Yes. Shallow, I know. But I find it easier to forgive my naivety when I remember how programmed I was at the time. We see these characters on stage and on screen and we are encouraged to worship them as gods. It’s no accident, for example, that at intervals through the year, we are prodded- “Who will win this year’s Best Picture??” - to admire them as they strut up and down red carpets, besieged by camera flashes, parading their outfits and their perfect teeth, collecting golden statuettes designed to reinforce the notion that these are the People Who Matter. Can any of us really be blamed for wishing to touch the hem of their garment in the hope that some of their magic will rub off on us?
Meanwhile, behind the scenes, what these people are actually doing is hosting ‘pizza parties’: occasions of such imaginable depravity I have no wish to detail it here. Look it up, research it, if you dare. Most, if not all of these figures, are agents of Satan. That’s the deal. They signed a pact. In return for fame, glamour, sex, drugs, private jets and suspiciously prolonged youth, they have sold their souls in order to do the Evil One’s bidding. They promote infidelity, corruption and licentiousness. They push the latest Luciferian narrative, whether it’s about the efficacy of vaccines, the multiplicity of ‘genders’ or the wondrous inevitability of transhumanism.
I can always tell how awake people are by the degree to which they are prepared to grasp this point. If you don’t understand that this is a spiritual war between good and evil, then you are missing the most important dimension. If, for example, you can watch the interview where Bob Dylan admits to his deal with the ‘chief commander’, or the press conference where Brad Pitt explains the secret of his success - ‘We made a pact’ - and you still want to persuade yourself that this is metaphorical rather than literal then, I’m sorry, but you’re not in the game.
Which brings me to the phenomenon that is Russell Brand. Brand reminds me a bit of one of those scenes in the fantasy movie genre where the spellbound hero imagines he is making love to someone young and gorgeous whereas in fact we the viewer can see that she is a raddled old witch. For that hexed hero in the movie, see also: most of the people you know and actually, pretty much everyone else in the whole world, possibly including you.
Just pause and think for a moment what it was that ever persuaded you, at any time in his career, that Russell Brand was a thing, someone you should have at least a semi-soft spot for, rather than someone you should recoil from as you might from a recently soiled wank rag.
What I think you’ll probably find is that you never really liked him. He looked greasy, dirty, like the junkie boyfriend your daughter dragged home in the small hours and whom you would happily have shot but for the tearful plea ‘But Dad, I LOVE him.’ Even though he was trapped inside a TV screen, you could still almost smell the whiff of stale sweat and smegma permeating your sitting room.
For me, though, even more rebarbative was his verbal diarrhoea masquerading as eloquence. (Oh, Lord. Now he’s got me at it too…). It’s nice to have a big vocabulary. I’m guilty of using the odd long word myself. But it has to be done judiciously for fear of overseasoning the stew. Brand uses his like an eight-year old who has discovered the spice rack: cumin, paprika, oregano, powdered cloves, Chinese five spice, ooh, and a handful of asafoetida, whatever the hell that is, but it’s got five syllables so what’s not to like?
Brand employs language not to so much to communicate as to beglamour. Like a cut-price Jimmy Savile - reputedly he was wizard and his catchphrase ‘Now then, now then’ was calculated to throw listeners off their temporal balance - he is an enchanter weaving a spell. The message he strives to get across is “yes I know I’m a shifty sleazebag but you can’t help loving me because I’m a cheeky chappy, you can tell from my accent that I’m a man of the people, yet I’m also above average bright because listen to all my long words and how quickly I join them together in sentences which sound like they make sense.”
Lots of people fell for this - and continue to fall for this - for words indeed work as powerful spells for those who know how to use them. But mainly people fell for it because they were told to fall for it: by the telly; by that loveable Jonathan Woss; by chat shows; by Hollywood; by the organisers of the 2012 Olympics ceremony; by the publishers who put out My Booky-Wook; and, most recently, by all those allegedly Awake fans of Brand’s podcast who’ve been protesting for the last two or three years “No, it’s OK, you don’t understand, he really has changed, he’s one of us now.” Or, if you prefer, “But I LOVE him, Dad.”
This is how the Narrative prevails. It wears you down with its relentlessness and its ubiquity. We can sometimes appreciate this with hindsight - the way, for example, it’s now impossible to watch old footage of Jimmy Savile without wondering whatever we saw in this obvious creep. What we forget is that at the time it was almost impossible not to think Jimmy Savile was a good thing. He had been endorsed and promoted by so many sources - the charidees, the royals, Top of the Pops, his dear old Mum… - that our natural instinct to be utterly repelled by him was bludgeoned into quietude. It was like the Asch conformity test. You couldn’t help giving the wrong answer even when you knew it wasn’t the right one.
I had originally meant to go into more detail about why we cannot trust and never will be able to trust Brand, not even when he says things we like to hear. But this piece by Miriaf and this monologue ‘Russell Brand and the 33 Rape Allegations’ by Alistair Williams do the job so well I find it hard to imagine that any reader or viewer could come away still thinking that Brand was anything other than a wrong ‘un groomed and selected to discredit the truth movement.
And yet some will. To justify their position to themselves and to others they will come up with all manner of semi-plausible excuses. If Brand were one of Them he would have been protected; yes, he was clearly one of Them once, but he has since seen the light and now he’s speaking truth and spreading the word to an audience of millions, far bigger than most common or garden Awake folk could ever reach; etc.
If you see the world purely in terms of the Narrative then these apologias make some sense. For example, if you take it at face value that Brand is just another jobbing chancer who talked his way into riches and celebrity, then yes the fact that he has recently gone off message and started promoting unacceptable conspiracy theories damaging to his career would indeed be a badge of authenticity and worthy of our admiration.
Unfortunately - and I really wish it were otherwise - this is the same level of thinking which once led me to believe that Tom Hanks was nice because most of the characters he played on screen were nice and because he was nice to me when I got to meet him in person. “Yes but James, that’s because he’s an actor and the role he has been assigned to play is the “actor who is nice””, I might have said to my more innocent younger self. And no doubt my innocent younger self would have dismissed this as the most arrant cynicism. Had I not, after all seen with my own eyes just how nice Tom Hanks was? How dare anyone gainsay my lived experience!
This is why there is such division, even among the Awake, about Russell Brand. What it comes down to, essentially, is whether or not you believe he’s an Illuminati foot soldier who has sold his soul to the devil and serves no other cause than the Luciferian agenda of the occult predator class.
If you don’t, if you think all that occult/Masonic/Babylonian Mystery School stuff is a bit too bonkers to accept, then you’ll find it easy to make earthbound excuses for his behaviour. If, on the other hand, you know that it’s all real, that when, in the course of a supposedly self-exculpatory video Brand forms his fingers into the shape of the Number of the Beast it’s not because he’s got arthritis, then you’ll wonder why anyone could be so deluded as to fall for the oldest trick in the book.
Article by James Delingpole
James Delingpole is a writer, broadcaster and truth seeker. He hosts the Delingpod - the world’s most entertainingly shambolic ‘conspiracy’ podcast.
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