The Scalpel, the Lens, and the Psyop That Wasn’t
(www.journalbnt.org. Vol1 Issue 3, for full essay)
(Pfizer Comirnaty, 12 week old sample, bright field, no coverslip 200x magnification)
It’s been two days since I published The Psyop That Wasn’t — a direct response to Dr Andrew Kaufman’s panel on so-called “nanotech hysteria.”
The comments that followed said a lot. Not just about the topic, but about how we speak when something challenges our frame.
Some responded with insight and care. Others with frustration or sarcasm. A few went for the person, not the argument.
And that — that is the heart of it.
The most dangerous psyop isn’t one with nanotech in it.
It’s the one that divides the room before the discussion begins.
The one that whispers: “Don’t look too closely. Don’t trust that person. Don’t talk.”
I’ve spent the past few years documenting engineered structures under the microscope. I’ve accused regulators of dismissal without inquiry.
But I’ve also watched the same reflex emerge within our own communities — a refusal to hold the lens steady, or to let others look through it.
In an attempt to distil these dynamics, I’ve written two poems.
“The healing begins
Only when we realise
That others benefit from this malady...
Time to take to consider the scalpel.”
A scalpel isn’t a sword.
It doesn’t hack. It discerns.
It separates tissue from scar, signal from noise, illusion from pattern. It cuts, yes — but it cuts with care, not vengeance.
That’s what discernment is.
It is not violence to ask for evidence.
It is not betrayal to examine a claim.
And it is not “psyop behaviour” to document something others don’t yet understand.
If anything, the real psyop is the suggestion that curiosity itself is a threat.
That to inquire is to divide. That to observe is to offend.
So I’m not publishing this to prolong the argument.
I’m publishing it to say: I’m still here.
Not to be right. Not to fight.
But to think — and talk — with you.
Let’s stay human.
Let’s stay open.
Let’s keep the lens clear — and the scalpel sharp.
— David
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I recently reconnected with an old friend, a practice I'm going to stop. She hates Trump (a sentiment I understand), is now an atheist, and can't wait for the next booster. (Btw, we're both RNs and worked together at several points in the past.) As she shared all her considerable and serious health issues, I asked if she would consider some other views and emailed a couple of the best and most relevant articles I've been compiling. Without the possibility of having read a thing, her immediate reaction was to discredit the author(s) and claim only published peer-reviewed studies acceptable. I gave a few more attempts, such as the compromised journals etc, defending my position, but immediately there followed how she "trusts the science," had done the proper research and it "wasn't rocket science" and accused me of spreading dangerous and misleading propaganda. With one swift swipe she completely trampled the information before her and our old friendship. It's only been a few weeks since we found each other after nearly 40 years, but sadly we don't have much to talk about if I don't engage in her complaints about health problems. Agreeing the world has gone crazy isn't enough to carry the weight.
I hate what they've done to us. So many losses.
Response poem:
As one tiny, itsy-bit of the God thing that makes all of this stuff work,
the stuff being 'US,'
I'll always know, I can't know more than anyone else, no matter what.
I wish others felt the same,
(Surely, they wish the same about me.)
But, as teensy, tinsy parts of the God thing, the little bits of matter that we are, (or not),
can't help but yelp out: "I, me, myself, and I, matter more than matter itself, and certainly more than you, and you, and all of them there with they, and theirs too.
How sad that the itsy bitsy puzzle pieces of God can't get along,
and see the whole big, beautiful picture of WE.
See everyone's eyes and what's inside, painting the truth as they see it, that no one can hide.
We're just beautiful, mad little sparks, starting bright fires so others will see
the truth that lies beyond, the me, me, me.
Daisy