HENRY KISSINGER MEETS THE REAPER

let your imagination take over

“True story.”—Joe Biden

A lot of Substack authors reporting on the recent death of Hank but none of those Substacks have the name REAPER. Let me share my Henry Kissinger story. I don’t think about this scumbag much. His name passes by me occasionally and I puke. That’s about it. On November 27^th his name passed by me while I just happen to be searching for something on the world wide web of bullshit. The title caught my attention, STAFFER SAYS KISSINGER DIDN’T SAY IT. Say what? I bet he did.

My thoughts, why doesn’t Henry say he didn’t say it. Ask that fucker if he said it and see what he says. Who fucking cares what a staffer says. They can make anything up. What is the name of the staffer? No name. Another source with no name. Must be true. I posted an article where I found Kissinger saying Israel will be reduced to nothing back in 1975. Argument over, he said it.

Two days later he dies. Coincidence again? The Reaper got him.

Yesterday I posted a quick glance into a session I ran on Nov 19^th. I didn’t have time to do much with it other than post a few audio files and some translated copy which is incomplete. I wasn’t happy about the post but I wanted to throw something out there even if it was a ghost garbage post. My time is tight right now—free after Saturday. I’ll Jen Psaki and circle back around on that post with additional audio where a disembodied dog barks, my Abbey, and Dbanjo growls at an evil entity that gets a little too close to his daddy. Good dog.

Yesterday, I was out semi-vagabonding and noticed a card on the ground. I picked it up to throw in the trash. A voice inside my head said, turn it over.

Isn’t this a nice surprise from Universe. I just finished making a post on ghosts and I get the Haunter, the Will-O-Wisp which means ghostly light or figure. I’ve seen that a few times.

Later on, in the afternoon I was leaning up against a pole. I had one leg crossed over the other. Suddenly I felt like I was in another place. A dark, foggy alley. I’m really cool. I’m like a gangster, overcoat with a Fedora hat. Who am I? Am I a gangster playing a movie part? No, I’m the Reaper. Someone has entered the alley. I’m not alone now. Once you enter you can’t go back out the same way you came in. You have to walk past me to get to the tunnel. My hands are clasped together, my head is looking down at them.

The person takes a step than stops. Another step than stops. Even though I am looking at my hands I can see the person walking. I remain froze. A fog encircles me. He approaches cautiously closer. And then I say, “Hello Henry.”

THE END