At a certain moment during the proceedings, the otherwise carefully managed event was suddenly interrupted by an unexpected disturbance. Outside the venue, two local activists staged a small but noticeable demonstration aimed squarely at calling attention to what they described as a deeply troubling practice. Specifically, they accused Attwood of promoting to his followers the use of a hazardous chemical concoction—in essence, a toxic bleach solution—that poses serious health risks. Their intervention, though brief, highlighted one of the most controversial aspects of Attwood’s reputation and brought an air of tension to the gathering.
The disruption quickly drew a reaction from within. Mark Power, who was acting as a host figure, along with Philip Dwyer, another participant known for his activism within far-right circles, confronted the two protesters directly. Rather than addressing the substance of their claims, they challenged the demonstrators with emotionally charged questions, insinuating that by drawing critical attention to Attwood, the activists might be encouraging harm against him, invoking the fate of Charlie Kirk as a parallel. When Dwyer himself was later approached for clarification by WIRED regarding these provocative remarks, he chose not to provide a direct explanation. Instead, he deflected the query by issuing a disparaging characterization of the journalist, labeling the reporter a “communist left-wing radical,” thereby sidestepping further scrutiny.
Meanwhile, back inside the venue, Attwood adopted a dismissive stance toward the situation. Rather than treating the activists’ claims with seriousness or concern, he openly laughed at them, turning the disruption into a moment of ridicule. This sentiment was reinforced by another speaker who followed him on stage, derisively describing the protesters as mere “clones,” thereby reducing their dissent to an expression unworthy of genuine engagement.
The sequence of speakers then transitioned into its more mystical segment, with an appearance by Honey C Golden, who is known for spiritually themed commentary. In her address, she offered her audience unconventional assertions, declaring, for instance, that the cultural phenomenon known as *The Matrix* should be understood as a literal reality show. Moreover, Golden professed a perspective that transcends conventional physics and philosophy, claiming that she does not “really believe in time,” thus positioning herself in explicit rejection of common temporal frameworks. This eclectic introduction set the mood for the next notable figure to take the podium.
That speaker was Lewis Herms, an outsider candidate seeking election as governor of California. Although he remains a relatively fringe figure, Herms has gained visibility through his internet-driven movement branded as “Screw Big Gov.” Presenting himself as an independent conservative voice—one among nearly seventy individuals who have formally declared interest in the governorship—Herms distinguished himself by adopting the label of an “anti-politician.” In his nearly forty-five–minute address, he sharply criticized the mainstream Republican Party, accusing it of ignoring or deliberately suppressing urgent topics such as child trafficking, election fraud, and the undue influence of pharmaceutical corporations, topics which resonate strongly among certain segments of the far-right activist base.
Herms also highlighted what he considered an attribute of authenticity: his refusal to appoint a campaign manager. To him, such a figure would introduce an element of artificiality, undermining the independence he wishes to project. Nonetheless, he revealed that his campaign is not entirely solitary, as he is working alongside others he declined to formally identify. In a particularly notable claim, Herms proudly asserted that numerous members of Robert F. Kennedy Jr.’s political network had already aligned themselves with his effort. According to Herms, these collaborators even gave his group the nickname “Super MAHA,” meant to signal their ambition to employ alternative methods—what he described as different modalities—in order to bring about transformative outcomes for California, surpassing even the initiatives currently being pursued by Kennedy. When asked for confirmation, neither Herms nor Kennedy ultimately responded to requests for comment.
Despite the cold weather setting in and the growing discomfort among attendees as evening fell, Herms received an enthusiastic reception, earning a standing ovation by the close of his speech. As twilight deepened into night, one final speaker was yet to take the stage: Janine Morigeau, a tarot card practitioner from Canada. Her presence shifted the event back toward the esoteric and mystical, closing the day much as it began—with references to the controversial figure of Charlie Kirk.
One member of the audience, echoing the lingering doubts and rumors woven throughout the gathering, directly asked whether Kirk was truly dead. The question sent a ripple of excitement through the crowd, and Morigeau obliged by performing an impromptu reading. Drawing six cards in rapid succession, she quickly pronounced her conclusion: the individual who appeared on video to be shot was not, in her interpretation, Charlie Kirk. She elaborated by framing the incident as a likely “white hat operation”—an action allegedly orchestrated for the collective benefit of humanity. In closing, Morigeau mystified her audience further by suggesting, in enigmatic terms, that perhaps even the true identity of Charlie Kirk was not what many had believed it to be, leaving the crowd with a sense of both intrigue and uncertainty as the gathering came to an end.
Sourse: https://www.wired.com/story/conspiracy-conference-rural-ireland-charlie-kirk-quantum-clones/
