It is one of the strangest ideas to emerge from the Apocalypse Code transcription, a plot level narrative that seems ridiculous on its face: Could the Illuminati really be shapeshifting reptilians?
British conspiracy guru David Icke has made a world-wide splash by accusing everyone from Queen Elizabeth II to Al Gore to Kris Kristofferson (!) of being lizard people who engage in ritual murder and blood-drinking. They require fresh sacrifices to maintain human form, so goes the story. With a straight face Icke posits that these elite rulers are in the process of enslaving us all, ultimately leading to a fascist New World Order that will require us to have microchip implants, presumably so the reptilians can more easily control their food supply.
Upon hearing this theory, you are likely to have one of two reactions. The vast majority will laugh, assuming that Icke just smoked too much weed while watching the old V television series. The second, minority opinion is held by the paranoid ranks of True Believers that buy his books and tremble at the thought of the NWO.
Reasonable people with open minds find it difficult to deal with this material. The subject is hopelessly polarized. Believing it seems to be an insane choice. How can you accept the idea that George Bush is right now slurping up the blood of children with his crocodile tongue? And on the flip side, if you refuse to accept the theory, then of course this is “proof” that you are brainwashed into submission and ready to be served up at the next gathering of reptilian elites, somewhere at an undisclosed location near you.
The truth of the matter is, as always, a very murky thing at best. The overall story that Icke is selling falls apart under close scrutiny, for a myriad of reasons that you are already familiar with thanks to our journey thus far. However, like all the Manipulators of Chapel Perilous, there is enough truth woven into his fiction to be convincing. If you stay here in the Dragon room long enough, all the connections will loop back by the force of gravity known as fear. Usually, those who enter this room, like Icke himself, never get out again. And so he has become a master at opening doors to other rooms of the Chapel just so that he can yank you back into the Dragon’s clutches. The Brotherhood room is of course something he connects to, but only so his narrative path can lead back to ancient Sumer when the Annunaki lizards arrived. The Conspiracy’s mundane power is offered as de facto evidence for reptilian hegemony simply because Icke ends with the punchline that the Conspirators must be lizards- and if you doubt him, well he can show you wall carvings from Babylon to “prove” his claims. Symbols mean whatever you need them to when you are controlling the Apocalypse Code for your audience. This stage magic gives his presentation a thin membrane of consistency, allowing Icke to deflect the existential problems of his total plot scenario.
The only way to expose the lies of this room is through truth. No, the NWO is not a reptilian scheme to dominate humanity. I do not tell you this because the idea is absurd and I think I am so much saner than David Icke. I tell it to you simply because I happen to know, firsthand, what the facts are concerning the reptilians.
Unlike the millions of people trapped with Icke in the Dragon room, I’ve actually met one of the Annunaki shapeshifters from the star Draco. I knew him quite well, and I can assure you, the real story is far from the one being told now.
Come back with me once again to the fabled Nuahj era, at the climax of the Occult Wars of the 1980s. This battle for the souls of America’s youth was fought secretly by several competing groups, all of them rushing in to fill the spiritual power vacuum created by the collapse of Christianity’s monopoly over my generation. Many of these factions sprang from the Satanic Panic unleashed upon us by the likes of Geraldo Riviera and concerned parents terrified of their kids listening to heavy metal music while playing Dungeons & Dragons. It was a classic case of irony. By pumping up the collective consciousness with fear of fake occultism, the powers that be actually guaranteed that we would explore it for real. It became the ultimate way for us to rebel and create new identities to shock our parents. Take note, because there is no better example of how the Apocalypse Code works; the idea turned into a reality as soon as we were able to transcribe it.
During the summer of 1990 our cult was getting the attention of some powerful satanic players, due to the fact that we were contacting some of the same beings they were in the business of worshipping. Of course, nothing that we did relative to these revered creatures ever resembled worship or servitude of any kind. This was the core dispute between our cult and the hard-line satanists. From their point of view, we were dangerous religious heretics. How dare we casually summon up demonic forces without the proper use of ritual protocols? We weren’t even offering blood sacrifices. We would just randomly pick a name from Anton La Vey’s Satanic Bible and conjure said being for our own plot level purposes, all under the strict rules of Total Equality.
The devout Servants of Darkness were simply not amused by our party-crashing irreverence. This is because we were exposing the lie of their entire game. Yes, various entities from shadowy dimensions do exist and have for millennia fed off the devotion of satanic stooges. No, the rituals so painstakingly enacted with pentagrams and incantations and theatrics are not at all required for making contact. In fact, if you conjure demons on your own terms, you can get them to talk about much more than their orthodox cultists will ever hear, mostly because the rituals are structured, like all Manipulations within Chapel Perilous, to be a one-way flow of information encased in symbolic glammer.
One local satanic cell in particular was tasked with finding out just what we knew and who among the dark gods was spilling the beans to us. These cretins were controlled by a very sinister figure that I shall refer to as Master X. Apparently we had successfully opened doors that Master X himself had been knocking on for years to no avail. At first, he sent in the clowns. Several of his agents tried to infiltrate our group. Nuahj was a kind of clubhouse for all sorts of occult personalities, so they assumed it would be no problem to blend in and start vacuuming up our world. Unfortunately for them, our inner circle was very tight and nothing critical went on when the house was in “party mode”. If any type of substantial contact occurred, the hangers-on were asked politely- or sometimes, forcefully- to leave. The infiltrators were quickly exposed by their clumsy attempts at ingratiating themselves into our elite membership. The rule with satanists tends to be stupidity. They are mostly misfits and brutes, without enough imagination to fake their way out of a paper bag. As with all good dogs, they are loyal, yet they often drool.
It’s like Doctor Doom used to say, whenever his lame security guards allowed the Fantastic Four to yet again sneak into his castle and get the jump on him:
“My only flaw is that I surround myself with idiots.”
Master X was not to be defeated so easily. He had one card to play that we were not expecting. It was his biggest gun, a surveillance expert of the most special sort, whose services were only called upon for the most extreme situations.
His name was Raxor, and he was indeed a shapeshifting reptilian.
Now when I say shape shifter, I really mean it. In the modern cosmic terminology as preached by David Icke, the reptilians are presented as only face-dancing from lizard to human and back again. Not so with Raxor. His transformation was total, often taking the shape of inanimate objects or just straight against-the-wall camouflage. He also could simply disappear into darkness when it was available.
During his initial spying on us, Raxor actually managed to hang around the Nuahj living room in plain sight for several weeks. He got into position thanks to Master X’s human clowns, who were shockingly competent on this one occasion. They all paid us a visit during a house party in August. When no one was looking, one of the infiltrators hit the breakers to the apartment, and while the lights were out, another accomplice casually threw my large leather beanbag chair out the patio door. In that exact same moment, Raxor dropped his clown guise and replaced the beanbag. When the power came back on, no one noticed the switch. Why would we?
This worked until satanic stupidity once more came to our rescue. Although the agents of Master X had been smooth enough to pull off the original deception, in an inexplicable oversight, they left the party without taking the real beanbag along with them. Instead it was just stuffed chaotically in the hedges next to our building. A month or so later, I found it while coming home from work.
The ensuing scene was quite shocking. I opened the sliding patio door, tossing the beanbag back into the living room, thinking that it had been thrown away by one of my roommates just to stick it to me. A bunch of guys living together always creates impish conflicts over objects and the use of common space. But no, I quickly realized as I beheld its leathery twin in the middle of the room; there was something else entirely going on. I did a double take, dropping the dirty beanbag next to its twin. There was a weird hiss that pierced the air, causing me to bend over in pain, squinting my eyes as strange symbols ran through my inner vision. Then it was over. I looked up, and the doppelganger chair was gone.
Judas, the only other member of the cult home at the time, came bounding down the stairs. He had apparently heard the hiss also.
“What the hell was that?”
“We’ve been invaded,” I replied, dumbfounded, “by satanic furniture.”
Later that night, we conjured up Ramasuk, who informed us that reptoids were a common problem to be expected if we pursued our contact with certain entities. He then laid down the general rules of this new game.
“From now on,” our Sirian friend cautioned, “assume that every time you gather in public, a reptoid will be there, watching. From the smell, I can tell you that this is an old one. He would have no problem impersonating one of you, at least superficially. This makes replacement your greatest concern.”
We wanted to know what happens when someone is replaced.
The answer was very unsettling.
“Any reptoid of this type,” Ramasuk went on to elaborate, “can easily mimic the physical form of a human just by looking you over closely. In order to completely replace you, however- to the point of stealing memories and replicating personality patterns- the subject must be absorbed. The process would only take perhaps half an hour, but requires complete privacy.”
“Are we talking pod people or something?” John asked.
“We are talking total assimilation. Your entire body would be dissolved into a gelatinous mass that the reptoid could digest.”
Ramasuk then walked around the perimeter of the building, casting alien spells that he said should at least keep the shape shifter from crossing our threshold.
“I still wouldn’t sleep alone any longer,” he advised.
And so it went. Precautions were taken and Raxor became little more than a nuisance to us for the remainder of Nuahj. Our conflict with Master X came to a ceasefire around Christmas and we assumed that he and his reptilian were out of our lives.
Our group splintered around this time, and the few of us left ended up bouncing around between Westerly and the Still River monastery before getting on the Greyhound bus to California in February. For four months I lived a wonderfully recuperative lifestyle out in the sun of Orange County.
In July it was decided that I should return to Rhode Island to help facilitate the exodus west of our remaining comrades back home. Having little or no money, I had to once again take the bus. Instead of there being two companions with me, however, this time I would be traveling alone.
It was in a truck stop bathroom somewhere in Arizona that it happened. As I sat down on the toilet, the door to the stall suddenly became eclipsed in shadow. Too late, I realized that this stall had no door. With a frightening hiss, Raxor was on top of me.
My vision blurred as a disgusting smell inflamed my nostrils. I felt incredibly hot, as if I were inside an oven. At the same time I sensed the creature within my mind, trying to pick the lock on my personal unconscious secrets. Assimilation was happening. I tried to scream but a strange goop began to fill my mouth, choking me.
Then, my salvation came in the form of the bus driver, knocking on the outside door of the bathroom. Her voice was like an angel to me:
“Five minutes, folks.”
Raxor paused for just a second, making sure that we were still alone. I seized the opportunity to twist myself around, so that my backpack was now within reach on the floor. I grabbed frantically at my cosmic plates, my sweaty hands fumbling with their plastic encasements. Not knowing which one I had, I desperately thrust it up into the face of my attacker, whose red lidless eyes bore down upon me with awesome hypnotic power. As he saw the plate, the lizard blinked incredulously, letting out a frustrated growl.
Things swirled madly for a second, and then suddenly I was alone again. I turned the plate around, stunned at which one I was holding.
I laughed as I beheld the crook, flail and pentagram of Master X.
Once outside, things went from shadowy to dark. Literally.
As I exited the bathroom, a hissing cry pierced the air:
“Shie Ublug Yog-Sothoth Shie Tsathoggua!”
The afternoon daylight fled, as a rain of frogs fell from the sky.
It seemed to be thousands of them, coming fast and hard out of nowhere. Children ran crying into the bus, knocking over an old lady who wailed in terror as she went down. I got caught up in the small crowd of twenty people scrambling helplessly in the grip of a croaking, gurgling invasion. The bus driver dragged the panicked crone on last, slamming the doors shut.
And at that moment it stopped, as if a giant switch had been thrown. Outside the sun shone brightly once more as the amphibian invaders scattered into the desert.
Everyone on the bus was in shock but me. I was stunned, yes, but this glammer show was something I had been warned about by Ramasuk. Apparently the Draconian version of Satan, a toad-like entity called Tsathoggua, was worshipped by all low level reptilians like Raxor. This amorphous Lord of Draco, who ruled the Big Island of their reptilian home world, came to Earth during the time of the Devil Dinosaurs to seal the contract between the Lord of Dinosaurs, whom we called Satan, and the galactic Chaos Yog-Sothoth, who both Lords worshipped.
Draco had already been through its own Apocalypse, wherein its version of The Beast had been successfully summoned by the Reptilian Conspiracy. Lord Tsathoggua had been their satanic cosmic Opener, who signed the cosmic contract selling out their planet, placing it on the Celestial level as a sacrifice to the Ultimate Darkness. This gave Tsathoggua a seat in what Lovecraft called The Court of Azathoth, the Demon Sultan of Outer Chaos, whose tentacles appear in our dimension as Yog-Sothoth.
The full story of how, 65 million years ago, Satan tried to sacrifice Earth in the same way in order to also gain a seat at Azathoth’s Court will wait for another time. What matters is that the reptilians didn’t fly here in a slimy UFO. All they did, according to Ramasuk, was leap. Yes, in some mysterious way all life everywhere is connected, and certain Infernal powers long ago mastered the art of leapfrogging through the Universe by hyperspatial jumping, an ability amphibians secretly possess. Some form of frog life existed on Draco, which was, before being sold to the banquet of Azathoth, a planet dominated by a reptilian civilization, just like Satan’s Dino Island here.
Now something about a reptilian brain is intrinsically connected to all the lower, chaotic frequencies of consciousness spread hyperspatially throughout the universe, just like an Elven brain comes already plugged in to the Celestial Tree of Pure Light. And so if the right psychic pathways are used with the correct nervous system, one can certainly travel whichever cosmic highway one is aligned to.
Just take care and remember the cardinal rule: Be sure of your symbols.
The bus was moving again, and I was playing Spot the Frog.
The reason Raxor invoked the rain was to glammer the crowd, sucking up some free libido through their impnosis and terror, while also providing his shapeshifting body with fresh matter to assimilate. Yes, that’s right: He was going to absorb the amphibious organisms into his own body, restoring some of the power our battle in the bathroom had no doubt cost him. That’s the thing about big displays like this: They are usually thrown as final trump cards, when the forces of darkness are actually on the ropes. Fear is their first, most, and last used weapon.
Ramasuk had taught us how to play Spot the Frog in case we needed to covertly pick out a reptilian in a crowd. All you had to do is say the name of their Lord and a frog would appear, drawn automatically towards the shape shifter by dark forces operating at the hidden level of DNA.
“Tsathoggua, Tsathoggua,” I sang gleefully. A frog fell from the ceiling in reply to my invocation. I could not help but wonder if it leapt across the galaxy first, before the still-lingering shock and fear on this bus gave it an entry point above our heads.
It croaked and leapt right for the old crone, who was sitting listlessly up front.
“You’re busted, Raxor,” I whispered softly in her ear.
“I did not think you would be deceived for long,” the crone said, sitting up as I took the next seat. “Look, the fight is over. You won this round. I am just trying to escape here,” Raxor added in a manipulatively meek manner.
“Where are you escaping to?” I asked.
“Ironically, I need to ride with you all the way back to Rhode Island. Having failed Master X, I cannot return to his place. So I will hide out for a while with the Dagon Underground until things cool down.”
Dagon, for those of you who don’t know, was a Lemurian deity, part man, part Draconian, worshipped in the South Pacific both before and after the Great Flood. In the 1600s pirates based out of Providence and Newport encountered the Island of R’Lyeh, said to be the last remaining chunk of Lemuria’s once-vast pacific continent. The dark island sank and rose many times in the thirteen thousand years since the cataclysm, moving around the world in a mysterious fashion. The Rhode Island Pirates found R’Lyeh and brought the Cult of Dagon to New England.
“Those creeps?” I asked. “I can’t see how you can trust them.”
“It is not about trust. I have the spells needed to bind them long enough to hide me for the required time.”
“And then what have you got planned?” I asked as the highway rolled by.
“A new faction of the Dark Conspiracy is gathering forces, preparing for a major campaign,” Raxor said with the crone’s frail voice. “I have been hired to consult on the Memetic side to things.”
“Yes, a new science of ideas, or memes, which operate in the mind in the exact same way that genes do in the body. I will be asked to demonstrate several new test cases for different terror models. We shall see which monster the humans want to fear next.”
“Well,” I said as I rose, “be sure to stay away from me. I’m tired of your games and you can tell your bosses to go to Hell.”
“They are already there,” Raxor said as I walked away.
Six months later, I saw firsthand the results of The Conspiracy’s new propaganda program involving the Reptilian Threat.
Around Christmas I was once again hanging with Rick the Lightmaster at the Still River Monastery. Rick was now all about crystals and lasers, holography and virtual reality concepts. He said he was going down to North Carolina to meet with a man named Kortron, a new age guru with secret information on “The Dark Light Usurpers”. I was invited to come along, to Kortron’s mountain retreat, where the fate of the world was supposedly being decided by Ascended Masters from the Great White Lodge. These self-appointed saviors saw themselves as the only hope our planet had against The Conspiracy.
Kortron claimed that no less a personage than mighty Melchizedek, Lord of the Mercurians, had nominated him to be the East Coast Master of the Legions of Light. Rick was skeptical of this claim, since his own Mercurian handlers, led by Saint Germain, had not mentioned Kortron in the latest briefing. Saint Germain did, however, send Rick to the mountain once the Ascended Masters got wind of what Kortron was claiming.
An interesting footnote here is that a decade later, when I first posted about this at IlluminAlch, Vincent Bridges, who back in the day was part of a rival Legions of Light scene on a mountain nearby, revealed that he had “Gaslighted” Kortron. Melchizedek had not sent the letter from the Great White Lodge. It was sent as an impish trap by VB, who was no doubt still chuckling secretly about this when we came down to investigate.
Saint Germain had given Rick a gift to present to Kortron: A specially designed laser lens that would allow the user to shine a beam of light into the fourth dimension. It was also, no doubt, a convenient way for the Mercurians to surveil this imposter up close without having to make direct contact.
And so off we went in Rick’s busted up AMC Gremlin, which was in such sorry shape that I was doubtful it would make the 800 mile trip.
“My sacred vehicle is held together by the Supreme Will of the Light Masters,” he assured me.
I guess it was, because two days later we were still moving, inching our way up a very steep mountainside and into Kortron’s fairy tale compound. The place had many cabins and a huge wooden pyramid built on the mountain peak.
“That must be where the Beings of Light congregate,” Rick told me as we pulled into the parking lot.
Kortron was an older man, about sixty or so. He immediately invited us in, making sweeping frantic motions to hurry, as if we were being spied on by sinister forces in the surrounding trees. Once inside, he started telling of how reptilians were watching us, and also that they were going to be sending “alien assassins” any day now to kill Kortron and his followers.
“We know too much for them to allow us to live,” he said nervously.
Rick brushed this paranoid plot away with a laugh and offered the beautiful laser lens to our host.
“The Light Masters sent this to clear your mind,” Rick said generously.
Kortron took it, looking suspiciously at the lens before putting it down on the table. He then produced the framed certificate from Melchizedek, which VB had indeed sparkled up to make it appear sufficiently Celestial to be convincing- especially if one already assumed it to be true.
Rick said nothing and so Kortron kept talking, trying to get the conversation back to the reptilians and their evil allegiance with “the Dark Light cabal”. This was actually the first I ever heard of the now-familiar David Icke plot level, many years before Icke starting ranting about it. The Conspiracy, it seems to me, grows gurus like this as long term seed mechanisms for their agenda of generating fear. Throw in one or two carefully arranged shock and awe events perpetrated by the Raxors of the world, and you can have an instant virus spreading through the memetic tissue of the collective mind.
“Just add water, makes its own sauce,” as Frank Zappa used to say.
Kortron went on to claim that They had “sent in hepatitis” via some lovely young girls who had given his group sexual favors much too willingly. He then began talking about how the Dark Light Cabal was going to engineer an asteroid impact to kill off the majority of us, leaving the banquet table wide open for a Final Demonic Solution.
“Those who will not serve will be eaten,” Kortron said ominously. “The Impact will hit before 1993 ends, the Great White Lodge has assured me.”
“Bah,” Rick said, clearly not interested in this plot at all.
The dueling Lightmasters then proceeded to get in a big argument resulting in Kortron claiming that Melchizedek was appearing in the room right now, warning that Rick and I were reptilians ourselves.He then invited us to stay the night anyway. We wisely chose not to do so.