I am Edgar Phillipe


I am Edgar Phillipe.

Since I am dealing with a group of beings I do not know, nor recognize, I will try to speak very simply so there are no misunderstandings. I regret to say how rude I have been, but if this be my only sin, then I will die knowing that it was minimal comparatively.

The societal folkways/mores on our planet are fairly clear:

If you follow someone for long periods of time—you are stalkers.

If you try to control the outcome of a situation, especially by other means than organically—you are manipulators.

If you threaten a person on this planet—you are aggressive and do not win any of my time.

If you try to push someone into a situation they may/may not want—you are a bully.

If you invade a person’s privacy and watch them when they have regressed to their own confinement—then you are criminals.

If you criticize someone for their actions—you are judgemental.

If you talk about someone behind their back in different ways you speak directly to them—you are two-faced.

If you speak in tongues with someone for your enjoyment—you play games.

If you assume that you have the power to do anything—you are arrogant.

If you lie and pretend things for a very long time—you are deceivers.

If you use a group of people to try to persuade someone to do something—you are threatening.

If you aren’t sincere with your actions—you are untrustworthy.

If you have no remorse for the things you do—you are are more than likely, sociopaths.

If you think that a person from this planet tolerates a group of people they don’t know, a group that constantly does all of these things repeatedly to them, that isn’t willing to have a conversation, that doesn’t care that they’ve been working against them instead of with them, that is perceived to be unwavering in their view that the person that they keep treating as an idiot—then you are just plain wrong.

I have my plan, you have yours. If you want to collaborate you will have to pull me aside to have a respectful, direct, sincere conversation, otherwise, I am back to do my work, think about the future, and carry on with my plan. My door is always open. If it is important enough, you will cross the thresholds of your egos. It will be years before I get over my anger, but less if you stop treating me like an ignorant fuck.

Feeling Love from a Lover

This blog is neither truth, nor fiction. Usually it’s just a drunken account of what my imagination holds, so fuck you.

It’s hard to bring my words into the light; it’s because I speak in different languages and dialects every day. Mostly English is ABCs to 3 year old foreign speakers, adult conversation is in a different language, and goes even more in others. It makes it tough to describe what I’m doing. I mean… not really, just can’t do that here or anywhere. There are certain privileges about being chosen that have to allow for privacy and secrecy, right? I feel that I don’t have that luxury anymore, although I still live my life that way.

A few weeks ago I had “someone” flick me off in the corner thinking I wasn’t watching. I can’t think anymore that this is a coincidence… it’s either a preconceived plan to try and piss me off and challenge me, or an act of anger thought to be privately vented. Either way… it seems petty. It’s petty to think that you can swoop in and suddenly sway me into doing and wanting what you think is right. Is it? Is it right? I mean, did you already calculate into the next realm? Or is that far past.. did I hiccup your plan? Did I throw the monkey wrench into it all? If so, good. I say that because I am fighting against a conspiracy, waged like a war against me. And for what? Because I was born on the right sign? How foolish you are to think that that is enough. Sometimes those born on the sign wake up with an attitude, like I have. An attitude that is pissed off and frustrated because I have been awoken before you came along. I have seen you manipulating me…. honestly I can tolerate it What I can’t tolerate is the criticisms, judgements, snide comments, and snickers. If you think you can do better, then do better. Leave me alone. Your bullying is not going to push me or intimidate me. I don’t care what happens to me. I never have. If you pressure me though my family or my friends, I will be empathetic to them, but it is YOUR karma that you’ll have to deal with.

“Do you suppose that I’d come running? Do you suppose I’d come at all?”

I’ve gotten your 420 codes in the past week. That’s nice. But that’s bullshit. We’re past that. Make a phone call in the literal sense. Stand up. If you’re worried about changing history, you’ve fucked that already, so you might as well go all in.

Man up.

Grow a universal set of bravery and talk to a brother in English. It’s like a surprise party that’s already been compromised, but you still feel like you can’t say anything. Great, whatever, just fuck off with the middle fingers. i don’t follow anything but my gut, which has a direct connection with me and my God, and a firewall that you can’t hack.

Point of this writing—you want to move slow, keep going the way your going. You want to move ahead, break out of the inside of your minds. Say what you want, say what you mean. Says Dispatch.

Antics and rants

This could be fact or fiction, but if you ask yourself which it could be, then fuck you. We all live in a simulation anyways... 


I am Edgar Phillipe.  Before I met you I was in. Before I was antagonized, teased by you, manipulated, observed, followed, tracked, and defiled, I was in. 

Your tactics don't justify your means. Not at all. That is why I am still saddened by what I have been awakened to. But to have this in my reality now and choose to walk away or be in gives me that strength and happiness that I've been seeking since Our Meeting. I am not sprinting to what you feel I need to be, nor am I attaching myself to that idea either. Because attachment is what causes suffering. Even yourselves to what preconceived notions you might have is causing your suffering. Free yourselves. You have no control to what is going to happen, less now that I see what really is. 

Maybe this is your way to coax me into doing what is meant to happen--but maybe what is meant to happen is now what will definitely not happen the way you thought. Maybe now it can be done in a different way. 

On Earth, from my vision--September 2007. Southeast Asia. Heat lightning in the clouds around the humid glow of the luminary sunset. Calm water around us and the islands in the distance. A coked up director with a camera pointed in the wrong direction. 15 guided souls that stammer their words in unison. A man on crutches who slurs his words and curses at the sky that forms into an inarguably blatant image of death and destruction on the planet. An image that shocked me across the universe into a giant ball of suffering for my mother who had been stolen from her planet, toyed with and experimented on, impregnated then detached from her son at birth. 

I was in since I saw that vision of heat lightning bursting in burning clouds of imagery. 

Dear St. Rita

2050 AD

"Ask St. Rita what you need. Do not cancel. I ask you from the heart. It is the week of St Rita who performs impossible things. Pass it to people within 1 hour. You will receive a miracle today.”

Dear St. Rita,

I need pieces. The round and shiny ones. Those can only be acquired by the digits I do not have. You see... They are coming. I've known for a long, long time. I've known since before I could remember. 

I have been tasked with an improbable mission, one that is not impossible if I had the digits to procure the pieces. The pieces are what will bring the masses. The masses are what we need to wake the others. This is not my plan... this is not my plan. I sit and slave, trying to make the digits, but my collectors siphon them off before they can accumulate to buy the pieces. Inside those masses will be the tree branch of chosen warriors that are also part of this plan. Warriors that believe in peace as much as I do, those that will not die without surviving first. The ones that have the tools and the bravery to stand up to Them. 

For me to ask such a monetary gift is only to ask you to bring to me what I've already worked for in this life. The digits that have been slipping through my fingers. The digits that are tied to my words. The words that have come from another place, a place I have never had control over, a place that has made me Its messenger. 

So I ask you dear St. Rita--I ask you for the impossible to make my improbable, plausible. 



Or is it? 

I am Edgar Phillipe.

I sit here and write to a universe that doesn't respond in the same language. You are shallow and want to be deep. You are calculating, but callous. You are manipulative but mundane. 

Yet, I feel it's enough with the insults. I'm trying to get past that, but you won't let me relax or forget. I appreciate that. No, really I do. There are benefits to being the Chosen One. Or... the one chosen... or, the chosen fool. I must cure my anger and hate, clear myself of the shit-stained heart I have. Because when I think of it, I think of you. And I'm angry. Strike me down if you like. You apparently have full reign (as of now) of our planet, but for me to catch you (or to always have known) has allowed me to be honest. Truly honest. And that strips away my sadness.

How can I trust a handful of beings that wants me to get stoned and then approach? How can I trust a group of beings that wants to construct a narrative that can never be fully reproduced with trust? It's almost as if you just wish to brush me with fairy dust and let me stew in the aftermath, like a dream that never happened. If things were so important, you would come to me in a language I would be able to understand. You would come to me with sincerity and openness. And don't try to tell me that speaking in whispers is what has gotten things done for you over the millennium. 

If you have discovered this world, and if Captain Cooke was not the rightful founder of New Zealand and Australia, you can't seem to get your shit together in a way that is organized, forthright, or just. You speak in limericks and parables that you think I, Edgar Phillipe, will accept. I am a human (even though I am a Halfling), and I will not tolerate your bullying. I do not care about prophets, destiny, or expectations. I do not care about saving a world that you lost control of. I am not here to be your janitor, nor your savior. If you want salvation, then be free. Free yourself from the control you seek. Free yourself from the manipulation that you feel you need. We are not babies that need to be swayed. If you are our creators, then you need to accept the responsibility that you didn't "fuck him up", but fucked up this world.

Only when you can free yourselves is when this planet can ultimately be free. We are like the high schoolers that are trying to break free from our parents. You must let us go. We cannot be saved by your hand anymore. 



Not fact, not fiction. Not really anything at all.

Now since you have knocked me off of my rails, I feel the keel of my ship balancing again. The waters are calmer now. I can see more clearly. 

Was that you, the Tic Tac? The ones above the other ships? If so, you are on your rails. Keep it up, but eventually, you're going to have to show your faces. Your human faces. It is the only way for trust.

To the beings...

These writing are neither fact, nor fiction, nor who gives a shit.

To the beings that found me, or that I have found. I have not given up on you, on us. 

You scared me. To think that my life has been swayed by outside forces other than my God is both disconcerting and horrifying. Thinking that you can make jokes as you tamper with people's lives makes me angry to think how you can use words like "empathy" and "compassion". But I see that you are not unlike "us", just upgraded in your forms. 

Now I have a feeling of responsibility that weighs me down, depresses me. Anger and guilt flood my emotions and I don't know how to get around them. I'm lost in my efforts because I don't know how the universe can give me such a compliment, but be so demanding at the same time. Your demands are not seen as "compassionate" or "empathetic". I did not ask for this life, but have to live it. I did not ask for this responsibility, but have to manage it. I did not ask to be ridiculed by you as you watch down over me, yet I have to endure it. For everything you have seen and known about me, I would've thought as "compassionate" and "empathetic" beings you would've approached with less power, more heart; but again, you are not unlike "us". Impatient with your needs and wants, emotional when you don't have them fulfilled. 

I have not given up on you, I just need space to think and heal from the rollercoaster you have put me on. And now, I have to make decisions about my life that need to steer my task in the right direction. Because according to you, "I know." I have known for as long as I can remember, yet I need to live my life at the same time and not forget what it is we are fighting for. It is the same fight, but not forgotten. Even though you have slowed my plan assuming you knew me.

I just feel hurt at the duress you have put me through to get us to where we are. I would've thought that "more intelligent" life would be wiser with their actions,  but I assumed too much. You are just like "us".