SOTT can exclusively report that the legendary and elusive Penn Guinn was recently spotted in the heart of darkness that is England. Our UK correspondent caught up with him and he was gracious enough to tell us about his experience.

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Signs of the Times, or, 'something fishy at the station'

Mr Guinn: Continuing my world tour of investigation, the next stop on the itinerary were the British Isles, a land of ancient mysteries and hidden history - so completely obscured and corrupted by successive invasions - awaited my exploration. My aim, to discover how the isle of the Britons was faring under the current regime, was there any light remaining, any clues from history? I set off in earnest.

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Upon arrival one of the first treasures of the state to greet my eyes was this rather startling hypnotic suggestion board, which seemed to imply that my luggage had somehow gained mysterious yet invisible super-powers. Not only my luggage, which would be understandable considering my natural celebrity (one cannot help but be noticed when out and about) no, the powers were apparently possessed by everyone's luggage! From the young back-packer to the elderly aunt with shopping cart in tow, luggage was to be feared! 'Be suspicious, be nervous, be afraid of your neighbour', above all 'fear the luggage'!

This hypnotic tool for inducing and maintaining such permanent hysteria in the poor unfortunate Britons brought to mind my dear friend Dr. Lobaczewski, who wrote on the subject of the Ponerised society's use of hysteria, in 'Political Ponerology' wrote:
"Young minds thus ingest habits of subconscious selection and substitution of data, which leads to a hysterical conversion economy of reasoning. They grow up to be somewhat hysterical adults who... transmit their hysteria to the next generation... The hysterical patterns for experience and behavior grow and spread downwards from the privileged classes until crossing the boundary."
Sound familiar? Does it not reflect the decline of reason and objective thinking in growing evidence in the last few years? Is the 'Special Notices' message not another tool for "transmitting hysteria"?

Lobaczewski continues:
"When the habits of subconscious selection and substitution of thought-data spread to the macrosocial level, a society tends to develop contempt for factual criticism and to humiliate anyone sounding an alarm. Contempt is also shown for other nations which have maintained normal thought-patterns and for their opinions."
Thus it is, that we come to find terror and hysteria at every station, disguised as 'public service information' to keep the masses 'safe'. But remember, don't step out of line, don't be different, don't criticize. Society is watching, big business is watching, government is watching, everyone is watching for those who fail to succumb to suggestion and Ponerisation.

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Cameras, cameras, cameras.

They like to watch those Brits, like keep 'em in line (nobody enjoys forming an orderly line more than the British after all). At the airports and the railway stations they watch them, on the tube and on the buses they watch, on the streets, in the malls, inside the stores, outside the stores. From the air, the rooftops, the roving police CCTV vans, cameras blight every doorway and lamppost. Is there no place the British have not found to place a CCTV camera?

Naturally there were cameras to keep check on the dangerous luggage and make sure that they did not get out of hand. For a moment I was lost in thought, imagining what large-scale 'battle of baggage' had resulted in this over-reaching surveillance and enforcement by the Brits. Whatever the luggage had done to bring it about it surely must have been quite gruesome. But alas, the reality was far more brutal.
Recipe for Hysterical Britons.

1. First, make a sign that reads: "luggage is dangerous", any kind of sign will do but make sure it is prominent and unavoidable to the eye. You can add as many signs to this recipe as your budget will allow (if your funds are running low, be sure to point out to tax payers the grave threat posed by lack of security funding, thereby securing your additional funds).

2. To this add some pre-recorded messages, reminding passengers of the signs you made in step one. Don't add them all in one go, lest the mixture go cold and begin to settle out, little and often is the preferred method.

3. Next add lots of CCTV cameras near the sign reading "luggage is dangerous", this will enhance steps 1 & 2. Add as many cameras as you like, the more the merrier will make the presentation of your dish more convincing. (If funds have sunk again by this stage refer back to the appendix in step one and repeat.)

watchful eyes
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4. Quickly produce a multitude of informative posters pointing out the CCTV cameras 'for your safety' and liberally add to the mix. This will help the mixture to thicken correctly. Remember to keep whipping the mixture into shape until it becomes rather stiff and immovable - you don't want any loose thoughts spilling out! If the mixture isn't taking well be sure to use some thickening Agents.

5. Finally (and don't forget this step) threaten any rogue elements that refuse to fold, with being removed from the mixture at any minute for being 'unsafe'. Don't worry, no one else in the mixing bowl will mind, they will even thank you for making them feel safer, "thank goodness those cameras were there eh?".

6. Tip the mixture out into pe-prepared moulds. By this stage the mixture should take well to any shape you wish to produce, but as a fail safe you can always add more thickening Agents and shake or 'shock' the mix vigorously just before pouring.

7. To cook, repeatedly heat and cool the moulds until a solid mass has formed. A thin pathological layer will rise to the top (allow for about 4-6% of the mixture), this should be skimmed off and set aside for later use.
Sadly, the British seemed not to notice that they have been slowly stewed, they being generally more interested in the threat of luggage and in not being seen to make a fuss. 'Not the done thing you know'.

The more I saw, the more I realized that something had gone terribly wrong. It was time to leave the city. Perhaps there was solace to be found elsewhere in England's 'green and pleasant land'.

So, without further ado, I made haste for the countryside to see how far the dread tentacles of control had reached. Indeed their reach was great, things were in a sorry state.

Penn Guinn meets Penn Dragon

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King Arthur Pendragon: "English Heretics, pick up thy fence and walk!"
My first stop in the countryside was the wonderfully mysterious Stonehenge, set amidst the rolling chalk-land downs of Wiltshire. Surely I thought, this ancient monument might retain some dignity, some trace of a knowledge now lost? But oh dear, even here the slumbering Brits and hapless tourists were roped off from reality, in more ways than one.

On arriving at the site, I was confronted by a cacophony of turnstiles, toll booths, wire fences, walky talkies, and the ubiquitous self-important officials. There sat the stones cordoned off in captivity, not to be touched by hand nor flipper.

Only one man seemed to notice that anything was wrong - a very friendly 'Druid Chief' by the name of King Arthur Pendragon 'Titular Head & Chosen Chief of the Loyal Arthurian Warbands'. Whether this was his real name or not, was hard to tell, but maybe he held some clue as to the isle's lost past, or some glimmer of hope for its future? At least he was a lone representative of a long lost tradition - one still strong enough to notice when things have gone dangerously astray and make its voice heard. His protest was aimed at the fence erected around the site by English Heritage', the loss of the stones to the people. Not to mention the extortionate entrance fee being demanded for the pleasure of being herded around like so many cattles.

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"Do not cross the rope barrier"
Not to leave Mr Pendragon alone in his protest I dared to cross the line myself. After all, there are times when a Penguinn must take a stand for what is right. No sooner had I hopped into prime position, when a uniformed woman approached my traveling companions and I, and in a strict but keeping with the proper British manners, polite voice she declared: "You need to keep on this side of the rope. As long as you're on this side of the rope, you'll be okay." Well, considering ourselves quite 'okay' as we were, and not wishing to discover what 'not okay' might mean I chose to quickly remove myself, with a little aid from my companions, this penguin being not as young as he once was and needless to say a little weary from my travels.

It seems I crossed the line. ...'and did those feet, in ancient times, walk upon England's pastures green'? Well, it seems unlikely here where all the green is roped off. All in all a very 'British' Police State from top to bottom.

It turned my thoughts to that excellent novel of Mr Orwell's, 1984. It were as if his words had come to life, taking flesh and blood in before my eyes, the ropes, fences, cameras and subliminal messages. In this country of cyclothymic weather, mysterious structures, and Yorkshire puddings, a Police State. Alive and well, complete with arbitrary yet strictly enforced rules, surveillance cameras for animate and inanimate citizens alike and a strict adherence to nonsensical laws by what could only be described as a hypnotized populace, with the possible exception of Mr Pendragon that is.

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Penn Guinn surveys the merchandise, complete with subliminal comets message.
On our departure from the ancient stones, I met with the nation's number one pastime: shopping. It seems that Stonehenge is regarded as no more than a commercial opportunity. This centre once famed for the knowledge it conveyed, now transformed into a site for the sale of strange and meaningless trinkets: Ye Olde Stonehenge Gift Shoppe.

Perhaps it should have come as no surprise, given the UK is one of the centers of gravity for the current insanity of the humans known as the international banking system - a black-magic slavery that has been cast over the globe. But wait, what was this? Perhaps the stones do still posses a power to convey great truths to those with eyes to See? A little spark of creativity allowed to glimmer through that was the 'Stonehenge with comets' t-shirt. Accident, coincidence, or perhaps a message from the stones?

A nice cup of tea

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After an eventful visit to the Henge, refreshments were in order. It seems the British have a 'cure all' to sooth away the nagging doubts and fears induced by the Police State, the renowned 'nice cup of tea'. Which, they say, goes very well with a slice of 'don't make a fuss' and a spoonful of 'least said the better'. As one might imagine I had no stomach for it, and alas most of the fish available on this island was of one variety and deep fried, who knows what they do with the rest. A grave situation indeed.

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Penn Guinn peers through the stalks. Is he able to interpret the messages? Does he have the hidden secret?
Our whistle stop tour then set off in search of those messages that regularly manifest among the native crops. Apparently these remarkable creative works are known locally as 'crop circles', but that seems to be a curiously modest and dull way to describe the beauty and wonder of their complex design. The Brits seem very confused about these messages, their theories of how they come about are many and varied, from 'men with ropes' to 'flying discs' to the 'strange lights' or merely the 'weather' (there's never a bad time to talk about the weather with the Britons).

Most curious of all is the fact that the vast majority of natives ignore them altogether, as if they did not even exist - that or the poor unfortunate Britons are too hypnotized to notice when someone or something is trying to convey information on matters of cosmic importance.

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Nose to nose, the two ancient enigmas contemplate each other.
As luck would have it, this particular 'crop circle' happened to be right beside the enormous Standing stone formation of Avebury Henge, What chance! At least here there were stones that had been so far spared their freedom.

This quirky land has lots of places where the humans gather to find food and beverage. Beer seems to be a favourite, the places that serve it are called 'pubs' and what a place is a pub! They have curious names that are either completely cryptic or seem to refer to some chaotic and mythical past: 'The Red Lion', 'The Green Man', 'The King's Head', 'The Dragon'. I was flabbergasted to find that there was even a pub named after my own family: 'Penn Bar'.

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A very special bar. Maybe they knew I was coming?
Monuments to insanity

In any event, the wants of the people for bread and circuses are well served, and surely this occupies completely their rare free moments in between shopping and taking part in the 'rat race' - a highly appropriate name for the frantic and often futile activity that seems to keep everyone busy dashing hither and thither with no apparent purpose other than partaking in the dashing itself. Perhaps it is some strange sport, the British being equally renowned as the inventors of many a strange and aimless activity.

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Outside the local monument to monotheistic mind control.
Also, the thinking and emotional centres of the Britons are kept well occupied with other hypnotic delusions. For those who are not captivated by something they call 'telly' or another something called 'playstation', there is the oldest lullaby in the book: religion.

It seems the English hold religion as somewhat a specialty. Apparently they even invented their own which they grandly call the 'Church of England', yet curiously it is totally modelled on that previous religion brought by the invading Romans, known as 'The Roman Catholic Church'. And also, it seems these two religions originate from something called 'Christianity', which itself originates from something called 'Judeaism', which in turn steals themes from even more ancient and similarly unhealthy traditions. All of which go to make up the current method of global entrapment known as monotheism. These myriad kleptomaniac factions make war with one another for their right to be the 'one truth' above all others, whilst blind to their own hubris, to the impossibility of creating peace through war, and to the misery they bring onto mankind. Truly this is the greatest insanity of all for those humans and it forms a pillar of English society, they have even erected great monuments to this insanity.

While once there may have been some truths retained within the walls of Britain's many monasteries, Abbeys and Cathedrals, there remains little evidence of it, any clues or traditions having been largely destroyed during the Reformation when many medieval buildings and artworks and stained glass windows were destroyed.

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Penn Guinn sneaks through the gates, unnoticed.
Further exploration led me to numerous markers and indications of the various oppressive regimes that have occupied this land. As well as the large numbers of religious buildings, the rolling and beautiful landscape is littered with castles, battlegrounds, fortifications - all remnants of the numerous invasions and power-struggles over the centuries, where countless humans have been led to their deaths, persuaded to kill each other for the cause of the few - the ever present psychopathic elite who use men as an expendable commodity to gain power and glory for themselves. And each time, the people of this land have had to pick themselves up and reinvent themselves from nothing, the riches of the past destroyed and lost for good. Perhaps the native humans here have forgotten the lessons of history? Perhaps they believe that it "couldn't happen now"? Or they are simply so wrapped up in their own affairs that they cannot see the signs and familiar patterns of the past coming back around to repeat the lesson? For it is certain that the lessons will repeat, as long as there are those who have not yet learned them.

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Penguins are built for swimming,
not climbing hills.
And so, exhausted from my adventures, I lay back to contemplate all that I had seen. Did this land represent the very worst of mankind's folly, was there still any spark of hope for man's development?

It seems that this is a land of contradictions. A place of domination by the few where ponerisation has taken hold with its accompanying propaganda, surveillance, and controlled citizens. Yet amidst the slumber there remain unexpected treasures to greet the watchful observer, testaments to knowledge both old and new, signs perhaps that the creative principle can endure, even through darkness.

An example:

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© Crop Circle Connector
More holiday snaps

woodhenge 1
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woodhenge 2
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woodhenge 3
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penbarrier
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penaudio 2
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penhenge fly
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penaudio 1
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penhenge 1
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penhenge 2
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pencircle 1
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pencirlce 2
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pentor 1
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pentor 2
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penfly 2
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pentor 3
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pencat
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Mr Guinn continues the ascent.