Please take seriously the severity of this existential threat to everything free people hold dear. Do everything in your power to pass this report on to others and to find ways to communicate with and to influence people to stop empowering WHO to take over our...
The Elon-12 Chronicles, No. 1
The Elon-12 Chronicles, No. 1:
“Good Job, X-i-41520-Y10”
The dream was interminable. He was at the local annex of the science museum with many others like himself taking the test that showed his interests so that he might be better served, and it was so confusing. The questions made no sense, and the purpose was lost on him, and he knew it was a dream, a kind of nightmare, but not so much frightening as numbing. When the test was done—he automatically knew when it was done—he took his palm off the reader, tapped the finish button three times, put his palm down on the reader again, and the screen said, “Good job, X-i-41520-Y10.” He forgot for a moment what the power of 10 was doing there on the end of his ID…and then he remembered it had once said “MD” at the end of his name until it was the last thing no longer necessary. They said it wasn’t really his name anyway but just an ID…but that was neither here nor there and his name…well…he didn’t dare try to remember it.
It was exhausting to be in a dream or nightmare like this. It had something to do with his being retired…a retired physician…a real medical doctor with no means of livelihood except living on The Wage for All. Instead of “seeing a doctor,” now you simply went to the clinic, put your palm on the reader, were diagnosed presumably, it was never clear, received your painless treatment by hi-speed infusion, or other means, and left. There were no physicians…no people…in his nightmare.
In real life, it’s not like the patients couldn’t talk with anyone. You could press a button to talk to a technician, but it didn’t work out very well. He had heard that some of his former colleagues still worked for World Health Organization, WHO, and he wondered about that.
He tried to wake up, but he couldn’t. Something pulled on him and, if he resisted, the force field would pull him out of his skin, leave him naked like a medical school training video of his body with no skin—his skin hanging limp on a hook on a wall. It was so real, such vivid, glowing reds and dark blues of his naked blood vessels… And this was not something he saw on the screen—it was in his own imagination.
And he was back in the nightmare again. Now he was at the weekly Free Association Station. Again he put his palm down on the reader and thought, as he was supposed to think, inside his head without speaking, “X-i-41520-Y.” Before he realized his mistake, he felt that little inkling in the back of his brain that warned “doom is coming.” Quickly, he made himself think for the auditor, “I’ll do better. I’m X-i-41520-Y10. Will I be punished?” The answer was a relief, “No, the error is forgiven, but never again forget your power.”
Ignoring with all his might that he had no idea what the voice meant, he did know he was now supposed to begin the task of free-associating for the inner auditor: “Blue, green, plant, growing, soil, fertilizer, water, spout, hose, spray, sky, wonderment…” As he thought that weird association, “wonderment,” he knew what was coming next. “I’m sorry,” he thought almost aloud, another mistake, and that jolt of “doom” made him want to die. Right there, on the spot, die.
“May I go to the doctor?” he begged, hoping that would work, and because it was a nightmare or more nearly a dream, the answer was, “You’ve been there once already today, so that’s fine. We thank you for your compliance.”
That wasn’t so bad.
He tried to wake up. He sat up on his pad and felt that awful drawing on his body, a force pulling him out of his skin…
He remembered hearing the rumors they were putting things into our bodies, but he was a scientist at heart, and he knew it was absurd. Some had whispered that it was no longer safe…that the newest ones were not really vaccinations…and then—he had hardly noticed—they stopped whispering. It was a relief at the time not to hear the whispers…and science was not allowed.
He decided to listen to music, and it worked. The screen came up beautiful and lovely with soft music so indistinct it could hardly be heard. It took all his attention to lie still while he drifted back to sleep.
He remembered his dream of being a physician, and he remembered seeing his profession disappear. It was finalized when the FDA, NIH, DEA, and CDC had been combined into WHO America and then simply WHO. It made him want to cry… It was odd…
He was now 50 years old, and he had been retired at 45, which seemed like a mere few years after finishing his training. He had gone into medicine to use his intelligence to help people, and when that hope seemed to be fading, he hung on to the idea his profession would at least remain one of the last remaining “essential” occupations.
Now he was genuinely awake.
He sat up in bed. The screen seemed so bright he could not think for himself, and he fought to remember that first day, not long after he had started medical school. He and his fellow students had been among the first to receive the new miracle technology, the screen, Elon-12, inside his head—the fusion of brain and AI—that each individual would always be allowed to control…
He still did not know if he were in a dream or a nightmare or completely awake and conscious. He struggled to stop talking about himself in the abstract as “he.”
Clarity! “He” wants to talk with you directly.
I want to talk with you directly:
I’m trying, I’m sorry, the screen, the feeling in the back of my head….I apologize for not resisting when it was… I beg you to send my broken message everywhere… please, please, please send it everywhere.
To be continued.
Disclaimer: The information contained in this website is for educational, general information, and entertainment purposes only and is never intended to constitute medical or legal advice or to replace the personalized care of a primary care practitioner or legal expert.
While we endeavor to keep this information up to date and correct, the information provided by America Out Loud, its website(s), and any properties (including its radio shows and podcasts) makes no representations, or warranties of any kind, expressed, or implied, about the completeness, accuracy, reliability, suitability, or availability with respect to its website(s) or the information, products, services or related graphics and images contained on the website(s) for any purpose.
The opinions expressed on the website(s), and the opinions expressed on the radio shows and podcasts, are the opinions of the show hosts and do not necessarily represent the opinions, beliefs, or policies of anyone or any entity we may endorse. Any reliance you place on such information is therefore strictly at your own risk.
At no time, nor in any event, will we be liable for any loss, or damage, including without limitation, indirect or consequential loss of data or profits arising out of, in an association of, or connection with the use of this website.
Through this website, users can link to other websites that may be listed. Those websites are not under the control of America Out Loud or its brands. We have no control over the nature, content, or availability of those sites. America Out Loud has no control over what the sites do with the information they collect. The inclusion of any links does not necessarily imply a recommendation, nor does it endorse the views expressed with or by them.
Every effort is made to keep the website up and running smoothly. However, America Out Loud takes no responsibility for, nor are we, and will not be liable for being temporarily unavailable due to technical difficulties beyond our control. America Out Loud does not sell, trade, nor market email addresses or other personal data.