RARE WOOD PARQUET — IN EVERY Hall! Where Are Thousands of Craftsmen and Hectares of Rare Forests?

Have you ever tried looking down at your feet when entering ancient palaces or museums instead of staring at the plaster on the ceiling?

Do it and your faith in official history will crumble to dust like rotten wood.

They've been lying to us all our lives about the greatness of 18th and 19th century architects. But the truth is

century architects. But the truth is hidden not in golden domes, but in what we walk on.

Parquet.

It seems like just a wooden floor. But

if you switch on critical thinking and a calculator, you'll realize that the existence of these floors in such quantity and quality is technically impossible for the era depicted in textbooks.

The official version claims that thousands of surf craftsmen armed only with chisels, planes, and primitive sores created geometric masterpieces

from the hardest woods. We're told it was manual labor, but let's set emotions aside and stick to dry logistics and materials science.

What we have before us isn't just boards, but intricate mosaics in Tarzia, where up to 300 or even 500

tiniest pieces can be assembled in just 11 square ft. And this isn't pine or birch that you can cut with a pocket

knife. We're talking ironwood, ebony,

knife. We're talking ironwood, ebony, rosewood, purple heart, Brazilian rosewood. These are woods whose density

rosewood. These are woods whose density rivals bone and metal. Try sawing ebony with a handsaw. It's so hard that

ordinary metal dulls in 5 minutes of work, and the wood itself chips and cracks at the slightest mistake.

Now imagine you need to cut millions of 1/8 in thick veneers from this material and not just cut them but fit them

together with precision to fractions of an inch without gaps without cracks so that even after 200 years a razor blade

won't slip between them. Do you really believe that guys in bast shoes did this by the light of a torch?

Let's talk about the scale that makes historians shyly look away. Take just

one Hermitage or any major European palace. We're talking tens of thousands

palace. We're talking tens of thousands of square feet of artistic parquet.

The math here is merciless. If we assume that one highly skilled master working by hand can perfectly lay and polish 11 square ft of complex geometric pattern

in a month. And that's a very optimistic estimate given the wood's hardness and pattern complexity.

Then covering 430,000 square ft would require 40,000 man months. This means that either an army

months. This means that either an army of 3 and a half thousand master craftsmen worked on the floors simultaneously for a year or the construction would have stretched over

centuries.

But where are these thousands of masters? Where are their names?

masters? Where are their names?

Where are the payroll records, the ledgers for procuring food for this army of paraders?

Historical archives are silent.

They name us two or three surnames of famous architects who supposedly oversaw the process and a couple of contractor names. But who did the sawing?

names. But who did the sawing?

Who did the sanding? Where did the mountains of sawdust and rejected material go? There should have been more

material go? There should have been more waste than finished product from manual processing.

There should be thousands of tons of production waste. But archaeology is

production waste. But archaeology is silent. We don't find gigantic dumps of

silent. We don't find gigantic dumps of wood dust and scraps of precious woods around the palaces.

And this is just the tip of the iceberg of lies. The most terrifying question

of lies. The most terrifying question that shatters the official picture of the world is the raw materials logistics.

Look at the wood composition.

Purple heart grows in the tropical forests of South and Central America.

Ebony in Africa and India. Rosewood in

Brazil and East India. In the 18th century, there were no container ships, no airplanes. There were sailing ships.

no airplanes. There were sailing ships.

Do you envision the logistics of delivering thousands of tons of super heavy timber across oceans? The wood

from these species sinks in water. It

can't be floated down rivers like Siberian logs. It has to be loaded into

Siberian logs. It has to be loaded into holds.

1 cubic meter of ebony weighs more than 2,200 lb.

To cover the floors of all the halls in the Winter Palace, Catherine Palace, Peterhof palaces, and Iranianbound, it wouldn't require just individual

logs, but entire ship convoys pllying nonstop between continents.

We're talking about clearcutting acres of relic tropical forests.

Where in the 18th century ship logs are the records of mass shipments of thousands of tons of purple heart and rosewood to St. Petersburg?

Historians will tell you they carried it in small quantities, but small quantities wouldn't suffice even for one St. George's Hall. We see acres covered

St. George's Hall. We see acres covered with a precious carpet of wood valued by weight like gold. If we convert the total parquet area of all surviving

estates and palaces of that era into the required raw material volume, we'll get figures for industrialcale imports comparable to modern cargo turnover.

How could a sailing fleet dependent on wind storms and pirates ensure an uninterrupted supply of such volumes of specialized cargo? And most importantly,

specialized cargo? And most importantly, where was this timber processed?

After all, it's not economical to ship whole logs. They need to be saw into

whole logs. They need to be saw into boards at the felling site or in port.

But sawing tropical iron wood requires sawmills made of high alloy steel with carbide tipped blades, not blacksmith saws from soft iron that were available

according to the official version.

Have you ever seen a purple heart cross-section under a microscope?

Its structure is so dense that when machined at high speeds with modern tools, it starts to burn. And we're told they planed it with a hand plane.

This is a lie aimed at those who've never held anything heavier than a smartphone in their hands.

The technological gap between what we see underfoot and the tools attributed to that era is an abyss. This abyss

can't be filled with fairy tales about industrious ancestors and lost secrets of craftsmanship.

The secret of craftsmanship can explain the elegance of one jewelry box, but it can't explain the industrial scale of production that requires factory capabilities.

Another fact that makes your hair stand on end is the perfect geometry.

Many parquet patterns are fractal designs, stars with complex angles, volutric 3D effects created by fiber direction.

To assemble such a puzzle, every piece must be made with tolerances to thousandth of an inch. Humidity,

temperature, all this affects wood. 18th

century palaces had no climate control.

There were stoves, drafts, temperature swings from minus22 degrees outside to plus 68 inside.

Ordinary parquet laid by a modern master would swell or warp in 2 years under such conditions. But these floors have

such conditions. But these floors have lasted for centuries.

No gaps. The geometry hasn't shifted.

This indicates the wood underwent vacuum drying or special chemical stabilization technologies that only emerged in the second half of the 20th century.

Or are we dealing with a polymer composite that merely imitates wood?

No. Expert analyses confirm it's solid wood. That means the wood drying and

wood. That means the wood drying and stabilization technology 200 years ago surpassed our modern one.

But where did it disappear to? Why did

we forget how to dry wood so it becomes eternal stone?

We're approaching a terrifying conclusion.

The volume of work attributed to the 18th 19th centuries physically could not have been accomplished with the claimed tools and manpower.

The urban population of that time simply didn't have that many skilled craftsmen.

If you look at the demographic data, St.

Petersburg at that time didn't have so many people that an army of cabinet makers comparable to the population of a small town could be drawn from them.

Someone had to bake bread, haul water, sew clothes, serve in the army.

Where did these thousands of invisible masters come from who created acres of parquet fields?

Official history offers no answer except vague mumbling about genius self-taughts.

But a lone genius can't build a factory conveyor in a shed. And what we see is the result of exactly assembly line high techch production standardized and

uniform.

The patterns repeat across different palaces as if stamped out on one machine.

This is industry, not craftsmanship.

And this industry was wiped from the face of the earth, leaving us only the finished product whose origin we can't explain.

Who really possessed the technologies for processing super hard materials on an industrial scale long before electricity appeared? And why did these

electricity appeared? And why did these factories vanish without a trace, leaving neither machine blueprints nor the machines themselves?

Let's set aside the saws and planes and pick up the account books. If the

technical impossibility of processing millions of tons of ironwood hasn't convinced you, then the economic absurdity of the official version should finally shatter your rosecolored

glasses. Economics is the foundation of

glasses. Economics is the foundation of any civilization, and it tolerates no fantasies. The construction of the

fantasies. The construction of the palaces we admire today, according to the official chronology, occurred against a backdrop of endless, grueling

wars, epidemics, and economic crisis. We

told that the Russian Empire, France, Prussia were constantly at war with each other, spending colossal sums on the army, navy, and gunpowder. And at the

same time, as if by magic, they managed to spend budgets comparable to modern space programs on floors.

Let's convert the material costs to modern money. One cubic meter of ebony

modern money. One cubic meter of ebony today costs tens of thousands of dollars. Purple heart, rosewood,

dollars. Purple heart, rosewood, olivewood, these are all elite auction grade items. to lay parquet in one hall of 5,400

square ft using solid valuable wood at least 3/4 in thick and antique parquet is often thicker requires about 350 to

530 cubic feet of pure material not counting the massive waste from cutting that's hundreds of thousands of dollars just for the raw materials for one room

and now multiply that by the hundreds of halls in one palace And now multiply that by hundreds of palaces and estates across the country.

We're talking figures with nine zeros.

Do you really believe that emperors whose soldiers died on campaigns from lack of provisions and medicines spent half the treasury just to walk on

African black ebony? That's economic

suicide. No state in history has behaved so wastefully in the midst of military campaigns. The only logical explanation

campaigns. The only logical explanation is that these floors came to them for free. They were already there.

free. They were already there.

The new masters of life who moved into these buildings in the 18th or 19th century simply restored what survived after a global catastrophe and claimed

authorship for themselves.

This explains why some halls have incredible artistic parquet while adjacent ones have rough boards painted with floor paint. The technology was

lost. Stocks of ancient material ran out

lost. Stocks of ancient material ran out and they started cobbling together from whatever was at hand from pine and birch.

Now let's look at the standardization.

If you carefully study photos of parquet from different corners of the world from the St. Petersburg Hermage, French

the St. Petersburg Hermage, French Versailles, Italian palazzos. You'll

notice a terrifying detail.

The modules are identical.

Geometric rosettes, complex stars, meander ribbons have exactly the same proportions and dimensions down to the millimeter.

In a world of manual labor, this is impossible.

Every master has his own hand, his own tool, his own measure of length.

Different countries had different feet, inches, sargeons. How could a French

inches, sargeons. How could a French master and a Russian surf create interchangeable parts for the most complex constructor without a unified

standard system, the internet, and drawings in CAD program format?

This points to only one thing, global industrial production. There were giant

industrial production. There were giant factories that stamped out these parket modules in million strong runs to a single standard, shipping them around

the world. It was a global logistics

the world. It was a global logistics network of a single civilization for which the borders of modern states simply didn't exist.

We see traces of unification characteristic only of an advanced industrial society. Imagine that in a

industrial society. Imagine that in a thousand years archaeologists find identical iPhones in the ruins of New York and Moscow. Will they conclude that

two different blacksmiths accidentally forged identical glass rectangles?

No. They'll understand there was a global corporation.

So why do we deny this understanding to our past when looking at identical parquet modules? And here we approach

parquet modules? And here we approach another inconvenient topic. Glues and

varnishes. To assemble a mosaic from thousands of small details, a binder of incredible strength is needed. Ordinary

carpenters glue based on animal or fish glue which was officially used at that time has its shelf life. It dries out, crumbles, fears moisture and mold. After

50 years, such parquet should turn into a pile of rattling boards. But we walk on floors that are supposedly 200 to 300

years old, and they are monolithic.

Restors often find under them not rot, but a layer of unknown composition resembling petrified resin or polymer. Chemical

analysis of these mastics often baffles scientists. They find components that

scientists. They find components that were only synthesized in the 20th century. Official science calls this

century. Official science calls this late restoration. turning a blind eye to

late restoration. turning a blind eye to the fact that the mastic layer is at the very bottom on the subfloor where restorers didn't reach. This means the

builders used synthetic polymers and high molecular compounds.

Where did they get chemical factories from? Where were the laboratories?

from? Where were the laboratories?

Or perhaps these compounds are not the product of chemistry as we understand it, but processed organics using technologies we've lost.

And another nail in the coffin of the official version is the climate. Let's

return to the woods origin. We said that shipping it from the tropics was impossible.

But what if they didn't ship it? What if

purple heart, rosewood, and ebony grew here near Voron on the territory of modern Siberia?

This sounds wild to a modern person accustomed to snowy winters, but look at old maps where Siberia and Tartery are depicted as blooming lands with numerous

cities. Read Traveler's memoirs

cities. Read Traveler's memoirs describing elephants and camels at latitudes where there's now perafrost.

The presence of gigantic amounts of tropical wood in the interiors of northern palaces may be direct proof that the climate changed very recently.

The catastrophe that alternative historians call pole shift or the great flood destroyed the heatloving flora of

Eurasia. The forests died, buried under

Eurasia. The forests died, buried under clay and silt and those stocks of valuable wood we see in the parques are the use of resources that were literally

underfoot for that civilization.

They didn't need to ship wood from Africa because Africa was here.

This explains why in later constructions at the end of the 19th century, the amount of valuable species drops sharply. The old stocks of pre flood

sharply. The old stocks of pre flood forest were depleted and new trees simply didn't grow in the changed cold climate.

The craftsmen had to switch to oak, ash, and birch. What survived after the

and birch. What survived after the climate shift? The parquet becomes

climate shift? The parquet becomes simpler. the patterns more primitive.

simpler. the patterns more primitive.

We see clear degradation of technology and materials, not the progress textbooks hammer into us. We're going

from complex to simple, from masterpieces to imitations.

Does this look like evolution?

This is involution, survival amid ruins.

But the most interesting thing is hidden not even in the material but in the laying principle.

If you look at the complex 3D parquet patterns creating an illusion of volume, you'll understand that this isn't just decor.

This is a wave structure. These are

resonator schemes. The floor geometry remarkably matches the geometry of fractal antennas and printed circuit board layouts.

What if the parket isn't just a covering to keep drafts from the basement? What

if it's part of the building's vast technical system? Recall that many

technical system? Recall that many palaces originally had no stoves. They

began adding them later, disfiguring the halls with crude chimneys.

How then were these gigantic volumes with high ceilings heated?

Perhaps the answer is right under our feet.

Wood, especially of certain species and certain crystallin structure, is a pazo electric material.

Vast areas assembled from millions of cellulose crystals oriented in a specific way could function as capacitors or converters of atmospheric electricity.

We walk on a giant microchip whose purpose we've forgotten, considering it just a pretty picture.

If we stop perceiving parquet as just a pretty piece of wood underfoot and look at it as an engineering structure, another shocking facet of reality hidden

from us will open up. We're talking

about the pie of the floor assemblies.

Anyone who's ever seen how they uncover floors in old houses for major repairs knows what's under these masterpieces of purple heart and ebony. It's not a

concrete screed or wooden joists in the usual sense. It's sand.

usual sense. It's sand.

Tons, thousands of tons of calsigned pure quartz sand or a strange mixture resembling construction debris, but

possessing remarkable properties.

The official architect's version states, "It's for soundproofing." supposedly so the empress's footsteps wouldn't echo through the entire palace. But any

acoustician will tell you that sand isn't just a sound insulator. It's an

ideal vibration damper and attention energy accumulator.

Quartz is a pazo element. Imagine a

sandwich at the bottom powerful vated ceilings often from specially fired bricks. Then a layer of quartz sand

bricks. Then a layer of quartz sand about 20 in thick and on top a membrane of super dense tensioned wood assembled

into a crystallin lattice pattern. This

isn't a floor. This is a gigantic acoustic membrane. This is a technical

acoustic membrane. This is a technical device. When you walk on such a floor,

device. When you walk on such a floor, the vibration of footsteps is transmitted to the quartz generating microcurrens or vice versa. The entire

building structure dampens external seismic vibrations.

We're dealing with seismicresistant platforms built in areas now considered calm. Did the builders know something we

calm. Did the builders know something we don't? Or were they preparing for

don't? Or were they preparing for constant earthquakes that were the norm for that era of catastrophes?

Now look at the people in old 19th century photographs and engravings.

This is one of the strongest arguments of visual analysis. We see luxurious halls with these incredible floors,

mirrors halfway up the walls, plaster work. And in these halls stand people.

work. And in these halls stand people.

How are they dressed?

Often sloppily uniforms fit baggy, faces simple, peasant or merchant-like.

They look like foreign elements in these interiors, like tenants who moved into elite housing, but don't know how to use it. There are numerous accounts of when

it. There are numerous accounts of when these magnificent halls were turned into stables, barracks, or hay storage.

Would you set up a stable on parquet that your grandfather sawed out with a jigsaw for 10 years? No. You'd cherish

it like the apple of your eye. But if

this park came to you for free, if you found an empty palace and occupied it, then the value of this floor to you is zero. To you, it's just a flat surface.

zero. To you, it's just a flat surface.

Such barbaric treatment of heritage in the 18th and 19th centuries screams to us that the new masters of life had no connection to the creators of these

wonders. We are a civilization of

wonders. We are a civilization of squatters, lutters who appropriated someone else's property.

Let's return to production mathematics, but now from the design perspective.

Before sawing wood, you need to create a drawing. The Hermitage or Oankino

drawing. The Hermitage or Oankino parquet patterns are higher mathematics.

They use complex geometric progressions, golden ratio fractals. To draft the layout of such a floor on paper by hand requires knowledge of descriptive

geometry at the level of a modern engineering university.

Where are the drafting offices? Where

are the archives with thousands of sketches?

After all, to approve such a complex pattern with the client, emperor, or count, dozens of variants need to be

made. Paper was expensive back then, but

made. Paper was expensive back then, but it lasts for centuries. We find decrees, love letters, I owe us, but we don't

find mountains of design documentation from millions of square feet of mosaic floors. It doesn't exist.

floors. It doesn't exist.

It feels like the patterns weren't developed on paper, but loaded directly into a CNC machine from a digital model.

The absence of the design stage in the historical chronicle is a black hole.

They show us a couple of beautiful albums with drawings produced after the floors already existed, like catalogs, but working blueprints with dimensions,

tolerances, and sawing angle calculations don't exist. How could an illiterate surf Vasia figure out at what angle to saw a thousand veneers so that

in the end an eight-pointed star converged perfectly in the center of the hall without a fractions of an inch gap?

By eye.

By eye, you can build a shed, not the winter palace.

Another fact that sends chills down your spine, the speed of degradation.

Modern restorers equipped with laser levels, CNC machines, and the best chemistry often can't recreate lost fragments with the same quality. Patches

made in the 20th and 21st centuries are visible immediately. They differ in

visible immediately. They differ in tone texture gaps.

After 10 years, the new varnish cracks while the old original one holds. This

means a complete loss of the technological chain. We didn't just

technological chain. We didn't just forget the varnish recipe. We lost

understanding of the physics of the process. Those who built this understood

process. Those who built this understood wood properties at the molecular level.

They knew how to make different wood species live together without tearing each other apart during humidity fluctuations.

The expansion coefficient for oak and ebony is different. If you just glue them, they'll split in 6 months. But in

antique parkets, they coexist for centuries.

That means there was a technology for altering material density. The wood was processed, so it lost its natural flaws and became as stable as plastic.

And finally, the lighting question. Look

at these floors by candle light. They

don't shimmer. They're dark, absorbing light. The full beauty of the entaria,

light. The full beauty of the entaria, the play of shades, the 3D effect only reveals itself under powerful bright

flooding light, electric or sunlight.

But in huge halls with curtained windows to prevent fabric fading in gloomy St.

Petersburg, there was always not enough light. Candles give dim, flickering

light. Candles give dim, flickering yellow light. Why create the most

yellow light. Why create the most intricate color nuances that no one would see in the half darkness?

The answer is simple and terrifying.

These halls were designed for different lighting, not for candles and oil lamps.

They were built for a world with bright, shadowless electricity or other light sources we're forbidden to know about.

When we turn on powerful spotlights today, the parquet flares up, starting to work as a visual interface. The

builders knew there would be plenty of light. Those who came later with candles

light. Those who came later with candles simply didn't see even half the beauty they trampled in dirty boots. We walk on the ruins of a highly advanced

technological civilization, using an iPhone as a stand for a wobbly table.

Parquet isn't decor, it's evidence. It's

proof that giants of thought and technology lived here before us, not wild tribes or downtrodden surfs. And

where did they disappear to? That's the

main question. Were they destroyed? Or

did they leave on their own? Or maybe we were grown in test tubes and settled into their empty cities, given false memories and history textbooks written

by the victors, ready to learn what hides not only under the parquet, but the very foundation of our history.

It only gets scarier from here. We'll

descend from the floors into the basement and look at what defies any logic except one.

Our world is post-apocalypse.

If you think the parquet in ceremonial halls is the tip of the iceberg, you're deeply mistaken.

The most terrifying discovery awaits those bold enough to go below ground level.

During numerous restorations and excavations in the historic centers of Moscow, St. Petersburg, Paris, and Rome,

Moscow, St. Petersburg, Paris, and Rome, builders constantly stumble upon so-called cultural layers. But for some reason, these layers look like

full-fledged first floors of buildings with windows, doors, and most incredibly remnants of floor coverings. Can you

imagine an architect designing a basement with high ceilings, arched windows opening into solid earth, and laying a complex wooden pattern there?

It's absurd.

This can mean only one thing. What we

today call first floors were once second or third floors. Our cities are buried under several feet of clay and soil from a global cataclysm that happened quite

recently, possibly in the mid-9th century. And this parquet we walk on

century. And this parquet we walk on today in museums is just the surviving part of the luxury that wasn't buried under layers of mudflow.

The lower floors rotted away, filled with dirt that turned the wood to dust.

But the building structures themselves survived.

We live on the roofs of a perished civilization, walk on its attics, and call it our historical heritage.

Let's return to the technology that explains the perfect fit of the details.

There's a theory that completely upends our understanding of past carpentry.

What if they didn't saw the wood? What

if they softened it? In ancient

alchemists treatises and closed 19th century patents, there are mentions of chemical compositions capable of temporarily turning wood into something

like plasterine or soft leather.

Imagine the master doesn't saw rock hard ebony wearing his hands bloody. He

treats the blank with a special solution. The wood becomes pliable and

solution. The wood becomes pliable and it's simply extruded through a press form like cookie dough or cut like butter. This plasticine wood theory

butter. This plasticine wood theory instantly explains everything. The lack

of gaps, softened pieces fill all voids upon expansion. The most complex curved

upon expansion. The most complex curved shapes, the absence of sawdust, and the incredible production speed. Then the

composition evaporates and the wood hardens again like stone, preserving the given shape forever. This is molecular chemistry level, which we're only

starting to reach with our 3D printers.

They printed houses and interiors using organics as a building mix. This

explains why the fiber structure in antique parkquet sometimes looks unnaturally deformed, as if it flowed rather than grew. But if they had such

technologies, where did the people go?

Look at the population growth statistics.

Official charts show smooth growth, but if you dig deeper into parish registers and governor's reports from the 19th century, we'll see strange gaps and inconsistencies.

Vast territories stand empty. Ghost

cities are captured on the first degara types. wide boulevards, majestic

types. wide boulevards, majestic buildings, and not a soul, or rare human figures that look like ragged tramps

against ancient temples.

There exists a terrifying repopulation hypothesis.

After the catastrophe that destroyed the masters and bearers of knowledge, the empty cities were repopulated.

Where did these new people come from?

Perhaps they were survivors on the outskirts, feral remnants of humanity.

Or maybe we were grown artificially.

Recall the huge number of orphanages and foundling homes that appeared worldwide in the mid-9th century. Where did

hundreds of thousands of parentless children suddenly come from all at once in every country? This looks like a demographic special operation to populate a cleared territory. These

children were given a simplified language, invented a new safe history in which there was no place for the high technologies of the past and taught

simple crafts. They were told, "Your

simple crafts. They were told, "Your grandfathers built these palaces with vast shoes." And they believed it

vast shoes." And they believed it because there was no one to verify it with. We are descendants of these

with. We are descendants of these orphans who occupied other people's homes. We don't know how to build as

homes. We don't know how to build as they did. We only know how to paint,

they did. We only know how to paint, hang wallpaper, and run electricity over the plaster, gouging walls in a barbaric way. Look at the door sizes and ceiling

way. Look at the door sizes and ceiling heights in the parket halls, doors 13 to 16 ft tall, door handles positioned at the level of a modern person's head,

stair steps that are too high and inconvenient for us. The space

ergonomics is calculated for people 8 to 10 ft tall. For us, these palaces are uncomfortable, cold, and too vast. We

feel like ants there. But for the owners, these dimensions were the norm.

Parquet is a floor for giants. The

covering strength is calculated for weight significantly exceeding that of an ordinary person. We walk on a floor meant to withstand the tread of titans.