Archive for the ‘Justice’ Category
Posted by jeremiasx on June 10, 2012
The cell phone was the key element of the plan. It was the silent witness to all of it. Misdirection and illusion. Remember that. Always.
I walked out of the adult novelty store and cut a few blocks over to the targeted hotel, walked in the front door. I took off my coat and dropped it at the security station, then walked briskly out the front door despite the puzzled inquiry from the security drone, ducked down an alley.
Inside the security team and their government counterparts would be puzzling over the coat and it’s total contents. A well-made mock up of a ceramic gun which was really just a modified toy from Wal-Mart bought for ten dollars. A note that said, “BANG YOU DEAD. By the time you read this you’ve already been paying attention to the wrong plot for a week too long. Nice to meet ya. Srsly tho you fags suck.”
Moving through the alley I quickly jerked the wig and prosthetic makeup from my face and stuffed them in a black garbage bag along with my outer set of clothes. I tied it to my belt. Now dressed in jogging shorts and a plain Old Navy tee shirt I hopped up to a fire escape on the adjoining building and ascended to the third-floor vacant apartment that had been quietly rented out by a nonexistent tenant months in advance. The place was pretty nice, but I wouldn’t have time to enjoy the sparsely decorated vacant pad for more than a minute. I found the bug-out bag in the hall closet and dumped it’s contents. A wallet full of cash, passport, new documentation. Yet another set of casual clothes, all black, and a new wig and black ball cap. A black form-fitting latex mask. I’d only need those for five more minutes, then the next set of clothes which were a bit more refined and therefore less noticeable on this side of town. The change took me under three minutes, but the shave and haircut took a few more. I had plenty of practice buzzing my do in the Army in a hurry for inspections.
After securing all the old gear, hair, and trash in a metal trash bin in the kitchen I dumped a handy bottle of acid from the bag over all of it, thereby destroying all associated DNA. After checking my personal smartphone to be sure it had all the necessary encryption software installed and functioned properly, as well as being fully charged, I dumped the silent witness into the acid bin with the rest of the evidence. Sure, you can have it. Good luck getting anything out of it.
One more trip to the hall closet and I was set. I picked up the crossbow with an attached coil of nylon rope and cocked the lever. I walked to the north face window and found it open as planned. A cool breeze was welcome after all the sweat I’d built up in the last few minutes. I found my target one floor down and far left across the street and fired. Bullseye. After securing the handle to the zipline I checked the street to be sure I wouldn’t hurt anyone and tossed out about half a dozen smoke grenades. Smoke filled the avenue and horns began to blare and the sounds of shock and awe rose toward me, along with so much smoke that Cheech and Chong couldn’t have determined what the hell was going on. Perfect. I perched on the ledge, said a silent prayer to Ceiling Cat, and flew across to the next secure location, the apartment above a posh downtown eatery.
As soon as I flew into the window I quickly slashed the zipline and tossed it, along with the anchoring bolt, as far back to my left and across the street as I could. I heard it ping off the news stand pretty much below the apartment I’d just left. Good enough. I added the layer of designer clothes over my black ones and made my way to the bathroom. An exposed hole in the flooring revealed the wet wall that would allow me access into the bathroom of Chez Henri via the extensive network of sewage and vent pipes. Fortunately these looked to have all been changed out within the last few years to keep up with changing building codes. Fairly clean, and again, good enough. After dropping into the hole I pulled the red rope that pulled the missing tile on a pulley back across over my head and concealed, at least temporarily, my escape route. A similar secret door allowed me entrance to the handicapped stall in the restaurant where I repeated the same process.
I looked out beneath the stall doors and didn’t see any feet. That was a bonus. Checking my phone and feeds, it appeared everyone had perfectly performed their assigned tasks. I’m a cog in a big wheel, and we’re rolling over and through this bullshit society. A quick view in the bathroom mirror allowed me to fix my hair after ditching the ball cap and latex mask in the wastepaper bin on the wall by the hand dryer. I stuffed in extra wet ones on top just to be on the safe side. I pulled the lint roller from my pocket and got the wall insulation off my clothes. Rolled it in a paper towel with my latex fingerpads (complete with fake prints) and stuffed them in the bin. I’d been wearing the same one for months. Time for new ones. I walked out to a table of old friends waiting for me with a nice spread of food and wine on a white tablecloth.
“Hey kids. You’re looking good, but the food looks better. Sheila you’re more stunning in Barbie doll attire than I would have guessed. Darren, you look better without all the fake blood on you, ya fuckin chomo. No homo, man.”
“Well I must say,” Darren quickly replied, “you look better clean-cut and proper than as a hippie fucktard any day.”
“Just don’t ask me if you can smoke in here. I hate cigarettes, especially at dinner. I’m still not eating anything but the veggies. You guys eat carcass if you want. It’s your body, you live with it. Fags.” That’s my girl.
Alex looked around to be sure we were mostly alone, and raised his glass. The English accent was real, and always came in handy for phone ops even though he’d lived in the States most of his life. “All objectives were completed, we have identified the agent provocateurs and their associates. Our next cruise will be smoother sailing, but I get the feeling the rest of their lives in the undercover business are pretty much over. I hear they all have Facebook pages and Twitter accounts that proclaim their greatness in law enforcement skullfuckery as well as displaying their taste in illegal internet porn to the world. Their bosses may understand, but their wives might not. Tonight we dine with our extended family in France. Cheers!”
We toasted to Us. We toasted to being smarter, not harder. We toasted to the win. In the end, it was simply for the lulz. Next time…maybe not so much. C’est la vie.
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Posted by jeremiasx on May 17, 2012
I woke at six to the sound of sirens. Breakfast. What’s on the menu today? The same thing as every other day. A hard boiled egg and a piece of moldy toast. My first vision was the stained and decaying ceiling tiles above my rack. I get used to the scenery just like anyone else would in this situation. I have no choice.
A month ago I was living the good life with my family in my hometown. I had a good job, I had a car and a home. I played video games and visited friends. Sometimes we’d get drunk or high together. Listen to music. Simple stuff. One morning I woke up to a loud knock on the door. I could hear the loudspeakers in the street saying something about remaining in our homes. I think mine was the first door they knocked on, coincidentally or not. I’d said some abrasive things about the current regime on the Internet.
These days I don’t have to wonder what’s going to happen. They made the choices so much easier. There really aren’t any. I get up and eat a quick bite, hopefully food that isn’t going to make me sick. After chow we will line up in the courtyard for health inspections and work detail assignment. It’s always the same for me. I failed my aptitude tests and got stuck on shovel detail. We’re building a new light rail system. Someday people will ride on it and won’t even remember how it was built. They won’t hear the gunshots that ring out when a worker falls from exhaustion. No, they’ll be happy to have affordable and quick transportation to their work assignments. Everyone gets an assignment now, no one has to make a choice. Choices lead to disorder.
Last week I think I popped something in my spine. I asked about a doctor, but they said they can’t afford to treat camp workers like real citizens. Real citizens have demonstrated the patriotism and service that keeps our amazing country firing on all cylinders. Real citiizens understand the importance of keeping the economy going. All I could do in my ’free life’ was sit around and write silly songs and poetry. There was no place for me in an industrious society.
The guards are passing out work gloves and shovels. When we first got here we lost about fifty people to blisters and the bullets that soon followed. I’m glad it’s not like that anymore. Now all I have to do is hide my chronic pain from the overseers and keep leveling the ground that will keep people moving on those “light” rails.
We head across the courtyard after roll-call into the cattle cars. Guards are screaming, dogs are snapping at our heels. An old man stumbles on his way into the car and is trampled underfoot. If you slow down, you die. No one wants to be that guy. Today wasn’t his day, I guess.
As I stepped up onto the high side of the cattle car I felt something give a little in my spine. Shit. This day isn’t starting out well. They say we’re increasing our production goal. The rail system isn’t on schedule. We’ve worked hard every day, and workers keep coming in, but just as many fall due to exhaustion and sickness. Is today my day?
A two hour ride to the jobsite over the highway isn’t bad, but we’re not on the highway. We’re trailblazing, man. We’re going where only the natives have gone before. Society has never stretched to this point in this country before. The rough and rugged road isn’t doing much for my sense of well-being. Pain shoots up and down my back and I don’t know if I’ll make it or not. Glancing around I see several have already given up hope and are sleeping on the metal floor. Some kids, some elderly. They won’t live to see tomorrow. So it goes.
We finally arrive at our assignment and I brace myself for the worst. When the overseers come in they usually come in kicking ass. The door slides open. More dogs snapping. The bitch is in charge today, I see. Who’s the bitch? Glad you asked.
The bitch is about thirty years old, she has blonde hair and blue eyes. She’s our medical supervisor and makes the determination on who lives or dies. That’s the truth of the fucking matter. She’s supposed to be watching out for us or giving medical attention, but I think the only medical attention she really administers around here is the terminal kind. She doesn’t take care of that herself. Armed guards do that. She just holds the clipboard and makes the final call.
We rush for the exit. I feel the head of a child squish a bit beneath my work boots. Do I have time to care about that? No..it’s just about survival. Remember, choices lead to chaos.
As we pile out orders are barked. We head to our assigned positions. They give us certain quotas on work performed. Workers get ‘units’ for work completed. If you get enough units you get a lunch. If you get more credits you get an actual break to eat the lunch. Get more than that, and you make all the workers look bad and are likely to be strangled to death in your rack . Crazy, huh?
I observe that the terrain we’re working with is particularly rocky. A bad omen for me. I press hard on the shovel in the hopes of finding purchase, or leverage. The tip of the shovel penetrates but I’ve hit a hard stone and the shockwave sends blinding pain up and down my arms, which circuits up into my back and suddenly I can’t feel my hands. I’m stunned for a moment.
A moment is all it takes. I hear a whistle blow, and the bitch is walking toward me, clipboard in hand. She asks me if I’m in too much pain to continue. I shake my head vigorously, ‘no’, but my body has betrayed me one final time. My muscles are twitching all around the injury site. She can see it through my shirt which is already soaked through with sweat and stuck to me.
“Guards, we have a patient in need of treatment. WORK DETAIL!! SEE!! This is what happens when you don’t take care of yourself! Haven’t you learned yet? You MUST take care of yourselves! If you had done this in your lives before you wouldn’t be here for re-education and extra duties. When this man falls he represents the worst of what you are. Your weakness, your inability to give your all to the whole. Prognosis…unfit to work.”
I bow my head. I hear the racking of a machine gun bolt behind me. The birds are singing and shovels continue clicking merrily along.
Posted in Activism, America, Bizarre, Civil Rights, Conspiracy, Dissent, Economy, Fiction, Freedom, Freemasons, Human Rights, Journalism, Justice, Law, Law Enforcement, Liberty, Life, Money, Opinion, Politics, Prophecy, Protest, Resistance, Revelations, Revolution, Society, Tyranny, Uncategorized, Weird | Tagged: Anonymous, Despair, Dissent, Fiction, Health, Literature, Medicine, Propaganda, Protest, Revolt, revolution, Short Story, Tyranny, Uncategorized, War, Weird | Leave a Comment »
Posted by jeremiasx on May 16, 2012
Standing in the half-lit shop I set the briefcase on the counter. Just a plain black case. The kind you’d probably find on sale at Office World for twenty bucks. The simple instruction to NOT open something makes a part of us nearly boil over with curiosity. Humans and cats are both like that. I wondered what I was supposed to do in the absence of further instruction. It almost seemed ridiculous that there would be clear-cut instructions regarding the briefcase and no mention of what to do with the suit. Put it on?
As I rolled that over in my mind a cell phone rang. I was instantly sure it wasn’t my phone, because my ringtone is not Metallica’s “The Four Horsemen.” The volume was all the way up and there was no doubt where it came from…the suit. I patted the coat pockets and found it after a couple skull-splitting riffs. Headbanger bullshit.
“Mr. Reynolds, I see you’re right on time. Are you enjoying your visit to New York? Have you fallen in love? Most people do, you know.”
I didn’t know what to say. The voice was the James Bond fellow from back out west, the limey terrorist.
“I can see you’re currently quite confused. Allow me to instruct you further. There is a dressing room to the right of where you’re facing.”
They were watching me, even now. No real shocker there.
“Ok.” I didn’t have much else for the moment.
“Go into the dressing room and put the suit on. Don’t forget the socks and shoes, too. Don’t want you embarrassing yourself in corporate America wearing a pair of flame orange sandals, do we? Of course not.” He laughed and abruptly hung up.
I removed the suit pieces and the footwear and walked to the dressing room with the swinging door covered in random pieces of magazine slicks with scantily clad women in lingerie that probably wasn’t even available in this venue. Classier stuff. As I dressed I wondered if condemned men on death row felt much the same as they buttoned their final buttons and zipped their fly one last time, knowing those simple and mundane actions would never be taken again. My breathing was irregular and labored, as if I’d just finished two marathons. I know I’m only thirty, but is this a heart attack? No such luck.
The mirror on the inside of the door didn’t give me much to consider except the stark contrast between my appearance five minutes ago and now. I clean up pretty nice. Too bad no one will be impressed for long, not even my mother. The suit had weight beyond what I expected, physically and emotionally. I looked like I belonged in any corporate boardroom. The close-cropped haircut I was given against my will while still back on the West Coast which looked so out of sorts with my usual tie-dye or Rastafarian ensemble now fit the bill to a tee. I am corporate America.
I stepped back out into the shop and heard something thumping around in the back. Unable to resist any further, I gingerly crossed the sales floor and heard grunting sounds. The phone rang quickly. The four horsemen were calling again. I didn’t answer. I had to know.
A divider wall with a few more signs (these were probably part of the shop decor) which admonished customers not to do anything they would go to jail for in public corniced the regular shop area, and I realized exactly how deep and dark this place went. As I peaked around the wall my heart nearly stopped. This was the video room. I didn’t have time or the inclination to check and see if there were titles I’d never browsed. It wasn’t the vast selection of smut that stopped me cold.
Blood was pooled around a bound and gagged middle-aged man. He was twitching and gurgling. A few flaps of skin on his neck were leaking the essence of his life on the floor. He was a goner.
This must have been the real store clerk. I’m not alone in here. Of course not…the nice man who gave Cajun homeless guy the dub spot was surely still here, and he was a vicious murderer. Oh my God. Why am I even surprised?
The phone stopped ringing, then rang again immediately.
“I’m sorry,” I answered, “I couldn’t help it.”
“OWEN. If you want to live five more minutes and don’t want to be held responsible for the deaths of your dear old mum and remaining siblings you will ABSOLUTELY DO WHAT THE FUCK I TELL YOU TO from this point forward!! When I call, YOU FUCKING ANSWER. Quit yanking about and leave us to clean up this unfortunate mess. He’s none of your concern. Furthermore, he was a pedobear. No great loss to the world.”
Obviously he wasn’t in the store with me or I would hear him off the phone as well as on it. Welcome to the network.
“A what? Ah..a what?” I was stammering and glancing nervously everywhere.
“A pedobear, a chomo, a child molesting kiddie porn swapping faggot. What kind of people do you think are drawn to his job? He deserved to die. We killed two birds with one stone, here, mate. We make the world a better place by all means necessary. Now, I want you to do something. Go back to the counter.”
“Ok.” It seemed ok except for the obvious fact that I was still locked in this horrible place with a bloody corpse and a hardened killer. I hate child molesters, and what if they were just lying? Hell, they probably were lying just to get me to calm down and go along with it but it didn’t really matter. I wasn’t holding any high cards.
“Take another look at the sexbot. Lift the back of her shirt. Your instrument is taped to her. This symphony requires your complete and utter cooperation and we expect to have it, unconditionally.”
I walked briskly back around the counter and lifted the camosole. Strapped to the realistically detailed doll was a pistol. It didn’t look like a real gun, though. Something was odd about it. As I pulled the duck tape away and held it in my hand I realized what was amiss. It was lighter than hell. Plastic or polymer of some sort. It wasn’t even the typical Tupperware combat piece that Glock was infamous for. Tapping my fingers along the barrel I couldn’t detect a single piece of metal.
“Yes, Owen..what you now hold is the pride and joy of Cer-tec industries. Only the most special, special folks get their hands on these beauties. It’s a composite carbon-fiber and ceramic handgun. Pop the clip out. Examine the craftsmanship of the weapon and the ammunition. Isn’t it fabulous?”
Unthrilled to participate a second further, but impressed nonetheless, I did as he asked. The entire affair was indeed completely metal free. Even the bullets and casings were made of the same strange looking stuff. It had an eerie greyish-blue hue, something like you’d see skinning a UFO or advanced stealth fighter. Immediately I understood the implication. They were going to make sure I made it past the metal detector. That left an important question.
“It’s amazing,” I murmured, “but if I’m going to use this to do your dirty work, what’s in the briefcase?”
“Life,” he replied, “is just full of surprises, my boy. Don’t ruin this one for yourself or for the city.”
Once again, the cat had my tongue and was raking it’s claws through my brain. Things were far more serious than they were before when I thought only the one percenters around the conference table were to be martyred to the will of these ultra-radicals. Now innocent people were going to die as well. Who knew how many? Then again, who says the bankers and politicians weren’t innocent to begin with? I’d always believed they were just sort of stuck in their mode and didn’t understand the full implications of their actions upon the world. Perhaps I was far more naive than I once thought.
I tucked the pistol into my waistband after familiarizing myself with the safety lever.
“Hold on there, Magnum P.I., you’ve been watching too much TV. Take off your suit coat and look at the liner in back. They may pat you down in addition to the metal detectors. We can’t be too careful, now, can we?”
I despised that he kept chatting me up like we were old pals, and worse yet he made it sound as if I was actually a willing part of the whole bloody affair. Stuck like Chuck, I did as he asked. I located the hidden pocket and velcro-ed seam and slipped the pistol inside a foamy compartment, along with the extra magazines my sadistic “Q” told me to fetch from under the doll’s armpits. Once packed in and on my back I realized it was specially made to meld together into something like a big, flat mushy spot which was nearly indistinguishable.
“Owen, I wouldn’t want you to run low of ammo. We’re going to be doing a LOT OF shooting today. Hahahahaahaaaa! Let’s get this party started!”
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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 May 12, 2012
I believe in the cause of peace. I know many soldiers, police, and security industry workers who believe in it as well. For most of them it’s a cause worth fighting for, and they do it everyday with honor and respect. Why then isn’t massive, continued peaceful resistance sufficient to topple the plutocratic oligarchy which is sucking the life from our country? Why can’t mere words or chants or demonstrations reach the minds and hearts of the people who are sworn to uphold our rights as citizens? Worse still, why do they continue to defend these monsters and their policies on a daily basis and even go to extreme measures to bully the People? I believe it’s all very intentional. In fact, it seems to me that at every turn we are being goaded into armed resistance by those in authority who wish to use those with the guts to stand up and fight (on both sides of the equation) as pawns in a game of cat-and-mouse between the Government and the People. They understand and have heeded the admonition that without a peaceful forum there will be armed conflict. This is why the Occupy and Tea Party movements have both been ridiculed and marginalized by the mainstream media and have been roughly ignored by the heads of state. The People have outperformed the Authority when it comes to peaceful conduct 99 times out of 100, but the media only reports bricked windows and government manufactured bomb plots. Interesting, huh?
The major problems with our system such as taxation without representation and money in politics (aka CORRUPTION) continue unabated, and the police and military continue to support these obvious injustices because they are well-funded by the bullies. They get the first turn at the trough.When is the last time you heard a policeman or soldier complain about difficulty obtaining medical services for themselves or family? When was the last time you heard one say they didn’t make enough to pay their rent? While they are arguably underpaid for their service to the public and willingness to die for their country/community, they are far better off than the majority of the working stiffs if you consider the perks and benefits their jobs come with. It will be VERY difficult to erode these pillars of support for the regime by peaceful means of persuasion. It can (and should) be done, but it’s not going to be easy.
We must find a way to wake the guardians of the gilded gates to their true ideals, and we must find a way to embolden them to take to the streets in solidarity with the middle and lower classes. It happened two days ago in London. Police there marched to protest against their inability to strike as well as austerity measures against their departments in the UK. Until those same cuts manifest in the US, it will be very difficult to convince these guys to cross the lines and join the common folks. That time may well be coming, but if our government has learned anything from other dictatorships historically they will continue to toss their dogs a bone.
Through the use of social media it could become more clear to those civil servants that the People are FED UP. We must continue to push our voices directly to them in whatever way we can, and with increasing frequency…the mainstream media will not. Do you have friends in the military and law enforcement? TALK TO THEM. Tell the how bad things are for the rest of us! Tell them of your frustration and even disgust with their overbearing authoritarian resistance to positive change. Eventually they will “get it” and stand with us, or at least stand aside and allow us to do what needs to be done. (Whatever that may be.)
Posted in Activism, America, Civil Rights, Democracy, Dissent, Economy, Freedom, Freemasons, Human Rights, Journalism, Justice, Law, Law Enforcement, Liberty, Life, Masons, Opinion, Patriotism, Peace, Politics, Poverty, Protest, Random, Resistance, Society, Tyranny, Uncategorized, War on Terror | Tagged: Peace, police, Politics, Protest, Resistance, revolution | Leave a Comment »
Posted by jeremiasx on May 9, 2012
It’s been a long time since we’ve last had a nice chat and visit, hasn’t it? Let’s talk about what we know so far. The worldwide economy is in the shitter, fascism is on the rise both home and abroad, and it’s 2012 and I STILL don’t have my flying car. Lying ass cartoons. I know it’s not an original joke but it does pretty well sum up the feeling I have when I see the myriad ways the world has not lived up to my expectations. Mankind was capable of anything, but his largest accomplishments to date are organized religions and sex droids. I’m not impressed.
For the last few years I’ve been moving quietly through both the ether and the physical realm. I kick up a little dust here and there but not enough to get imprisoned in a FEMA camp or killed by an unmanned drone..at least not yet. I’ve been touring the Occupy sites around the country since the inception of the movement and I have some good news to report.
The Occupy movement has made several major accomplishments. It is waking people up worldwide, and the slumbering and apathetic masses have FINALLY begun to rise. As I’ve said for years, most people usually really only care about something when it affects them personally. My disdain for peoples’ willful ignorance aside, I’m quite proud of everyone who has taken to the streets or stormed the Internet in a show of solidarity for freedom and truth. Millions of people around the world are uniting to do what people were meant to do. People were never meant to be slaves. They were given choice from the beginning and from time to time they let some fat cats get the best of them but historically they can break free if they are willing to make some sacrifices.
Speaking of sacrifices, I’m living out of a medium-size ALICE pack and hitchhike around the country to different occupation sites to learn what I can from my compatriots and to spread whatever knowledge I can to help. I sleep outdoors usually but this American Spring has brought a more favorable climate for all our operations. I survive currently through the combined efforts of many, not just myself. We are all part of what it takes to make this happen. Occupy isn’t a paying job, and it must never become one. We have no leaders, we have no followers.
Every person is a sovereign individual free to make any choice they like. We largely prefer nonviolence in agreement with the mission statement of #OWS but understand that not everyone is able to maintain a stoic attitude in the face of direct oppression, brutality, and tyranny. That’s what we have seen across the movement. THE PEOPLE of Occupy are a class-act and have demonstrated time and time again, despite provocations and abuse, that we will not be pushed into ANY manner of action that hasn’t been reached by consensus.
Don’t get me wrong. I firmly believe there WILL BE a violent revolution in this country if things continue the way they are going, and I often wonder if that’s what the authorities really want. I would hate to see the nation I love ripped apart by bloody conflict, but I’d hate to see an oppressive fascist regime come to full fruition even worse. At some point we’ll have to make a choice. It won’t be long. JFK once said, “Those who make peaceful resistance impossible make violent revolution inevitable.” He was right on that one, at least.
A few important observations:
1. I would prefer a peaceful, political revolution to an armed conflict.
2. Armed revolution is ugly, bloody, and has numerous unknown outcomes including but not limited to: more tyranny and fascism (now “justified” in response), a government that is somehow worse, or even a foreign power taking control of our country if it were to be weakened too much by infighting.
3. Sometimes there is no other option left other than to fight. It’s difficult to reason with mass murderers, don’t ya think??
You’ll never have to second-guess what side I’m on. I love my country. I love our people and the freedoms we USED TO HAVE. Voting won’t get them back once they are lost. We must do more. Time is running out fast. Godspeed, and good night America.
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Posted by jeremiasx on June 27, 2008
Let me preface this by saying I’m REALLY GLAD the 2nd amendment was preserved…HOWEVER…
Lo and behold!!! Is it yet ANOTHER case of selective law enforcement by DC Park Police and Metro Cops…hmm? I think so.
WIthin the last month these people were arrested for protesting on the steps of the Supreme Court…observe here…
MEANWHILE just yesterday THESE protesters were NOT arrested so far as I know…just pointing out the hypocrisy. Are the park police a bunch of scared sissies afraid to arrest pro-gun bubbas but if the folks are already assuming the position in orange jumpsuits they’re gung ho and ready to fill the paddy wagon?
I don’t think EITHER SETS OF PROTESTERS should be arrested. Free speech and power to the people, and especially right up to the steps of the Supreme Court, screw your free-speech zones…AND FINALLY… the DC park police and metro cops need to understand that WE THE PEOPLE see their selective enforcement as politically motivated and despicably biased. Why don’t you guys start acting with a bit of evenhandedness and integrity? It’d be a nice change.
Posted in Activism, America, Arkansas, Censorship, Civil Rights, Conspiracy, Democracy, Democrats, Dissent, Freedom, Freemasons, George Bush, GOP, Human Rights, Journalism, Justice, Law, Law Enforcement, Liberty, Life, Masons, News, Newton County, Opinion, Patriotism, Peace, Politics, Protest, Republicans, Resistance, Revolution, Society, Terrorism, Tyranny, Uncategorized, War, War on Terror | 1 Comment »
Posted by jeremiasx on June 19, 2008
The time has long passed for this nation to throw off these lawless criminals who have (at the least) violated human rights wantonly and brazenly in the face of nearly UNIVERSAL condemnation. It’s time for Americans to stand up for justice. These sons of bitches must be held accountable.
McClatchy Has The Scoop
WASHINGTON — The Army general who led the investigation into prisoner abuse at Iraq’s Abu Ghraib prison accused the Bush administration Wednesday of committing “war crimes” and called for those responsible to be held to account.
The remarks by Maj. Gen. Antonio Taguba, who’s now retired, came in a new report that found that U.S. personnel tortured and abused detainees in Iraq, Afghanistan and Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, using beatings, electrical shocks, sexual humiliation and other cruel practices.
“After years of disclosures by government investigations, media accounts and reports from human rights organizations, there is no longer any doubt as to whether the current administration has committed war crimes,” Taguba wrote. “The only question that remains to be answered is whether those who ordered the use of torture will be held to account.”
Posted in Al Qaeda, America, Arkansas, Cheney, CIA, Civil Rights, Conspiracy, Democracy, Democrats, Dissent, Freedom, Freemasons, George Bush, GOP, Human Rights, Impeachment, Iraq, Journalism, Justice, Law, Law Enforcement, Liberty, Life, Masons, Media, Medicine, Military, News, Newton County, Opinion, Patriotism, Peace, Politics, Protest, Random, Religion, Republicans, Resistance, Revolution, Ron Paul, Society, Terrorism, Tyranny, Uncategorized, US Attorneys, War, War on Terror, WTC | 2 Comments »
Posted by jeremiasx on June 4, 2008
Folks I don’t normally have time to complain too much about local happenings, but I feel rather compelled to let the good folks of the world know that we’re having a LITTLE PROBLEM up here in Newton County with folks HANGING THEMSELVES in the jail up here. I’m not sure what to say except that I sure hope someone is taking the time to look into it DEEPLY.
Where’s the FBI? Where’s the Arkansas Bureau of Prisons? Where’s ANYONE at this point? WTF?
Why are these incidents an atrocity to reason?
The main reason is the sheer weight of negligence required to have a jail housing prisoners 24 hours a day without a full time jailer or even a properly working closed circuit TV system operational. The backup system (CCTV) failed in BOTH these cases. A dispatcher is not capable of monitoring an entire jail full of inmates remotely.
Do you see wrongful death lawsuits coming? I do.
Faith in the local civic leadership has been eroding steadily over the time I’ve lived up here due to several bad policies and choices made and not made concerning law enforcement and the jail. These events have caused the jumpstart of a campaign by a write-in candidate to overturn the incumbent Sheriff Keith Slape. The first-term sheriff recently suffered personal tragedy in the death of his daughter, leaving some locals to question his ability to effectively show enough leadership in dealing with this particular situation to maintain office after November. Time will tell.
New information supplied by a local law enforcement source proves the rumor that the second suicide was from hanging from a bunk bed was incorrect, as had been originally reported right here in error…it was actually a vent duct near the ceiling over the toilet. I hope that clears up a lot of confusion but maintain my position that both deaths were probably avoidable had better controls been in place and had the jail had a full time staff. How there couldn’t be one is a real mystery to me. Just seems absent minded and flat ass dangerous.
Posted in Activism, America, Arkansas, Bizarre, Civil Rights, Conspiracy, Dissent, Freemasons, Human Rights, Journalism, Justice, Law, Law Enforcement, Liberty, Life, Media, News, Newton County, Opinion, Politics, Random, Uncategorized, Unexplained | 3 Comments »
Posted by jeremiasx on May 4, 2008
LOL…this is really funny stuff…believable or NOT you gotta hear it from the Alex Jones radio show (NO, I do not listen to Alex Jones OR ANY OTHER radio personality regularly)…what caught my interest is the audio is supposedly the DC Madame saying she had no plans of hanging herself in a recent interview. All that aside, the more important question I’m asking myself…why would I even doubt that a guy who is guilty of war crimes and crimes against humanity would end up facing allegations over a dead hooker? Well…DICK…you are teh suck. That’s why.
One final note…in the pantheon of conspiracy theories of late this one is certainly the most amusing and plausible…it’s not hard to fake a suicide, just ask Hillary. Enjoy the vid.
Posted in 9/11, Activism, America, Arkansas, Censorship, Cheney, Comedy, Conspiracy, Conspiracy Theories, Dissent, Funny, George Bush, GOP, Impeachment, Journalism, Justice, Liberty, Life, Media, Money, News, NSA Wiretapping Scandal, Opinion, Patriotism, Peace, Politics, Protest, Psychology, Religion, Republicans, Resistance, Revolution, Ron Paul, Sex, Society, Uncategorized, Unexplained, War, War on Terror, Weird | 1 Comment »