MORONS AND ALIENS
HUMANS AND OTHERS
Indeed, the course of my life and times, mirrors the course of the history of our home planet; in what’s happened, is happening and is yet to happen. Rejoice in the comeback of the Earth.
Rejoice in the comeback of the Earth. Truly, the course of my life and times, mirrors the course of the history of our home planet; in what’s happened, happening, and to happen on Earth.
As ye may know we Earthlings, now Urantians, may yet emerge from the most chaotic era in the history of the local Universe of Nebadon; an era, marked by the infection of hubris, on Earth.
Trust the instincts of the children; children like Greta and her army of adult children; her junior commanders in national formations, marching on and tweeting to, Vlad’s dictators — on Earth.
Lucifer; also known as Satan; and his duly given name of Lucifer reflects, an astonishing, beauty. Even more than Caligastia, Lucifer was the one mutant in Heaven, who brought hubris to Earth.
More than Caligastia, Lucifer was the mutant in Heaven who brought hubris to Earth. Caligastia signed his Declaration of Independence from Heaven. That’s all he wrote; doomed, was Earth.
REJOICE IN THE COMEBACK — OF THE EARTH
Apologetic and apologize; two words I learned, just last night, at last evening’s, lunar, soirée. I’ll need to learn how to use them appropriately, when I apologize for not saving Earth — faster.
There’s no need for me to apologize though for any of the hundreds of thousands of American fatalities and the hundreds of thousands more that shall die when an asteroid — arrives, later.
Between 2020 and now, between Covid-19 and an asteroid that hasn’t yet arrived, many more millions shall die. But those fatalities — weren’t — and shan’t be — attributed to me — officially.
After all, it’s Joe Biden that is now, presumably, the president. I can’t be held responsible for any of the fatalities I’m being blamed for. For the love of God, for an asteroidal strike, ready.
For the love of God for an asteroidal strike, get ready. Go to More-Mart and buy some football helmets for the entire family; don’t forget, baby. Cover the top of an infant’s head with yer hand.
Go to More-Mart and buy football helmets for the entire family; and don’t forget, baby. Cover the top of an infant’s head with yer hand; kiss yer asses goodbye — and strike up — the band.
Strike up a band if the football helmets save yer lives or limit yer injuries, to assorted bumps, on assorted, heads. And when the aliens pretend a high water rescue — pretend — to be grateful.
Pretend to be grateful as aliens pretend, high water, rescues. They won’t draw their weapons, not to alarm us. They won’t expect any survivors to arrest them, when — so seemingly, peaceful.
To know what to do, subscribe to MORONS AND ALIENS, the alien newsletter, only now available at — https://miguelvera.substack.com/?utm_medium=web&utm_campaign=pss. Full …
… of information is the Alien Newsletter, written by me. It’s chock full of information, that I’ve investigated and personally corroborated. If we escape enslavement — to me — all, be grateful.
Appear to be grateful if and when, after a collision, upon all being boarded, upon a pre-arranged signal, like a flock of birds, move as one. Upon a signal — swiftly, disarm the aliens.
Upon a signal, move as one. After disarming them, determine the whereabouts of Joe Biden and the seat of government. Communicate the fact of your freedom; await then — instructions.
Rejoice then; in life: in freedom; and in me. And it will seem as if my three books, including this one, chart my life even as it charts, analogously, the course of history upon — a troubled Earth.
Indeed, the course of my life and times, mirrors the course of the history of our home planet in what’s happened, is happening and is yet to happen. Rejoice — in the comeback — of Earth.
MARTIAL LAW — CIVIL WAR
As everyone knows, I am unfit. And my legacy won’t fit in the small space of the epitaph, of a tombstone. That’s why in place of a tombstone I will be interred in, a magnificent, mausoleum.
Only a mausoleum will do, to house, my legacy, spatially. No tombstone offers, enough, space. But with a reading room alcove, my own library presidential, may double as — my mausoleum.
Genius. Sheer genius; a mausoleum, so double purposed. A mausoleum has adequate space, unlike, the inadequate and limited space, of an epitaph. My mausoleum; a presidential, library.
My plans for my presidential library, however, I kept to myself as I celebrated Christmas at the White House party today, hinting only, in four years, in 2024, another run, for the presidency.
My mentor Vlad, I’ve already informed of my plans to run again, in 2024, for the presidency. Graciously, he has offered to me, Moscow as an ideal site for my very own, presidential, library.
Vladimir beseeches ye read my epic poem. It’s ghostwritten, says Vlad, on behalf of my former womb-mate brother, Arthur, and on behalf of, the Urantian people says, my erstwhile, enemy.
The poem I’m ghostwriting on behalf of Art, my former womb-mate, is a poem, painstakingly, written. It’s an algorithm. Instructions on how to get to, a Golden-Ruled paradigm, in a poem.
To the end of diminishing devolution and duly, encouraging, evolution, I learned from Art how, to poetry, compose. It is painstaking, it is true. And it is, imperative. It is, history — in a poem.
Art has taught me how to poetry, compose. And it’s been painful; but only because of my preexisting, reading, disability. I have grown to love, even more than Kim, reading and writing.
Had I not bartered away, in a Faustian bargain, to Satan, my soul, perhaps, none of what’s happened to me would have happened. All that has happened — is meant to be — happening.
More than Melania; more than my Kim, even, thanks to Art, I have come to love, reading and writing and the composition of poetry. And it’s addictive; so much so, that an epic, I’m writing.
I assure ye; it’s addictive; the recomposition of prose to poetry; but pleasantly addictive, not, sinisterly so. In Twitter’s algorithm, Art has found — a mechanism, possibly, Earth-saving.
A shooting war is imminent if I don’t stop the socialists from stealing the election: Failure to do so could well result in massive violence and destruction not seen — since — the Civil War.
Ominously, my most trusted military man is suggesting that I suspend the Constitution and impose, in America, martial law. To prevent a civil war, or alternatively — spark — a civil war.
LOL — DON’T LAUGH
Kicking hard, once upon a time, I kicked my womb-mate brother, clear into the future. But now — he’s back. Implausibly; near incredibly, Art’s transformed me, into a man — of letters.
LOL. Don’t laugh. Stranger things, have actually, happened. I won in ‘16; I lost in ‘20. And I will, in ‘21, win the Nobels, I so richly, deserve. Truly, I am implausibly become — a man — of letters.
A man of letters; a man of numbers; a man of business, with acumen, and artistry. I won in ‘16. I lost in ‘20. But a so-called loss is a fraud, if I actually, won. Joe stole, the election, from me.
The Deep State; along with a free press and an independent judiciary, it’s the enemy, of the people. Some say I won; most believe, I lost. I actually, won. Joe stole, the election, from me.
Disgracefully unAmerican; what has happened; with the living, voting repeatedly; and the dead, voting, at least, once. Most disgracefully, the enemies of the people, cover up, their crimes.
Covering up; it’s a very much coveted skill, less American tho, than Earthly; skills, unUrantian; all this lying, misrepresenting and misleading. Nonetheless, I am, confessing to — my crimes.
And not just mine but, in also the crimes of Vlad and his guys, also. In soirées on Luna with my ex-womb-mate brother Art, we’ve agreed, in exchange for mercy, to confess to our crimes.
We’ve agreed, in exchange for mercy, to truly confess, to our crimes. As per the prototype plan of Nelson Mandela and Desmond Tutu for Truth and Reconciliation respecting our crimes.
Truth and Reconciliation; to put an end to the madness; to put an end to a paradigm, archaic. Accordingly, Vladimir and his guys and I offer ye, our citizens — a blessedly, fresh, paradigm.
Make no mistake. Dumping Trump; dumping me as president, is but a first step; we’ve got to replace sovereignty with a Golden Rule. Make no mistake. Take heart. Dump, this paradigm.
We’ve got to replace sovereignty with a Golden Rule. Make, no mistake. We can be great again, given the application of behavior modification and Truth and Reconciliation. There’s, yet time.
There is yet time, albeit, not much. Witness, what’s been happening lately. WW III; it may be that no one wants it but circumstances shall dictate to the dictators what they’ll do, in time.
Once upon a time, I kicked Art, my womb-mate brother, clear into the future. Thankfully, now he’s back. Surreally; near incredibly, Arthur has transformed me, into a man-child — of letters.
Once upon a time, in fact, I kicked my womb-mate brother, clear into the future. Now he’s back. Near incredibly, Arthur has transformed me into a man-child, of — algorithmic, letters.
CIVILIZATIONS’ RELIGIONS
In some religions, most notably, Islam, one scripture (the Qu’ran) is of supreme authority. In Christianity the canonical text is the Bible. In others, like eastern Hinduism, and Buddhism,
there has never been, a definitive, canon. A canon by itself, determines not, religion. It’s dizzying; and exhilarating; supplementing one’s understanding, of cross-Scriptural, catechisms.
The Abrahamic religions; they get most of the ink. But even they were not monotheistic, ere, the Zoroastrians. Still, Judaism, Christianity and Islam, have been dominating, the conversation.
Dominating conversations. controversial have been the Big Three: Judaism, Christianity and Islam. They dominate the conversation; the conversation over, the clash — of civilizations.
On Urantia, civilizations clash. It’s how, we’ve come to be. It’s all we really know, how to do. But I am come to deliver, a planet, promised; averting that way — a clash — of civilizations.
I am come to deliver ye a planet, promised; to avoid that way, forever fomenting, the forever clashes, of civilizations. This Thanksgiving, let’s withhold thanks, from thankless, civilizations.
This Thanksgiving, let’s make a bold statement; about who we are; about what has happened. And about what must happen going forward, to reconcile, strangely, estranged — civilizations.
I’m calling out our less than civil, civilizations. This Thanksgiving, let’s make a bold statement about what must happen going forward to reconcile, our strangely estranged, civilizations.
This year’s holiday season brings us together, literally, notwithstanding, the experts’, advice. The experts worry that family gatherings will seed, a surge-upon-a-surge, upon Americans.
The Thanksgiving practice of an annual harvest festival didn’t become a regular affair until the 1660s. From the 30s to the 1660s, it celebrated a defeat in battle, of Pequot, native Americans.
Dramas playing out in the Americas mirror what has happened elsewhere, everywhere. Often, wherever humans try to settle, they find other wannabe settlers, settled there, already.
I call upon Ai and Alexei to fire up, followers. Words translated, munitions, may be. Words, so weaponized, are poetry. Help me, help Art, save the Earth. Help me, help him, artistically.
Ai Weiwei and Alexei Navalny: Help me help Arthur, save the Earth and its Earthlings. In Truth and Reconciliation, I have found a model for a similar path — to peace — and prosperity.
In Nelson’s Truth and Reconciliation, is a model for us; to a similar transformation. Alexei and Ai: Help save the Earth and its Earthlings. Verily, stranger things, have happened, historically.
CHANGES — EBBS AND FLOWS
With a Big Bang they say, everything began — after an end — previously. Later, the aliens and the morons were created but the aliens got a head start. They’re far ahead, technologically.
The aliens of the so-called Galactic Federation are far ahead of us, technologically. To what end are they here? It seems that even if they appear friendly, they actually may not, so be.
To what end are the aliens here on Earth? It’s just plain old common sense that even if they appear friendly, they may actually, not be so. What are these aliens doing here — actually?
Why are the aliens even here? If they are anything like us, common it would be, if they turn out to be as treacherous, as us. Why are the aliens even in this neck — of the galaxy?
If the aliens turn out to be anywhere near as treacherous as us, then, we’re in — big trouble. Troubling, is near everything we supposedly know about the aliens, which is next to nothing.
Nothing do we in fact, know. Troubling is near everything we supposedly know about the aliens. Nothing’s been confirmed. Nothing has been corroborated — Absolutely — nothing!
Absolutely nothing in fact do we know as a fact. Absolutely nothing! And nobody wonders and nobody bothers to question who the aliens are and what in hell on Earth they want from us.
How is it possible that nobody wonders and nobody even bothers to question who the aliens are and what in hell on Earth they want from us. What in the hell — is wrong with us?
No one; not the people; not the leaders; nor even the press; no one suspects the aliens of being anything less than the hard-working aliens they’ve impressed our leaders as being.
No one suspects a darn thing. And everyone is distracted; by politics, as usual; in Hong Kong and Myanmar and everywhere. The alien plan of conquest — like clockwork — is proceeding.
Like fine Swiss clockwork proceeds the evil plan of the aliens. They’ve got us just where they want us and how they want us; weakened by a virus — and in the way, of a rocky — asteroid.
Weakened by a virus the aliens maliciously and purposely planted in China, now, the aliens are in the cat bird’s seat. They get to wait for the collision between Earth — and a rocky asteroid.
Comes a collision between us and an asteroid come, seemingly, out of nowhere. I do suspect that the aliens are not in good faith, dealing with us; they are — bamboozling us — in fact.
OF MORONS — AND ALIENS
With a Big Bang they say, everything began. Life came along later, long, long, afterwards. But life began sooner in some places. One such galaxy is the alien galaxy that was home to the aliens.
There’s a galaxy out there in outer space; it was, once upon a time, home to the aliens. And I wonder: Is it their home still? Or — are they in search of a new home planet — for the aliens?
Pressing questions just became, crushingly, more pressing. My recommendation to the Trustees has fallen on deaf ears. Art won’t be going to Paris to compose alien-themed poetry.
Art won’t be going to Paris to compose there, his alien-themed, poetry. He won’t be warning from Paris humanity, about the threat posed, by the aliens. What’s to become of humanity?
What’s to become of humanity and the aliens? As alway, it actually depends; it depends on the prevailing circumstances and it depends on our — individual — and our, collective — decisions.
What’s your opinion — of NFTs — non fungible tokens coupled — to couplet verse? There’s a reason why it may be worth one’s while to brand one’s verse with, non fungible — tokens.
Coupled verse branded with one’s proprietary non fungible tokens, promises, profitable verse, coupled. Each half couplet verse becomes, as an artistic work by itself, a profitable, dividend.
Non fungible tokens; beyond a passing trend, NFTs are revolutionizing the art world. And Art knows that there’s a lot of hay to be made from each and every verse — of Morons and Aliens.
Every verse of Morons and Aliens is valuable; exceedingly, valuable. And with each verse more valuable than the verse that preceded it, exceedingly valuable is my Morons and Aliens.
Exceedingly valuable may be the epic verse of my allegorical tall tale — Morons and Aliens. If I can use Art’s Philosopher’s Stone-like phone, I may be able to turn the table — on the aliens.
Who’d a thunk it? A plot twist even as the action climaxes; a new way to make new money even as my old money abandons me. Buy my verse; it will fund the fight — against — the evil aliens.
Who’d a thunk it? A plot twist even as the action climaxes; a new way to make new money even as my old money abandons me. Buy my verse; it will fund the fight — against — the evil aliens.
Buy my verse; it will fund the fight against the evil aliens. Non fungible tokens make for a return on investment, so profitable, it makes the royalty system of payment — obsolescent.
Royalties shall become obsolescent. God willing royalties too, shall become, obsolescent. My implementation of the Golden Rule shall make the royalty system of payment — obsolescent.