Archive for the ‘Homeless’ Category
Posted by jeremiasx on May 15, 2012
The sky was grey, and it was graveyard cold that dreadful day. Sitting by the ice rink at Rockefeller Center had an equally chilling effect on me psychologically. I wasn’t really excited to be waiting for an as yet unknown contact to set me on the path to certain infamy – and probable death. I didn’t even know the specifics of the operation the terrorists had in mind, and to be honest I didn’t want to. If I had my way I would be listening to ‘Mountain Sprout’ or ‘The Black Crowes’ up in the high Sierra country. So much for that. I hadn’t even smoked any pot in the week since I had been abducted, and my anxiety was through the roof. I’m surprised I didn’t get stopped-and-frisked by the NYPD simply on account of my nervous and shaky appearance. Alas, I’m a Caucasian. No such bad luck.
Pigeons gathered around my feet. I wonder if they also got a kick out of the attire my abductors told me to wear to identify me to my New York contact. The orange Crocs in November, if nothing else, painted a picture of ridiculous fashion tragedy. I couldn’t help but curse myself for wearing socks with them, but it was terribly chilly. My mind was spinning triple overtime trying to figure out a way out of all of this. The more I thought, the less I knew. I was sure I was being followed at every turn. Newly familiar faces kept popping up around every corner. As a mental exercise I tried to make notes of who might be among my captors based on repeat encounters on the street, but then I realized that there was a good chance that I was also already marked and being watched by government agents who knew of my political activities. The world is watching, right Owen?
The upcoming banking conference had drawn a thousand or so protesters from the movement. I could see some of them hanging out and drawing up their signs with magic markers on scrap cardboard. The obvious became even more apparent. They would use me and my association to discredit the peaceful resistance movement. I was definitely linked in. My name was probably pretty high on the database in California due to organizing some recent port shutdowns with the labor unions, and I’d already had plenty of run-ins with the feds and their affiliates more than once back on the West Coast. Did they know me here? I glanced at the security camera mounted on the traffic light post with a white computer box flashing beneath it at regular intervals, probably doing the yeoman’s work of facial recognition. The two men on the park bench across the plaza with terminally square haircuts wearing beige trench coats, suits and shades didn’t even bother to hide their attention to me and the other protesters, rapidly taking notes on their smartphones and snapping pictures of everyone in sight. Of course they knew me here. Privacy died on 9/11.
I was on the verge of screaming out my plight to the world when a homeless guy walked up. I figured he was going to hit me up for some spare change, or worse yet want to use my phone ‘for just a minute.’ A chance to give charity one last time before dying, Lord? He had the standard issue homeless parka with burn holes down the front and obligatory mystery stains on his ragged trousers. A pair of mismatched boots completed the ensemble. Snot was crusted in his beard and he seemed insane, drunk, or more likely both. The shambling denizen swayed up the sidewalk toward me. His request was anything other than what I expected.
“You be Owen Reynolds, right,” he rasped, reeking of cheap whiskey and stale cigarettes, “The nice man give me twenty bucks, he say bring you with me. So you goin-ah come with me now, k cuz?” A drunken Cajun in Yankee land? Surely. My moment of mirth dissipated when he lifted his parka high enough for me to see a pistol tucked into his waistband.
“What the…ok then,” I sighed. The situation got weirder and more desperate with each passing minute.
I followed “random homeless guy” for a few blocks until we reached that infamous lineup of sex shows and adult novelty shops that the discerning American consumer can only find in the largest metropolises. Halfway up the block we approached the one called ‘Sheer Desire’ and my escort left me at the door to enter alone. The place was stocked with the usual array of sex toys and lingerie. A faded sign proclaimed, “‘Largest Selection of Vibrators In Manhattan.” (Do people really ‘comparison shop’ these joints? I doubt it.) As soon as I made my way to the counter I heard a lock pop on the front door, likely electronic, and the front of the store went incredibly dim. Approaching the counter in the half-light I didn’t even notice that the clerk was actually a heavily pierced mannequin. The thing was remarkably life-like. Perhaps a new top of the line sex doll. The frozen expression of “O” in the mouth sealed the deal.
“You’ll find everything you need in the box under my feet.”
The voice came from the mannequin. It didn’t have the rough or scratchy affect of most computer generated vox programs. It was pleasant. Nearly human. Techno wonders never cease, do they?
I pushed through the swinging door at the end of the counter and saw that the mannequin’s feet were indeed resting crossed upon a large black footlocker. There were notes attached to the side and back of the box. The one on the side simply said, “Pull.” These people left nothing to chance, and maybe that was a large part of their psychosis. Unable to accept the stark reality of the world, they were prepared to implement their will through massacre, using me (an avowed pacifist) as an instrument of death. The level of dysfunction that would drive people to such desperate lengths escapes me. I’m pretty easy-going, after all.
I pulled on the appropriate handle and the box slid from under the plastic feet smoothly toward me until I was able to read the note on what turned out to actually be the front of the footlocker. The note on this side said in similar simple instructions, “Open.” Somewhere in their dossier they must have found my college transcripts and mistakenly assumed I was a simpleton. It’s whatever.
I opened the footlocker gingerly, expecting to be vaporized by a bomb or shocked to death by a jack-in-the-box. Maybe this was still all just the world’s biggest practical joke, on me. No such luck. Still alive but wishing I wasn’t, I peered inside. The contents appeared fairly innocuous. A suit and a briefcase. Ok. The note on the briefcase was just as informative as the first two on the footlocker, yet chillingly different.
“DO NOT OPEN.”
Posted in 9/11, Activism, Al Qaeda, America, Bizarre, CIA, Civil Rights, Conspiracy, Conspiracy Theories, Democracy, Dissent, Economy, Fiction, Freedom, Homeless, Justice, Law, Law Enforcement, Liberty, Life, New York, NYC, Peace, Politics, Prophecy, Random, Resistance, Revolution, Society, Terrorism, Uncategorized, War on Terror, Weird | Tagged: Dissent, Fiction, Literature, NYC, Peace, Politics, Protest, Resistance, revolution, Terrorism | Leave a Comment »
Posted by jeremiasx on February 18, 2008
I recently read the article on your experiences “living on the street” in Charleston…and that you were able to (in the end, after some apparent difficulty) obtain a truck (no make or model specified, no mention of sales tax, registration, reinstating of insurance, you know…all the little things you have to pay to have the privilege to drive, and your background applies here, I’ll explain later concerning credit.) You launched yourself into an apartment, got a job…good for you. It’s still not a realistic scenario for most homeless people…and I’ll tell you WHY.
It really rattled me when I read your story zooming up the charts on Digg, and there are a lot of things I’d like to point out, and one of the main points is this…I don’t believe your situation does not represent the situation of the average “homeless person” in the country. It’s not even CLOSE for several reasons. I know you probably don’t make that claim on SOME levels, but the results of your study are skewed by your personal circumstances.
I believe it harms the cause of advocating for services for the homeless in general., which are WOEFULLY inadequate in most areas of the country, especially in the face of a looming (now ongoing) economic crisis…this is a topic we will see revisited before all is said and done, I assure you.
Here’s something to consider…your study begins with you leaving college and (I’m going to assume) basically being debt-free and without a negative credit history…and that matters. I don’t care that you kept your credit card and your degree in your pocket. Many DECENT jobs in this country are awarded or NOT awarded to people based on their credit history. I’m going to take a wild leap (without even doing an investigation on statistics) and say most homeless people have SHIT for credit. Guess what that means? Insurance rates for automobiles are affected, and sometimes insurance medical insurance is denied outright by the companies with the big names and reasonable premiums.
As the majority of homeless people lack medical coverage they rely heavily on ER visits that end up on the credit bureau and most of them are lucky to be over a 400 FICO if you count all the damage that happened when they “dropped out” of polite society. ER visits also don’t do much for the chronic conditions that many homeless are usually afflicted with..everything from alcoholism and related maladies to AIDS and chronic diabetes. Many are so far gone in their mental condition that there’s a better chance of their feet rotting off than a good ole preventive checkup a few years hence might have spared them, but I digress..
Your study is also fails to acknowledge the time and transportations constraints the real homeless face daily. Alcohol and addiction recovery, antisocial or borderline personality issues, along with the numerous other physical disorders…all those appointments and programs take TIME away from homeless people that isn’t spent directing them towards a life of self-sufficiency, so their ability to launch from a homeless shelter, as you probably already KNOW from your experience there, would not be like yours or mine. There are MANY things that the DESCENT into homelessness does to a person…on an emotional, physical, fiscal, and mental level…none of this happened in your case.
In your case you entered into the situation VOLUNTARILY. How many homeless people made a singular CHOICE (and I don’t mean choices in general) but a singular CHOICE to be homeless? You made that choice, Adam. That changes everything. I spent some time on the street checking things out myself…but I didn’t go to a nice southern city with a good bus system and plenty of transitional living centers just to the immediate southwest of the city and I didn’t stay in shelters for the most part. But anyhow, that’s my story, not yours…lol…I digress. I also looked at it up close and personal, and by singular choice. I guess I’m just not quite as optimistic about the situation the homeless face, Adam. Hell most cities don’t even have decent shelters and what shelters they have are full and/or unfit to stay in. Many times I chose to sleep outside instead just to avoid the diseases and desperation. I was literally turned away in Youngstown, Ohio at an SA (Salvation Army) because I didn’t want to commit to a monthlong drug and alcohol treatment program, and all I wanted was to get out of the cold for a night or two. Anyhow, experiences on the street can be pretty different for most people and I’m sure yours gave you some unique insights.
However, as to your “success” story from rags to riches in 70 days… no big deal. You started out with nothing to lose in the first place, the pressure wasn’t on, and you didn’t have to provide for your own way. It’s not hard to sit in the shelter and save $300 a week (at LEAST that, working for any moving company) to boost yourself into self-sufficiency in 70 days when you have no outside issues (from a broken life) to deal with, Adam. With even $200 a week saved income a person can be back in the saddle in a few months time. It’s not hard to labor for a minimum wage paycheck when you pay no rent or utilities or insurance or food (and in most shelters all those things are fortunately gratis) …and it’s not hard when you’re only doing it for YOURSELF (and not a spouse or children.)
Adam…I think your story sucks. It was a good idea, but you didn’t “go there” bro. Not even close. Also, it doesn’t help when people perpetuate false claims of equal opportunity and access in this country in general. Again…what a nice STORY.
Posted in Activism, America, Democracy, Democrats, Dissent, Economy, Education, Finance, Freedom, GOP, Homeless, Human Rights, Journalism, Justice, Law, Law Enforcement, Liberty, Life, Media, Medicine, Money, Opinion, Outdoors, Peace, Politics, Poverty, Psychology, Rainbow Family, Random, Religion, Republicans, Society, Uncategorized, Weird | 4 Comments »
Posted by jeremiasx on October 14, 2007
My third day in DC began upon awakening at my new friend’s apartment in Arlington…then a mighty breakfast at a local establishment that helped me to remember fondly the days of truck stop food…you know, the typical greasy spoon stuff. It was awesome.
I wore my new “Arrest Bush” t-shirt for the day of the big march, and I got appreciative looks from nearly everyone I passed. It’s got the Articles of Impeachment on the back.
Pretty nifty…I’ll link you to Laurie’s group on that…if you want to get one. Suggested donations are like ten apiece (but more if you can, less if you can’t)…a pittance for such a fine article of clothing. Here I am pimping mine in DC…showing the DC cops where the real criminal lives…this was from the day of the protest, incidentally.
I think I had my eyes closed but I just pointed to the stench that was emanating from the address at 1600 Pennsylvania…oh yea, there was a HUGE pile of horse shit on the front lawn that day. Not sure why. Anyhow…
When we were trying to find a parking place we drove by the counter-protest assembling under a spotty stream (not sea) of American flags and occasional Vietnam vet bikers…gathering to pump themselves up for what was one of the most lopsided responses to a peace march I think that’s ever been shamefully presented as a “counter” to our massive effort there on 9/15. It seemed pretty corny from a distance, and it got even sillier face to face with those people, believe me.
Lafayette Square was already crowded an hour before the march was scheduled to start…people from all walks of life, all economic backgrounds, all cultural and racial heritages…so many people. Thousands…and all there to promote the cause of peace. I was impressed, to say the least. The largest gathering I’d been to recently that could hold a candle to it was the Rainbow Gathering in Fallsville, Arkansas, right down from my house.
This crowd was a bit more diverse, to be honest…there weren’t just typical “peaceniks and hippies.” There were students, teachers, artists, lawyers, soldiers, veterans, and political figures. Nader was there…so was Sheehan…others whose names I have unfortunately forgotten but who gave very passionate addresses. I continued strolling along with the sea of people along the natural paths, the sidewalks, checking out the different groups represented, the different causes being promoted…everything from vegan living to impeachment (this one was a nearly universal theme) to freeing the Jena Six (that march would happen a week or two after this one) and anything else in between.
There was a young man pogo sticking for peace (said so on his T-shirt, even) an old man dressed as Santa, on stilts, with a sign reading “Troops Home By Xmas”…a group of anarchist cheerleaders…a LARGE contingent from the Georgetown Law School…several hundred, I believe…and many others.
I spent a lot of my time hanging out with “Start Loving” and Patricia (my photographer lady friend I had pizza with the night before, and she had of course remembered to charge my batteries at her hotel room overnight, a BIG HELP) and we talked about how wonderful it was that all of us were able to be witness and participate in such an historic event. We all feel that this is the real beginning of a stronger popular movement towards peace and justice. Time will be the judge on that, of course.
One event that moved me directly to tears was the display of a rolling flag-draped coffin…with a sad looking man leaning on it and a street poet piping up a terrible tale of sorrow and anguish…and rage. The words he spoke chilled me to my soul and I wept throughout the experience. It was very moving for me.
Read the story of Carlos Arredondo, “Man on Fire.”
It was during my time with Patricia and Start that i remembered I was to meet Thomas, the man who had begun a 24/7 vigil for peace and nuclear disarmament all the way back in 1981…and I found the courage to make my way over to his vigil site and introduce myself and my point of view. He was pretty receptive, and then instructive, and I found our stories had many similarities, especially as it regarded a walk of faith and the power of belief and the ability to see God’s will at work all around us regardless of where we were physically…and that’s a great place to be sometimes.
I found out he would not be able to join us during our march on the Capitol Building…he can’t leave his protest camp for even five minutes, or the DC park police will tear down his displays, signs, tent and everything else and he’ll never be able to return to his state of grace he operates under now due to being grandfathered in, so to speak, regarding laws on static protests. He and his wife Concepcion have pretty much run the thing for 26 years now, with the help of different volunteers…but it’s mostly their protest, anyone else involved was quick to tell me. They are the heart and soul of it. I will talk about Thomas again in Part 5.
I was also pleased to see a large contingent of 9/11 Truth activists present and waving their signs and being outspoken on bullhorns…I was also happy to see that the majority of folks there in the square didn’t think they were “crazy” or “disruptive” either…I think the VAST MAJORITY of America knows the facts are far from known concerning that terrible day. I’m still amazed at the general apathy and level of brainwashing that has obviously taken place within our collective psyche to keep us from being so outraged (as a society) that we have been lied to about the deaths of 3,000 of our fellow citizens and we haven’t DONE ANYTHING ABOUT IT…anyhow. I digress.
The time for the march was at hand…the student group from Georgetown and the ANSWER coalition got the crowd moving that direction…and then there was some general confusion with the marshals and the participants about the order…mostly just that we needed to let the Iraq Vets Against The War go up front…
and I think that was appropriate….but anyhow off we went down the street towards the Capitol Building…I don’t know how many of us, but there were a bunch. I tried to find places that I could get up to to get a nice bird’s eye view shot of the action, but found my progress impeded by DC cops posted at the stairwells of (normally) public buildings, not allowing access for any purpose, including taking photos. I had to mention this seemed highly irregular to the lady officer who told me I couldn’t go up a public stairwell…she didn’t seem concerned. I asked her if it was routine policy for the DC cops to make up the rules as they went…and I pointed out the police photographer rapidly snapping shots from this same vantage point I wanted access to. Well, by this time a reporter was there and filming so I went the whole nine and asked her how it felt to work for a fascist dictator (all DC capitol police are uniformed Secret Service…) and she REALLY didn’t seem to like that. I felt bad, for about five seconds. I walked on. I finally settled for a giant concrete planter…you know, the kind with flowers and stuff in them along the sidewalk in some of the DC parks. Here’s what I got.
More To Follow In Part 5, Check The Archive For Past Posts:
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Photo Essay
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Posted by jeremiasx on October 1, 2007
In a quick wrap…I caught the last few minutes of the game, and I haven’t watched football since the Dallas Cowboys were America’s team…but I was bored and eating pizza and had a few home brews earlier…so it seemed appropriate.
Here it is, in a nutshell.
The EAGLES quarterback went over the line, though only a little most folks might say…but over nonetheless. The touchdown that could have signaled a glimmer of hope was taken off the board…but there was one more crucial down for the team, but Justice failed them by an illegal move while trying to block for the quarterback…and the Empire State was basically able to run down the clock on the City of Brotherly Love…
Oh well…I’m bored with football again…and a shame. I used to LOVE to play…my team in high school went the farthest our town ever has in over 30 years all the way to the “big game” – at War Memorial Stadium in Little Rock.
Posted in 9/11, 9/11 Truth, Activism, Al Qaeda, America, Amnesty, Antichrist, Arkansas, Astrology, Bizarre, Censorship, CIA, Civil Rights, Comedy, Conspiracy, Conspiracy Theories, Dissent, Eagles, Ed Brown, Education, Environment, Federal Reserve, Finance, FISA, Florida, Football, Fox News, Freedom, Freemasons, George Bush, Giants, Global Warming, GOP, Health Care, Hillary Clinton, Hillbilly, Hitchhiking To DC, Homeless, Human Rights, Impeachment, Investing, Iran, Iraq, Israel, Journalism, Justice, Karl Rove, Law, Law Enforcement, Liberty, Life, Masons, Media, Medicine, Military, Money, NAACP, New York, News, Newton County, NYC, Opinion, Patriotism, Peace, Pennsylvania, Poetry, Politics, Poverty, Prophecy, Protest, Rainbow Family, Random, REAL ID, Religion, Republicans, Resistance, Revelations, Revolution, Ron Paul, Society, Sports, Stock Market, Technology, Television, Terrorism, TV, Tyranny, Uncategorized, Unexplained, US Attorneys, US Attorneys Scandal, US Forestry Service, Wall Street, War, War on Drugs, Weird, WTC | Leave a Comment »
Posted by jeremiasx on September 28, 2007
My fourth day began in the pre-dawn hours on a park bench in front of the church that George Bush attends about once a month, from most local accounts. It wasn’t the coziest sleeping place in the world, but it certainly allowed me some time to close my eyes and reflect upon my time walking in front of the White House.
I wouldn’t call what I did on that 4-foot bench technically “sleeping.” I’d say it’s about the same type of sleep one usually gets in a forward fighting position or perhaps a deer stand on a blustery fall morning, troubled and uncomfortable. Any type of bed would be preferable, but I reminded myself that many people (including the six men there besides myself…I assumed from their level of familiarity with this courtyard and each other) well…they sleep outdoors MOST nights. I caught a wink or two. I needed it.
Giving in to the beckoning of the golden arches, I slipped into Mickey D’s (on New York and 12th?) to change my underwear, clean my face and hands, and enjoy a little greasy city slicker breakfast food. It sure wasn’t breakfast in bed with my lovely wife, no bacon and eggs with homemade biscuits and jelly to speak of. One makes do with what’s available at the time, though, I suppose…I made the most of the free refills in my small drink cup thankful for the Powerade on tap to get me hydrated for the coming day.
The majority of this day was spent exploring the DC midtown, speaking with locals and travelers, and handling my personal hygiene and dirty laundry…I had a little help in these noble but mundane endeavors. After stopping in at this place for directions and at the local valley for a refreshing shower and very pleasant chat with the secretary and steward…
…I felt refreshed and even human again…and then left those magnificent places and I traveled further West into the Latino neighborhood not too far away to do my laundry at a local lavenderia…the locals who had been maintaining the temple grounds were happy to walk me halfway there. Muchas Gracias, Muchachos!
They pointed me to a really nice little joint that had clean machines in good repair, and an owner who I believe was an African Muslim because when I put on a clean T-shirt that had Farsi on it, he seemed quite thrilled and beamed a smile at me…he checked on me several times to make sure my experience in his establishment was a great one. I love it when people run a business with pride. This man had it in spades. Unfortunately, he had to point out to me after I spent more than one quarter drying my socks that I had it set on “fluff.” Oops.
I strapped my sign to my backpack again (I had to take it on and off any time I needed anything out, but fortunately I’m not that finicky with my gear) and walked back to the White House through an Arabic neighborhood, and I think most people there all were quite receptive to “the message.” Smiles and good-natured nods abounded.
I finally made it back to the White House north lawn and joined my new friends and sisters Patricia and Laurie (who gave me the two excellent black t-shirts you’ll see me wearing in various photos here, check out some of her fine work here) in a small ad hoc protest and show of solidarity between ourselves and another man who drove the magic bus all the way from San Fransisco for the march. We were all excited about it and hoped for a good turnout.
Patricia is a professional photographer and I’m going to go ahead and use this wonderful photo she took that afternoon in this very blog, with full acknowledgment and humble gratitude, and I’d suggest that each and every one of you check out her other art at her website.
After a few hours of enjoying smiles (mostly) and occasional mindless rhetoric (VERY rarely…maybe once or twice over a period of several hours and several hundred visitors) from O’Reilly-Rush-Hannity automatons we were pretty Bushed for the afternoon. Even though the chickenhawks proliferate on the internet they seem a bit sparse in reality. They also seemed to be hesitant to talk their typical loud-mouth bullshit in person.
Most NORMAL folks seemed just fine with us being there and asked us questions and we were happy to oblige them to photo sessions (especially the Japanese…ALL of them were happy to see our protest…or at least seemed to be…they were stereotypically wonderful shooting rounds and rounds of memento photos posing there with us, smiling, and throwing peace signs to us and each other.)
Patricia and I headed to a WONDERFUL little Italian restaurant where she most kindly treated me to pizza and salad. We had a deep and meaningful exchange of ideas and I think her dedication to her pet cause (avoiding war with Iran) is inspiring at the very least.
She will be seen at first by many passersby as a distinguished looking lady in a motorized wheelchair, but her level of integrity, truthfulness, and the beauty of her spirit elevated her in my mind…head and shoulders above the walking while slumbering public. She loaned me her poncho for the evening as it looked like it might rain and offered to charge my camera batteries at her hotel room so I’d have a fresh set for the protest.
I returned once more to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue and I found myself wondering more and more about the little white tent across the street with the signs and placards to each side. I’d passed by it more than once and had even been admonished by Start Loving to drop in there, but the man named Thomas had not been around during the first few days I was in town. I’d see his wife, Concepcion, and another man whose name I learned was Troy…but no Thomas, and that’s the man I was sent to talk to.
I decided to overcome my initial shyness and walked on over to check out and see what they were about. My curiosity got the best of me, and I fell into a bit of a rabbit hole.
A man sitting cross-legged and quiet as a monk caught in the midst of a moment of deep reflection sat there stroking a long and braided goatee (sp?) and being very neutral about his entire presence in such an austere location. This was, after all, 1601 Pennsylvania Avenue, the hottest piece of real estate in all of DC. (The sidewalk directly across the street from the White House, front and center.)
I asked him his name and introduced myself to him, and we proceeded from there to have one of the longest and most unusual conversations I’ve had in quite some time. It was the kind of conversation that I had hoped for the entire time I’d been in DC. I learned much during those hours. I’d learn so much more in the day to come.
At the end of the evening I was searching desperately for a payphone, as the ones in Lafayette Square are all disconnected. I guess they don’t want folks gabbing on the phone that close to the White House…maybe they think it’s tacky or something. Anyhow. I had to walk several blocks in the rain first to find a bathroom (it’s pretty tough living on the street, don’t ever fool yourself on this one…ever) and then to find that phone to call home and let the wife know everything was fine.
I literally checked a dozen donnikers (port-a-johns) and found no trace of toilet paper. I had left my pack at 1601 with Troy. I had nothing. I was desperate. I finally found a late-night Vietnamese joint and walked inside wondering what the toll would be. I quickly saw my opportunity in the drink case (can sodas with your noodles!) and bartered with the purchase of a V8 (about one federal reserve note) to gain admission into the mens’ room. All was well.
Upon returning to Lafayette’s square, I picked up my pack and walked over to the stage being set up for the ANSWER coalition event the next day, and I introduced myself to some young and seemingly nervous young folks who would be camping out on the stage…seemed like a groovy spot to me but their level of security was such that I couldn’t chill with them there.
I felt a bit sad as I was hoping to lend a hand and do some interviews in the process but I understood why they had fear…it was after dark…and most folks are shot through with it *fear* these days and who can blame them with the state of the world? Between the general uncertainties of life, the quiet and sometimes desperate struggle with the meaning of our own existence and trying to find our place in the universe and the rotten or nasty people and institutions in divers places…it *the world* certainly helps to perpetuate the phantasmal (mind) killer. *inhales sharply and exhales…run-on sentence*
I finally settled on a park bench in the farthest northwest corner. I tarried there for some time and was pleased to meet a few deaf students from the local school (Gaullatin) who were chilling there and having a few drinks whilst getting stoked to the gills about the march and rally to be held in this very place twelve hours later. For many of those gathered, including the organizers, aides, workers, and security it was their first major demonstration. I thought that was great. It was my first as well, and I just knew it would be fantastic.
Eventually the hours dwindled on and after wearing out my thumbs on these kids’ blackberry discussing patriotism, family issues, and life in general…a couple more young folks showed up with a man wearing a Che Gueverra shirt. Could be DC undercover, could be cool folks…but the Che shirt wasn’t really much of a shocker considering the event coming up. I put my “Papa Bear” Bill O’Reilly brainwashing aside for a moment, and I tried to make the angels of Ann Coulter and Anne Malkin on my shoulders be silent and to still my beating capitalist red-state redneck heart…and I met some of the coolest folks on my trip yet.
The man and his two sons were Puerto Rican (Americans) and fine exemplars of some of the finest and most refined lessons in humility, honor, duty, and charity that I encountered in my journey. To quote Pantera…”Is there no standard anymore?” The youngest son was mostly into video games and MMOs (like my misses) and it turned out the older brother supposedly has a forum staffed by those who are haters of his character in WoW…lolz…anyhow he is also a Staff Sergeant in the US Army…and his job is to bring the soldiers home from the war. The soldiers that J.P. brings home don’t get to be with their families any more in this world…he drives them in a horse-drawn carriage through Arlington cemetery to rest with the other unsung, mostly forgotten, and (to Bush and Cheney) seemingly disposable heroes…of this current travesty in the Middle East being waged under the banner of mealy-mouthed and Mickey Mouse imperialism that has produced the one positive effect of being a lesson in worst-case foreign policy and practices. Then there are those who pay in anguish every day.
Upon learning of my personal circumstances, they offered to allow me to share their dwelling and told me they’d take me out for breakfast at a swell joint down by Arlington. I was able to update some folks on the net and I must admit that J.P.’s setup is the uberbomb for gaming with a large flat screen for maximum optical enjoyment. I remember the cool toys I bought in the service. I still buy one every year or so now. I’ll confess, I’m a bit of a minimalist these days.
I slept like a baby on that hide-a-bed…and dreamed of freedom and justice.
***-end part 3 part 4 coming soon – check back and check my other posts. My archives are extensive and at your disposal. Education is freedom. Feel free to email me.
Part 1 Part 2 Photo Essay
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Posted by jeremiasx on September 28, 2007
Posted in 9/11, 9/11 Truth, Activism, Al Qaeda, America, Antichrist, Arkansas, Cheney, CIA, Civil Rights, Conspiracy, Democrats, Dissent, Economy, Education, Energy, Finance, Freedom, Freemasons, George Bush, GOP, Hillary Clinton, Homeless, Human Rights, Impeachment, Iran, Iraq, Israel, Journalism, Justice, Law, Liberty, Life, Masons, Media, Medicine, Military, Money, Music, News, Newton County, Opinion, Peace, Politics, Poverty, Prophecy, Protest, Rainbow Family, Random, Religion, Republicans, Revelations, Revolution, Ron Paul, Society, Stock Market, Television, TV, Tyranny, Uncategorized, Unexplained, Wall Street, War | Leave a Comment »
Posted by jeremiasx on September 24, 2007
My ride with the trucker named Dennis got me all the way to Rock Point, Maryland. After quickly ascertaining that trying to move about in the DC metro area by the thumb was a ludicrous and insanely futile prospect, I decided to check out the public transit system. The bus pulled into a large mall parking deck and I ran across the parking lot to catch it, pausing along the way to note a young Chinese kid on a double-length skateboard with in-line wheels…transportation evolves in some venues quicker than others.
I was delighted to find that my trip over to the rail station would cost under a dollar, and then further surprised to find that I could take the subway into the heart of DC for less than two bucks. The subway station was clean and so were the cars themselves, a far cry from the sinister zombie express that one sees in the horror flicks. I enjoyed the ride, which only took about fifteen minutes. I bet anyone driving would have taken an hour or more in serious traffic. Public transportation FTW.
I noticed upon disembarking at the Metro Center Station in DC proper that the entire station was plastered with a recurring theme of picture-ads…on the walls, the sides of the rails around the escalators, everywhere (even in the mens’ room I’m sure, though I was a little nervous of running into a Larry Craig or someone of their ilk in a public DC restroom upon first arrival.) Just kidding. A little.
The theme of the ads was surprisingly not for any corporate slogan for cola or some new wonder drug for the masses…well not exactly. The ads were for a group promoting the idea of universal health care access. The most noble campaign effort I’d seen in quite a while, especially on such a large scale.
I stepped out onto the DC sidewalk and was immediately struck by the prevalence of homeless people. Not just the obvious ones laid out with all their gear on park benches, but the much less obvious dirty and shady characters hanging in the shadows of the rail station entryway bumming cigarettes and change, the silent and sick ones who huddled in the alleyways cursing God and themselves, and the youngsters who still had the knack to hustle a buck and wear designer clothes that were impressive even if days unwashed.
I was able to head straight towards Capital Hill on the advice of the subway entry attendant, the public information officer or whatever…nice fellow. I paused at various places of interest for short periods to rest my blistered feet, drink water from the public fountains (which are abundant in DC) or even take pictures of things I thought were interesting, such as the blocked up entrance to the Department of Justice…no access there for sure these days.
By the time I reached Capital Hill my feet were really worn out, though I felt a new sense of purpose as I paused to remark with fellow tourists and travelers about the dismal state of the nation. I guess liberals hang out at the Capital reflecting pool like they supposedly do in the media…or whatever.
I caught a couple free t-shirts and made a new friend before I ever went up the steps. I made positive remarks on her “Arrest Bush” t-shirt and she asked me if I wanted one…I said sure, but I have no money for a donation because I hitchhiked up here and have limited funds which weren’t really set for buying souvenirs. She insisted I take two shirts nonetheless and affirmed her faith that others would give more to make up the difference. The second shirt has the motto “We Will Not Be Silent” in Farsi with English underneath, and is a message that alludes to the White Rose Society in the Nazi German era in which many Jews were speaking out against their perception that their race was being singled out for persecution unjustly. It alludes to a point in time when something could have still been done easily to avoid the rise of the powerful Nazi state that crushed this type of dissent in concentration camps with the silent murders of millions, once things had progressed to that point. The seeds of democracy and the seeds of tyranny are long planted in the heart of every state…
I was told to stop and visit with “Start Loving” at the Cannon Office Building, and I made my way over there under the watchful eyes of what seemed to by fifty or more Capital Police armed with everything from the walkie-talkie to fearsome looking riot-action shotguns…I bellowed out a happy Arkansas “howdy” to many of them and received an interesting variety of responses…which was typical of my entire visit, really.
Upon arriving at the Cannon Office Building, I encountered a sight that made my heart merry and sad at the same time. A man with three crosses tattooed across his forehead wearing placards saying “Don’t Bomb Iran” and “Hunger Strike”…
I sat down next to him and we had a wonderful conversation about the prospects of peace and the idea of self-denial as a means of focus in the quest for self-actualization and attainment of a higher understanding of spiritual purity. It was apparent to me even after a few minutes that this man was operating on a much higher level of faith than I, and I had thought myself to on solid ground as it were already. For instance, the three crosses on his forehead comprise what he understands to be the name of God…love…the middle cross says “Start Loving” and he has adopted that as his name of preference. He will factor into the story again later. I sat there and shared my experiences with the world and we laughed and wept together for some time. On one note we did have occasion to disagree…I told him of my plans to talk to the people there in DC and around the country, and he admonished that I temper my righteous anger with peace and love. I reminded him that in one of my favorite New Testament stories, Jesus sat down on the temple steps and braided a whip to drive out the money changers and those who defiled the place and works of God. We acknowledged that the Divine does work it’s wonders in manners both creative and destructive. We parted agreeing in solidarity that peace was the best cause worth pursuing as an extension of love, which is God. “How good and pleasant it is when brothers can dwell in peace.”
I ascended the steps to the House and Senate offices there by the Capital with a feeling of surety that something was amiss in DC…and I found out quickly what it was. The policymakers, the Congressmen and Congresswomen…were not “in the office.” They had taken an early break and were all conveniently “away from their desks.” I stopped by office after office of the people I came to talk to…and was turned away each time with the same story of the “holiday to evade protests and activists” which I assumed by the end of the day had to have been declared in some secret midnight session.
I left them all notes. On their own stationary…that way they would know I had been there in person. I told them how disappointed I was to have come all that way and not had the opportunity to tell them to their faces all the ways in which I believe they have absolutely dropped the ball with the American governmental process. It’s a sad joke, the state of things in our government right now, in case you already DIDN’T KNOW.
My note at Harry Reid’s office was probably the most scathing. It went something like, “The rumors had it that you had a spine…I guess that’s the way of rumors.” I signed them all and I expect responses…I’m not an anonymous loonie who just goes around writing cryptic messages for Congressmen to baffle themselves over for hours. My message was clear. The people do not want this war. It’s time to leave the Middle East. It’s time to hold Bush and Cheney accountable, and on that one everyone needs to stop passing the buck. It’s time to do your jobs, Congress…any day now would be fine. The people demand representation and are NOT GETTING IT.
I trekked the other way down Pennsylvania Avenue to what I discovered to be the “backside” (The South Side) of the White House. On my way I found a new way to circumvent the poster ban…I strapped my poster advertising the march on 9/15 to the back of my pack. Most folks stopped to see what it said…I hope some of the same showed up due to my getting the word out the only way I could. Turns out there were also thousands of handbills passed out by dedicated members of the ANSWER coalition and the Iraq Vets Against The War…everybody does what they can, I guess.
Anyhow, the poster advertising the march comes into play on the south side of the White House…I took off my pack and sat down cross-legged to hang out and smoke a cigarette right front and center where everyone congregates to take pictures and enjoy the view of the South Lawn…I was immediately accosted by a Capital Police officer, whose name I didn’t write down unfortunately, who TOLD me to immediately produce identification. I told him I would be happy to give him my name, address, and date of birth…but that I knew of no law requiring me to either carry or produce state-issued identification upon the mere routine request of a law enforcement officer. He told me that in DC there WAS a law on the books that said I had to. I complied but as I handed him my ID I told him that if that were truly the case, the Founding Fathers would have even more to be ashamed of that evening as they rolled in their graves. I don’t think he liked that.
He came back over and tried to play a little verbal volleyball with me, and after a few minutes of getting his ass handed to him by a weirdo with a sign on his backpack he finally conceded that I had the right to sit there on my ass and smoke cigarettes as long as I so desired. I reported his attempt to enforce a statute I’d never heard of (and probably doesn’t exist) to the Captain of his White House detail during the Code Pink protest, a man who I came to admire for his seeming virtue and dedication to his job. He was also the most knowledgeable and intelligent of the DC cops I encountered, and conceded that I had a point about the guy hassling me for ID behind the White House without any probably cause or even suspicion, and that he would “look into that for me.” An AP reporter snapped a shot of our conversation, which he might have interpreted to be a heated political debate, but the reality was that we were trying to talk over the airhorns and drums of the Code Pink protest happening immediately behind me.
The Code Pink ladies amuse and impress me equally. They have such a keen sense of humor and political irony, and such a way of expressing themselves publicly with confidence and solidarity of values. I was happy to meet many of these ladies who were invariably kind, considerate, and thoughtful to the extreme. I was proud to have been present to witness a far more humble act than my own when two 23-year old kids who walked 4,000 miles from San Francisco (walked, not hitchhiked) sat down on the sidewalk and were peacefully arrested in an act of civil disobedience to protest the war and protest for impeachment to be put back on the table.
After Code Pink vacated the sidewalk the DC police took down the police lines and reverted to the typical regulations regarding protests there, which include the stipulation that there be no static protest between the two light poles in the center of the sidewalk in front of the north side of the White House, the side most of us see in the movies with the lights and the fountain out front…anyhow, between the poles one must keep moving, and I thought it to be an odd and absurd regulation…so I protested it.
I walked in circles talking to the DC police, Secret Service, and closed circuit TV cameras until about 4:30 in the morning that first night. I had long and interesting conversations with the authorities, the passersby, and even a guy claiming to be a TV reporter from Virginia.
The conversations I had with the law enforcement officers were the most rewarding. I pointed out how ludicrous it was that I was walking in circles in front of the White House in the wee hours of the morning, and how equally ridiculous that our tax dollars were paying them in double capacity to make sure I kept moving to enforce the statute. Some were stoic and tried to ignore my rant, but I would hook them in with an impromptu game of hopscotch or even doing the Michael Jackson “moonwalk” at one point…I know he grinned on that one but I bet he’d never admit it to this day. I wasn’t surprised that with hours of helpful instruction, lessons in recent and ancient history, and kind reminders of the virtue of truth and integrity…many of these gentlemen conceded I was the sanest person they’d ever seen walk in circles in front of the White House until the wee hours of the morning.
I talked with a couple of old Jewish ladies who were vehemently pro-Bush (imagine that) and they both walked away in disgust after I managed to counter every single point they made. (It’s easy to defend peace. It’s hard to defend war.) Many more came up to me and shook my hand and walked with me as we discussed everything from health care to gun control…to the mysteries of 9/11 and the continuous proliferation of the tools of destruction unabated across the face of the planet for profit.
I eventually wore my feet down to nothing but pulsating, blistered stubs and had to call off my all-night vigil in favor of some much needed rest. I chose (by accident?) the church two blocks from the White House where I AM TOLD President Bush himself attends about once a month, with great fanfare and motorcades and advance teams in front of the procession sweeping the homeless from the area with neat and quiet ease.
The night in question was not a night for Bush to come to the garden to pray, apparently, and there were half a dozen homeless men and myself sharing the park benches out front. Those park benches are not meant for sleeping, by the way. They are about four foot long. My feet were on the ground and my pack was on my chest in my tight grasp as I nodded in and out of consciousness, aware of the stares from both the homeless “regulars” and the pedestrians of the early morning hours in DC.
I am a stranger in a strange land, and always have been. More to come.
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Posted by jeremiasx on September 21, 2007
OK…so the time has come to tell the tale of my trip to Washington, DC for the 9/15 Stop The War protest sponsored by the ANSWER coalition.
I’ll start in the beginning…I was sitting here on my ass at home one afternoon, a couple weeks ago…and saw THIS VIDEO on YouTube about Adam Kokesh and Tina Richards getting arrested for putting up posters advertising the march in the park in DC, arrested even though they were operating in compliance with the park codes and guidelines for such an act. They were the only people arrested for putting up posters in DC (so far as I know) in the last many years…or ever? I’m not sure.
Anyhow, as I watched the video my sense of rage grew against the growing tyranny which I often speak of within this forum and others. I was absolutely in AWE of the dedication of those two individuals to their cause and the way in which it was obvious that they had conquered their fear of the authorities and the authoritarianism which pervades not only our nation’s capitol but seems to spread daily in this great land. The tasering of a student at a John Kerry function yesterday speaks to the same type of typical abuse of authority in my opinion.
So I sat and watched this video and I thought about what I could do to support the cause of peace beyond just hanging out here upon my mountain and talking and typing to the world at large. I wondered to myself if things were really so bad out there like the video seemed to suggest. I wondered if the spirit of Liberty was still alive and well in this country. I decided to take a trip to DC to find out for myself.
Just jumping on ye olde grey-dog and bussing up there occurred to me, and I could have easily found the money for it…but it didn’t seem to be much of a statement. Then I thought to myself…self… you’ve hitchhiked around the country plenty in your younger days…for far less worthy causes, so why not do it this time for a good cause?
I spent about four to five hours convincing my wife I wasn’t either leaving the family to become a holy man or a homeless bum and giving up on life (though we’ve had it pretty rough lately to tell you the truth) and that I believed so strongly in the cause of peace that even if I were to be harmed upon this journey, it would be a small price to pay for standing up for an ideal…though I must admit that my faith is strong enough that I didn’t worry TOO much about that aspect of it. One of my favorite quotes…
“Of my life they may deprive me, but my integrity, never…”
We went shopping for some rations for my trip and settled on some snack packs of tuna and crackers and pop-top cans of ravioli, which were delicious in times when I found myself woefully distant from society or any type of store. (note: I never finished all my rations…never needed to.) It’s not hard to get stuck between exits while hitching due to the number of turn-offs and interchanges one encounters. A lot of walking is standard…I’m guessing I walked at least thirty miles or so on this trip. I broke the soles of my GBX’s before I ever made it to DC.
Mostly I prefer to ride over walking, and the rides came quickly and easily as my faith was confirmed time and time again by the good people who kept pulling over and offering their assistance to me without the hope of fee or reward, and without fear for their own safety or well-being. I’m eternally grateful for those who live their lives in trust rather than fear especially as it relates to this hitchhiking situation. I feel that the more we live by faith and the less we succumb to fear, the more we will become united as a nation and a people.
Ok…so from the top…the first two days were a little slow getting started…
I took off from the house on 9/11 around 9am…I remember waking up six years ago to a world gone mad on this same date…I felt sure that there was no better date to start on the path to peace than the same which our nefarious leaders used as a rallying point to turn us as a nation onto the path of war that same day.
My first rides were short ones through the Ozarks but quite enjoyable…I didn’t know how much I’d miss the mountain air until my trip home. The air is so much different here. Clean, crisp, dry.
I stayed the first night with my good friends in Conway. They are fellow believers in the cause of peace and justice…I upgraded my backpack from a Petsmart to a more suitable military rucksack (thanks Mark!) and caught some much needed sleep after “chili with the homies.”
The next morning I went across town to the university I attended to discuss my trip with my Honors professor…and I tell you, we had a great conversation. He offered his support and even helped me with a few shekels, despite my saying that I didn’t NEED them. I suppose he felt it was one way he could think of to help without walking with me himself, being a man in the twilight of his years and not as sure-footed as I, though we travel upon the same level of time together. I wasn’t about to refuse his graciousness when I saw things that way, and due to his help my experience was much smoother when I found myself in need of a federal reserve note or two. I left there satisfied with my visit to my hometown (Conway, Arkansas) and refreshed…to begin my second day.
The next rides from Conway on managed to get me all the way past Little Rock by nightfall. I was dropped onto I-40 east by Remington Road and walked a LONG distance on the freeway (in the rain) to Carlisle, Arkansas, where I stayed most of the night at the local truck stop trying to catch a ride. As soon as I got there I called the wife to let her know…that I was reconsidering this whole trip. Part of my faith is that if I’m obeying the will of the divine, then my steps are ordered and will be blessed…and that night, I didn’t feel very blessed.
She told me something I never thought I’d hear her, of all people, say…”give it one more night baby…I love you.”
This was a HUGE shock for me…I had spent four HOURS convincing her that I was sane and convicted of my intentions for this trip to DC on foot in the first place. After all that she missed me, she said just what I needed to hear at that moment, or you would be reading a different story most likely.
With those words ringing in my head, I headed to the overpass to catch a little sleep…for those of you who don’t know already, overpasses provide great shelters from rain and even from the cold if you know how to insulate a sleeping place properly. Some are nicer than others. I’d rate this one at about a 7 out of 10.
Upon awakening, I gazed at the beauty of the sunrise from my resting place under the noisy overpass…morning traffic was contributing to a cacophony of thumping and bumping that was making me a bit uneasy after watching footage of recent bridge collapses around the world…a little unfounded fear makes things interesting.
I emerged from my hiding place under the bridge into the morning light and took a picture of the morning star…glorious in the dawn of this third day.
I walked to the entry ramp and sat down in my obligatory post behind the sign that says I can’t legally walk on the freeway…and within maybe fifteen minutes I had a ride down to the next rest area, which I thought would be a good place to catch a longer ride. I had just sat down and taken off my socks to dry in the sun when a man came up and asked me where I was headed, and I told him to DC. He offered to get me as far as Knoxville, which was 600 miles away. I was in like Flynt.
Paul is one of my new friends from my journey who I’ll never forget for many reasons…to me he represents the undying spirit of patriotism and activism despite circumstances which I would say NORMALLY excuse a person from being too involved in a political movement. He drives an 18-wheel rig over the road…an owner-operator to boot, with a fine old green Peterbilt and an ambition to help change the world. I updated my information to the web while rolling 70 mph in his cab on our way through Tennessee…it was a great ride.
When we got to the I40 369 exit in Knoxville I felt the memories of my OTR days creeping back in as I looked around at my old world of truck ports, strip clubs, and freeway interchanges. I hollered on Paul’s CB to find out if anyone was heading on out of there to DC…we caught a response but it was muffled…but by the time we got parked (in a pull-through lane, nicely done) I heard the call from a man pulling into the fuel isle at the Flying Hook..(flying J) which is the same truck stop we had just parked in. OH THE LUCK!!!
So 30 seconds after hopping out of Paul’s truck I was in with Dennis, a company driver from Alabama who was heading all the way up by Bethesda, Maryland…we drove for a few hours and shut down in a Wal-Mart parking lot. I talked to him at length about personal issues he’d had in his life, and tried to offer whatever helpful words I could. I’m hoping for the best for this man…he’s had a lot of tragedy to deal with including the deaths of several of his closest loved ones. His caring for his fellow man was genuine and spoke of a spirit of southern hospitality that has been noticeably dying in the world outside these past many years…here in the South, I mean…
I was dropped off close to the Department of Energy…thought about trying to tell them about salt-water energy as a viable option but the building didn’t honestly look that warm and inviting. Maybe it was the big fence and concertina wire…I don’t know.
I found it’s IMPOSSIBLE to catch rides ON the DC freeways…I took some great shots of stuff I thought was amusing though, like this sign telling motorists to watch for “suspicious behavior.” I took a pic of it…then did the MC Hammer right there in place. I thought it was funny. *shrugs*
Then I traveled along the DC freeway ramps for a while until I saw a sign that was a little more INSPIRATIONAL to me…and I knew that I was approaching the heart of what used to the exemplar to the world for life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
I felt pretty sure that any place with a street named Democracy Boulevard..had to be in pretty good shape, right?
Not exactly…I’ll tell you more in Part 2.
Posted in 9/11, 9/11 Truth, Activism, Al Qaeda, America, Arkansas, Bizarre, Censorship, Cheney, CIA, Civil Rights, Comedy, Conspiracy, Conspiracy Theories, Democrats, Dissent, Drugs, Economy, Ed Brown, Education, Energy, Environment, Federal Reserve, Finance, FISA, Florida, Fox News, Freedom, Freemasons, George Bush, GOP, Health Care, Hillary Clinton, Homeless, Human Rights, Immigration, Impeachment, Investing, Iran, Iraq, Israel, Journalism, Justice, Law, Law Enforcement, Liberty, Life, Masons, Media, Medicine, Military, Money, Music, Nature, New York, News, Newton County, Opinion, Peace, Politics, Poverty, Prophecy, Protest, Rainbow Family, Random, REAL ID, Recreation, Religion, Republicans, Revelations, Revolution, Ron Paul, Sex, Society, Stock Market, Technology, Television, TV, Tyranny, Uncategorized, US Forestry Service, Wall Street, War, Weird | 1 Comment »
Posted by jeremiasx on September 9, 2007
I am leaving on a monumental journey (for my own life and time here) tomorrow morning. I’m quite anxious about it and I felt that writing about it might help a little. Most of you know absolutely nothing about me. I don’t talk much about myself usually. I will tell you a little about who I am in this post.
I’m 30 years old, happily married, and have a wonderful family. They are the light of my life and I am eternally grateful for them whenever my mind shifts to gratitude for all the blessings in my life, which is not nearly as often as I’d like.
I live in a beautiful place high atop a mountain in the Ozarks of Arkansas…the scenery is breathtaking, even from my back yard or up on my roof on a starlit night. We moved up here a little over a year ago and it’s been a tough area to make a go of things, but we’ve managed to cling to our little piece of the dream pretty well despite numerous setbacks. I’ve learned that the people in this part of the country are much like the trees that grow on the side of the bluffs, for what that’s worth…rugged, to say the least. I’m glad we stuck it out, and the wife loves it here, so I’m especially happy for her.
One thing has constantly irked me over the last few years though, and that is the realization that all of this…this American dream which was bequeathed to us as a people.. could be quite possibly taken away from us if we stand idly by and do nothing as we watch our civil rights and even our most basic God given rights become a thing of speculation or fancy instead of the concrete certainty they were intended to be by the Founding Fathers.
It is due to this constant pain, this inescapable certainty that if we do nothing then the results will befall us to our shame and regret…that I intend to strike out tomorrow on my cross-country journey to NYC and DC for the protests on 9/11 and 9/15 respectively.
I originally wanted to do a protest right here in Arkansas but there wasn’t enough local interest to get a really big one going…then I thought to myself…self…there are already massive protests planned for those dates so why not just get out of my comfort zone, get off my happy ass, and walk a mile (or a thousand if need be) to make sure that when I look back in the twilight of my life that I am certain that I did everything within my power to make a difference or speak my voice when I felt it highly appropriate, NECESSARY even…to do so. Before my mother passed away (from throat cancer) she told me she believed it came from all the things she meant to say but was afraid to…and she told me to go forth and fulfill my purpose, and not be afraid anymore. I took that to heart. I will be true to myself, and true to the memory of those wise words from one of my greatest teachers while upon this Earth.
Tomorrow I will set out upon the road with my faith and my determination alone to guide me to wherever God’s will would have me to be. I’ve been at this junction many times…though without much direction or focus in the past. However, with a plan of action, and the certainty that God is always on the side of what is right, I do not have any fear for my own life or safety. I plan on hitchhiking, which is always an enjoyable and memorable experience…and I’m sure it will be everything that it’s supposed to be. I’ll update you all either on here from the road or when I return in a week or so. I’m taking my camera and will try to get plenty of good shots if I can keep it in batteries and if it doesn’t crap out on me (fingers crossed, it’s a few years old and was the cheapest HP model available at the time, 3.1 MegaPixel but it works OK…sometimes…when it wants to. Hehhehe.) SO…time for me to “go forth.”
For now I’m going to tuck my 4-year old son into bed..then the wife…and try to deal with the pain of the coming separation from my family…I will miss them and they will miss me while I journey. It’s always so…but I don’t venture far from them usually, and I’m always here in my heart. I enjoy my time at home. Home is…after all…one of the things in life worth fighting for.
Posted in 9/11, 9/11 Truth, Al Qaeda, America, Arkansas, Censorship, Civil Rights, Conspiracy, Conspiracy Theories, Democrats, Dissent, Economy, Ed Brown, Education, Freedom, Freemasons, George Bush, GOP, Homeless, Human Rights, Impeachment, Iran, Iraq, Israel, Journalism, Justice, Law, Liberty, Life, Masons, Media, Money, New York, News, Newton County, NSA Wiretapping Scandal, Opinion, Peace, Politics, Poverty, Prophecy, Protest, Random, Religion, Republicans, Revolution, Ron Paul, Society, TV, Tyranny, Uncategorized | 2 Comments »
Posted by jeremiasx on August 17, 2007
I’ve said this before and posted this clip before but somehow I think people just don’t quite get it yet. I don’t know what it will take for you…does it take the government lying to you to support an unethical, illegal, and immoral war? Does it take knowing that the government is going to bail out corporations and the stock market (like they have to the tune of something like $20 BILLION DOLLARS in the last WEEK…) while watching poor Americans who were suckered into ARM loans dreams of home ownership go up in flames with no recourse…and Bush has stated publicly there will be NO bailout for homeowners…or maybe it takes hearing about how they killed one of our own guys by mistake (Tillman) and didn’t have the balls to tell the truth about it and then dishonored his memory and his family by creating a bullshit story surrounding that tragedy…or maybe it takes realizing that they’ve been chipping away at our God-given rights and liberties as fast as they can since the still-unresolved event of the 9/11 attacks…or that every time you pick up the phone you can technically be legally wiretapped without a warrant…or maybe it’s the REAL ID act that’s “got ya down” and you don’t want an RFID tracking device on you at all times day and night…or maybe it’s because you don’t want to be saddled up, yoked, and whipped to death to work off two generations worth of DEBT or you don’t want to be irresponsible, like those generations obviously were, and pass it to your kids or grandkids…or maybe it’s just the way that you don’t like the way Chimpy looks…I don’t know what it takes for you, personally…but I know that I’ve just about had enough of this BULLSHIT. If we stand idly by and do nothing…we deserve whatever we get.
NATIONWIDE GENERAL STRIKE ON 9/11/07…HIT THE STREETS.
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