The Templar Treasure

One of the things that comes along with living in a little red and White House on a plateau in the mountains, where winter lasts six months and spawns dreary clinging tendrils of gnawingly cold weather, brought on winds that howl up three different valleys to cascade up over and through the plateau where my little house stands on the boundaries of space and time, depth and whatever it is the science language throws out to describe the terms that have existed thousands of years to place into the real: the concepts and ideas that your imagination visually witnesses as it records the daily sensory information files and stores them in the appropriate memory locations, doing this by firing up the old synapses and sending physically measurable quantities of physical matter; your mind does not bother with processing the overall data dump, preferring to slot it into different subject headings under the names of the senses and rarely, but often enough that you remember, the memories of sights, smells and experiences combine and your body does a miraculous thing; it works in concert with itself, combining the senses to produce the memory of the event that has come unbidden to your mind in response to the latest epiphany in a long line of epiphanies regarding my sojourn beside the paths of the dead, wherein I live, enslaved to the chaotic forces of universal laws running completely against the laws I thought existed to control things like: reality, time; and dragons…let’s not forget dragons, we don’t want to overshadow them with the next display; because; in foreshadowing you can be honest and blunt and give the whole thing away in the title, ramble on in a whimsical way about dragons, because you are adding another theory to your idea that your life is changing universes daily and you have no idea what is going to govern your next thinking moment: and you are deathly afraid they are going to institutionalize you if you come out straight and admit the truth of what you are seeing, admit it, it was the rabbitt that sent you scurrying first, the dragon had nothing to do with it.

The Ram God: visual sign of an ancient civilization in my supposedly untouched wilderness. Or moss.

“No, no it wasn’t the dragon, or the white rabbittt, he was busy drinking a Guinness so I sneaked out and went for a little wander to see what he had been up to when he left the surveillance bubble and went off line and crossed a boundary into what? I cannot say; because there is no way I am going near that maelstrom…they are boiling up and around his destination, forget it, let him go, the rabbitt is on his own.”

The ruin is an underground complex with a stone gateway entrance: or a wall of stone that naturally looks like a ruin.

“That was my minders; they keep me on a pretty long leash in that they are imaginary, and years out of date; and they was a prelude to my discovery of the Templar treasure: I did it sitting on my bed; the earlier aforementioned disappearance across a boundary into a parallel dimension…I felt like taking a drive, honest, in no way was I going to a clandestine meeting, and in know way did I have my, must be a record by now, ass handed to me in the story telling game…this time I really think it has to be a pinnacle, a peak, fates ultimate win…the side hustle that she put in play, I $&@“ you not, when Shakespeare was mangling the English language and turill a word that springs to key board and stays out of editors remarks, am not kidding…am completely floored…and mean it. To keep a secret for hundreds of years, disclose it, only because you were keeping it secret till, it is still a secret, no it’s not, yes it is, I am a well known mad man with a spotty and checkered past and will not be taken seriously no matter what I say or do…that’s why I started the websites and the arts, the NFTs and the stories and books, that are almost done…it’s because; have solved it…yes ai have. At least in terms of the proof of the existence of the conspiracy of the secret in the first place. Then I guess a person has to solve the cipher in the code that you have discovered…yes…take that my brain worked for once, it counted out two and two together…a person may have to solve the code, once they have all the clues…which ai admit ai do fact, am basing myself entirely on my own minds merits and my sensory memory and my imagination; which has little else to do when isolated and alone 95% of your time…you think, a lot,

and sometimes your thinking goes places that it would rather not.

A rock Dragon; having a munch: don’t know what else to say, except wow!

And sometimes it goes places that lead to golden doors of inspiration; sleeting stabbing, muse possessing, inspiration that comes with a surge of adrenalin like you are about to leap off a cliff into a river without having checked for rocks below…it’s scary as, when it happens, and every time it proves true: the white rabbitt is getting a little frayed with all the knowledge sleeting around here at the bleeding edge of reality…one minute I think it is King Solomon’s Mines that are the lost civilization of my minds eye that I have turned these valleys and mountains into, giving form and physical presence to the ideas and magic that sleet through gateways to the underworld, to the lands of the fated and legendary characters of our classical antiquity and before, before by a really long margin, because I imagine I have found a civilization that dates back as far as the migrations period, when something like five different generations and peoples crossed the land bridge from Asia in and down and through North America and into the hot south, some 18,000 years to 12,000 years BC (on this page we are Rabbitt’s, we don’t play to convention to well, for citations and essays find that page, it’s got links and things…BC AD, because we are destroying the evidence of the tricks, messages, codes and historically important identifiers that were used to communicate complex ideas and strategies, across vast stretches of land, like the trails and roads that make up the highway on top of the world.

A rock Dragon eating a Rock Troll:😎

Ai don’t need to crack the code to find the destination…I need to figure out how to get inside, because I am reverse engineering, have picked up enough pieces of the puzzle to know the puzzle and history each had different things to say about certain events, that I like to label, dirty great holes where there should be more information…oh no the censors have got them…whose censors and when? Well it looks to me, whoever was in charge of the records of Rome, because we may have lost 97% of what existed before plagues and famine and climate change swept the empire into the sea, not really, but it did happen that way…1 in 3 dead in a generation fifty million or so…

Can you see the hydra heads? ✌️

Anyway, I reckon it is really, really impressive that she is still keeping the secret…because it is right out in the open, on full display, you just need to find it. I think it is a test of some sort, of which I am clueless to its origin, beyond that it was 8 degrees latitude and not six that Sir Francis Drake and Elizabeth I conspired to keep secret from every one…who is privy is beyond me, but there is and must be a conspiracy. And in that note:

The Plinth

There is a hotbed of clandestine and paranormal activity along the boundary where time meets distance and the universe shifts around whether you are in your bedroom, your office or munching down on a snack and staring out the kitchen window at the giants sleeping at the gates of dawn, are they bound there? I have no idea, they could be blankets, they look very domesticated but if one of them was to stand up, there are 3500 hundred or so people here who would shit themselves; truly. Not me though; because:

Do you see the one staring at me?

Before the secret was even a secret thought of by Templar knights trying to figure out how to escape Jerusalem and the holy land in the wake of Saladin and in those desperate times, to escape the terror and trauma of hell being brought to the surface and the horsemen running rampant through the ranks of all participants, and the sun dimmed and grey as the very colour leached from the sky, and death stank of the insanity created by the psychic cloud of fear and depredation that settled upon the starving population and in that terror lurked the darkness of mass psychosis and history shies away from the archeological and recorded history of events, preferring to use less colourful terms, in order to take what should be listed in its most visceral ideal, so maybe we would stop repeating it, especially because in the outer planes where I have been exiled, everything exists, and we create horrors unimaginable to any degree and we absorb it as entertainment, then react to them in our three dimensional reality…making the whole horror show real in the collective unconscious, which is under siege by every type of alien invasion that video games and entertainment create with mindless violence, and then wonder what happens when one goes berserk, we’ll let the rabbitt tell you; they drug you, they institutionalize you, then they wait a few weeks and let you go, keep you dosed to the eyeballs and tell you nothing except that your delusional state was, you don’t know, they’ve never said a word to you, not freaking once.

So, off the top of my head, am thinking it was around 1562 or thereabouts that Drake found what he set out to find in his secret voyage around the world, at least the entrance anyway…the highway on top of the world starts right near Mackenzie’s plinth, which is also very near to Drakes dead reckoning sounding that was mistaken for archeological proof of the Japanese or Asians possibly landing on North American shores; which makes me snort and burp my Guinness, because there seems to be all these really simply absurd historical items that we, the general public and information data enthusiasts, do not have the educational merits to say that it was definitive that in the 12,000 intervening years between the last migrations and the discovery of North America, nobody from Asia and the east crossed the three mile gap between the continents, nope, they just didn’t feel the need to visit that section of the world where they did their whaling, they were much to busy to stop in, have you ever noticed the Russian name places on the Alaskan panhandle, or the BC central coast? Did you know the Americans had the fishing rights claimed for great Slave Lake according to a school atlas from 1933, or that linguistically the plains Indians had an empire the size of Europe, things we miss, but still, as I was saying, academically I would be committing suicide if I made the claim that I had found a lost civilization and backed it up with a load of rambling and ranting about things…I know right, I don’t even know what is going to come out, you should see how much I’ve put out since I started this…I heard a good writer can do like four or five hundred words a day, we’ll I can do more, quality mind, are stability rather, keeping to the subject and not ranting about pet peeves that drive me, would have succinctly ended this page some time ago, which would not be in keeping with the entertainment part of the show; which I admit is still sparse and early going, but that is because you haven’t checked out my links page, or possibly the other websites, there is one for ranting, like this, but this is story time ranting, and serving a purpose, round about way, we are appealing to those of a ind to spend fifteen minutes or so on a longer read, those who wish to engage their minds…that and am going to fill this with lots of pictures to split the ranting into different rants of varying tangible quality but all to hypnotize you into buying one of my artistic masterpieces that are scattered around the internet in strange and odd looking incarnations in places and in mediums I had never touched before I discovered a lost civilization in my backyard; well, not discovered; more like decided that the imagery I saw was not the figment of my imagination created spending years sitting on my deck and watching the shadows play across the mountains and wondering about sleeping giants…

This is the Rabbitt’s problem, untreated PTSD diagnosed as hyper manic bi polar, which it very well may be…except have no received treatment for that either, just drugs; the same drugs with different names, higher doses of the drugs, and not a single word in 16 years…enough to create a really good case for malpractice except the 16 years of malpractice contributed to two massive legal issues being enabled and exacerbated and taken advantage of to completely and utterly destroy everything I had spent 27 years creating and was left with a scorched earth ruined life on top of mental illness…that I have to admit was entirely my escalating response to receiving the same stimuli over and over again for 12 straight years while being told at the same time by doctors, peers and politicians that I was just the victim of a mistake, that I was over reacting, that I was just looking for drugs, and making the situation up, or as my inattentive psychiatrist told a tribunal last month, judging whether I was fit to have my rights restored to me, the right to self determination amongst them, and the right to decide what the fuck gets injected into my body…that I was a criminal degenerate, under investigation, guilty of causing major problems and under charges: a gift of total fabrication based on information provided to him years previous that was complete fabrication and based on the escalating bullying and abuse that had been going on for years. To cover up tax fraud in the municipal governance system, that would embarrass the perpetrators of the fraud, so they organized its sanitation, which necessitated destroying the principle victim of the fraud, starting with his businesses so they could alter the titles to them and remove all the identifiers that left to the redirection of the incomes from the utility rights of way that I owned clear title for 14 years and based on the provisions of the dower act signatures that signed over the homestead to the care of the bank for the return of a reverse mortgage attached to the titles in the mortgage document filed in registration in one of the myriad ownerships and flips of my warehouse that pepper the years before it mysteriously burned down and became ours shortly thereafter, which was innocuously followed by the change in bylaw that changed the address and the zoning of our property, two weeks after we had purchased it, the fleet act signatures and provisions in the mortgage document indicate that for the years I was married I had legal right to that document and that I had, for 14 years, no other legal interest in my property and the mortgage document is again clear on the subject of debt, dower, rights and owing…and it was stolen from my family for twenty five years. From day one and hidden behind a real estate corporation that we owned and operated: making us chumps, not masterminds…every deal I ever did…hundreds, I stop counting some eight years before I retired the franchise and brokerage and I have to honestly admit, I worked scrupulously clean for the entire 28 years of the businesses existence…and was treated to nothing but fraud and abuse for my efforts by every professional and regulator who took advantage of our clean records, behaviour and ease of doing business with; so they responded by throwing the book at me for ten years straight, but every deal…every deal I ever did is garbage, it really is. The land ownership around here is not what the locals think. Mortgages are just life debts for the right to rent a shack on top of the land…land that I held in my name years, and the powers that be judged me unfit to to manage my own assets, because they cheated me of every bit of it, using their professional designations and the corporations they worked for, as well as the government officials who deliberately follow the strategy of only listening to one voice from our community and that one voice has been ripping everyone off for the entirety of our false fifty year history in this falsely ascribed untouched wilderness that has been completely gutted and destroyed by non stop aggressive deforestations and strip mining and oil and gas wells riddling the clear cuts with pipeline and cramming millions of litres of watershed glacial fed source water into each and every well along with thousands of pounds of explosives to blow the crap out of the ground and get the gas out in a torrent, before royalties kick in and they have to declare and pay for the secret ingredient; the condensate, which is never mentioned, not ever, in public displays of their activity along this gas basin on the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains where no one pays attention to us, the region is gerrymandered into multiple distracting districts to keep the eyes off of the sheer enormity of the revenues being shipped through this region for the resources that have an almost never ceasing turn over in companies and corporation names endlessly buying and selling the fields and their leases, putting the environmental deposits down, and then burying it, clean up one well site per year, out of the 100 or so you have on the list and no one notices that you’ve drilled 16,000 holes into the ground and they’re all still just sitting there: look on Google earth. Look at my town and it’s surroundings; I feel like the Lorax, they’ve torn it down for almost a hundred miles north and 90 miles east. And drilled it and sucked off potable water in the trillions of litres, each site is little, it’s the cumulative effect of multi generational drilling and practices that are really saying and doing the opposite of the reams of safety information they download onto their operators, along with the liability to maintain their infrastructure: at a pittance as per each sites profit generation.. earning $400 dollars a day is nothing to sneeze at, earning $250,000 a day for the field…gives you pause when it starts adding up and your CEO just up and quits the country, when royalty rates are increased after decades of tax breaks, profit incentives and lease rates that are comparatively bankrupt, essentially given away by the stewards of the grant at next to no return, in exchange for the greater than %100 destruction of the land, the water they destroy, it’s gone, never to be recycled by nature again, poisoned, period, end of story, which is the ending for so many of our natural, finite resources being using and consuming at a frantic pace as if we have only borrowed time to live on, mainly because we are on a war footing economy and have been for the last eighty years, guarding against the horrors the sixty years of mass mayhem and slaughter that had been conveniently divided into regions, theatres and different themed generations, to cover up the true terror of our society tearing itself to pieces in a hail of modern application of tried and tested tactics that I guess ran out of juice that day, because you really can create an impenetrable defense, unleashing that sort of depredation creates a miasma of overpowering evil and dread that permeates the outer planes of existence and takes form in reality by the shell shocked behavior we all exhibiting as we repetitively go down the same destructive pathways as we always do, then shake off and move on from, because we never stop, to check our records, reestablish our reasoning and methods and the best way to make sure we do not repeat, is by watching the game day tapes and instead of screaming move on and shake it off, start going, jesus, did we just beat a man senseless, drag him through the city and whip his psyche straight into broken insanity, then nail him to a cross, let’s not have a repeat of that, who votes for not crucifying people anymore…that would be me…

Dancing Horse Eagle Head
The meeting: Can you see them?

The clandestine meeting went like this: and destroy any evidence you have read of this permanent record in Internet space, the mirror verse of inversion and twisted interpretation of completely logical tongue twisting fairytale torture, at the hands of a kobold so ancient he jumped the old man at the sphinx before he could answer the riddle of life was raising his children, I brought a bottle of Guinness. And I went to meet them, at a crossroads in the river, where there is a buried gate to the other side, the door into the mountain…I went and met with representatives of the Fey and we discussed how best to approach the delivery of the news that there has, indeed been an answer to our query, are we alone in the universe, and the answer is…not by a long shot buddy, you won’t believe what is out there, in here and all around us…

There are quite a few of them.

One of the biggest issues facing my models on their display is the fear of mans reaction to their existence, they do not want a repeat of the last time when they retreated into the mountain and cast a glamour that made us forget and deny their existence and turn fairytales into sanitized childrens stories which is right and proper because we need to be teaching our children from the minute they are born on how to deal with an earth that has psychic winds that blow through our existence and directly affect our behaviour models, you don’t step on a crack…because it will break your mothers back…

Rock Trolls Kissing.

Little miss nugget, the spider: wait til one sits down next to you and then see what you think about the whole screaming and running away thing is being wimpy; and they’re honestly trying to do us a favour, because we earthlings are not attuned to our true environment and we do not realize that every word and action and belief that we have is fed by a gigantic living ball of rocky fur called Fred! At least I have named him Fred, it will be easier than saying behemoth, ha I spelled that right. You think I am lying.

Dragon…she is from Glencoe

Do you honestly think I would go to the effort of writing this incredibly long introduction in order to peddle a lie or dubious proposition.


No, I am totally shilling for a book deal, I have a collection of fairytales that are pretty out there and different. They’re an alternative earth, dystopian, Aether punk, fantasy interrelated grouping of tales around the mountains and forests that surround my home of the past forty years, that have been stifling me for decades, no matter the beauty of landscape, which is about ruined five minutes drive from home; it’s actually sickening, the scale of human to landscape destruction, and every dime sucked from the region and shipped elsewhere to form profits and tax revenues for no return input on the investment, just fifty years of corrupt governance and ever dwindling rememberance of deals and intentions and contracts that are still in place and still generating profits and still, redirected from my title; because I don’t see a dime of them; and even though the paper is missing, the record doctored and the fraud purportedly the musings of a mentally Ill criminal degenerate; so as my reputation precedes me…the completeness of the marginalization should give any intuitive reader the begging question as to the truth of anything you might hear, due to the absurd completeness of the accusations leveled against me, by invisible people, who had nothing to say and still do not, being those meeting minutes were held in camera on an agenda that was not the posted public agenda of said meeting…I know this because I was present; and told I would be held liable if I ever disclosed the nature of the meeting in which I discovered I was the victim of a 16 year tax fraud…”hey, son, we have a secret to tell you…we have been mistakenly ripping off your family for 16 years…I had resigned within a few weeks of that, so I never learned the truth…16 years is a long time, but it was pittance compared to what those same people did to you when you were just 16 years old…a fraud that necessitated the perpetrators making any accusation of misconduct that they could think of to pepper their description of events that I call, going down with the ship that was sabatoged by the unseemly and snide…”well, I don’t think those sorts of people are really aware of what they are doing, and the accent, shiver, I could barely understand them when they first came to the country, they didn’t know anything,” actual quote, actual mayor. Actually never mentioned again because up here no one ever says boo about the behaviour of our social betters, mainly because we can’t believe the rumours we hear, except that is just me, everyone else believes every single thing those bastards spread about me, and all to cover their own…too be continued…as of this publication my internet is hacked and my accounts are all screwing up and I could not get through to a single person who could understand a word I was saying and I got frustrated; so the doctor will call for me to be arrested, drugged and shipped north to the hospital…because he needs to cover for the fact that he ignored me for 2.5 years; whole worlds of time when your mind is free of the shackles we enslave it with; to cover up the truth of our alien invasion.