500 Ziggurat-Dwelling Demon-Vampire “Travelers” Molest Melonhead Children & Rule the World
|November 24, 2012||Posted by Koanic under Christianity, face reading, origins|
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me.”
“Don’t be scared, homie.”
- Nick Diaz
Stranger than fiction
“Oh, the movies and books have it all wrong, but that is to be expected, and if you seek knowledge whereby to live your life, from fiction, you get what you deserve.
[expect athiest snark, here...]” – Bane on vampires
“Money talks, and especially in Hollywood. If you have money, you can get about anything made, and they know this. They can also channel money into advertising campaigns, etc. for their films (how many Christian films have had major ad campaigns in the past twenty years? Very few. How many occult movies have? I rest my case).” – Svali
I call them Travelers for several reasons:
1. There seems to be a pattern of hibernation, feeding and wandering.
2. Jesus said, “When an evil spirit comes out of a man, it goes through arid places seeking rest and does not find it.”
3. They are not from here.
4. Traveller is a non-perjorative word, reflecting Bane’s assessment that most of them are neutral.
Some other options for names include: demons, aliens, vampires, the Fallen, Old Gods, etc. There seem to be ranks and classes among them, in their plane. However, only the Travelers seem to fully incorporate on our plane, and easily exert major influence over it at will. By contrast the lower orders are more inchoate, need more of an opening to affect us, and are more location or person-bound.
Since we are not interested in exploring the spirit world, but the material world, we will stick to Travelers, and perhaps the sort of demi-Traveler who (that?) can pull off a major haunting.
Bane, a now deceased super-alpha melonhead, wrote some creepy things about his childhood. I’ve chopped it down considerably, but the original reads much better.
I spent much of the night awake, yestereve, and what sleep I did get was troubled, and sweaty.
Her breath, warm on my neck again, after all these years, the memory of it still excites me, and turns my bones to wet ash.
Opening this box is almost more than I can bear, and yet it must be done.
It is getting harder and harder to come back here. To hear someone refer to this as ‘snippets’ is nearly unbearable.
I let the wife read this last night, and she quizzed me, curiously. Then she, somewhat sardonically, thanked me for her future nightmares.
I had finished telling her the story, and I had gone far away, as had my eyes, and when I came back into the here and now, her face was some consternated. She had travelled with me, you see, and had not enjoyed the trip. No, not one itty bitty bit.
Shadows take on new meaning. Clicks on the upstairs window glass at night resound with darker import. A lovers breath, on your neck, from behind, chills, rather than warms.
This story made me believe in God.
And His counterpart.
My Faith, which I curse to this day, was born here.
A large branch, in the driveway that led up to the adobe looking home that had been empty for some time, had been ripped away, torn from the upper trunk, about ten feet or so from the ground, and the pale meat of the tree shown out starkly, and the branch itself lay tossed aside, under some shrubbery.
I conjectured that someone’s moving van had taken a bit of damage, whilst backing in, and fresh tire marks on the cement driveway made the picture clear.
I was already being pulled up towards the house, you see, hoisted by my own curiousity, and we all know how well that goes, if you are a cat.
I had snooped on this house a time or two, and found it boring. I am still put off by that Spanish style adobe architecture, and this one was especially pretentious, with large windows in every wall, and skylights, and they had the temerity, did the owners, to put heavy drapes over each window, so that it was a real bitch to peep in. But, peep I had, and all I had been rewarded with was a view of dark, oily looking hardwood floors, and indistinct furniture items, covered with sheets, like some poor, retarded child at Halloween.
Today was different, though, I noted with some surprise as I approached. The curtains had all been thrown wide open, and the afternoon sunlight, striking golden and strong through multiple glassed entrances, lit up the inside of the house like a magic lantern.
I walked up to the main, front window, just off of the driveway, and stood agog at what I saw there in the living room…
I’d grown up in libraries, and had learned to read almost as soon as my eyes could focus.
In the olden times, libraries were places where they stored actual books, great old things, where the knowledge of Man was reposited, not sanctuaries for cheap novels and CD’s and Gay Studies to hide in, before the inevitable library fund raising sale, to make room for more new pantheons of pap.
I had pored over tome after tome, since earliest childhood, to the approving gaze of true scholars, who were there to devour knowledge as well, so, as I gazed into the living room window, that blazing afternoon, I damn well knew a ziggurat when I saw one.
Well, that was my first impression, anyway. It wasn’t tiered at all, in fact, it was a perfect cube, as near as I could tell, made of stone. Or ivory. Or bone. Or pressed wood. Or…
The bas relief carvings on it moved, there under the afternoon sun, ever so slightly, and told stories, and danced, and wove spells, and worked magics, and I heard singing, great choirs, as if coming from different parts of the compass, and blending…
My brain numbed, I listened, as I had no choice. I was riveted, there, as I gazed upon this pale cube, some six foot at every dimension, covered in ancient scripts and carvings of people, and animals, and monstrous things, and I heard an undercurrent of voices, as if a crowd, talking, murmuring, muttering, sometimes laughing, and the occasional scream.
And I heard singing. Great choirs, individual arias, dirges, praise, and then I became aware that I was being watched. From inside the cube. The ziggurat…
A man slept, yet was aware, but the bright, curious mind of a woman touched mine, and held me still, and moved through me, and knew me…
Have you ever been licked, by a lover, on your most private places? Someone you trusted enough that, yes, you can go ahead and put your fingers in there, if you wish it, because it must be right, if you wish it…
And then I woke, because my body could no longer stand, frozen as it was, and the sun I had gone somewhere else with, up high, was now nearly down, mere bright fingers thrusting through the lower foliage, and I, roused from my stupor in an agony of settled blood and pins and needles, turned and ran for my home as if on wings.
As if pursued by Hell…
After the ziggurat incident, I became haunted. Hunted. She would seek me out, and nuzzle my neck from behind, and sometimes, I could almost see her. She took me in my bed, or while driving…
One night, I was overcome by terror, and my parents were overwhelmed by icy cold. When I finally was able to force their (unlocked) bedroom door open, their breath was rising in a vapor to the ceiling, a fog covered the floor, as if from a fog machine, and I couldn’t rouse them.
A sense of undirected horror overwhelmed me, and I grabbed a blanket, and fled the house (a former hospital) and went to my car and fell into an exhausted sleep.
As dawn broke, I awoke, and saw two human figures, with bat wings, flying up and over the trees, on a path from my car, to the Spanish house I have previously described.
That was the last time I saw or felt their presence. I think they knew they’d worn out their welcome. Plus, as they looked into me, I looked into them. Dark. Dark. Dark. Not soulless, per se, but nothing you’d recognize as human.
There are things…
Bane’s explanation for this is that he was visited by vampires. No joke.
So, let’s get right down to it. Of course, they were ___pires. I write it thusly, so search engines might not bring them or their agents to my door. Or bring fools, either.
Don’t believe? Doesn’t matter, Food, because that is what you are. Oh, the movies and books have it all wrong, but that is to be expected, and if you seek knowledge whereby to live your life, from fiction, you get what you deserve.
[expect athiest snark, here...]
From them, I got the ability to run through total darkness, and see a path…the outline of warm flesh. Heightened senses. She changed my life, and nearly destroyed it. She toyed with me, protected me, tormented me, and made me old before my time. I have a family heritage of, shall we say, ‘sensitivity’, and they sensed that, and during their stay in my remote mountain town, fed off of it, grew from it, and fed me as well.
Insane? But of course, in the truest sense of the word. I saw them. I saw them fly. When they were in the neighborhood, other spirituality was released, and thrived. Darkness swirled, like coal smoke, released.
But they were not evil. Never that. Something…other. Different. Dark, and old. And oh, so cold.
I could not and would not write a novel of them. I would dare not, out of fear, and there would be no point.
The wife wanted to read the end of this, so I wrote it. Has it ended? They are a truly endangered species. Perhaps five hundred left in all the world. I wish them well, just because. Some are ‘evil’, some are ‘good’. Most just ‘are’.
Sadly, some parts of humanity have learnt of them, and hunt them actively, like a resource.
Killing one, if you even could, would be like kiling a unicorn. Horrible, and tragic.
And what the fuck do you think a unicorn needed that horn for, anyway…
We have a melonhead in our forum, “Bill”, who’s never heard of Bane, and told me a very similar story.
While visiting an ancient American Indian megalithic complex at the age of 5 or 6, Bill was molested by a group of older girls. The event itself is quite clear, and it significantly impacted him psychologically afterwards, as one would expect. However the events surrounding are hazy – as if there were some trance involved.
When he informed me of this episode and another episode in [Asian country], I realized that something more than simple Melon manifestation was going on, and connected it to the Bane story I’d read years ago.
The molestation occurred at [redacted Indian mounds], an ancient Indian ceremonial complex with celestial and cardinal alignments. At least one of the mounds was four-cornered, i.e. shaped like the first layer of a ziggurat.
Among other things, the site contained a grave of eight young women buried in what was obviously a human sacrifice.
Suggestion: future church field trips should not leave their children to wander around prehistoric megalithic structures pulsing with ancient evil.
The first time something like this happened, I was quite young, maybe five-six or so. Most of my memories are from before and after it happened. Between is darkness. There are certain parts from the between that I “think” I remember, but I can’t say with 100% certainty. Even though decades have passed since then, I have no knowledge or memory of ever remembering what all happened that day.
Here’s what I’m sure of:
While visiting the ruins of an ancient Melonhead monolithic complex, I was separated from the main tour group and walking about with a group of older girls (they were probably 12-13 years old) who I knew or was at least familiar with.
All of a sudden, the girls tackled and pinned me down, then stripped off my shorts. They swarmed all over and started playing with my penis, etc. I remember screaming and being very afraid then a hand over my mouth ….then it just goes black.
There are other memories — all of them laying and flailing on top of me, hands everywhere, mouths and lips too, plus laughing and smiles; girls straddling me, etc., etc. — but I don’t know if I trust them. They’re simply not as vivid. It could be something that I made up (or that was planted in me) to give a narrative to what happened, to explain that time of darkness and why I don’t remember it. Of course, it’s possible that all of it is true, yet not in the way that I came to remember it.
Next thing I remember clearly was, I’m in a modern building (still on the grounds), sitting on a couch feeling much older and different. I remember feeling strange — like I had just woken up. I looked outside, and it was dusk. I felt like it should be the middle of the night or even days later than it was. But in reality not much time had passed.
There were some adults around — authority figures, loved ones. Everyone seemed the same as before. Why weren’t they different now? Oh, it’s just me.
I’ve interpreted these events in different ways throughout the decades since, though I’ve never been quite sure of the story because of the blankness of my memory.
I’ve always been aware that ‘something’ happened that day, and that it was an important something. Though I’ve never really known what that something was.
The fact is, though this should ostensibly be a horrifying memory for me — especially in light of the young sexualization, it’s actually one of the best things that ever happened to me.
My eyes opened that day. I saw and noticed and recognized things that were never there before. I felt years older, smarter too. I was certainly a more conscious person. I started closely studying everything and everyone around me and spent the rest of my youth as a very accurate observer of my environment.
The [Asian country] dream
Years later, Bill had a second Traveler experience in [Asian country]:
The second traveler experience (that I’m aware of) came some years ago at university. It was the dead of winter, and we were in the middle of a real cold snap with temperatures at -10 F. I’d come down with the flu and was holed up in my apartment. I had an Asian girlfriend at the time, and she came over to bring me food and some medicine. She mixed some citrus-tasting powder I had never seen before — she said it was “medicine” — with green tea and vodka. I drank it then went back to bed.
I’ve always had very vivid dreams and nightmares. They are often quite fantastic, in fact, and rarely follow natural rules. I’m always surprised to hear other people’s dreams. Mine just seem so much…weirder.
Nothing will ever compare with what I saw that night.
Trying to explain a dream or vision or whatever is always an ultimately futile exercise, but I’ll do my best. Like Bane talks about, I was immediately aware that I was in some world not of my making. In this case, I believe I was sharing dream space with others, travelers in this case. These were not the the friendly or neutral kind either, though they did not bother or even really seem to notice or care about me.
It felt like hell. There were rooms — chambers. Only, everything was alive. The walls and floors were bleeding. They looked like the flesh of internal organs but were damaged from fire and abarasions. It was very hot. Darkness, blood, fire. A feeling of evil — destruction, chaos — permeated. I remember one traveler in particular. He was alone in his chamber — long hair, hunched over, smooth pale white skin. Almost human in appearance but obviously something different. He was sitting at a table and slicing his fingers into thin pieces like you’d slice garlic or ginger. I never saw his eyes or face.
Much of the rest is indescribable. Flashes of light and darkness and fire, blood, guts, bodies, violence, death. This was a different dimension where not everything is experienced in a material sense. It seemed like I was in this space for hours, and I think I was.
I woke up crouched on my bed with my head on my knees and my arms wrapped around my legs like. The bed was covered in sweat — it was so bad I had to change the sheets before laying back down. It took me several minutes to realize everything was ok and that I wasn’t in that world anymore. Eventually I came to and realized some odd things. For one, the window was wide open. Did I mention it was -10 out? Also, a few of my necessities — wallet, phone, ID, keys, etc. — had been hidden or put away.
I’ve never sleep walked before or since then, though it seems fair to say I was in a different form of sleep that night. I must have really been both hot and scared to get up and open that window and hide my things from those visitors. I was scared to go back to sleep after that and put on some cheeseball comedy film. I ultimately rationalized this to myself as being from the medicine and vodka and weird fever dreams and so on, though I always knew that what I saw did not come from within me.
Illuminati programming trigger
Bill’s third experience was triggered by an account of Illuminati occult programming:
The third encounter was just days ago. I was reading some of Svali’s testimonials about Illuminati childhood programming. The feeling that came over me was so intense. There was so much pressure in my gut I felt like puking, my eyes teared, I could barely look at the screen. My thoughts turned to that day when I was 5-6 years old. Something seemed familiar. I went to the bathroom and start dry-heaving. Another part of my brain took over.
“Get the fuck out.” I commanded sternly. “Get the fuck out!” I said it again and again looking out into the hallways. Why was I saying this? Who was I talking to? I dry-heaved again. I was aware of what I was doing but only in a reactionary sense. After just a minute or so of this, everything. . .cleared. I felt easy and loose and free. Colors were more vivid. There was a small feeling of emptiness inside — in a good way — like I had taken a massive, spiritual shit. I started praising God. I wanted to make sure that old space would now be occupied by Jesus. Then, I wept.
It wasn’t a traveler that was in me. I wasn’t posessed. I’m postive of it. It felt more like, lines of code or programming — an “embed” as Koanic called it. Some aspect of my personality and belief structure had been placed from an external source. I don’t know its design or purpose though I suspect it was to make me self-destructive or less impactful in certain ways. Think of the Matrix when they pull the bug from Neo’s gut. “Holy shit! That thing was real?!”
Looking back on all these, I would deduce that the childhood incident was a visit from a neutral, or even positive, female traveler (angel?). She temporarily inhabited the bodies of those girls to seclude and pin me down. I don’t know what she did, how she did it, or in what realm this occured, but my consciousness level was purposfully raised, and other aspects of my personality were altered. Then, for whatever reason, my memory was wiped of whatever happened.
In the second incident, in my weakened state of altered consciousness, I visited the dream realm of mostly nefarious travelers. Was this a guided visit? Did any of the travelers know I was there? Did someone want me there? Don’t know, but they didn’t bother me.
The last one, reading the Illuminati child programming triggered a seriesff of involuntary behaviors within me designed to purge something which was embedded in me.
Where did that embed come from? The travelers I visited in the [Asian country] dream world didn’t take much interest in me, and I never had the sense of being fundamentally changed by that encounter. Perhaps the Indian Mounds traveler had placed the embed in me, but included a time-limit or self-destruct program. Maybe it served a useful purpose, but now it’s time for something different.
There are many similarities between the two stories.
- Melonhead children
- Sexual contact
- A trance
- Extreme difficulty and reticence talking about it
- Later involvement in (Bane) or sensitivity to (Bill) the occult
- A distinction between the neutral or even positive Traveler who first feeds, and a dark world opened thereafter.
Bane met his Travelers in a portable “ziggurat” cube transported by (presumably) human movers. Bill met his by Indian burial mounds, one of which was shaped like a ziggurat base. Both offered tomb-like places for Travelers to rest.
Instant aging. Bill writes: “Bane’s line that it “made me old before my time” really resonated with me. I understood that immediately after the first time, even at just 5-6 years of age.”
One of the most striking similarities is both men’s darkly vivid dreams.
Bill’s [Asian country] dream is similar to the ones Bane records here:
No, I am talking about the thing alien to you, where you dream you are doing something you would never, ever do, even in dreams. Do you have those? Doing a thing, finding yourself right smack dab in the middle of doing something that you would kill yourself before you ever did it, and looking around, and wondering how you got there?
I do not care what you ‘know’, I know for a fact that there is a realm, just above us, that our spirit rises up into sometimes, during sleep. And there are…things, in there. Other dreamers, bustling around on their own business. Echoes of The Dead. And…spirits. Things. Things that run to and fro through the night sky, blood running down their fur, mad saliva dripping down their fangs and gobbering over snarling lips, things with a purpose, and things that do not have your best interests at heart, at all, nope nope nope.
I think I’ve said this before, that if you could spend a night in my sleeping brain, you’d likely claw your own eyes out upon awakening.
As the steam of dreams is wont to do, it slowly burns off as the sun rises, and fades away. But some of it wraiths stealthily off to hide in the dark, moist places, to come back later. It’s not done with you yet…
Early this morning, while still dark, I was in this huge old rotting barn of a house, its walls gleaming with phosphorescent corpse glow, and black mushrooms grew from patches of lichen and rot, and the mushrooms blew wet kisses at me as I passed, and smiled, showing broken, splayed teeth.
The floor was rotten, and a step could send several tiles clattering in their turn, buckling up like shuffled cards, revealing rotted holes beneath them, a fall through which could lead to a drop of several stories.
Figures, gobbets of flesh, actually, and large, began to come out of closets and armoires where they had been hiding. Twisted things, with knobbly arms growing from misshapen shoulders, tipped with claws, and suckers, and covered with warts and boils and suppurating lesions… they wanted to touch me, to taste me. To absorb me. And I sensed their touch would be fatal.
I don’t normally fear, at least not like normal people. Silly shit freaks me out, but if I spot a real monstrous thing, I’m all like ‘Hey! Let’s kill it!’ So when I began to taste fear, real terror, I realized I was dreaming, and my mind took over. Now, when dreaming, and this happens, the hardest thing to do is to stay asleep, and in the dream. So, when I begin to become aware of myself, I quickly interact with the dream environment, to ‘solidify it’, as it were, so it doesn’t vanish like so much smoke.
It was then that I noticed that I was not alone in my dream. There were other dreamers in there with me.
I have noted this phenomenon many times over the years. Dreamers, sometimes conscious astral travelers, some benign, some hostile. The demonic. The angelic. Sometimes the confused remnants of the dead. Sometimes you can interact with them, even engage them in conversation. Most often, the realization that you are real will snap them awake, and they will simply disappear… wink out, as it were. Disconcerting.
I got the sense that the people I was seeing early this morning in my dream were friends, part of a social group, perhaps even living together communally, in a house, or a dorm. They were all young, and they had the look of the Anarchist about them. I don’t think they knew they were dreaming, and I got the sense that this great haunted house I was in wasn’t a simulacrum from my mind, but a creation of one or more of theirs. It felt alien to me. Hostile, even though I’m sure my own mind added a few extra touches.
They were zipping and creeping around like rats, and I got the sense that they really didn’t see me, or at least notice me. I also sensed that whatever picture they presented in the real world, what they kept inside is rotten and nasty. They presented as very feral.
I conjured my .44 magnum, and tried to shoot one of them. The gun would not fire. Typical. Physics are weird in Dreamland. So I went up behind him, picked him up by his shoulders and smashed him into a wall, then threw him out a window. I’d like to think that some little punk, somewhere in town, woke up on the floor, tangled in his sheets, gasping and covered in sweat.
There are Travelers, and then there are ghosts or lesser spirits. Generally, the latter group seem to be simply less powerful, more constrained, less human versions of Travelers.
As far as I know, Travelers are the absolute apex predators on Earth.
- They seek vulnerable or weakened minds.
- They are drawn to psychic intensity.
- They are connected with breath, sex, terror, cold, immobility, sleep / coma induction, and memory suppression or erasure.
- Their power has a local character, although movement is possible.
- They rest at ziggurat, megalith, tomb, geometrical and astronomically aligned, and human sacrifice themed locations or portable objects.
They are attracted to Melonheads & probably Starchildren in a semi-friendly way, for psychic feeding that changes the subject and leaves fragments behind, a connection that lingers for years. These fragments can be expelled by the power of Jesus Christ.
Darkness roils in their wake, geographically and psychologically. Dark dreams and occult sensitivity/attraction follow for the prey.
They have a great deal of nobility and wisdom.
It seems very likely that the same rules that allowed Jesus to overcome demons in the New Testament will apply to modern day encounters between Travelers and humans. These are clearly spiritual beings.
Past and current activity of Travellers
At one time, it’s fair to guess, the Melons of the great pyramid/ziggurat societies reigned in a symbiotic relationship with these dark visitors. Which begs the question, what are they doing today?
Illuminati & Freemasons et al
It would appear the Travelers have not abandoned their penchant for more organized activity. Things like the Illuminati and the Freemasons seem ridiculous at first. Study history a bit, and you realize they probably exerted significant influence in patches. Add in a global, ad hoc, naturally forming Melonhead network, and they become plausible, although not terribly threatening.
However, when you put the Travelers at the top of those networks, they suddenly take on the sort of threatening power that the most obsessed conspiracy lunatics rave about. Trances, ritual programming, even spells are no longer beyond the pale. Rather, they are to be expected.
In fact, for such supernatural entities, hijacking the Melon networks would be the best way to rule the world, for their inscrutable vampiric ends.
In this light, such stories as this one about the Illuminati become harder to ignore. Perhaps our pyramids have not disappeared after all, but only been replaced by more efficient means of occult dissemination and social control.
Bill writes: “Funny enough, we reached the same conclusion about the interplay between these travelers, melons, Ill______ti and so forth. On their own they each don’t seem so bad but if they’re in cohoots, well. . .formidable to say the least. It just explains so much.”
Bane was actually offered (IIRC, details fuzzy) a top level position in the Freemasons by his relative, a 33rd degree mason. All worldly temptation was bound up in that offer.
Hauntings and darkness
Bane writes that the Travelers stir up dark spirituality around them. Apex predators do the same thing, making kills which others scavenge.
I think of this class of beings as bats that lick the sides of a frosted glass, quenching for a moment eons of pain. When your brain is the glass, that may not be fun. One might say that Hellraiser was either a ripoff of them, or they a ripoff of it.
What if their seemingly dwindled numbers and diminished activity today have something to do with solar cycles? What happens when Cthulhu awakes?
In light of all this, I put it to the Melonheads in the audience: What can you tell us about the Travelers?
Sympathy for the devil?
Both Bane and Bill are oddly sympathetic or positive about their initial contact with Travelers. They gained from an intense exchange. Bane goes so far as to claim that killing a single one would be a tragedy. Also, they’re both openly frightened.
Part of making society work is that everyone does their bit policing the relevant type. It’s always your nightmare opponent. Left column is who, right is whom:
Melons -> Travelers
MT’s -> Melons
Cro Mags -> MT’s
TM’s <-> Starchildren
TT’s -> TM’s & Starchildren
As you can see, I’ve separated society into Thal back and Melon / Cro Mag back. The two spirits demand different organizing principles.
But as long as Christian Melons allow Travelers to hold the reigns of the elites, nothing gets done.
Don’t be scared, homie
Although Bill and Bane (RIP) are not exactly gung ho about my plan, others are willing and able. I happen to know a Melon pastor who has cast out plenty of demons (real ones, not the “oh there may or may not be one, let’s pray either way” bs).
I’m not terribly impressed with the Traveller-touched Melons’ fighting spirit so far, but I know that Melons in general have that extra spiritual juice for ghost-busting. When filled with the Holy Spirit, they get the job done.
Gird up your loins, ye Stockholm-syndromed shallow-socket softies. There’s more kinds of fun than comfort and kismet. No point in hunting if it doesn’t bite back. God bled for you, so return the favor.