I met a terrorist once.

It was a rather incongruously beautiful location. The 5am sunrise sparkling off an idyllic bay just south of Auckland.

He was part of the groom’s party at my friend’s wedding and we had just spent the whole night drinking and taking charge pills. (Fair warning: If we ever go drinking, it’s important that you know I can close out Irish weddings.)

Hours had been devoted to talk of fairies, of the hydroponic magic mushroom business he once ran in the attic of a rented house at the foot of the sacred mountain of Tara, of ball tripping overnight inside Newgrange… so we’d bonded, obviously.

That’s when he leaned across the beachside picnic table, took one of my cigarettes, lit it, and told me the story.

He was given the keys to a van, told not to look inside it, and instructed to take it on the ferry to England, drive it to a specified location in central London and leave it. (Having spoken to Irish friends in London, that was how it happened. Even if you weren’t a member, it was very much in yours and your family’s best interest to do what you were told when the IRA came knocking. God help you if you got a rep for being anti-Republican.)

I asked him if anybody had died. He nodded. That was all he said.

The implications of what I had been told only really dawned on me in the weeks that followed. He was long gone and I had left New Zealand soon after.

Here’s the thing… having incidentally associated with a terrorist, I am fully away that making connections between people -making associations- does not automatically imply a conspiracy. (If I’m a terrorist then terrorism as an enterprise has really let itself go.)

And yet… And yet… Consider the nightmarish case of Jimmy Savile. (His older brother appears similarly toxic.) Check this story out:

Above is a picture of Jimmy Savile with the prolific serial killer Peter Sutcliffe—aka the Yorkshire Ripper—and boxer Frank Bruno. Savile, who apparently befriended the necrophiliac murderer Sutcliffe through the his enigmatic “volunteer” work at Broadmoor (a high security psychiatric hospital), is introducing the two men, who appear to be sharing what looks a lot like a Masonic handshake.

What the fuck?

The more I read about Savile (I’ve already written about his probable necrophilia) the weirder it gets. There is something literally legendary about him – to me Savile increasingly looks like some kind of latter-day Gilles de Rais, the profligate aristocrat, pedophile and black magician who rode into battle alongside Joan of Arc and was later convicted for the deaths of over five hundred children.

What might Savile have to do with dead children? We’ll get to that.

Leaving aside the Masonic handshake (although it certainly looks like one), Savile’s boast that he “can get anything” doesn’t sound like spycraft to me… it sounds much, much worse… It sounds like the creepy boasting of a demon clown servant of the elite… Which brings us to Jersey and the photographic evidence of his association with a place notorious for its century of child sexual abuse and possible ritual murder.

Jersey

I’m just going to borrow this description from a longer article listing Jersey’s pervasive and long-running creepiness.

Measuring only 9 miles by 5 miles and with a population of about 90,000, the tiny Jersey Island has been the center of an investigation into child abuse, torture and murder which exposes the island’s connection to a global conspiracy of satanic ritual abuse and coverup.

Since Napoleonic times Jersey has been one of the world’s centers for dirty money. It has 55 banks, over 33,000 registered companies and more than $300 billion deposited in the Island at any one time. Much of the money comes from the world’s ruling elite, mafias and intelligence agencies. They put their money in Jersey for the anonymity and low tax rate.

Basically it’s a Mason-friendly, isolated tax shelter run by tight-lipped inbreds operating a completely unaccountable medieval system that ultimately reports into global geopolitics’s wiliest octogenarian.

Here’s a really rubbishy indy documentary about its ickiness and long history of child sexual abuse on the island. Watch out for the statue of a small boy fellating an erect penis in somebody’s front garden a mile from Haut de la Garenne. Then check out the statue of a terrifying horned god with an erect phallus in the centre of a creepy pond and tell me what your wizard eyes see. (The documentary is embedded because the refusal of basically all the islanders to speak out against their medieval overlords is telling. Otherwise it is quite awful.)

Wild speculation

We swim in some strange, unverified waters here. But I make no apologies for that. You need only reach out with your wizard sense to see that there is something really rotten here… something really dark.

The so-called ‘satanic panic’ in the US during the 80s was based on spurious regression therapy and CIA psyops. It relied on preposterous notions such as a network of incubators and surrogates breeding hundreds of thousands of kids a year solely to feed nightly rituals. This isn’t that… this is some alarming circumstantial evidence implicating extremely powerful men in almost a century of children’s testimony of rape and disappearance.

According to a newspaper that was suddenly closed by a billionaire tyrant when his cronies got caught hacking the phones of dead children, kids in the Haut de la Garenne home were sold or rented as sex slaves… some were even ritualistically murdered.

“The latest revelations are explosive. It is going to cause massive waves within the political and legal world and could bring the whole of Jersey’s infrastructure crashing down.” One of the most serious lines of inquiry in the investigation is that children were regularly loaned to wealthy yachtsmen to “do with them what they chose for the day,” according to our source close to the investigation.

Haut de la Garenne staff described the trips as a treat for children who spent long hours cooped up at the home. But in reality the kids were subjected to the vilest sexual abuse on board the luxury boats. Our source said: “The allegations about the yachting community have come in from a number of different people. It is a very strong line of inquiry and when the evidence is made public people will be horrified.” Meanwhile about a dozen bones found at the home have been sent to a DNA lab to find out how old they are —yet some bone fragments were too burnt to be tested.

Too far? Maybe. But there are a growing number of small, corroborating voices. And the official investigation was an absolute, unmitigated, whitewash that would put NIST to shame. (Just imagine how much tax the ruling elites would have to pay if Jersey’s corrupt oligarchy were to collapse.)

[Officer Harper’s] most significant problem was recognising the limits of his power. Jerseymen trace their ancestry back to the medieval Dukedom of Normandy and a feudal culture survives. The island is divided into 12 parishes, each governed by a connétable or head constable, who between them raise a private volunteer police force, the Honorary Constabulary. It might sound like a toytown operation, but these so-called “hobby bobbies” form a network of neighbours, friends and relatives licensed to arrest and charge fellow islanders through powers vested in them by the 500-year-old States Assembly.

The assembly – made up of the connétables, their deputies and 12 elected senators, many of them multimillionaires – is supervised by the bailiff, Jersey’s highest officer, who is appointed by the Queen, while the task of upholding the law and keeping the hobby bobbies in check falls to the attorney general. These two key posts are currently held by brothers, Sir Philip and William Bailhache, members of one of the oldest and most powerful families on Jersey. At the bottom of the heap are the 240 officers of the States of Jersey Police, imposed on the island in the 50s but even today requiring attorney general Bailhache’s approval to charge anyone with anything more serious than a traffic citation.

It was a system that frustrated newcomer Lenny Harper, until he found an ally inside the attorney general’s office. This was a mainlander who similarly mistrusted the Jersey Way and told Harper of a “web of child abusers” who he claimed all knew each other. He also alleged the attorney general’s office appeared reluctant to prosecute. When we put this to William Bailhache, he replied that Harper had repeatedly suggested his office was “soft” on child abuse – this is untrue, he says, and so is the suggestion that he was reluctant to prosecute. “I have signed many indictments for people charged with child abuse offences, some of them historic. Several cases have resulted in substantial sentences of imprisonment.”…

In early 2007, convinced there was a broad network of abusers operating on the island and mindful of Jersey’s steadfast refusal to introduce a sex offenders’ register, Harper began reviewing statements made by Sea Cadets who had alleged abuse. He discovered that many had been in care, especially in Haut de la Garenne.

If you were going to keep a prison of forgotten children available to the extremely wealthy ruling classes for sex and murder… This exactly how you would do it. And if that were the case, what kind of evidence would you seriously expect to receive endorsement through official channels, especially if the island’s oligarchy and possibly even a prime minister were involved? Kinda reminds me of one of my favourite Cancer Man lines from the X-Files:

Don’t try and threaten me, Mulder, I’ve watched presidents die.

Which brings us to David Icke. Here’s his own… unique… take on Savile and the child sex ring.

But Jimmy Savile’s connections were certainly not confined to the royal family. They fanned out into the realms of politics and the rich and famous across the spectrum of human society. In short, he was not only a paedophile himself, but a supplier of children for some of the most famous paedophiles and Satanists on the planet.

…

One of Savile’s nephews, Guy Marsden, now 59, has said publicly this week that he and his friends were taken to parties by his uncle in the late 1960s to ‘act as intermediaries for adults and younger children’. He said that the parties were attended by ‘household names’ in showbusiness, but only men – never women.

More than a hundred people came forward claiming to have been sexually and violently abused at the Jersey home and Lenny Harper has confirmed that Jimmy Savile’s name came up early in his investigation but with not enough evidence to charge him at the time. Savile denied any knowledge of ever being at the home, but a picture emerged of him at the home to show that he was lying.

Highly significantly, the name of Edward Heath, the British Prime Minister between 1970 and 1974, has also emerged in relation to abuse at Haut de la Garenne and to Jimmy Savile. I named Heath as a serial child abuser and killer and practicing Satanist in The Biggest Secret seven years before he died in 2005.

A local newspaper reporter, or an excuse for one, contacted Heath when the book was published in 1998 and read him the passage. He replied with the usual ‘Icke is crazy’ response and did nothing else. The reporter, a Charlotte Hofton, condemned me for attacking a ‘nice old man’.

I had spoken to many people who said they had been abused by Heath and witnessed his sexual abuses and satanic child murders, while I was told about Savile by those who knew from having access to the ‘inside’. I was therefore confident enough, with direct contract with the abused themselves, to name Heath in the book and defend any libel action. But that never came because what I said was true.

Savile had many close and intimate contacts in British politics and he boasted that he spent Christmas with Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher and her husband Dennis every year for a decade. (Sidebar: Ask me again why I’m re-reading The Invisibles.) Thatcher replaced Heath as leader of the Conservative Party and many of her government ministers were paedophiles.

Edward Heath and Lord Mountbatten, who first introduced Savile to the royal family, have also been connected by some researchers to the Kincora Boys Home in Belfast, Northern Ireland, the centre of another paedophile ring scandal that broke in 1980. It was clear that the authorities knew what was going on for years before that, but did nothing.

…

Tony Blair is reported to have blocked the exposure of famous names in law, business and politics, including some in his own cabinet, during the police investigation into paedophile Internet activity known as Operation Ore, which came out of the FBI investigation in the United States called Operation Avalanche. Neither convicted any of the big fish – as usual.

The figures in Operation Ore were enormous: 7,250 suspects identified, 4,283 homes searched, 3,744 arrests, 1,848 charged, 1,451 convictions, 493 cautioned; 140 children removed from suspected dangerous situations. But still no major names in the paedophile-infested elite levels of society. Operation Avalanche in the US produced 35,000 Internet records, but only 100 charges.

If you live outside the UK you may be unfamiliar with the phenomenon that is David Icke. Basically, he was a professional footballer whose career ended due to injury, then he was a broadcast sports reporter, then he had a spiritual experience in South America and… according to most of the country… went spectacularly insane. And he’s been peddling his own version of insanity for the last twenty five years.

But this is a magic blog. If he’s insane then so are we. All the man is trying to do is the same thing we are all trying to do… build a worldview around an experience that can’t ever be properly communicated. To say the least, his worldview is not my own, but in the way of so many recalcitrant mystics, he’s ended up being kinda right about a number of things. (He was certainly right about Savile!) And, regardless, I will always have a soft spot for the weird, outdated and abandoned.

If you care, here’s a sympathetic documentary about his life and work. (It’s orders of magnitude better than the documentary above.)

Elsewhere on YouTube you will find videos of Icke saying his own island’s council is also shot through with Masonic paedophile satanists. Because that’s what they look like to him. That’s his tunnel.

For all I know, he may be right, but to me the whole sordid tale looks like this.

That being said, after Spain I no longer immediately assume that the elite are unaware of where their power comes. I’ve been around famous people, important people, rich people… I’ve met knights and lords, I’ve been to the same parties as royalty, I’ve had billionaire media barons buy me champagne and touch me weirdly on the leg. None of them gave me the sense that they were knowing, willing agents of Archons. As such, I stuck to the much more palatable idea that this is simply a convenient, ‘mythic’ way of understanding power disparity from further down the ladder. (Much further down the ladder.)

But it seems to me high profile is not the same thing as Powerful. At least one of those East Coast blue bloods at the conference very much did know the source of his power. He had willingly entered into the Pact. To my wizard eyes his solar plexus opened up like a stinking, dripping anemone. Twenty minutes later I had left the gala and was back in my hotel room throwing up. It was my very own King of All Tears encounter. Weeks later and it still scares me. So now I’m slower to dismiss the idea of a conscious alliance out of hand.

And because it is the season, after all, let’s end this tale in a graveyard. You may be aware that Savile’s tombstone was recently removed. You may not be aware that he was originally buried in a sealed, thick metal casket. Ostensibly this was to prevent grave robbers from looting the tacky, absurd gold jewellery he always wore.

I will point out, however, that this is also precisely how you dispose of a demon that breaks its leash.

Happy fucking Halloween, kids.