Many people are becoming increasingly aware of the infrastructure being created by governments working hand-in-glove with Big Tech in order to censor any form of dissent. Even two years ago this view would have seemed somewhat paranoid, but through the important disclosures made by Senators Grassley(1) and Hawley, the Twitter Files(2) and also Big Brother Watch’s report on the Ministry of Truth(3), there is now irrefutable evidence that censorship is taking place on an unprecedented scale.
Thinking Coalition’s research on Institute for Strategic Dialogue (ISD) corroborates this widespread censorship, highlighting connections using an interactive map showing the unhealthy alliance between Big Tech, government agencies (mainly security related) and oligarch foundations who cooperate in order to shut down dissent.
What is the purpose of ISD?
ISD grew out of the Club of Three, established by Lord Weidenfeld in 1996. Although the initial initiative was on countering extremism, a very worthwhile cause, it appears that before Lord Weidenfeld’s death in 2016, the ISD had already been used to counter “disinformation”. Judging by its recent annual reports(4), it seems that the vast majority of ISD’s efforts are now focused on “disinformation”. In particular, the ISD seeks to restrict free speech in the areas of;
2020 election analysis;
COVID-19 disinformation; and
Climate Change disinformation.
Focusing on the second two objectives, it is clear that they are not related to countering extremism. Accordingly, we believe that the ISD’s activities have overreached its original and worthwhile purpose.
In conclusion, we believe that the Institute for Strategic Dialogue (ISD) censorship initiatives are not reasonable, are a threat to freedom and should be vigorously opposed.
The wise king said, “A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in vessels of silver” (Prov. xxv. 11). Hear the explanation of what he said:—The word maskiyoth, the Hebrew equivalent for “vessels,” denotes “filigree network”—i.e., things in which there are very small apertures, such as are frequently wrought by silversmiths. They are called in Hebrew maskiyyoth (lit. “transpicuous,” from the verb sakah, “he saw,” a root which occurs also in the Targum of Onkelos, Gen. xxvi. 8), because the eye penetrates through them. Thus Solomon meant to say, “just as apples of gold in silver filigree with small apertures, so is a word fitly spoken.”
The sashaying roundness of the most divine backside ever draped in sheer Galianno little black dressness, waved its departure as Roger glanced up with a white powder dusted on the 3 am shadow on his top lip. He poured himself a slug of Glenmorangie from the open bottle amongst the debris upon the marble-topped table in the lounge of his suite in the Four Seasons Canary Wharf, London.
A regular haunt and a venue for all of his worst habits, an eerie from where, in retreat from a world spiraling out of control, he could pretend he was free.
Earlier that day he had received a phone call from his lobbyist in Whitehall, MI6, and The CIA had reports from the white helmets that the Aleppo dough had been identified and the present threat to the final capture of Syria and destruction of Assad, would soon be secured. The consortium which Roger managed and was a majority shareholder in would then be able to progress with developing their interests in the Golan Heights and Roger a property developer would be able to implement the Marina Development at Tartus, the Russian naval yard.
A strange calling echoed in the back of his conscious,
Faintly, brother……… return….. Forbears Truth, What the fuck?
Bunto Thompson his old Burlington buddy had been busy spinning artifices at the UN earlier, having risen to Foreign Secretary ad narrowly missing out on the Premiership. It had been Bunto who had cleared the way for Rog to get the Marina Contract in Tripoli Libya, it had been a shame that the Crimea deal had fallen through. Their fathers had also greatly profited back in the day with the Marina Deal in Split. Bunto didn’t ever seem to give a second thought to his own peccadilloes, perhaps it was all that practice with the Whips office. But Rog never a politician was never happy with the MI6 Control File and often woke in a cold sweat with that recurring nightmare of that strange little guy in the gabardine coat pushing the Manila envelope across the table at the Travelers club in St James. He had lost his first marriage anyway, even without his Wife, an international Lawyer, having seen the incriminating pictures.
Bunto’s he Knew were far far worse as were Crambournes and Gideons their fellow partners in High Jinx and even deeper corruption. With their strange Skull and Bones fetishes. Rog, had never accepted their invitations to Bohemian Grove and His Bilderberg Meeting invite had been withdrawn after one particularly unfortunate incident where he had projectile vomited into the newly coiffed hair of The Mistress of Some Guy. Bunto had said this chap was high up with that lot. Rog, had fancied a go with the mistress and never quite worked out why Flowers and apologies were not enough to woo her into the sack, surely they would make up for ruining her hair do.
Rog wasn’t interested, he often told his old Burlington Buddies those guys are a bunch of wankerers, As Bunto, had Dubbed the President of Turkey.
But that strange calling again? , what was that sounded like.?
” Brothers I will return to retrace our forbears
journey of truth and peace”.
Rog went across to the huge glass plate windows of his suite and pulled back the sliding door and strolled out onto the Terrace. He leaned on the Barrier.
Looking up at the stars he looked up.
That calling again in the back of his mind.
Brothers I will return to retrace our forbears
journey of truth and peace.
Roger asked himself out loud, Am I making a mistake?
Looking up at the stars, disappointed and wondering if it was indeed a mistake, he knew he had made many and this was perhaps going to be his biggest mistake, one he may not be able to recover from.
At once he imagined looking down across the hills at the city lights below, another time, another place. Somewhere in all of those city lights was the one, where would he find the one, where would happiness lie?
From East to West, from the poor parts of Town to the fun palaces of the West End, or the workplaces with the sensible secretaries, all tied back hair and sensible heels, barely concealing a taste for adventure and something more. To the suburbs, the boring suburbs which existed only to feed the machine of consumerism. Or, maybe out there in the countryside beyond the neon and strip lights glow, beyond the artificial illumination, in the darkness The unknown, maybe there?
Back to the present sky, Rog looked up, the cool breeze approaching dawn the darkest hour, clear infinite distances above. Light years away astronomical arc distances the hopelessness of it all dawned.
How could it be? What are the chances of choosing the right world? Who could know which sun would warm the shores of the desert island he had become? The selection of where to aim the rocket ship. Which galaxy, which region, which planet, which hemisphere? What are the chances of making the right choices? At what point do you call back to mission control?
“All systems read negative, request change course. Ground controlled To Major Tom shut down systems.”
And there he was looking at the Blue world, suspended in the eternal contradiction, cut your losses or carry on?
“Plenty more Fish in the sea” Mam, always used to say.
Is it Chicken Lickin at this point which story occurs, that old story we all knew as kids? The Sky is Falling In.
maybe the Emperor’s New Clothes?
, perhaps that one about crying wolf?
For all the spaceships, quantum mechanics, and logic. The semantics and semiotics, algebra, calculus, theoretical physics, maths, and the scientific method. When all the rationalisation is performed and when all is said and done he thought.
Mam, she had expressed it best, so much more clearly.
“Plenty more fish in the sea”
The infinity sign he thought, looks a bit like a fish a push you pull me fish. Dr. Do-Little, why was it the Dr. Do Little reminded him of Pygmalion, My Fair Lady——? Ah, Ralph Richardson. A signifier connecting two totally unconnected stories from two different worlds.
So why not cut the losses? Leave the table, quit while you’re ahead.
Lave the table like he used to so often at the casino in Cannes.
Walk away with your winnings quit whilst you’re ahead.”
Set your upper and lower bounds, and limit your potential losses, after all, no one ever went broke making a profit. They can’t hurt you if you don’t care.
Well, that was just it, he loved his children and didn’t want to screw up their world.
This was not about him, he thought.
Not about him, not about ego not about anything other than loving and caring that they, his children, could be in the world with understanding and empathy and not the cynicism that had come to grip his own life.
That cynicism was born of want, inherited from his Dad.
“Expensive presents are always better, even if we forgot your actual Birthday”
“Always buy your round”
“What’s the strongest bridge in the world”? That one oh please not that one. Another Pub story fueled by more alcohol and false bonhomie. No!
None of that, His kids would be allowed to find out who they were, and how much of life can really be lived without pretending. How could he escape and not leave a scar that would never heal? How could he get out without depriving his Children of, albeit a flawed father?
How could he leave without creating a scar that would never heal?
Yes, Osho, Ego the false center, he had been aiming at the wrong galaxy, at least this time he knew his own center, at least this time he could do the right thing. This would be about his own self, not his Ego, he realised he must take control, Whoa, when did that happen?
That voice again.
“Brothers I will return to retrace our forbears
journey of truth and peace”.
He observed his ego, just like Osho had said it would fall away. There it lay on the ground, as a snake sheds its skin there it was the husk of the snake he had been moments before.
“Just Look at you, a shell of a man” That’s what his younger sister had seen all along, that’s what his father had created, and that was all that they had been interested in. “What will the neighbors think?”Your cousins gone to Uni’ ”, Keeping up with the Jones’s.
Breaking the chain, he saw now.
Fucking hell, he said out loud.
No wonder it was never advisable to return to the Cave. Plato knew something of how powerful his big fat golden lie was, noble whatever the fuck it was, Noble lie yeah that was it.
Remember Rog, he thought, Pillars of salt and all that, don’t look back.
Doubt, always doubt, too late already.
Back to Space, Space warp drive, set your controls for the center of the sun, we’re going in.
What’s that low on the horizon, ah the red planet, mars. 3 am in the east low on the horizon Mars’s red tint flickering and another distant memory.
Carmel California on tour with Godfrey. It was that Trip where Roger had taken his first look through a real telescope up In Big Sur, The post house ranch. Different times and a different person, lessons learn t then. The world actually Turns on its axis.
Another lesson, some people put wealth before friendship.
There but for the grace of privileged go I thought Rog, Not anymore I fucking will not.
They can take their Control File and shove it up Bunto’s Arse, he might quite enjoy that.
2 thoughts on “#ThinkingCoalition:Pro liberty and anti-totalitarianism , #revolutiontelevision The Revolution Will Not Be Televised.#ConquestofDough #Covidstroika #CarbonCurrencyEndgame #Aadhaar #Taboo #Occult #Egregore #MatrixExposed”
2 thoughts on “#ThinkingCoalition:Pro liberty and anti-totalitarianism , #revolutiontelevision The Revolution Will Not Be Televised.#ConquestofDough #Covidstroika #CarbonCurrencyEndgame #Aadhaar #Taboo #Occult #Egregore #MatrixExposed”