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.
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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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