And what makes the scientists so sure the moon is so safe as a storage vault? And just where are all these samples to be germinated? The moon or some other planet?
we do not know what is really going on
and for the Svalbard Global Seed Vault in Norway you can see that Bill gates is also here
In fact he is everywhere ans I do not think it is a good sign https://www.quora.com/Who-owns-the-Svalbard-Global-Seed-Vault
An obvious front for some[thing].
Not human.
I sometimes wonder how many copies are available; and if there is much difference between them.
Yes, I mock them all.
Sinister sock puppets pretending to be human; but unlike Pinocchio, no desire to be human.
Maybe those “scientists” could just transfer themselves to the Moon, in the case of males taking their personal “samples” with them (if they have any left, which I doubt).
The Seed Shop
by Muriel Stuart
Here in a quiet and dusty room they lie,
Faded as crumbled stone or shifting sand,
Forlorn as ashes, shrivelled, scentless, dry –
Meadows and gardens running through my hand.
In this brown husk a dale of hawthorn dreams;
A cedar in this narrow cell is thrust
That will drink deeply of a century’s streams;
These lilies shall make summer on my dust.
Here in their safe and simple house of death,
Sealed in their shells, a million roses leap;
Here I can blow a garden with my breath,
And in my hand a forest lies asleep.
and for the Svalbard Global Seed Vault in Norway you can see that Bill gates is also here
In fact he is everywhere ans I do not think it is a good sign
https://www.quora.com/Who-owns-the-Svalbard-Global-Seed-Vault
Not human.
I sometimes wonder how many copies are available; and if there is much difference between them.
Yes, I mock them all.
Sinister sock puppets pretending to be human; but unlike Pinocchio, no desire to be human.
To be mixed & matched w/robots and other transhumanism ascension technologies?
by Muriel Stuart
Here in a quiet and dusty room they lie,
Faded as crumbled stone or shifting sand,
Forlorn as ashes, shrivelled, scentless, dry –
Meadows and gardens running through my hand.
In this brown husk a dale of hawthorn dreams;
A cedar in this narrow cell is thrust
That will drink deeply of a century’s streams;
These lilies shall make summer on my dust.
Here in their safe and simple house of death,
Sealed in their shells, a million roses leap;
Here I can blow a garden with my breath,
And in my hand a forest lies asleep.