About Eeyore

Canadian artist and counter-jihad and freedom of speech activist as well as devout Schrödinger's catholic

8 Replies to “Eric Clapton speaks to his experience with the mRNA shot but also his thoughts on the coercion to take it.”

  1. Aren’t we happy we didn’t fall in the Jab Trap?
    That said, our younger generation fell into the trap, they mocked and ignored us, but they will need more jabs.
    Disabled people are easy to control.
    One World Order.

  2. The old bull sat still, finally, on the hot parched ground in the middle of the arena. The dust had not yet settled. It hung suspended in the air, mixing with a collective bated breath and the excited cacophony of death. He looked around. Some of the crowd cheered wildly. Some people held their hands to their mouths. They were stacked high in their seats to the top of the theater. He had given his all, almost. The matador stood off ten meters away, studying him, but enjoying the frenzied adulation of the many.

    The two swords between his shoulder blades hurt. He felt his blood running down over his body, but knew there was not enough blood to fool the matador. He felt a tingling sensation in his legs from the sword damage to his nerves. How cruel these humans were, he thought. Infinitely so.

    The matador then began to move around, slowly, assessing the bull for the danger that remained in him. The bull now understood everything. There would be no mercy shown. He felt supremely alone, and yet was not as afraid as when he had first entered the ring. Gone was the unknown. Gone was the anticipation. Now was the moment of truth, and the truth would be known.

    The bull thought about the wonderful life he had. He had been free to live and love, and free to think all he had wanted to think. Inside his head he remained free despite all that had happened, and despite the blood thirst of these people raining down upon him their uniform will for his end.

    His breath became laboured. This was the sign the matador had been waiting for. Heavy exhalations. He saw an opportunity to finish the contest. He approached slowly from behind the animal. Yes, for the matador the bull always went from being a noble beast worthy of his respect, almost personified in competition, to yet another animal to be killed for the greater glory of all. He drew his final sword, coming closer until he was right over the bull. He raised both arms high in the air and took aim on the aorta. He would thrust down with all his strength.

    It was then that the bull swung his massive neck and head so quickly and violently that the matador stood no chance, at all. The left horn sunk deeply into the man’s stomach, goring him fatally. The bull shook the body, which was dressed in lovely ceremonial red with gold trim, the face its eyes bulging with shock and disbelief, like a doll twice until it fell dead to dirt. The audience went silent. It didn’t know to say. It didn’t know what came next. It didn’t know what to do. It was as if the bull had gored each of them individually.

    He looked at the fallen matador, up to the audience, then up to the sky. He inhaled deeply and took stock. His trick with the heavy breath had worked. He was not terribly injured. He would sit here all day if necessary. In the hot blue sky above he noticed a single dark cloud floating closer. Suddenly he got an idea. He prayed for rain–a torrent of rain and lightening that would scatter the crowd and ruin the show. If there was a god, he thought, there would be rain.

    In the pasture of the bull’s sovereign mind there were no fences.

    • Hah!
      Matador falls for Bull’s stratagem!
      The audience response of feeling gored ‘individually’ was especially satisfying.

      No matter what, the butchers are going carve up this magnificent creature and distribute him as meat to the poor.
      That is his destiny.

      We are either pets (“noble beasts”) or livestock to TPTB.
      That’s it. And we have limited control over the transition.

      We’ve got to get out of the pen altogether: mind and body and soul. Survival depends on shaking off passivity before it’s too late.

      Then we build the fences, we design our own excellent walls.
      That is our destiny, till:

      The wolf and the lamb shall feed together, and the lion shall eat straw like the bullock…

    • Here’s another allegory:

      There was once a very wealthy and well-connected gent who lived in a very fine mansion on the highest hill of the town.

      Everything was fine in his world, except one thing.

      When he went for his morning stroll about town, showing off his latest expensive clothes and shoes, he had to pass by a rather rundown property which was guarded by a big and ferocious looking dog. And the wealthy man didn’t like that dog, and asked the city legislature to pass a law banning the dog from the town.

      Not that the dog was threatening the fine gentleman – in fact, the dog was not even aware of the man until the man started to throw stones at the dog every morning as he passed his yard.

      Shoo! Get away from the fence, the man would say as he passed every morning. I don’t like that dog and I want it gone.

      And he would bang his expensive walking cane against the high iron fence as he passed by, making the dog bark even louder.

      Soon the dog was barking and snarling loudly at the man every morning. See, I told you he was a mad dog, said the man to his friends and the city officials.

      One day the man threw a bait over fence as he passed by and the dog got very sick, and the dog knew why he felt sick, and barked even harder and louder at the man every morning.

      That dog is becoming too aggressive, the man complained to the authorities – he will do someone harm if you allow him to stay in town. He has to go.

      One day as the man was passing the yard with the tormented dog, he saw a fire hose lying on the pavement – I’ll teach him a lesson, the man thought, and turned the fire hose on the snapping dog, squirting water right down his throat.


      That was the red light going on in the dog’s eyes.

      And with one mighty bound the tormented dog leaped the high fence, barreled into the man, knocked him to the ground and ripped out his screaming throat.

  3. I was at your concert at the University of Lancaster in late 70s (probably 1979 I think).
    I didn’t expect someone at your level of fame would have little idea on the vaccine.
    AstraZeneca uses the Adenovirus, a flu virus, but the DNA is replaced with the genetically engineered one, that will produce the mRNA for the spike protein once injected into the body.
    The spike protein can cross the blood-brain barrier, and I am afraid this may affect your highly talented brain function as a musician. I hope it won’t.
    Wish you well.

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