Bright Horizons – The Lighthouse

“Here’s The Scoop”


November 4, 2017, 11am.  About Me.  Here it is Saturday and I have yet to post the pictures I took while walking back and forth twice from 60 Wall Street atrium to Staples on Broadway at Vesey Street.  I don’t know why it’s taking so long.  I think probably because of the shootings; the only way I can cope emotionally with feeling of grief and mourning is by writing about it, or rather, posting articles/photos/advertisements.  That, feelings of grief and mourning, and also feelings of pain from easy button laser beam torture, and discouragement because of many computer gremlin glitches, and feelings of depression because obviously the stock market is never going to crash.  I don’t know why it’s so difficult for me to just concentrate on posting those pictures, that I took on October 30, 2017.  The next day I wrote that I would post the pictures in chronological order, and I did post the pictures I took when I left my room, on my way to the subway station to go to 60 Wall Street atrium; I posted pictures of the items showcased in the elevator vestibule.  And I posted pictures that I took when I went to Stop&Sthop in response to a telephone call from my grandson Wesley. (He telephoned me again on Wednesday and said to me, “God is good all the time”, the exact wording on door 1171 in the main corridor, the door with all the witchcraft satanic occult symbols and the small bottle of Poland Spring “holy” water taped to the caked-up-with-greasy-dirt floor/woodwork.  And then he said something about “God is right on time.” similar to the wording on a sign posted in the kitchen, State Street side of the building. Anything that I know of that happens to Wesley, I am posting, for a legal case of which he is the primary plaintiff.   cc all Mormon barristers)   And I posted some of the pictures I took while sitting in the atrium.  But I did not post the pictures I took while walking on Broadway and on Nassau Street.  I don’t know why I’m having such a difficult time posting those pictures.

This is one of the pictures.  This is a picture of a subway station that looks like it now belongs to JPMorganChase (Jennifer Government):

IRT 123 Wall Street subway, Nassau Street at Chase Plaza, October 30, 2017. In the year 1986 while office space for JPMorgan Controllers Department was being renovated at 15 Broad Street we were in the building on the right, 20 Pine Street building, Chase Plaza.   I was employed in Financial Training Department.  JPMorgan Audit Department was also temporarily located at 20 Pine Street, Chase Plaza. One of the auditors, a very handsome African American male, was accused of groping white female employees; he was fired.  His first name or his surname is Dean.  When I heard the rumor, about him groping, even though I was not yet a “conspiracy nut”, I did not believe a word of it!  When I sat next to him at an NABA (National Association of Black Accountants) meeting, I was very impressed with him, and to this day, I just do not believe he’s any kind of sex fiend.  (I am not an accountant; I attended the meeting as a representative of JPMorgan Financial Training.)  Coincidentally, a white male banker whose first name or surname is Dean, a likeable man, was or is married to an African American female.  And of course, a dean is head of a college/university department.  (Yes, though I was not then, I am now, a hard-core “conspiracy nut”.)   It’s all about education.  (to be continued)

Bright Horizons, a child-care center, is now located at 20 Pine Street, the entrance on Chase Plaza.
This phone looks like my phone on my desk at 20 Pine Street!
[note her index finger and thumb, the “inch by inch, it’s a cinch” hand sign:]
Bright Horizons  

JPMorgan Chase totem pole is no longer showcased on the plaza, and neither are the black birds that were painted on the window panes, like the blackbirds on one of Sade’s album covers. (I never really thought about her name, which is not her birth name. I have no complaint against Sade, or Paul McCartney or his daughter, Stella McCartney.  I do though, have a big complaint against the owner of Marriott Marquis [de Sade] hotels: the Mormon Church of Satan.)  cc all Mormon barristers)

I used to think that totem pole represented Native Americans, and it does. Tonto (most especially the new and improved Tonto with the blackbird on his head), yes.  One Flew Over the Cuckoo Nest, yes.  But much moreso, “John the Savage”.

Half an hour later, three Delta-Minus landworkers from one of the Puttenham Bokanovsky Groups happened to be driving to Elstead and, at the top of the hill, were astonished to see a young man standing outside the abandoned lighthouse stripped to the waist and hitting himself with a whip of knotted cords. His back was horizontally streaked with crimson, and from weal to weal ran thin trickles of blood. The driver of the lorry pulled up at the side of the road and, with his two companions, stared open-mouthed at the extraordinary spectacle. One, two, three-they counted the strokes. After the eighth, the young man interrupted his self-punishment to run to the wood’s edge and there be violently sick. When he had finished, he picked up the whip and began hitting himself again. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve …”Ford!” whispered the driver. And his twins were of the same opinion.

“Fordey!” they said.

Three days later, like turkey buzzards settling on a corpse, the reporters came.

A humming overhead had become a roar; and suddenly he was in shadow, there was something between the sun and him. He looked up, startled, from his digging, from his thoughts; looked up in a dazzled bewilderment, his mind still wandering in that other world of truer-than-truth, still focused on the immensities of death and deity; looked up and saw, close above him, the swarm of hovering machines. Like locusts they came, hung poised, descended all around him on the heather. And from out of the bellies of these giant grasshoppers stepped men in white viscose-flannels, women (for the weather was hot) in acetate-shantung pyjamas or velveteen shorts and sleeveless, half-unzippered singlets-one couple from each. In a few minutes there were dozens of them, standing in a wide circle round the lighthouse, staring, laughing, clicking their cameras, throwing (as to an ape) peanuts, packets of sex-hormone chewing-gum, pan-glandular petite beurres. And every moment-for across the Hog’s Back the stream of traffic now flowed unceasingly-their numbers increased. As in a nightmare, the dozens became scores, the scores hundreds.The Savage had retreated towards cover, and now, in the posture of an animal at bay, stood with his back to the wall of the lighthouse, staring from face to face in speechless horror, like a man out of his senses.

From this stupor he was aroused to a more immediate sense of reality by the impact on his cheek of a well-aimed packet of chewing-gum. A shock of startling pain-and he was broad awake, awake and fiercely angry.

“Go away!” he shouted.

The ape had spoken; there was a burst of laughter and hand-clapping. “Good old Savage! Hurrah, hurrah!” And through the babel he heard cries of: “Whip, whip, the whip!”

Acting on the word’s suggestion, he seized the bunch of knotted cords from its nail behind the door and shook it at his tormentors.

There was a yell of ironical applause.

Menacingly he advanced towards them. A woman cried out in fear. The line wavered at its most immediately threatened point, then stiffened again, stood firm. The consciousness of being in overwhelming force had given these sightseers a courage which the Savage had not expected of them. Taken aback, he halted and looked round.

“Why don’t you leave me alone?” There was an almost plaintive note in his anger.

“Have a few magnesium-salted almonds!” said the man who, if the Savage were to advance, would be the first to be attacked. He held out a packet. “They’re really very good, you know,” he added, with a rather nervous smile of propitiation. “And the magnesium salts will help to keep you young.”

The Savage ignored his offer. “What do you want with me?” he asked, turning from one grinning face to another. “What do you want with me?”

“The whip,” answered a hundred voices confusedly. “Do the whipping stunt. Let’s see the whipping stunt.”

Then, in unison and on a slow, heavy rhythm, “We-want-the whip,” shouted a group at the end of the line. “We-want-the whip.”

Others at once took up the cry, and the phrase was repeated, parrot-fashion, again and again, with an ever-growing volume of sound, until, by the seventh or eighth reiteration, no other word was being spoken. “We-want-the whip.”

They were all crying together; and, intoxicated by the noise, the unanimity, the sense of rhythmical atonement, they might, it seemed,
have gone on for hours-almost indefinitely. But at about the twenty-fifth repetition the proceedings were startlingly interrupted. Yet another helicopter had arrived from across the Hog’s Back, hung poised above the crowd, then dropped within a few yards of where the Savage was standing, in the open space between the line of sightseers and the lighthouse. The roar of the air screws momentarily drowned the shouting; then, as the machine touched the ground and the engines were turned off: “We-want-the whip; we-want-the whip,” broke out again in the same loud, insistent monotone.

The door of the helicopter opened, and out stepped, first a fair and ruddy-faced young man, then, in green velveteen shorts, white shirt, and jockey cap, a young woman.

At the sight of the young woman, the Savage started, recoiled, turned pale.

The young woman stood, smiling at him-an uncertain, imploring, almost abject smile. The seconds passed. Her lips moved, she was saying something; but the sound of her voice was covered by the loud reiterated refrain of the sightseers.

“We-want-the whip! We-want-the whip!”

The young woman pressed both hands to her left side, and on that peach-bright, doll-beautiful face of hers appeared a strangely incon-
gruous expression of yearning distress. Her blue eyes seemed to grow larger, brighter; and suddenly two tears rolled down her cheeks. Inaudibly, she spoke again; then, with a quick, impassioned gesture stretched out her arms towards the Savage, stepped forward.

“We-want-the whip! We-want …”

And all of a sudden they had what they wanted.

“Strumpet!” The Savage had rushed at her like a madman. “Fitchew!” Like a madman, he was slashing at her with his whip of small cords.

Terrified, she had turned to flee, had tripped and fallen in the heather. “Henry, Henry!” she shouted. But her ruddy-faced companion had bolted out of harm’s way behind the helicopter.

With a whoop of delighted excitement the line broke; there was a convergent stampede towards that magnetic centre of attraction. Pain was a fascinating horror.

“Fry, lechery, fry!” Frenzied, the Savage slashed again.

Hungrily they gathered round, pushing and scrambling like swine about the trough.

“Oh, the flesh!” The Savage ground his teeth. This time it was on his shoulders that the whip descended. “Kill it, kill it!”

Drawn by the fascination of the horror of pain and, from within, impelled by that habit of cooperation, that desire for unanimity and
atonement, which their conditioning had so ineradicably implanted in them, they began to mime the frenzy of his gestures, striking at one another as the Savage struck at his own rebellious flesh, or at that plump incarnation of turpitude writhing in the heather at his feet.

“Kill it, kill it, kill it …” The Savage went on shouting.

Then suddenly somebody started singing “Orgy-porgy” and, in a moment, they had all caught up the refrain and, singing, had begun to dance. Orgy-porgy, round and round and round, beating one another in six-eight time. Orgy-porgy …

It was after midnight when the last of the helicopters took its flight. Stupefied by soma, and exhausted by a long-drawn frenzy of sensuality, the Savage lay sleeping in the heather. The sun was already high when he awoke. He lay for a moment, blinking in owlish incomprehension at the light; then suddenly remembered-everything.

“Oh, my God, my God!” He covered his eyes with his hand.

That evening the swarm of helicopters that came buzzing across the Hog’s Back was a dark cloud ten kilometres long. The description of last night’s orgy of atonement had been in all the papers.

“Savage!” called the first arrivals, as they alighted from their machine. “Mr. Savage!”

There was no answer.

The door of the lighthouse was ajar. They pushed it open and walked into a shuttered twilight. Through an archway on the further side of the room they could see the bottom of the staircase that led up to the higher floors. Just under the crown of the arch dangled a pair of feet.

“Mr. Savage!”

Slowly, very slowly, like two unhurried compass needles, the feet turned towards the right; north, north-east, east, south-east, south, south-south-west; then paused, and, after a few seconds, turned as unhurriedly back towards the left. South-south-west, south, south-
east, east. …

(CIA-M15-ASIS agent Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World, one of the “how-to” manuals for the powers that now be in power but not for long,

Creativity Movement Logo.png

Creativity flag; the red field symbolizes the struggle for the survival, expansion, and advancement of the white race, and the white triangle on the right represents a “whiter and brighter world.”[1]
Creativity is a pantheistic white separatist new religious movement which has been classified as a hate group by the Southern Poverty Law Center.[2] It was founded in Lighthouse Point, Florida by Ben Klassen as the Church of the Creator in 1973. The church’s worldview is based on the veneration of the white race and the supposed safeguarding of its survival. [emphasis added]

[Utah “honey bee”]

Verizon 2015 logo -vector.svg
In 2000, Bell Atlantic acquired GTE, which operated telecommunications companies across most of the rest of the country that was not already in Bell Atlantic’s footprint. Bell Atlantic, the surviving company, changed its name to “Verizon”, a portmanteau of veritas (Latin for “truth”) and horizon.[10] [emphasis added]

November 4, 2017.  About Me.  My birth name is Leitha Mae Timmons. My aunt Ruth named me Leitha.  It never occurred to me to ask her about my name, a very unusual name, but I know my name has nothing to do with mythology.  My aunt died a faithful and true loyal servant of Jehovah, and so did her husband, my uncle Ralph; two outstanding examples of true Christians.
cc all Mormon barristers

No matter how many people think otherwise, Jehovah’s Witnesses really is God’s visible organization.
The wrath of Jehovah God really is upon the Mormon Church of Satan, no matter how many people think otherwise.
The stock market really is going to crash, worldwide, no matter how many people think otherwise.
No matter how many people think otherwise, Caroline Kennedy will be elected President in the year 2020; Jim Turner of Texas will be elected Vice President; Robert Kennedy Jr. will be nominated and confirmed U.S. Attorney General; Robert Mueller will be nominated and confirmed Director of the FBI.
No power on earth has the power to prevent this prophetic message that I write from becoming reality, not even these four people themselves.  I write under inspiration from and with authority from, God, the true God, Jehovah.  cc all Mormon barristers

Mayor Warren Wilhelm aka Bill de Blasio is the clean-up man, if the Mormon Church of Satan/CIA succeed in their planned nuclear bomb attack on the Hudson River.  His administration is already prepared to hold tribunals and immediately execute some of the “troublemakers” (30,000 bananas; nationwide: 30,000 guillotines, to be continued).

Partial List of Scapegoats, if the Mormon Church of Satan/CIA succeed in their nuclear bomb attack on the Hudson River:

Former President Barack “Hussein” Obama
Former Advisor to the President, Valerie “June” Jarrett
Former Homeland Security Director “Jeh” Johnson
Newark Mayor Ras Baraka
Minnesota Congressman FBI agent Keith “Ellison”
New York Congressman FBI agent Hakim Jeffries
Former leader of the CIA’s Black Panthers: FBI agent “Malik Zulu Shabazz”
Former Public Relations Spokesman for Mormon Church, FBI agent “Ahmad” Corbitt (now assigned to the Dominican Republic)

The purpose of this website is to expose the Mormon Church of Satan and all enemies of Jesus Christ the Way the Truth the Life, the Prince of Peace. This website is also the beginning of a presidential campaign to elect Caroline Kennedy President of the United States. I prayed to Jehovah God to please, by means of His son Christ Jesus, please, arrange national events and world events in such a manner such that Caroline Kennedy is elected President of the United States.  I know Jehovah God hears my prayer and will answer my prayer because that particular prayer of mine is one of my deepest desires and Jehovah God has promised me that he will satisfy all of my deepest desires.  All of the information posted at this website is interconnected; directly connected to the Mormon Church of Satan’s illegal sting operation surrounding Jehovah’s Witnesses worldwide, and me. The illegal sting operation that encompasses every human being on earth, and has resulted in the LEGAL CASE, unlike any other, ever. The LEGAL CASE, headed to The Hague, Netherlands. cc all Mormon attorneys

As the Storm Approaches,
Maintain Your Focus on Jesus!
(Matthew 14:22-34; Hebrews 12:2)
(Concluding talk, Jehovah’s Witnesses Convention 2015, worldwide)