On May 22, 2009, in the El Rosario area near Mexico City, two people independently filmed the same unusual aerial event from different locations and angles.
Not saying this is some cartoon level conspiracy, but the scale and speed of Starlink’s deployment has always felt disproportionate to the publicly stated goal.
Thousands of satellites. Constant launches. Global low latency coverage. Military contracts. Direct to cell capability. Emergency communication infrastructure. Mapping and synchronization potential. Real time observational capability. And eventually integration with autonomous systems.
It just seems so sinister but nobody’s really talking about it or asking questions, if skynet is inevitable, might aswell be our team first .. thats the only positive part about it
Two summers ago, I had a memorable experience in Larose Forest, Ontario, that still gives me pause today.
It was around 2:30 a.m. A friend had come over, and we were sitting by a bonfire, trying to stargaze. The garage floodlight and the house’s motion-sensor lights were creating too much light pollution, so my friend suggested we drive out to Larose Forest, where the sky would be much darker and clearer. I hesitated. Something about the idea felt off. I told him, only half-joking, that it seemed like one of those nights when people simply go missing. I’ve always trusted my intuition—something I attribute in part to a long history of vivid, often prophetic dreams—and that night, my instincts were sounding a clear warning.
He eventually convinced me, and we hopped into his freshly built, extremely loud Honda Civic. We peeled out and headed into the park, navigating gravel roads before turning onto what appeared to be a utility access road cutting through a swampy, marshy area. We parked, stepped out, and looked up at the sky. The view was breathtaking. My friend excitedly pointed out a bright cluster of stars, joking that it almost looked like a mothership hovering overhead.
Then, without warning, a deep, resonant “dooooowoooooop” sound erupted from roughly 30 feet behind us, right in the middle of the road. I felt the low vibration on the back of my neck. Neither of us turned around. Our eyes met for a split second, and pure fight-or-flight took over. We scrambled back into the car. In my panic, I fumbled desperately for the door handle, momentarily disoriented because I had never been inside the vehicle before.
The drive home was a blur of adrenaline and disbelief. We kept replaying the moment, with me repeatedly reminding him, “I told you, bro.” In the days that followed, I mentally reviewed every animal sound I could think of—owls, foxes, birds, even deer—but nothing matched what we had heard.
Weeks later, I was casually flipping through channels when I landed on an episode of Les Stroud’s Bigfoot series. As soon as I heard the researchers replicating a Bigfoot call, I sat straight up. It was the exact same sound. I immediately messaged my friend a clip of the episode. He was stunned. To this day, we still don’t have a conventional explanation for what we experienced that night in the forest