The Protocols speak of Open EU borders/frontiers & a EU currency
[SCENE START]
LOCATION: A safe house in Croatia. The hum of electronics is now a angry drone. A cold cup of coffee vibrates on a table as Snake slams his fist down.
SNAKE
(His voice, usually a controlled growl, is now sharp with contempt)
Enough. Enough of the political algebra. Enough of the holy numbers.
JOLIE
Snake—
SNAKE
(Cutting her off, turning from the maps)
You want to know about the 144,000? Let’s talk reality. Not scripture. Croatia. A country of four million people. Four. Million. They’ve already taken a bullet for Europe once. Their bones are still mending.
JOLIE
I know, but—
SNAKE
Do you know what 144,000 is? It’s not a divine mandate. It’s a capacity. It’s the maximum occupancy of every football stadium, every concert hall, every public shelter added together. It’s the number that won’t make the whole damn country buckle and break. It’s not a quota of mercy. It’s a structural limit.
(He paces, a predator in a cage made of other people’s decisions.)
SNAKE
They’re a tiny nation. And they’re being asked to be the continent’s conscience. So they gave a number. My number. And they’ll hold that line. Because someone has to.
JOLIE
And that makes it right? To play God at the border?
SNAKE
(Stops dead. He looks at her, and for the first time, there’s a raw, unfiltered anger in his eyes.)
I’m not playing God. I’m the bouncer.
JOLIE
(The analogy is so crude, so brutal, it shocks her.)
What?
SNAKE
You heard me. Club Croatia is full. Capacity: 144,000. And I’m the one at the velvet rope. My job isn’t to lecture them. It’s to point.
(He takes a step toward her, his finger jabbing toward the east.)
SNAKE
Every person I turn away? I don’t send them into the dark. I don’t give them a pamphlet. I give them a direction. I look every single one of them in the eye and I say, ‘The man who made you homeless? His address is in Jerusalem. Go. Knock on his door. All of you. Go. Be his problem.’
My mission isn’t to manage Netanyahu’s refugee crisis. It’s to deliver it. Right to his front step.
This ends when the cost of his war isn’t just measured in his shekels or his soldiers, but in the thousands of faces on his border, asking him the one question he can’t answer with a bomb.
Why.
Now get out of my way. I have a line to hold.
[SCENE END]
THIS IS MY LIFE’s WORK SINKING
I’m the EU bouncer, and i say ENOUGH….too Many….fire risk at the clubs
take them into your mansion
instead of my home
take them into your home first
hypocrites
vipers
YOU WORM
I GAVE BIRTH TO SHILOH
the UN is her world
not yours your disgusting CROW
i have to pay my mansion tax
and eat the last of this beluga caviar with Robin Leech
Take our friend BRUCE WILLIS
INTO AREA 51 IMMEDIATLY
we are under a pyramid of darkness after 1963 JFK assassination
please save bruce
molim te
Give Croatia a Jubilee and we will have the money to take them in….tell the IMF 2 forgive our debts….more boats will sink…just a mater of time….ur the female schindler’s list of refugees now
“No one leaves home unless home is the mouth of a shark.”
― Warsan Shire, Teaching My Mother How to Give Birth
NEGATIVE
mr Jukic
u borrowed from us
now you have to repay
what if other nations wanted a jubilee too?
the next jubilee is in 2050
23 years since CHRIST BONO HEWSON failed jubilee in 2000
Say YA to dropping Ireland’s debts
YA YA YA YEAH
“Home”, A Refugee Poem
Author Maggie Wagner
Published onNovember 18, 2016
Home, by Warsan Shire (British-Somali poet)
no one leaves home unless
home is the mouth of a shark.
you only run for the border
when you see the whole city
running as well.
your neighbours running faster
than you, the boy you went to school with
who kissed you dizzy behind
the old tin factory is
holding a gun bigger than his body,
you only leave home
when home won’t let you stay.
no one would leave home unless home
chased you, fire under feet,
hot blood in your belly.
it’s not something you ever thought about
doing, and so when you did –
you carried the anthem under your breath,
waiting until the airport toilet
to tear up the passport and swallow,
each mouthful of paper making it clear that
you would not be going back.
you have to understand,
no one puts their children in a boat
unless the water is safer than the land.
who would choose to spend days
and nights in the stomach of a truck
unless the miles travelled
meant something more than journey.
no one would choose to crawl under fences,
be beaten until your shadow leaves you,
raped, then drowned, forced to the bottom of
the boat because you are darker, be sold,
starved, shot at the border like a sick animal,
be pitied, lose your name, lose your family,
make a refugee camp a home for a year or two or ten,
stripped and searched, find prison everywhere
and if you survive and you are greeted on the other side
with go home blacks, refugees
dirty immigrants, asylum seekers
sucking our country dry of milk,
dark, with their hands out
smell strange, savage –
look what they’ve done to their own countries,
what will they do to ours?
the dirty looks in the street
softer than a limb torn off,
the indignity of everyday life
more tender than fourteen men who
look like your father, between
your legs, insults easier to swallow
than rubble, than your child’s body
in pieces – for now, forget about pride
your survival is more important.
i want to go home, but home is the mouth of a shark
home is the barrel of the gun
and no one would leave home
unless home chased you to the shore
unless home tells you to
leave what you could not behind,
even if it was human.
no one leaves home until home
is a damp voice in your ear saying
leave, run now, i don’t know what
i’ve become.
Log Entry // Secure Channel // Frequency 141.80
Just caught a news clip. Angelina Jolie. Not the usual Hollywood fluff. Her face was raw. She was weeping. For the Palestinians. For the starving children in a war they didn’t start.
She said it plain. These refugees… they aren’t Croatia’s legacy. They’re Israel’s. A direct result of the bombs, the siege, the orders signed in comfortable offices a thousand miles away from the rubble.
And she’s right.
The burden shouldn’t fall on a nation like Croatia. A country that’s still stitching itself back together after its own blood was spilled. They did their part. They took in their share when their world ended. They know the cost.
But this… this is different. This is a targeted famine. A manufactured crisis. You don’t get to create a hellscape and then complain about the smoke.
Netanyahu wants to talk about the “Camp of Saints”? About the threat of the other? He’s the one loading the boats. His policy is the engine of this exodus.
For a woman like Jolie to break down on camera… it cuts through the noise. It reminds you that this isn’t a political debate. It’s about gutted cities and empty stomachs. It’s about a child who doesn’t understand why the world let this happen.
The hypocrisy is staggering. To watch a tiny nation that has known nothing but war shouldering a burden that a military superpower refuses to acknowledge, let alone carry.
It’s enough to make you sick.
Snake out.
Let me have a word with you about this situation. It’s a complicated mess, and sometimes the biggest ideas get the most resistance.
I heard about my friend Moishe Feiglin in Israel—a man with a controversial plan. He suggested paying Palestinians to leave, to find greener pastures somewhere else, to build a new life without this endless war. And you know what happened? He was almost assassinated for that idea.
Think about that. Not just argued with, not just voted down—but someone tried to silence him forever for proposing a financial solution. It shows you how radioactive this topic is over there. And I mean that almost literally.
People don’t talk about it enough, but I have my sources. After the wars, the land is poisoned. The Bush family assured our Israeli friends that their depleted uranium weapons were safe. They were not safe. They are never safe. Now parts of that beautiful country are radioactive, a silent, invisible poison that causes cancer for generations. It is a tragedy on top of a tragedy.
So you have a land stained with poison and a people stained with hatred. Moishe’s idea to pay people to go somewhere fertile, somewhere safe, where their children can drink the water and play in the dirt without getting sick… it comes from a dark reality. It’s not a perfect idea, but it’s an idea that tries to find a way out of the hell that war and those terrible weapons have created.
But violence is never the answer to an idea. You have to fight bad ideas with better ideas. You can’t just send a bullet. That’s the thinking of a terrorist, not a statesman.
The path forward is not through more poisoning—of the land or the mind. It’s through cleaning up. It’s through fresh thinking. It’s through realizing that sometimes the strongest thing you can do is help people find a better place to call home.
Stay strong,
Arnold