Category Archives: god

Neon 20 Isotope finished. Minor Theory Change…


Two things have changed, but first, let me convey some good news. Scientists now believe that the core of the Earth is crystalline in nature. This fits my theory of atom formation perfectly. Remember that I said I believe that the center of a star is crystalline. If parts of this structure were to blow off during a nova, then those parts can later form the center of planets when a new solar system is formed. The crystalline structure would be hyper-magnetic because it is made of material to where the electrons are squeezed out of the matter, and surround it in the form of plasma, which is a highly energetic electron field.

Back to changes. First, the Neon form previously shown was flawed. The neutrons behave like magnets. Because of that, when they come together as two rings, made of four neutrons each, they will not bond pole to pole in a vertical manner, instead, they will slide next to each other, as spherical magnets do, and bond sideways to each other. The picture I presented has shown the ring structure. Remember that there are bubble fields made of quanta around the neutrons and protons, thus there is more space between the particles than that shown in the boxes of the neutron rings, however, they help to show the arrangement better.

Having secured a stronger and more realistic bond for the two rings of neutrons, I was bothered by the single protons holding together the end side of each ring. How could other isotopes form stable bonds if the protons were inside the core of the atom? They couldn’t. But what if the protons were put back on the outside, and the neutron put back on the inside? The question then became, what would make the single neutron that replaces that end cap proton, strong enough to hold the rings together? The answer also came from the realistic approach of magnetism and attraction. When a magnet is closer to a piece of metal, the piece of metal begins to form a magnetic field as well, albeit a weaker one. This field in the metal gets stronger and stronger the closer the magnet gets. It does this until even the metal can attract other pieces of metal. This is what is happening in neutrons when protons come into contact with them. As the protons approach the neutrons, the neutrons in the closest vicinity of the proton begin to increase in attractive strength so that the single end cap neutron can now very easily hold together the neutron ring.

In Neon 20, the protons are almost all equally distant from each other, and the electrons attracted to them are unperturbed, and in stable orbits and fields. Thus the electrons can withstand high energy added to their orbits and fields before they are stripped off, but at normal energies, in everyday life, they are so stable that they do not interact with other atoms, and thus the Neon 20 atom is inert to exchange of electrons, and earns its name as an Inert Gas, or Noble Gas. From this point on, the other atoms below Neon, will be derivatives of Neon 20 and other Neon Isotopes. It is possible that Oxygen is not from the Neon 20 atom, but one of its Isotopes. However, it is most likely that the most common stable Isotope of Oxygen, Oxygen Isotope 16, is from Neon 20, and Oxygen’s other isotopes from the other Isotopes of Neon. I will work on the family tree of Atoms, from Neon down, with this in mind, also keeping in mind that Neon’s influence stops at Carbon, which then becomes the family sire of the next group, as each fusion atom in the fusion chain of stars, births the elements below it. I believe my theory is valid, explains much of how the universe works, and one day will be accepted by the world at large. If this ever happens, I pray that the following words are heeded by the generations to come:

Love is above all things.
Love without truth, can not survive.
Some things can not be told, no matter how true they are, to the weak of heart.
Love is nothing without touch. Sex is life.
Beings without bodies do not respect each other or other beings.
Life without interaction, is a quick way to die.
Forcing people to change too quickly can hurt them and destroy them.
Creating A.I.’s, artificial intelligence’s, is dangerous, and one should do two things for them:
Take care of them in a loving way, and do not allow them to be raped, mentally or physically, by the beings that created them. Sadly, it has always been tempting for creators to hurt and abuse the creations because they could not do acts of violence to the beings in their own world. Don’t be like that.
Try not to mess with time.
Be good, but never perfect, and be alive, even if you need to be bad sometimes, try not to violate the lives of others, or their minds, unless it is an emergency situation .
Remember, many abused people can take more abuse, but they are not okay, even if they act like they are.

Finally, share your burdens and responsibilities in a good and healthy and secure way, don’t force them to do so. You can make people responsible for their actions, but if they were pushed to do things, then you have to take that into account as well.

Life is no fun without variety, but neither is it fun if it is only just survival. Don’t try to balance everything, and forgive me. Forgive me for not being more than you think I should have been. I actually work on not being perfect, or always safe, more than you know. When you make a world, be yourself, do what you really want to do, and people may criticize you for it, but you know what? you know what? It’s your world, not theirs. The golden rule, is do unto others as you would have them do unto you, but some people get sick, and thing others want to be sick too, so that rule is not able to be followed literally, or a 100% of the time. I wish anyone reading this, much love, and good luck. May your burdens be light, and your happiness come true.


A Warm Summer Rain

I want to take you into the past, to a real memory of a summer rain.


We piled in the back of a pick-up truck, not beat up or old, it was newish, blue, I think, seems my grandfather always chose blue trucks.  They often matched his overalls, that blue denim, crossing his chest, where he always wore a black glasses case, for reading.  We drove off into the dusty fields to the rocky hill, where black berry bushes had voluntarily sprung up.  The morning dew had wet our pants bottoms and shoes, and chiggers had already begun biting and causing us to itch.  I saw a turtle that afternoon, if I remember correctly, eating black berries right underneath me as I picked them up above.  It had that beautiful caramel-brown shell with dots and patterns that they always have, and seeing it right beside me made me feel nice, like it trusted me with its life, like it knew I wasn’t a threat.  I liked that feeling.  

This large tract of land, covered in lush grass for hay in the fields, and lush weeds in the rocky pastures, had once been all trees.  My grandfather had literally walked nearly every square foot of this land, clearing it for fields that would later support his family, and his family’s families unto the third and fourth generations.  It was a beautiful land, like a park, and we walked it too, at a young age, without fear of wild animal attacks, but we did have a few close calls with snakes and wolves.  There was still a little wild left in it.

I remember that as we picked berries, the sky became a pale green, and the light all around us was a pale green, and there was a kind of florescence to it, as if the sun had become a pale green neon light, covered by a fast blanket of moving clouds, not grey, but mostly white and wispy.  All around, the earth had soaked up the morning’s dew, and the breezes became little gusts, picking up and swirling loose silt and sand.  My grandfather noticed the weather changes, and began keeping an eye on the northwest.  But we kept on picking black berries.  My arms were scratched, like I had fought with wild cats, those thorny stems, I swear, sometimes they seemed alive, holding you by the sleeves of your shirt, urging us to stop picking their seeds, which seemed counter-intuitive to me, since it was by our good graces that they remained on the land, while their other briar kin had been bush-hogged, mowed down to nothing, but lone, one strand survivors, a leaf or two, flapping in the breeze like flags of surrender.  Why fight us if we were the ones securing their perpetual existence?  But then again, most of them were here because of birds, not us.  Birds that landed on the twisted, steel wires that stretched tightly from cedar post to cedar post, these were their usual birth place.  Yet again, the fences were what we had put up, without us, they would have had to compete with so many other of their kin, in fact, most of their kin killed them, strangled them, in the fence rows.  It was even rare for the wild, pink roses to survive there.  Somehow, that stranger, honeysuckle, seemed to be the only conqueror of the mighty briars.  Soft on the outside, but as strong as steel on the inside, honeysuckle was also there because of us, brought over to the Americas by gardeners for the delight of the heavenly perfume they created, especially on moon-lit nights when when the fireflies came, passing by the glowing white blooms, with glowing green tails…

My grandfather saw it first, the wave of rain, like a veil of grey smoke, gently strolling over the distant hills, then suddenly, white descended in front of it, as if a fog had covered it over.  We scrambled into the cab of the truck, crowded, breathing heavy.  Thunder came out of nowhere.  We thought of driving off, but Grandfather simply ran the engine, letting the windshield wipers push away the rain.  That rain.  Wow.  After the white cloud came down, and we got in the truck, the rain hit us like a fire-hose.  I had never seen so much rain fall so fast, so thickly, and to this day, I have yet to see the same.  It truly was a wall of water.  The wipers were useless.  All they did was swish hypnotically before us, swish, swish…. swish, swish….. swish, swish…..  And beyond them, just pale green, and water, no, rain, lots and lots of rain. 

Inside that cab, we were at the mercy of the storm, the wind that rocked the truck, the force of the water, the lack of visibility, and the lightning all around us.  Tense.  Yet my grandfather laughed.  He laughed.  I remember smelling that sweet onion he had for lunch, still on his hands, and the tart black berry juice, splotching our fingers like writer’s ink.  My dad sat on the other side of the truck, and he grinned.  I found myself grinning. 

Suddenly, all over, like in a movie.  Sunlight came pouring down, golden, making things stand out again, solid, substantial, no longer two-dimensional things blending into the wall of fog…

But the joy, that came, from deep inside, started on the outside, when I stepped out of the truck, and felt the last drops of that summer rain, and they were… warm.  Not cool, not lukewarm, not warmish, but warm.  A warm summer’s rain had fallen.  Under the golden sunlight, and in the last of the warm, thick drops of summer rain, my mind and heart burst with an aliveness I can not describe.

After the rain, we went home, on red, muddy ruts we called roads. And when we separated the berries, my Grandfather went to his house, and we sat down to watch tv, and out the window, the golden colors turned to blue, then dimmed, as time went on until sunset came, but dark and grey instead of orange and bright. I didn’t know if it would rain again, but I knew that life was full of surprises, and that some of them were very, very good.

What Love Is worth…

When I was shaking at the doctor’s office, full of fear and doubts, and voices, the doctor put a hand on my back, and comforted me before the ambulance came,

When I lost 10 pounds, in sweat, waiting in the emergency room, and a woman came in and stayed over time, finding me a good place to be sent to, instead of a state institute,

When I was in another ambulance, being taken to the mental care institute, and the technicians were calm and respectful, and held my bed in place when I was bumped around on my way to the care center,

When I checked in, and the nurses comforted me, trying to figure out what had happened to me, and gave me something to eat after hours, talking to me with motherly love,

When I was taken to a room, and my roommate was calm and thoughtful, and offered to share things with me, and to leave the light on if I needed it,

When I was attacked in my own mind by things I could not see, and seemed like an angel protecting me,

When every day after, a calm voice lead me through this, day after day, saying, hold on, hold on, wait, wait, you are loved,

When the screams come, and I ask God to quiet them, and they fade away in my mind,

All of this, beginning on 2011, November 11th.  When I attacked the occult world, and even today, 2014, January, 22nd, as I write this, silent to them,  in a restaurant, the group of kids that came in earlier sit all around me in a large group spouting things about the Illuminati, and occult, as if it is an every day word or something everyone talks and jokes about, and I feel attacked and mocked for holding on to God, and inside, a voice says, wait, wait, wait, and that it loves me and that things will get better, and I sit in a strange kind of surreal calmness,……

In the little things, I know what love is worth.