Does ‘Rocket Man’, have more lead in his pencil than we give him credit for? Expert researchers at the Monterrey Center for Non-proliferation Studies say he does. By analyzing photos, film and satellite imagery, lead researcher Jeffrey Lewis and his team discovered that “Rocket Man” may already have nuclear tipped ICBM’s capable of hitting New York, or anywhere in the U.S.
By studying open source material they conclude the Hwasong-12 missile is far more sophisticated than we’ve been led to believe.
Photos of the missile show where the staged rocket’s welds are located, which indicates the volumetric ratio of the fuel tanks, and therefore the type of fuel.
The specifications of the launch vehicle, a known model made in Belaruss, gave them the rocket’s length.
Film of the lifting crane shows the ICBM’s center of mass, and angle of the lifting arm. Specifications on the Japanese built crane gave them it’s weight.
And analysis of its launch allowed them to determine acceleration and calculate thrust.
Putting it all together, the researchers say North Korea is using sophisticated computerized machining to build lightweight rockets capable of carrying a nuclear tip that can reach all the way to the eastern seaboard.
They have even seen the rocket being fueled in a horizontal position, which allows North Korean soldiers to prepare the rockets in sneaky places like highway underpasses, where they can’t be seen until ready to launch.
But do they have a nuclear tip to put on the Hwasong-12? Just look at Kim’s confidence and rhetoric. He’s basically telling us he does, and given the sophistication of his ICBM, we should assume he does. In fact, Lewis believes he probably has several ready to go.
After decades chipping away at the glass ceiling, women have achieved a break-through. Remarkably, it didn’t come through progressive legislation. It didn’t happen because a woman was elected to office. The political champions of the feminist cause had nothing to do with it, at least, in any positive sense.
We are talking, of course, about sexual abuse, and the fact women have become aware of their responsibility to speak-up. It may sound harsh to put in those words, but it’s the truth. Women have been intimidated by men in power not to speak-up about abuse. Now that has changed, and it’s simply due to women deciding not to take it anymore, and to stand behind each other.
But there has been a cadre of elite in high places; entertainers, activists, politicians, and the wives of same, who knew the males among them were pervs, but defended the pervs, and denied it in public, to shame the women who tried to speak-up.
And wouldn’t you know, the pervs; the rapists, flashers, masturbators, and chronic gropers, are mostly champions of the progressive left. They paid lip service to ‘women’s equality’ while tweaking boobs and grabbing ass. And now women of all political backgrounds, bound by the shared indignity of suffering this abuse silently for so long, are exposing the phonies for who they are.
From the wet, rubbery lips of Al Franken, to the lip-biting rapist, Bill Clinton, the creeps are being exposed by the women they abused. And the enablers – men and women who spewed fealty to women’s cause while enabling the powerful men around them to abuse their power, are also being exposed for their phoniness. Women have silently screamed for years, but that all changed with Harvey. Now women have united in one voice to say, “No more!”
And that is a breakthrough. The break-through didn’t come from women in pussy-hats, demanding rights they already have. It didn’t come from pitching against an imaginary threat to abortion, or a straw-man argument about equal pay. It came from standing for themselves and demanding respect, plain and simple. They are putting up the ‘don’t touch without my permission’ sign to all the jerks who never showed respect in the first place.
All those powerful men. Those articulate, educated, urbane and respected men who hold power over people’s lives. They are the cads who virtue signaled support to feminism with a hand on their crotch and a wink in their eye. Feminists didn’t bring them down, women did.
That’s the rumor, you know. It’s been around for centuries. Though Native American’s often relate Bigfoot as a nocturnal, petty trickster who steals salmon, there are also legends of hairy devils with evil intent.
Photo By Edward S. Curtis – Library of Congress
The Shampe of Choctaw fable, Ts’el’eni, the woodman of Athabaskan’s in Alaska, the Boqs of the Bella Coola, and Tsiatko, Stick Indians of Salish legend in the Pacific Northwest are a few examples. These big hairy creatures were known for stealing women and children, and eating people.
The Windigo, known to many tribes, is associated with evil. In times of famine, it ate human flesh and forever has a taste for it. There are also the Teihiihan, the little cannibals of Cheyenne and other tribal lore, described as something like a dwarf Bigfoot that entices children to play – and eats them.
Hopi believe Bigfoot is a harbinger of strife and doom. He shows himself to fellow man as a message that human behavior has strayed from the creator’s plan, and an accounting is coming due.
Photo by Edward S. Curtis – Library of Congress
It’s not a cannibal unless it’s human. Otherwise it’s just another predator. Cannibal means a particular type of predator far more chilling to contemplate. The fact Native Americans call it cannibal betrays their belief in what it is. It’s the hairy man of the forest, a brother tribe of people.
Everyone has opinions, including a majority who outright deny its existence. But if you believe in the creature, you’re probably on a spectrum of opinion that runs from a big, relic ape, to a close cousin of mankind. Perhaps an archaic race similar to Neanderthal, or even a hybrid race that interbred with us.
Personally, I suspect they are relic hominids evolved from the same branch of genetic tree we are from. Shave Patty, the Bigfoot in the famous Patterson-Gimlin film, put lipstick and a dress on, and she’d have luck getting picked-up at the Bashful Bandit, my local biker bar.
Photo by Roger Patterson
That seems to be the way Native Americans think about Sasquatch. They are the wild people of the woods, not another animal. They are feared and respected, and not to be allowed near children. They are not something to go looking for.
Enter the ancestors of mad Englishmen. Have you noticed Bigfoot hunters are usually white people? Non-believers account this to the ignorance of white trailer-trash folk, like me, who prefer a walk in Nature to working off the Mercedes payment all day.
This makes no sense to me. I’ll believe an outdoors man about the woods, no matter what the armchair people say. I think it’s because I belong to the only race in denial about Bigfoot.
Genetics experts say non-African people carry around 4% Neanderthal DNA, whereas Africans have hardly any. Maybe there is something dark in the Caucasian past we’re still dealing with. Perhaps that is why it’s existence is so vehemently denied by urbane people who consider themselves the pinnacle of civilization. The realities of the past are too uncomfortable to think about.
One reason Bigfoot fascinates many people is the idea humans and Neanderthal coupled in Europe in the distant past. And in Asia and Melanesia, DNA shows that people slept with Denisovan’s. The term ‘slept with’ is probably not accurate. Rape in the woods is more likely.
It points to a past when catastrophe decimated the population. There have been planet-wide catastrophes that nearly wiped life away, and the human race was reduced to small groups of survivors.
For life to go on, there had to be compromises. Brutal as it seems, there had to be cross-breeding. Perhaps forcibly and uninvited, but necessary nevertheless. It’s even believed cross-breeding bolstered the human immune system, giving us immunity to some disease.
So if there is the remnant of Neanderthal and Denisovan in the gene pool, that means at one time there were people born of interbreeding that had a fifty-fifty blend. Over time those individuals bred with other humans and the gene pool became diluted. Now there is a remnant of their DNA still carried in our blood.
But the corollary must also be true. Some of those hybrid babies were raised by surviving Neanderthal and Denisovan tribes. They would have bred in those communities, diluting the human gene. There must have been a hybrid being whose race was much less human. A feral race with more DNA of the ‘other thing.’
One can imagine they would be smart enough to survive. Smart enough to use rudimentary tools and even communicate. They could have come from Europe and Asia to populate the New World alongside human beings.
One could also imagine they were hunted mercilessly for indiscretions in the past. Nothing puts a man into fight mode faster than someone stealing his wife and eating his children. They would have been attacked and chased into hiding, like so many Hollywood bigwigs. They would have been the Harvey Weinstein of the time, rightfully shunned for predatory sexual behavior. Harvey even looks Neanderthal, come to think of it.
They got away with it for awhile, when calamitous weather, pestilence and famine decimated life. Survival meant taking what was needed wherever it was available, and the bigger and stronger hominids had the upper hand. Humans didn’t choose to be the wives, or the dinner for their ‘brother’ tribe. But humans had to wake-up at some point and say, “enough!” The Neanderthal and Denisovan would have been hunted down and made to account.
Feared, hunted and killed, and smart enough to understand their persecution, the remnants of those races hid from the enemy. Now they watch and keep track of us when we enter their territory, but like pedophiles and creeps, know better than to show themselves. Except when opportunity allows instinct to take over and satisfy a nasty, old habit.
Native people aren’t the only ones to have these legends, We all do, regardless of race. My people have just sanitized the stories and called them fairy tales to discredit them, but like all stories they begin from a grain of truth. Werewolves and boogeymen, giants and little people have origins of truth in the distant past. Horrible truths.
What happens in the mountains seems to bear this out. People go missing, without rhyme, or reason, never to be seen again. These disappearances have a pattern that is disturbing. David Paulides is an ex-cop and writer who documents strange and inexplicable disappearances in the National Forests.
The pattern repeats time and again. People go missing without a trace. If a trace is found, or even a body, they are found far from where they disappeared, sometimes in areas nearly impossible to reach.
Small children are found miles from where they vanish, across rugged, mountain country. People disappear while companions are just a few feet away. Experienced outdoors men take a walk and never come home. The typical profile is the last person on the trail, a child who wanders out of sight, or a solo hiker.
The disappearances often occur near a boulder field, rocky pinnacle, or cliff. As I’ve experienced myself, these are hangouts for Bigfoot. They also occur just prior to storms. Maybe an impending storm is a trigger. The blood rises with electricity in the air. A storm also provides cover – a better opportunity to get away.
Dogs trained for tracking can’t find them. Whatever scent they pick-up seems to create fear, and they refuse to track. Some lay down and whimper.
The mountain ranges I frequent have occurrences recorded that fit the profile. The camp host at one of my favorites called it “the last mountain in Arizona,” meaning it’s not overrun by anybody. Well it is, because there are billions of dollars worth of telescopes up there, but the astronomers keep to themselves, fenced inside the observatory. Otherwise, locals go there to hunt and camp, there are a few backpacking trails, and a smattering of cabins, but that’s all.
Many of the locals who go there, both Native American and otherwise, know of the presence of Bigfoot. Reports of intimidation are disturbing. People hear trees snapped in anger in the darkness at the edge of their campsites. Campers get pounded awake with blows that leave dents in the walls of their travel trailers. They hear guttural, unintelligible talking in some jabberwolky language. And there is howling at night.
I listened to howling that sounded like a cage of monkeys fighting a lion. Deep growls and grunts accompanied chimp-like squealing. It was a night of full moon at an elevation far above coyote country. It wasn’t coyote’s.
A few years ago, a woman reported to be mentally disabled walked just a hundred yards behind her family near a campsite in an adjacent mountain range. She disappeared without a trace within sight of her family, who were watchful because of her handicap. She vanished in a brief moment when they turned their attention away. And not a trace could be found. There was no trail, or track to follow.
The prior year, another woman, middle aged, camped with a group of people she didn’t know well. She’d been invited by a friend, but she wasn’t a regular in the group. As they partied around the campfire one evening, she left on her own to watch the sunset from rocky cliffs about a quarter-mile away. The cliffs overlooked a canyon named Hell’s Hole.
This is another common theme. Sightings and disappearances happen in locations with demonic names. One has to wonder why these places were named that way in the first place.
Of course, she was never seen again. Her belongings were left in her tent and no sign of her could be found. The searchers used cadaver dogs, lowered by rope to find her body in the cliffs below, because it seemed that was the only way she could have gone. They found nothing and the mystery remains.
Bigfoot of the Urals – Menk filmed by the Dyatlov Party before they died.
From those same mountains, another story may shed light on what happens. It comes from an elderly woman who camped there with her parents as a little girl. She says she was six years old at the time, so this occurred in the sixties.
She sat on a log in the woods in sight of her parents when she heard something behind her. She turned around to see a big, black creature behind a tree. It was creeping up on her, she said, crawling from tree to tree and hiding behind logs. She thought it was a bear, until it stood up and she saw its face looked human. She ran to her parents and got away, her parents unaware of anything.
I came upon the trunk of a large tree hung upside down, cradled in the branches of another, with other trees leaned against it tee-pee fashion. I studied it trying to fathom if it could have happened naturally. It didn’t seem plausible.
As I scouted around the area, a path, or game trail led through brush, and I followed it a few yards to where it came to a boulder outcrop. As I reached the outcrop, I heard children playing, and realized it overlooked a campsite. The campsite was down the canyon, maybe five hundred feet below.
Typical tree structures mark a Bigfoot Trail
When I climbed onto the rocks, I was met with rock clacks. Something began tapping a substantial rock against another, warning me away. It tapped repeatedly, and not with a little pebble that a squirrel, or bird could pick up. It was a rock I’d gauge as big as my hand. I turned around and left, with the creepy realization that whatever clacked the rock was sitting in that boulder outcrop watching the kids play below.
In every instance I’ve seen, their trails lead uphill to natural lookout sites, usually at large granite outcrops. A ridge, or mountain top with a cap of rock that overlooks a campsite, or roadway is a likely spot.
When I have approached such areas, I have several times heard whoops. On one occasion, crossing a meadow towards an outcropping of boulders, there was a distinct whoop from the treeline to my right, and an answering whoop from the boulders. They were communicating a warning I was coming.
The interesting thing is that I parked my truck and fiddled around next to it for several minutes before I started walking towards the boulders. The whoops came only after I’d left the road and committed across the field. I’m sure the lookout could see me the whole time, but didn’t alarm until I started their way.
They watch us. They hang out in the rocks and trees and watch every move we make. They see us coming as soon as we start. They stay hidden and keep their distance. If we approach they fall back. Only if you keep invading their area do they start clacking rocks, or throwing them. To my knowledge, I’ve never had a rock thrown at me, although a pine cone did hit the car from a clear blue sky once.
Sightings of Bigfoot most often occur on roadways. It’s their biggest vulnerability. We’ve criss-crossed the land with big swaths naked of trees. Where there are trees, the Mountain Devil can’t be seen, except for the occasional glimpse, or surprise encounter. It’s rare they are surprised, but they have to cross roads.
Away from the trails and roads, in areas overgrown with underbrush, beneath peaks and ridges, where dead trees lean against each other, and there are rocky outcrops, and boulder fields – that is where they live. To enter is to experience them watching you, hear their whistles, whoops and clacks, and find their scuffs and footprints.
I filmed the following clip at Hell’s Hole, the location where the woman vanished. You’ll see several things in the video.
First, the trail was blocked every hundred yards, or so with broken trees. I was entering an area that had been closed all winter, and just reopened. I knew from the prior year it was a hot spot, where campsites coincide with access to a creek and one of their trails.
The further I went down the trail, the more trees I found felled, and the more obstacles blocked my way. It was as if, after the roads were closed and people had left for the season, they went-off on the campsite and road, tearing down trees in the hope maybe it would keep people from coming back.
At first, I maintained skepticism. The snows and winds of winter could have knocked the trees down. The further I went, however, the more apparent it became there was more than wind and snow pack at work.
On the way, I found a footprint. The toes impressed perfectly in the mud, but the heel landed in foliage making it hard to judge its length. It was at least twelve inches, but might have been as much as fourteen. It’s width was half-again the width of my bare foot – five inches, or more, in an area I had trouble walking in high boots. The ground was covered in brambles and broken trees. You can watch the video and judge for yourself if a human would walk barefoot in that country.
The footprint is bound by the arrows, toes to the left.The cap rests just inside the print.
I followed what I suspected was a track they’d made. The ground was covered in fallen trees, browning ferns and broken twigs. Through it all, there was a distinct trail of steps, like post-holes in the dry ferns that left them broken down. The footprint appeared along the track in a rare patch of bare soil.
I had no plaster, which is a shame because I think it would have cast very well. I placed a water bottle along the edge of the print with the cap resting inside for scale. The print was flat, with a hint of a rise just left of the bottle cap that may have been at the mid-tarsal break. The toes prints are seen, with the big toe splayed away from the others.
A mid-tarsal break, and the ability to splay toes for balance, is characteristic of Bigfoot prints according to Dr. Grover Krantz, and Dr. Jeff Meldrum, both qualified experts in the subject. The pictures I took are not good as the mid-day sun beat straight down, making it impossible to keep shadows away, or see what I was framing.
The tracks led to the boulders above Hell’s Hole, the very place I was I was heading. The same place searchers lowered cadaver dogs to look for the missing woman. I had Ginger with me. She almost never barks, and only growls when she means business. She started growling almost the moment we reached the boulders. At the same time I heard a repetitive knock on wood. Knock-knock…knock-knock-knock. Knock-knock…knock-knock-knock.
This is on film in Part 2, but the knocking isn’t picked-up by the camera. It wasn’t the machine-gun rata-tat-tat of a woodpecker, but a slow and precise rhythm, like keeping time with a tune. Ginger refused to follow me any further in that direction. She stood her ground and growled.
I don’t know any normal forest animal that makes a knock like that. I had the feeling the playful sound was meant to entice me. Part of me wanted to go find the source, even though Ginger was growling. I couldn’t put the leash on and drag her, because there were too many trees broken down. I had to let her free to run her own obstacle course, but she refused to follow me.
We stayed long enough to take some film and left. I didn’t feel threatened. In fact, after a few minutes I felt whatever was making the knocks was gone. On the way out, though, I heard a solid wood-knock from a different direction.
It’s at this point I generally turn around, anyway. If I hear knocking, or whoops, I don’t go further. I know that won’t get me a photo op, but there is something about intruding where you’re not wanted. To be a paparazzi, even a Bigfoot paparazzi, is to be a cad, intruding on others privacy for the hope of a photo to sell.
I backpack into the Catalina’s to look at features I believe were created by Arc Blast.
The Santa Catalina Mountains are unique in several ways. They are one of the ‘sky islands’ of the Madrean Archipelago. The nautical terms, island and archipelago, are used to describe the region because it resembles a dry island chain, dividing two seas of desert. The islands are mountains and the waters are cactus.
The eastern sea is the Chihuahua Desert. I liken it to the Sargasso Sea – grasses on swells of rolling land with volcanic protrusions scattered here and there. It’s breezy and bucolic, an extension of the plains where antelope and buffalo once thrived. From West Texas to Arizona, and deep into Mexico, Chihuahua steams with thunderstorms in the summer, glazes with frost in the winter, and is a crystal cocoon of green grass and warmth in the Spring and Fall.
The western sea is the Sonoran. It’s an overgrown jungle of desert, if there ever was one. Wetter than a desert should be, it teems with botanical danger. Cholla, Prickly Pear, Barrel, Occatillo, and the most grand succulent of all, Saguaro, wear cloaks of surgically sharp needles. Even the trees, Palo Verde and Mesquite, have thorns.
As inviting to pain as it is, it’s also a bounty of color and plenty that supports life in varietal abundance. Birds gather here from all of North America. The Sonora is the continent’s corridor for avian migration. In all respects, it’s the terrestrial equivalent to the Great Barrier Reef – birds swim in profusion like fish, reptiles skulk in lieu of crustaceans, cartoon cactus replaces coral, snakes are snakes, and coyote, bobcat and cougar predate instead of shark. It’s a coral reef without water.
The mountains are the thing, though. They are the way birds and mammals hopscotch the way across dry, desert seas from the Sierra Madre in Mexico, to the Colorado Plateau. They are islands, where summits rise to ten thousand feet, covered in Ponderosa Pine, Douglas Fir and Aspen. Between the peaks and desert floor, environments layer by elevation. Chihuahuan grasslands overlay foothills of Saguaro forests. Canyons sprout sycamore and cottonwood groves. Juniper, Oak and Pinion stand in mid-layers with caps of forested woods with Canadian winters.
The Santa Catalina’s are queen of the Sky Islands, with exceptional majesty and drama in her cliffs, pinnacles and deep canyon vaults. She is a rock pile, though. Stark and bold granite shelves stack canted in a giant monocline.
There are deep cuts in its stacked layers of rock that bear the signature of lightning. Sharp angled, lightning-bolt crevasses shoot up rock faces, their floors exposing dykes of quartz veined rock with a grain at cross pattern to the surrounding cliffs. In other areas, features of precisely the same shape form on soil, the quartz rock replaced with sediments of starkly different color where plants won’t grow.
The obvious explanation that passes muster for science has these features the result of erosion from rock-slide and water. I don’t think that is the case. Their angled, jagged progression up slopes and cliffs belies a gravity induced causation. I came to examine some of these features, because to me they appear to be evidence of Arc Blast. Arc Blast is a theory I propose for Telluric currents that once erupted from Earth in scorching arcs, and shattered across the surface of the land following a voltage gradient of surface conductive channels.
There is also a pinnacle I examine, called Thimble Peak, that is known by local native lore to be a sacred place. As I have found in most instances, sacred mountains are fulgamites formed by true lightning – arcs from storms in the sky. They stand like electrodes with dykes of rock radiating from the core, a formation created by a sustained and energetic arc. Thimble Peak is no exception, looking like a battery terminal jutting from Earth.
The footprint of the entire mountain changes shape where Thimble Peak rises in stark contrast to surrounding ridges. Deep gorges surround it’s mesa-like sub-structure that finger out into the lightning bolt gouges. This trip takes me to the eastern gorge where I camp in its upper reach. A hot, dry day-hike takes me onto the backbone of ridge behind Thimble Peak to get a hard-to-reach perspective on it, and the giant arc features in the canyons.
The hike is in the Chihuahua ecological zone. It’s spring and the grasses blossom with color. It’s also warm and more buggy than normal. You’ll hear me spitting and swatting gnats quite a bit.
In Part two, I bring out the whiteboard and give a brief discussion of how I think fulgamites like thimble peak are integral to mountain formations like the Catalina’s.
First posted to Steemit as “Geometry Challenge – Week 1, Entry 1” on November 3, 2017
Triangular shapes are everywhere in Nature. They show up in geology, biology, chemistry and physics; from the sub-atomic scale to the cosmic. But is it significant? Connect any three points and it makes a triangle – it’s hard to avoid. Triangles are bound to appear in Nature, because it’s … well, natural.
Or is it that simple? Triangles emerge in fractal geometries, where they repeat at different scales. It’s as if there is a common denominator influencing the process. The finest examples are ones most difficult to reconcile with accepted theories.
Mountains, we are told, rise and fall subject to tectonic movement, seismic vibration, upheaval, faulting, freezing, thawing, lightning, wind and water erosion. A mountain form results from a potpourri of random effects spanning millions of years. You’d think they’d just be piles of rubble, yet we find features like this:
Good lord, there’s triangles everywhere. Not kinda triangular, but sharp-edged and consistently angled, that repeat, over an over. It’s amazing, really. And to think this could happen from millions of independent, random forces acting over millions of years. It’s a wonder.
Geologists say the cause is mainly erosion. Water follows faults, and cracks, carrying away soil, and rock. Rain collects into runnels, that collect into streams, and funnel into ever narrower channels of flow, leaving triangular pyramids between canyons. It’s that simple.
But is this true? Doesn’t water flow straight down, obeying the imperative of gravity? Take a look at these volcanoes. Their flanks are no different than mountains, and they certainly show water erosion.
No triangles, though. Except for the conical shape of the volcano itself, triangles don’t appear. Just chaotic, flow patterns that basically squiggle straight down.
Perhaps it’s some property of mountains that volcanoes don’t share. Linear alignment of faults that direct the water to produce a regularity in form … maybe?
But that can’t explain the triangles in the next pictures. Just look at the rock behind the triangles. It’s pocked and uneven, twisted and tortured. So, how could water flow in any regular way to carve the neat, little repeating triangles below?
San Rafael Reef, Utah – photos by Andrew Hall
Close-up you can see the triangles are mostly soft dirt sediments laying on hard sandstone rock. They should have eroded away millions of years ago. Yet here they sit in a neat, tidy row along the base of jagged, rocky slopes. The triangles are evenly layered and cut straight, yet the rock underneath is uneven and convoluted. There doesn’t appear to be evidence of water flow at all.
The triangles aren’t piles of dirt fallen from the slopes above, either. They are clearly layered at the same angle throughout, with hard layers sandwiched between layers of soil. The soil is not even the same color. A rock slide couldn’t do that.
Look at something even stranger. On this mountain in Iran, triangles repeat in harmonics. The triangles are layered on one another, with the outer ones repeating the form in harmony – where two, three or more triangles repeat inside the form of the previous triangle. I circled where seven tiny ones formed across the base of a larger one.
Harmonics displays itself often on the flanks of mountains of every type of rock, from sandstone to granite, everywhere in the world. They appear in rows, spaced precisely like wavelengths, their amplitudes rising and falling in geometric progression in nested, harmonic triangular forms.
It’s as if they are wave-forms. In fact, every aspect of their appearance relates to sonic waves. They appear in harmonic frequencies, with wavelengths and amplitudes that vary in proportion, and they are always layered in place, the stratification angled with the face of the triangle.
It’s odd that the faces are flat, too. They should be humped and rounded if made by erosion. It’s as if they were layered into place during some coherent event, with new wave-layers breaking into smaller harmonic repetitions of the wave-form as time progressed. This is something sonic waves do, too.
San Rafael Reef, Utah – photo by Andrew HallFinely layered sandstone on Comb Ridge, Arizona – photo by Andrew Hall.
Sometimes mountains can be absolutely crazy, going beast – mode with the triangles. Look at the following pictures, and there is only one rational conclusion to draw.
These were made by coherent forces, not random erosion over time. Just look at the images and it’s clear something fundamentally different from mere erosion occurred. There is some common denominator in the equation for mountains we are missing.
In fact, there are too many wave-like features to be coincidence. There is the repeating fractal form of the triangle itself, with consistent angles. Consistent amplitudes relating to specific layers, suggesting a time sequence to their formation. Wavelength, frequency and amplitude maintain consistent ratios. And they appear regardless of the type of rock, in ordered, stratified layers. Not only that, the wave-forms express compression and expansion, interference patterns, and repeat in nested harmonics. And there is obvious coherence across grand landscapes. The evidence defies all commonly accepted theory.
There is a logical answer, however. There is a rational, physical explanation why mountains have triangular flatiron flanks. Unfortunately, it has nothing to do with water erosion, earthquakes, or millions of years. It has nothing to do with plate tectonics. In fact, the answer disputes almost everything taught in school.
It has to do with the wind. I’m not talking about the wind as you know it. I’m talking about a primordial wind of super-sonic velocity, that generated shock waves and carried electricity. That is why these features appear with patterned perfection. Shock waves create triangular patterns. The mountains didn’t erode into these shapes, they were built into these shapes, like sand dunes in the wind. In fact, except for volcanoes, sand dunes are the only mountain we see made – by the wind.
The face of Earth was once scoured by weather like Jupiter’s, with winds that exceeded the speed of sound. Triangles are prime evidence. Supersonic wind creates standing waves of pressure and rarefaction that take triangular form as they reflect from obstructions in the wind flow. Obstructions like mountains – so the windward flanks have the triangular shape of shock patterns embossed on them.
Shock diamonds produced by supersonic flow in a wind tunnel.
The atmosphere was also heavily ionized, and the dust it carried obeyed electric fields, welding and electroplating the landscape like a plasma torch.
Mountains were created in such a primordial environment. That’s why they line up in linear arrays, like dunes. That’s why one face is steeper, like a dune, and the other slope – the windward side, is shallow, flat and displays triangular features. That’s why volcanoes, which were formed by eruption and not winds, don’t display triangular features, and water erodes channels straight down their slopes like it’s supposed to.
None of this is implausible. We see tornadoes produce winds of 300 mph. That’s roughly half the speed of sound. So, it’s entirely possible winds on Earth reached two, three, or more times that speed in the past.
And ionization and electrical current is already in the atmosphere. The highest winds are produced by tornadoes in electrical storms, where the electric field grows to hundreds of millions of volts above normal. Enough to create the giant sparks we call lightning.
We actually see all the conditions in our weather to produce a mountain, except the extreme severity of wind speed and ionization. But we do see those conditions on other planets. Jupiter and Saturn swirl in dynamic cyclones of ionic wind that reach supersonic speeds. Venus’ atmosphere is a constant electric storm, with lightning thousands of times bigger than we see on Earth. If we can see it happening on our neighborhood planets, that’s good evidence it could happened here.
What we don’t have evidence of on other planets, is plate tectonics. Oh well, there isn’t much evidence on Earth either. It’s the narrative that won’t go away, built on unverified assumptions that we’ve been taught to believe.
The truth is, we don’t even know what’s inside the Earth past the few miles of crust we’ve drilled through. We don’t know what causes earthquakes, volcanoes, or mountains to rise and fall. We don’t know if mountains rise and fall, at all. All we have are a bunch of assumptions about what happened long ago.
What the landscape shows doesn’t look like the theory we are taught. It looks like something completely different shaped the land. Alternative ideas abound, but mine is the only one that explains the triangles.
Since we live on this planet, our minds should be open to what it tells us. There is more than triangular shapes on mountains to comprehend. If your interested in learning more, follow me at the ‘electricearth’ tag at Steemit, and visit my website, The Daily Plasma.
Before we end, here is a bonus. Sometimes you can find triangles on volcanoes if you look inside the crater… Tell me why @chargedbody.
Maar crater, Pinacate Volcanic Field, Sonora, Mexico
The eastern sea is the Chihuahua Desert. I liken it to the Sargasso Sea – grasses on swells of rolling land with volcanic protrusions scattered here and there. It’s breezy and bucolic, an extension of the plains where antelope and buffalo once thrived. From West Texas to Arizona, and deep into Mexico, Chihuahua steams with thunderstorms in the summer, glazes with frost in the winter, and is a crystal cocoon of green grass and warmth in the Spring and Fall.
The western sea is the Sonoran. It’s an overgrown jungle of desert, if there ever was one. Wetter than a desert should be, it teems with botanical danger. Cholla, Prickly Pear, Barrel, Occatillo, and the most grand succulent of all, Saguaro, wear cloaks of surgically sharp needles. Even the trees, Palo Verde and Mesquite, have thorns.
The mountains are the thing, though. They are the way birds and mammals hopscotch the way across dry, desert seas from the Sierra Madre in Mexico, to the Colorado Plateau. They are islands, where summits rise to ten thousand feet, covered in Ponderosa Pine, Douglas Fir and Aspen. Between the peaks and desert floor, environments layer by elevation. Chihuahuan grasslands overlay foothills of Saguaro forests. Canyons sprout sycamore and cottonwood groves. Juniper, Oak and Pinion stand in mid-layers with caps of forested woods with Canadian winters.
There are deep cuts in its stacked layers of rock that bear the signature of lightning. Sharp angled, lightning-bolt crevasses shoot up rock faces, their floors exposing dykes of quartz veined rock with a grain at cross pattern to the surrounding cliffs. In other areas, features of precisely the same shape form on soil, the quartz rock replaced with sediments of starkly different color where plants won’t grow.
The hike is in the Chihuahua ecological zone. It’s spring and the grasses blossom with color. It’s also warm and more buggy than normal. You’ll hear me spitting and swatting gnats quite a bit.
The Daily Plasma 