Scrambled ode to a bleeding sky

in an age where reality eclipses paranoia


3rd June 2010

My sister says I’m having a panic attack. Why else would someone throw most of their essential belongings in a 20-year-old car that sounds like percussion concert in an unfurnished room, drive a thousand miles in two days, be driven to an unfamiliar hospital two days later in the middle of the night with chest pains, and now stare steroid-eyed at the leafy greenery in a distant state, wondering what the hell is going on.

Goddamn right I’m having a panic attack! This is the end of the world, isn’t it? Or is it?

Here’s what got me to throw my stuff in the car over a four-hour period and blazingly hit the road north in the middle of the night, clanking and wheezing, freezing on a hot and sultry summer night.

1. If they nuke the busted oil well, we get the tsunami, all oil, 80 to 200 miles inland. I live one mile from the Gulf of Mexico, elevation 2 feet. No, I don’t know how high the wave would be, but I don’t swim that well anymore. I never swam that well. A tsunami could occur of its own accord, if a seafloor collapse were sufficiently substantial. They have already announced one minor seafloor collapse. The water that would deluge the land in such an extraordinary occurrence would be significantly mixed with oil, which would essentially kill every living thing it touches.

2. The first hurricane that carousels through the lower Gulf and heads toward the Florida Panhandle douses the entire East Coast, at least as far as the storm blows, and probably further, with an ineradicable birth-defect poison. I’m not a chemist. But I read the story about benzene poisoning. Google it. If you can smell the oil, you have it. If you have had longer than a 15-minute exposure, there is no cure. Red sky city.

3. I’ve done the hurricane evacuation thing. Hurricane Andrew. 1992. I watched the red dot on the TV screen zero in on my comfy Fort Lauderdale abode for 18 hours, then jumped in my car and drove to my sister’s in St. Petersburg — a day early. The next days millions of South Floridians tried to leave all at once and many endured the storm’s 177 mph winds in the interstate highway parking lots.

3a. Five thousand white UN combat vehicles parked at Jacksonville Airport. Jacksonville is the north gateway to Florida. Somewhere I read about a rumor of an order to the UN troops: shoot those who disobeyed the orders of the cops and soldiers directing the traffic.

3b. Forced evacuation rumors. Military checkpoints being set up throughout the Southeast, some very far from Florida. In a forced evacuation perhaps accompanied by a serious rainstorm along with panicking Miamians booking for the far north, two results seemed possible: die on the road in an intractable traffic jam, or be directed to a FEMA camp, where by the looks of these secret compounds that our government has always denied existed, the future of everyone seems to be starvation. Perhaps they’ll be guarded by the same kind of drones we use in Afghanistan, you know, the ones that are always shooting up weddings and later its operators claim it was a tragic accident.

3c. As I feverishly gathered what I thought was important, a little voice whispered from behind my ear: Leave while it’s still clear, leave while there’s still time. There will come a time — and who knows how short a time! — when you won’t able to leave. When the oil reaches Miami Beach — and we haven’t heard a word about this in recent days — the mass exodus will begin. So will the looting. So will the police and army crackdown. You won’t be able to get out of Florida. There are only five or six main roads north out of Florida to Georgia or Alabama. I-95 is the easternmost. Everyone will try to use that one because it’s the furthest away from the oil spill. When I sailed through there on a rainy Monday night, there was only the somnambulant roar of rickety trucks. Business as usual, nothing special happening. I breathed a sigh of relief.

• • •

It is a well-demonstrated fact that I am protected by angels. In fact and deed, if you received this communiqué by direct email, you likely are one of them. I had several toothaches and a perfect stranger paid my dental bill. My car blew up on the highway and an old friend, in an act of preposterous serendipity, found me another one for $500 which is still running without a hitch after almost two years. Whenever I have desperately needed something, a friend has always turned up to get me over the hump. I’m a lucky guy. Life is nerve wracking.

So I have this string of old friends who have acquired me over the years, and I’m following the trail north, away from the oil, to . . . God knows where, perhaps.

According to my hasty calculations, the Gulf Loop current carries the poisoned ocean through the Florida Keys, scrapes the beaches of Miami and Fort Lauderdale, hugs the East Coast as far up as the Carolinas, where it apparently veers out to sea and heads toward England, spreading the poison around the world.

Where I am now, near a big river on the Eastern seaboard, is only temporarily safe. The effects will be felt in the Gulf states first, but they won’t stop there. Nowhere on Earth is really far enough away. Eventually the oil will infect every corner of our planet’s vast oceans.

Which takes us back to the Hopi red sky prophecy. Read it and weep at

Here’s the recap, what to expect if you believe in legends that people say have been made by reliable spirit guides.

Tom Brown Jr. is a famous man in a remarkably tangible way. He teaches people how to survive in the wilderness with nothing but their own wits. His courses are sold out years in advance. Only he can tell the story of Grandfather’s red sky prophecy as it should be told.

Read the link. Here’s the salient quote.

“It was at the end of the fourth day that the third Vision came to him. As he gazed out onto the landscape towards the setting Sun, the sky suddenly turned to a liquid and then turned blood-red. As far as his eyes could see, the sky was solid red, with no variation in shadow, texture or light. The whole of Creation seemed to have grown still, as if awaiting some unseen command. Time, place and destiny seemed to be in limbo, stilled by the bleeding sky. He gazed for a long time at the sky, in a state of awe and terror, for the red colour of the sky was like nothing he had ever seen in any sunset or sunrise. The colour was that of man, not of Nature, and it had a vile stench and texture. It seemed to burn the Earth wherever it touched. As sunset drifted to night, the stars shone bright red, the colour never leaving the sky, and everywhere the cries of fear and pain were heard.

Again, the warrior spirit appeared to Grandfather, but this time as a voice from the sky. Like thunder, the voice shook the landscape. ‘This, then, is the third sign, the night of the bleeding stars. It will become known throughout the world, for the sky in all lands will be red with the blood of the sky, day and night. It is then, with this sign of the third probable future, that there is no longer hope. Life on the Earth as man has lived it will come to an end, and there can be no turning back, physically or spiritually. It is then, if things are not changed during the second sign, that man will surely know the destruction of the Earth is at hand. It is then that the children of the Earth must run to the wild places and hide. For when the sky bleeds fire, there will be no safety in the world of man.”

• • •

Back to the checklist:

1a. When Florida is surrounded by oil, which should not be too much longer into the future, the fumes will rise up and infuse the air with a reddish tint. When it reaches a certain density, the stars will in fact appear to begin to bleed, because the air — the poisoned air — will become so moist, the points of light will appear to be dripping, like looking through a rained on windshield without your wipers on.

2a. Experts are predicting a record number of hurricanes this summer and autumn.

3d. Lots of faces are flashing by me that I’ll probably never see again.

• • •

Our world is built on such a tapestry of lies. Doctors sell poisons that they know are poisons. Meatpackers package cancerous poisons that they know are poisons. Let’s not talk about preachers right now; we’re going to need them.

If we really wanted to bomb the perpetrators of the 9/11 massacre, we’d be bombing Crawford, Texas; CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia, and, sorry to do this to you, Hymietowners — Wall Street.

If America was a truthful country intent on promoting liberty and justice for all, like our Pledge of Allegiance says we are supposed to be doing, we’d be bombing most of Israel (except for where the Palestinians live), our own White House, and, perhaps most importantly, the City of London, where the Jewish bankers of the world have built their poisonous hive around the rancid monster known as Queen Elizabeth II.

The British have always (since 1645) been pushing buttons that made other people die. What the world failed to realize as that the power of England was merely a facade behind which the real power that has ruled the world since before Babylon was conquered has treated the wonderful humans of this planet like dirt, like less than dirt. The real powers of the world have unleashed this upon us.

Now that you about to die prematurely, let us unleash our fury upon them.

Checklist addenda:

• vehicles, checkpoints, and purpose

• destination

• further ramifications

• places to run

• prophecies and propaganda

I like baseball metaphors. Try not to be fooled by the curve ball. It’s the toughest thing in baseball to do.

John! my friend in Florida exclaims. “What are you doing? This is not that big a deal!”

“Go tell it to a pelican, motherfucker!” I reply.

My good friend Anonymous Coward posted this note:

User ID: 908039
United States
5/1/2010 6:28 PM

I think this disaster will affect oxygen levels in the Earth's atmosphere and may have far more disastrous consequences for life on Earth than we may realize. As the oil spreads throughout Earth's oceans, my theory is that photosynthesis will be affected. This may be the biggest mistake humans have ever made, resulting in the end of life on Earth. God help us all.

This thought has been burning a hole in my brain ever since.

John Kaminski is a writer who used to live on the Gulf Coast of Florida, is now careening north, waiting for that big red light to come on.