For nearly a decade, I’ve watched a grand performance unfold. The carefully choreographed theater of control. It is not a sudden collapse of reason but a calculated act, a relentless drama that erodes the collective consciousness scene by scene. The audience, enraptured, sits comfortably in their seats, oblivious to the scriptwriters pulling the strings from behind the curtains. Most people remain blissfully unaware, trapped in the velvet embrace of the spectacle, their minds lulled by the comforting cadence of lies. It’s not their fault. Humans are pattern-seekers, drawn to familiarity like moths to flame. When the familiar whispers comfort and the truth screams rebellion, most choose the quiet lullaby of falsehood.

Fear is the star of this production, the sharpest tool in the director’s kit. It doesn’t need to storm the stage; it seeps into the wings, wraps itself around the spotlight, and whispers in the ears of the cast and audience alike. COVID was its masterclass performance. Fear was injected directly into the veins of the public through a relentless stream of images, headlines, and solemn-faced anchors. Refrigerated trucks were parked outside hospitals, their presence announced with grim solemnity. The audience gasped, clutching their pearls, unaware these trucks were simply props - a mundane CDC protocol rebranded as a harbinger of doom. The trucks weren’t the lie. The narrative was. It wasn’t the scene that deceived - it was the story it told.

This play is an old one, rewritten for modern audiences. The CIA, the producers of this long-running show, have honed the art of psychological warfare into an Oscar-worthy performance. They don’t use guns or threats. They shape reality until people beg to believe the unbelievable. After 9/11, they sold us invisible WMDs and “freedom fries,” and we applauded. We cheered as trillions vanished into the coffers of Halliburton, a magician’s trick executed in plain sight. It wasn’t about freedom or justice. It was about oil, contracts, and feeding the war machine its next meal.

The Afghanistan act was no different - just a new stage and a slightly tweaked script. Before the U.S. arrived, Afghan opium was a bit player in the global market. Afterward, it became the lead, dominating the stage and flooding American streets with its poison. Soldiers weren’t fighting for freedom. They were guarding poppy fields for Johnson & Johnson, ensuring a steady supply of addiction for the audience back home. It’s grotesque symmetry, isn’t it? A nation burying its sons abroad and its citizens in addiction, all to keep the show running. The troop withdrawal wasn’t the final curtain call. It was the end of a business deal. The courts clipped Johnson & Johnson’s wings just as the boots left the ground. Coincidence? Hardly. This is the choreography of control.

Now, the curtain rises on Ukraine. Beneath the surface of the story - sovereignty, patriotism, democracy - is a goldmine of lithium, graphine oxide, and fertile soil, coveted by companies like BlackRock, already securing contracts for the reconstruction act. Six hundred thousand lives lost, and the ink on those contracts is barely dry. It’s a blood-soaked ledger, maintained by the same Washington insiders who ensure the cycle continues. This isn’t a war for freedom. It’s another act in the capitalist tragedy, a well-rehearsed script of profit over humanity.

Back home, the playbook is no less ruthless. Donald Trump, love him or hate him, has been the perfect antagonist for the establishment’s drama. From Russiagate to impeachments, from Mar-a-Lago raids to the January 6 narrative, the efforts to discredit him have been relentless and hollow. Hunter Biden’s laptop was dismissed as conspiracy until it wasn’t. The Stormy Daniels and Jean Carroll cases were riddled with plot holes, yet the stories persisted. Will people ever realize its been nothing but lies the past 8 years on Trump? It’s not about truth. It’s about noise. It’s about drowning dissent in a cacophony of scandal and distraction, ensuring the audience never looks beyond the stage.

But this isn’t a new production. History is full of this madness, rerun endlessly. The family unit, the bedrock of culture, is always the first target. Once fractured, the rest is easy. Neighbors become enemies. Communities dissolve. Chaos creeps in to fill the vacuum. This is what the directors want. Not unity. Not truth. They want division, confusion, and desperation. And who are they? The puppet masters. The elites who have spent decades gorging on unchecked power and influence, tightening their grip on the strings that control this entire macabre performance.

These patterns aren’t coincidences. They are ancient plays. Its been repackaged again for a digital audience this time. The goal? Same as it has always been... Dismantle the family. Erode societal norms. Replace them with chaos masquerading as progress. The Bolsheviks did it, until the curtain fell on them, ending their act with firing squads and labor camps. The Weimar Republic followed the same script, and we know how that ended. So, now... here we are. The U.S. dances to the same tune, a new orchestra playing the same melody. The instruments may have changed, but the rhythm remains the same.

I’ve tried to wake people up. Man have I tried... I’ve thrown facts like bricks at their fortified ignorance, hoping to crack the walls. I’ve shined lights on their contradictions, only to be branded crazy. Some cut ties altogether, unwilling to face the mirror I held up. The truth is uncomfortable, and betrayal is the wrecking ball that most refuse to swing.

But betrayal is the great awakener. When people experience it firsthand, the cracks in the narrative widen. With the rampant corruption, evil networks amongst its ranks, and insidious acts carried out on the people - it's only a matter of time before the lies unravel. But how deep do the lies really go? Reality rushes in like cold air through a broken window. It’s painful. It’s uncomfortable. But it’s also transformative. Once you see the machine behind the curtains, you can’t unsee it.

For those of us who see it, the fight can be exhausting at times. Even becoming laughable due to the futility of it all. But can one person make a difference in the world? The answer is yes. You may not be able to make waves in the ocean but if you keep jumping in puddles you never know who you may splash with that truth. That truth now a mud on the people you splashed - becomes a story as it spreads. The story that splashed caused now an echo as it continues to be told. 1 by 1 the truth has been released.

The double-edged sword of truth - it frees you, but it in a way, it isolates you as well. The programmed masses cling to their chains holding them in their seat because freedom requires effort. The majority are inherently lazy and its easier for the masses to let the puppet masters pull the strings so they can just enjoy the show. Truth, however, cannot be suppressed forever. It erodes lies like water on stone. Slowly, inevitably leaving small forming puddles behind.

The question isn’t if the system will collapse. It’s when. And when it does, will we be ready to build something better? Or will we simply replace one set of masters with another?

I don’t know the answer. What I do know is this: the fight for truth is messy and chaotic, but it’s the only pursuit worthwhile. The alternative, living in a meticulously constructed lie, is no life at all. The truth is uncomfortable, but it’s real. And in a world built on falsehoods, that makes it priceless.

What side do you think you're on? Are you the one questioning the script, challenging the director, and pulling back the curtain? Or are you the audience, entranced by the performance, oblivious as the world behind the curtain falls to ruin? So ask yourself, what am I afraid of? That’s your answer.

Time is running out, and the show is approaching its end. Will you stand and play your part, taking a bow as a participant? Or will you remain seated, absorbed in the spectacle, content to applaud as the curtain falls? The decision is yours, but the clock is ticking.