guilty all right — but no less so than the U.S. or British high command.

It is not debatable that both sides sent millions of their own young soldiers to an early death. Both sides also killed millions of civilians. And the allied powers, fighting ostensibly to keep Europe free from Nazism, condemned millions of Eastern Europeans to years of suffering the oppression of communism under Russia’s boot heel.

Forget all the propaganda and all the blame and consider the honest answer as to who was at fault on both sides. Do we want the honest answer? Can we stand the light of day?

The people who caused the great world wars and all wars that have brought death and suffering to millions of people were the central bankers in other countries and the Federal Reserve Bank in the United States.

Central banks create paper money and credit for government and politicians to spend for war and their socialist agenda. All of the money and credit now crushing the American people was created by the U.S. central bank, the Federal Reserve (which is neither Federal, nor does it hold reserves). It is owned, as it has been since its beginning, by a few bankster families in the United States and Europe.

Your local banker is probably innocent in this scheme. I doubt if one person in 1,000 — and that includes most bank employees — has a clue as to how money is created by banks.

Banks don’t have loads of paper money in their vaults. When they start to make a customer loan, they just create the money with a bookkeeping entry. It costs the bank nothing, but the customer has to pay interest.

Bankers big and small love this system, as do politicians. This gives them a silent and unfair advantage over the people.

Paper money and credit are the licenses for all the evil that the human mind of man can conjure up and create. Central bankers have demonstrated in the past 100 years that with a stroke of a computer digit they can create trillions of dollars as easily as they can $1. Yes, they create these dollars out of nothing, but you have to work for your dollars.

Printing-press money is the means and motivation for endless wars and endless death and suffering, courtesy of the banksters. This is banker blood money and with it they devalue all the money in circulation. It is an insidious confiscation of wealth that not one person in 1 million understands or is even aware of.

Devaluation of the currency is the prime and silent purpose of banker-created money. Even at this hour, devaluation is impoverishing Americans by reducing and diluting the purchasing power of their money. This goes on all the time, even while we sleep.

You can’t bury your money deep enough to save it from the money creators. It is all very simple. The more money the banksters create, the less yours is worth.

The point of this article is that World War I, World War II and any war that we can think of — including the wars in the Mideast — would not last more than a few days without the banksters creating money to prosecute war. Wars have to be funded.

Bankster-created money is the blood of war as well as the impoverishment of the people. All central bankers create the money for war and death.

Paper money appears in the absence of the gold standard. Banksters and politicians hate the gold standard because the gold standard disciplines them and the bureaucrats to the rule of law.

Banksters create the money for war and death. The discipline of the gold standard would have prevented all the wars of the past 100 years. Millions of soldiers have died for nothing, as have millions of civilians.

Did your history book mention this?

http://www.pakalertpress.com/2012/03/24/polands-monsanto-action-lays-1000s-of-dead-bees-on-govt-steps/?utm_source=feedburner 

http://www.terradaily.com/reports/Snow_blocks_in_tens_of_thousands_as_cold_death_toll_rises_999.html

http://www.pakalertpress.com/2012/01/26/whistleblower-monsanto-wants-to-kill-the-bees-to-make-way-for-its-super-bee/?utm_source=feedburner Lets see if the paperwork follows this claim. We know they are evil enough.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/world/kim-jong-il-north-korean-leader-is-dead-at-age-69/2011/12/18/gIQAnedU3O_story.html  

http://www.miamiherald.com/2010/11/08/1914563/many-flee-indonesia-volcano-amid.html

The first time I met the Zetas, I was dying. I was 7 years old and lying face down on the bottom of the Atlantic ocean at Daytona Beach. Saltwater and sand roared in my ears and up my nose and down my throat, and my lungs were filling up fast.

Suddenly, a stern voice filled my head. Stand up! You're drowning! it said. I complied. I remember feeling no fear, just found it interesting and wondered about it for awhile. Then life intervened and it was forgotten.

Decades later I found where the voice came from. Simply said, the Zetas saved my life.

Last night, I was drowning again, this time my lungs were filled with fluid from pneumonia. I couldn't breathe. If lungs were a freeway system, mine were Los Angeles' during rush hour traffic. Snap, crackle, pop. I couldn't sleep from the noise and the compulsion to cough without ceasing. Death appeared knock-knock-knocking on Heaven's door (think Bob Dylan here).

I'm permanently disabled with Chronic Fatigue Immune Dysfunction Syndrome (CFIDS) and when my immune system "dysfuncts" I can get rip roaringly ill. Usually, not this bad though, but I am getting older.

So, I paid my doctor a visit a day earlier. He wanted me to go to the E.R. immediately, in an ambulance, directly from his office. I graciously refused such a kind offer and suggested a more cost-effective route by trying meds first. He reluctantly, and with an stern, disapproving scowl, waved the scripts he had just written under my nose and exhorted me in no uncertain terms ("Listen, young lady, I'm a hardened, 75-year-old physician that doesn't scare easily but you are scaring the bejeebers out of me, as usual.").

My marching orders were that if, in the next 24 hours, I became worse or did not improve I was to go to the E.R. immediately by ambulance. I was percolating like a Maxwell House coffee pot. I thanked him for his concern, but I wasn't scared...much.

Anyway, at 24 hours, there was a change and it seemed for the better. Enter a bit of smug self-satisfaction, See, I was right.

At 30 hours, I couldn't breathe. Damn-it-to-hell, he was right. Now I have to eat his smug self-satisfaction. Not hesitating to throw in the towel though, since it was my life at stake after all, I immediately headed out for the E.R. 25 miles away (well, I did take time to grab a handful of cookies).

When I reached the first of many pitch-black intersections (there are no street lights where I live), I casually pulled a California roll in my little deuce coupe while seriously considering if I should have taken that ambulance. It could have given me oxygen and kept heading to the hospital if I became unconscious. I mean, wouldn't that be the normal, sane thing to do?

Well, sanity is always an option but the inevitable all-powerful Accounting Warning flashed before my eyes and my overly analytical side starting punching numbers into my insanely accurate mental calculator: $500 for the ambulance ride, a thousand-plus-dollar E.R. visit, the unknown but astronomical price of a possible hospital admission for how many days? weeks? And what if they had to use the dreaded ventilation machine. {Shudder, the ventilator.}

Oh, eff it, I said. If this is it, I'm going to enjoy my last moments on Gaia and go for the gold. So, the decision was made. NFWIH would I go out in an ambulance. I was driving myself. Independent to the end. The Call of the Wild. Going where no man has never gone before. Damning the torpedoes. Living La Vida Loca.

[Turning off the satire for a moment: This is totally irresponsible and was done by a professional stunt person. DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME.]

God knows, though, I'm as stubborn as I am persistent, having persisted for 19 years until Scientology returned my donation which they fraudulently acquired.

On that last one, God help anyone who effs me like that; but no, I'm not a vengeful, mean person...we're talking about gross injustice and fraud, another point for my funeral eulogy...she extracted money out of $cientology....unheard of...forcing the religious mafia pay her back, then writing a book and exposing them, while geting their chief outhouse counsel fired and causing another one to reassess her position and leave said outhouse counsel's firm. Bow down! She can finally say all that in her eulogy. Oh, and don't forget to mention what happens to anyone who dares hijack any of her blogs. Right, Nancy? Didn't matter you got Gerard in trouble, did it Nancy? Or that you put an innocent in jeopardy of legal liability, right Nancy?

Back to the medical money crisis saga...

Blah...blah...blah

Okay, now I've done it. I've pissed her off.

You're just plain nuts, ya know, she says.

No, I say in a quick, hot retort. I'm a soldier making do with scarce resources. I know how to improvise.

Semantics, she shoots back.

Yeah, maybe, I quasi-concede to shut her up. Depends on your reality.

Oh, you're not getting off that easy, she warns. You were in a medical crisis.

Yeah, and you're point is? I cattily reply, knowing full well what her point is.

You coulda D-I-E-D, you idiot!

Oh, how effen lame you are, pushing the attack back in her direction. You operate at such a low level. You ought to try an exercise where you stare down Death and keep your focus. I'd like to point out that you blinked and I didn't. Now wouldja STFU? You annoy me.

(BTW, this conversation occurred between my mind and my soul and, yes, they are different entities; and yes, Gerard, the battles rage merrily along, but I'm getting better at cutting her some slack. She hasn't returned to visit, has she?)

Anyway, cutting off that conversation so I wouldn't miss my turn, I took the short cut to the hospital, what is locally known as the pig path, and took further short cuts by taking 25 mph curves at 45 all the way, nearly running off the road only once. As I flew around those unlit curves on Thanksgiving evening, g-forces making my stomach try to exit my body horizontally, I saw Daytona Beach flash before my eyes and the connection was instantly made. I wondered, in a detached kind of way, if tonight was going to be the night. Het is een Nacht.

They saved me then. Would they save me now? Or was it just time to move on to my next assignment? Interesting questions, I thought, speculating how it might turn out.

Just like Daytona Beach, I felt no fear, just a kind of mild interest in how it would all evolve. Just like the first time I had an optical migraine, wondering if I was having a stroke and making peace with God, and wondering if I would crash my car, and if so, would I die instantly of brain decompression when I was thrown through the windshield and cracked my skull or if I would simply be crushed to death. And then what? Ah, the possibilities were endless.

Maybe it was this experience by itself, or maybe it is the accumulation of experiences of a lifetime, that's made me want to share more of "my story." Maybe it's my long-winded way of writing my own eulogy. As a writer, I should be entitled to write my own funeral oration and since I am a writer I'll darn tootin' write it and on my tombstone it will say, She died with her boots on! She wouldn't write it any other way.

So, continuing on why I'm writing this here and now, maybe it's the last opportunity to say things, you know, those things we always wished we had said before it was too late. And maybe I'll regret posting such personal information tomorrow and be kicking myself in the ass for a long-time to come. But tonight, I'm in the frame of mind to get it off my chest and tonight I'm not afraid to open myself up if people can learn from my experiences, my stupidity, my insanity, whatever you want to call it. I say, go with the flow; ride the high tide; dare to share, and love and care before the dark night sets in. Tonight is the night. Except it's morning now after writing all night long. All night long, oh yeah, all night long....

Oh, crap, stop with the drama, already. {Soul eyes rolling}

Soul, did you have a Jewish past life? Oy Gott! Such a kvetcher.

Moving on, because of what I experienced tonight, it reopened my eyes to the fact that the survival of this ning is in the hands of one very fallible person. Since I'm committed to the survival of this ning and because of these recent events, I have decided that I need to make an "advanced directive" of sorts to ensure continuity in case something happens to me (and this could easily be earthchanges knocking out my local internet rather than my early demise). But first, in the "say-what-you-wished-you-would-have-said-before-it-was-too-late category," a little history.

Prior to May 24, 2010, when I was still at poleshift ning and this ning wasn't even a twinkle in my eye, Gerard made me co-owner of his ning because he was anticipating the Atlantic tsunami to happen first. He gave me his password to poleshift ning and his personal PayPal account (where ning contributions were accumulated to fund the site). In the event anything happened to him, he knew I would ensure poleshift ning continued on.

That was his level of trust in me. And he knew I cared about poleshift ning as much as he did and he knew I would keep it going. Gerard is a gifted intuitive and he trusted me, and his trust was not misplaced for I never betrayed it, and never would have.

Why? I felt deeply that we were long-lost soulmates, and I have never felt that way about anyone before. I respect the fact that he said he wasn't as sure and state that for the record on his behalf. But I still feel certain, and I still grieve over the loss of his friendship. The details of how that loss came to be are shown in my blog, A Modest Rebuttal, if you are interested. If you didn't come from poleshift.ning, then don't waste your time.

If you have, however, already read that blog, then you know that Nancy destroyed Gerard's trust in me, in addition to imploding our entire relationship. So you know my feelings about her will never change. (And I would ask Gerard directly, here and now, if for no other reason but to restore your own certainty in your gifts, to reject any notion that your feelings were in any way wrong about me. They weren't wrong and I think you know it. There are other things you predicted that have, and are in the process of, coming to pass, too. And I think we've had a few telepathic communications, too. Details upon request.)

There was a strong bond of affection between us then, and I think it still exists, damaged for sure, but not hopeless. All he has to do is reach out and restore it. Will he? Can he? Does he even want to? I don't dare hope but the Zetas keep indicating otherwise. So we shall see, I suppose.

At the time that we were discussing continuity plans, I recall Nancy loudly disclaiming that she had no time to run poleshift ning, so bowed out from consideration. Not long after, by virtue of her nightmare performance and its radioactive afterglow, she effectively gelded Gerard's continuity plans for poleshift.ning. So, I have to ask Gerard, did you ever put in place another plan? If Nancy is it, then we truly see who pulled the "palace coup," because Nancy is still there even though Gerard had made me co-owner with him of poleshift ning.

I would like to also point out, as if it isn't already obvious, that if I were anything Nancy has claimed me to be, I could have so easily destroyed poleshift ning. But I didn't. Why? Poleshift ning is Gerard's mission, his desire and his passion, and I shared it with him. I loved that ning and I loved him too. Weird but true. I told him back before Nancy's shat pants hit the fan, that we had one of the weirdest, greatest love stories ever and I remember we laughed. We were two peas in a pod.

I have held my peace out of respect for Gerard and so that both our nings could quickly move forward from the mess Nancy made. Thus, you rarely see me making public comments. But tonight something changed. If I could be a thorn in Scientology's side for 19 years while raising a family and working full time, what can't I do in my spare time?

So, these are some intimate details. Why have I revealed this information? Because I wanted the truth to be known and for Gerard to hear these things and who knows if I'll wake up tomorrow morning because I'm not out of the woods yet, and, amazingly, because it does have some bearing on what I am about to say next.

I want this ning to continue as much as I wanted poleshift ning to continue. Over time, I believe a high level of trust has developed among Shadow, DesertRose, KarenLee, and me. I find them to be honorable and sensitive people, who care deeply about their fellow man and who have the sensibilities and abilities that will serve this ning well. KarenLee, unfortunately, has too many commitments at present. However, DesertRose, has graciously accepted my offer to become co-owner of this ning. Shadow is considering it, depending on some things. As for me, I will continue here in the same capacity as always, as long as the internet is up and I am able. I ask that you respect them as you would me and show them the same courtesy.

My hope is that we can take this ning to higher levels and be a beacon, a light in dark places where few other lights will shine.

Does this blog finally prove that I'm insane? Not at all. I'm as lucid as ever. I'm finishing my B.A. in Creative Writing & English at a Tier 1 university with straight A's. So, no, I'm not insane, incensed yes, but not insane. I have further plans for this work, in a modified form, in another forum. So much for any potential insane label. Though written in a satirical style, the facts are true. As opposed to untrue facts. You know the difference. Anyway, I need to do a bio for my program and I'm considering an unauthorized biography of you know who. Are you interested? Preliminary research is turning up some interesting stuff.

In closing, because of the nature of this post and to whom it is directed, i.e., friends and family here at earthchanges.ning, not the entire world, GLP or Zetasquawk for their amusement, or the Admin ning for pissing purposes or fodder for another psychotic wave of defamation, permission is expressly NOT GRANTED to repost or copy this blog or use it in any way, shape, form, by electronic or any other means, in part or in its entirety, for better or for worse, until death do us part. Copyright (c) 2010 Cheryl Nelson.