Archive for the ‘Peace’ 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.
Posted in Activism, America, Anonymous, Bizarre, CIA, Civil Rights, Comedy, Conspiracy, Conspiracy Theories, Democracy, Dissent, Education, Fiction, FISA, Freedom, Funny, Human Rights, Justice, Law, Law Enforcement, Liberty, Opinion, Patriotism, Peace, Politics, Protest, Random, Resistance, Revolution, Sex, Society, Terrorism, Tyranny, Uncategorized, War, Weird | Tagged: Anonymous, Bacon, Dissent, Fiction, Literature, Politics, Resistance, revolution, Tech, Weird | Leave a Comment »
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 13, 2012
“What do you want from our collective?”
The teenage girl with purple and green hair asked me with the half-interest that Generation Y/Z has made infamous. I couldn’t tell if the hair was real or a wig, my vision still being blurry, but it was bobbed close and there were two long colored braids. She was probably still in high school. Sensory overload overwhelmed me after what seemed like hours without the benefit of sight or sound due to being hoodwinked with a modified balaclava mask. I vaguely recalled the ride across town in the trunk of a nondescript sedan that bore no badging or identifying characteristics of any kind. I’m pretty sure it was a hybrid of some kind because the motor cut in and out during the short journey through the city.
“I was told to contact you as soon as I got to Newark. I’m not even sure what group you represent. You could be with the assholes that kidnapped me back in Cali or even work for the government for all I know. I’m operating on nothing but blind faith here.”
I tried to get some kind of bearing on my current location. A cursory glance around didn’t provide me with much. Grey concrete walls with old rusty streaks that might have been blood complemented a cement floor with similar markings. It smelled dank but there was also an odor of recent disinfectant.
“Your caution is understandable, and we can appreciate that. You asked for this meeting, now what do you want with us?”
I sat a few moments without speaking, taking in the meaning and underlying meaning of everything she said. She didn’t seem to be the techno-punk type apart from the wild hair. She wore an expensive grey suit with a wide-collared blouse. A brand new laptop hummed quietly in front of her. A webcam on top was pointed across the table at me. Next to the computer and her purse was a small pistol. I’d guess a Walther PPK or something like that. My mom carried one just like it in her purse. Plenty deadly at close range, and since I was unarmed as agreed I wouldn’t be able to do much if she decided she didn’t trust me without ventilating me a few times first.
“Can I smoke in here?”
“Sure, go right ahead. Ash on the floor.”
I dug in my pockets and suddenly remembered having been thoroughly searched, groped in every unmentionable spot from shoulders to boots. My cigarettes and lighter were still in my right front pocket but I could feel the distinct absence of my cell phone in my left pocket and I was pretty sure they had taken my wallet. My ass met the chair a little harder than I was used to. A little padding never hurts, I learned that as a youngster in parochial school. My gym teacher swung a mean paddle, believe that. I pulled out the pack of Camels and popped my Zippo open with two fingers and in one smooth motion lit it by rolling the striker across the top of my thigh. An old habit. I’m a sucker for style, even at the cost of emphysema. Besides, in a few days I’d likely be deader than dirt.
I inhaled deeply, the rich smoke filling my lungs and chasing away the nicotine craving that the cigarette industry counts on for billions each year. I studied her reaction and her eyes. She never looked at the monitor even once to check her Facebook or email or whatever. They stayed fixed intently on me. The pistol on the table gave her a sense of security, but not enough for her to truly relax. Still yet, her air of professionalism outshone her obvious youth, and there was business to be done.
“I need your group to provide a distraction for the NYC cops in a few days. I’m not at liberty to discuss the operation, and have no details, so don’t bother asking.” I was pressed for time, and just wanted to get this over with.
“As if I care,” she retorted with an audible air of what seemed to be true apathy. Mercs are like that whether they fight battles for someone using a gun or computer code. It’s just a paycheck.
“I sense your trying to pull off the old ‘Swordfish’ routine, and while I honestly don’t give a fuck or not if it works out for you I damn sure hope that dead-drop you made was the only contact with our group you’ve attempted. We have no interest in swinging from the gallows with you, Mr. Reynolds, no matter how glorious you believe your cause to be.”
“No. You’ve got me wrong. I’m not even in this for my own sake or ‘glory’ or whatever. I’ve never seen you before and never want to see you again. I’ll be lucky if I don’t end up with a bullet in the back of my head by the time this is all over. This isn’t even my operation, I was pushed into it by…”
“Again, Mr. Reynolds, I truly DO NOT care. Tell us what you need us to do, and what your terms and method of payment will be.”
So I did.
Remember, remember, the fifth of November…no problem there, buddy. Today is the fifth. I’m in New York City standing near Rockefeller Plaza watching people ice-skating and having the time of their lives. I will definitely die today.
I never imagined that I would get tangled up in a terrorist plot to overthrow the government. I’m not a fan of the rat bastards that screw us over on a daily basis but I’ve been a pacifist ever since I heard John Lennon’s epic masterpiece, “Imagine,” and watched the movie “Ghandi,” during an introduction to Political Science course my freshman year at Berkeley. I dropped out during my junior year and joined a nascent grassroots populist movement full-time. To hell with college, I didn’t need a degree to change the world. I’m the kind of guy that wears a lot of tie-dye and sandals, smokes a lot of pot, and likes to jump in the sack with as many hippie chicks as I can convince to do so at any given rave or music festival, preferably under the influence of mild or heavy psychedelics. Most days I hold a sign in front of a bank or lobby my local congressman.
It was during one of those music festivals that my life took a seriously unexpected turn just last week. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I know a lot of people are going to die due to my actions whether I want them to or not. They’ve got my whole family and all my friends in the crosshairs, and I know they’re serious. Yesterday they killed my fourteen-year old sister, Sarah Jean, just to prove a point. It was staged to look like a random hit-and-run. I know for a fact it wasn’t.
The sign at the end of the pavement read, “Mushroom Mountain Harvest Jam” and I knew I was finally about to participate in the most epic folk-rock festival this side of the Rockies. On the calendar it fell upon a full moon weekend just before Halloween, and attendance was estimated to be upward of twenty thousand folks. I figured by the line of cars and graffitied VW buses and RV’s that it was probably a good estimate. I usually show up a day or two early to set up my campsite and help my usual group of social misfits set up our group kitchen and art displays, but a busted radiator on my old Galaxie 500 kept me stuck in Santa Cruz for an extra day or two, and now I was suffering the consequences. It’s funny how even when you go to society’s fringes you still can’t escape traffic. I figured if I was going to be waiting a while I might as well get high. I pulled out my trusty “chillum” and sparked a bowl of some serious green I scored at the dispensary while waiting for the car to be fixed. I have back issues and anxiety, you see. It’s all legal here in Cali and good medicine in general…not to mention it sure as hell beats sitting in a line of cars for hours while sober. Fuck that.
The car ahead of me, an old 80s model Grand Marquis with more rust coloration than paint stopped just before the curve ahead leading down the hill to the gathering spot in the valley below and to my right. Twilight was coming on and the Sun peaked through the Sycamores and mountain pines with an orange and pink hue. Crickets stirred. I had noticed the Asian girl in the back seat kept looking back at me, but I thought nothing of it because most folks like my car. It’s cream-puff white and has a big psychedelic peace sign on the hood. Maybe she thought I was hot? It didn’t even occur to me that anything was wrong when all four doors opened and all the passengers jumped out with what seemed like maniacal purpose. I guessed it to be a “Chinese fire drill,” no offense to the aforementioned Asian delight.
It wasn’t until I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw people jumping out of the black conversion van behind me that I began to get the distinct feeling that something was definitely amiss. The fact that they were all wearing bandannas, sunglasses, and ball caps drove it home. For the first time in my life I was truly afraid. Not edgy, not paranoid, but completely and utterly terrified.
“Keep your hands on the wheel and don’t move!!”
The voice was female, perhaps the Asian girl, but all I cared about was the submachine gun pointed at my head through my window. I’m pretty sure I pissed my pants. My hands couldn’t have moved of their own volition even if my life required it. My head started pounding and the cool buzz turned into justified paranoia and the surreality of it all grew as my door was yanked open and I was gagged and dragged back to the sliding cargo door of the black van. They pushed me against the door long enough to tie a blindfold over my eyes and bind my hands and feet with zip-ties. It seemed to take less than a minute, if that, and I was unceremoniously tossed headlong into the darkness. I’m pretty sure I passed out after hitting my head on the interior wall of the vehicle.
“WAKE UP, you hippie fucktard!”
The voice in the darkness sounded gruff and I distinctly got the impression that not only were we not at the festival, but that my life was about to change forever, and not in a good way. I was sitting in a hardback chair and the temperature was warmer than a late Fall evening. We were indoors somewhere. I couldn’t smell the forest. I thought I could smell the distinct odor of cannabis drying, which in other circumstances would have been quite welcome. My face was still covered but I discovered that my hands and feet were unbound. Still, I was hesitant to try to make a break for it. I didn’t even know where the hell I was. There could be guns pointed at me ready to cut me down if I budged a muscle. The probability of that seemed high.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“You’re going to achieve your dream, Owen. You don’t have the guts to do it of your own free will, but we’ve found a way to motivate you.” The voice was female, and slightly more pleasant than the first. It almost sounded familiar.
“Mr. Reynolds, you were not chosen at random. You’re going to be an instrument of change for the betterment of the world. You will set free the oppressed masses from the bonds of oppression and tyranny under which you’ve suffered your whole life. Soon you’ll be famous. Dead, but quite famous, indeed.” Shed-dule. This one was British, undoubtedly. I began to wonder if it was all some kind of elaborate prank.
“I don’t want to be fa-..” I was cut off by the sudden impact of something very hard across my jaw. Perhaps a rifle butt?
“You don’t have a choice!” No game. “If you don’t do exactly as we say, when we say, we’re going to kill your whole fucking family, every person you’ve ever called a friend..we’ll straight up kill your goldfish, dude, just for fucking spite.” The first, harsher voice again.
They explained to me that they had picked me nearly at random from a group that recently protested against a large federal banking institution. They liked my fervor and they thought my looks and physique would make me a perfect posterboy for their cause. I was blonde and had blue eyes. I was good looking and well-liked among my peers. In short, I was the kind of person that people would copycat for years to come, so they hoped. While I was passed out they even cut my hair to make me more appealing to a larger demographic. Shit. man, I loved my long hair.
Their objective was a conference of bankers and politicians (surprise!) as well as some unfortunate media personalities and movie stars that would be convened at a certain posh hotel in New York City on November 5th of this year. Only a week or so away. I was not informed of the specifics of exactly how I was going to kill them, and that made it even scarier. I would be flown (first class!) to Newark International on November 4th. First I was to provide a distraction using a group of hackers in New Jersey. Arrangement protocols to meet a contact within that group were explained to me, and I was not to forget even one minute detail. Next, I was to meet my “handler” in NYC on the morning of the fifth at Rockefeller Center. I was to wear certain articles of clothing that would identify me, namely a plain black ball cap and a pair of bright orange Crocs.
“You’ll be reimbursed for the hat and the Crocs when it’s all over,” the female voice assured me, “not that you’ll ever need money again.”
Suddenly I realized I did recognize the voice, and I even knew where from. It was the girl who gifted me a last-minute ticket to the Mushroom Mountain festival in exchange for my promise to pay it forward to another person someday. An anonymous “friend” from Craigslist who I’d only spoken to once by phone, and I remembered her voice. It didn’t even matter if I knew what she looked like. Nothing mattered anymore. I was screwed.
“One thing more, mate…just so you know, we’ve tapped your cell phone and will be monitoring your progress all the way there. If you try to turn the phone off or deviate one smidge from the schedule, we’ll kill you and everyone you love. No funny business, my boy.”
Again with the James Bond voice. It was official. I was stuck in the middle of the world’s worst movie. No popcorn, no 3-D glasses…certain death, the price of admission.
Posted in Activism, Al Qaeda, America, Bizarre, Conspiracy, Conspiracy Theories, Dissent, Drugs, Economy, Fiction, Journalism, Law, Law Enforcement, Liberty, Life, Military, Money, Peace, Politics, Prophecy, Rainbow Family, Random, Resistance, Revolution, Sex, Society, Terrorism, Tyranny, Uncategorized, Wall Street, War, War on Drugs, War on Terror, Weird | Tagged: Literature, Short Stories | 2 Comments »
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.
Posted in Activism, Arkansas, Censorship, CIA, Civil Rights, Conspiracy, Democracy, Dissent, Economy, Education, Federal Reserve, Freemasons, Human Rights, Journalism, Justice, Law, Law Enforcement, Liberty, Life, Media, Military, Money, News, NYC, Opinion, Patriotism, Peace, Politics, Prophecy, Protest, Random, Republicans, Resistance, Revolution, Society, Stock Market, Technology, Terrorism, Tyranny, Uncategorized, Wall Street, War, War on Terror | Tagged: Anonymous, Democracy, Dissent, Economy, Essays, Evolution, Occupy, OccupyWallStreet, Politics, Protest, revolution, Society, Uncategorized, Weird | Leave a Comment »
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 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 »
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 January 7, 2008
I found this over on Digg posted by “VoteRonPaul” a bit ago…they (FOX NEWS) are SO BUSTED. Watch it! Sorry for all the tags…but hey…I want maximum exposure and PLEASE REPOST this FAR AND WIDE. OH YEA, DROP FOX NEWS FROM YOUR CABLE SERVICE…it’s time they pay for this masquerade as a “fair and balanced” news program. I hear their stock is dropping anyhow. Might as well throw some well-deserved salt on an open wound while we’re at it, right?
Posted in 9/11 Truth, Activism, Al Qaeda, America, Ann Coulter, Arkansas, Bill O'Reilly, Bizarre, Brit Hume, Censorship, Cheney, CIA, Civil Rights, Comedy, Conspiracy, Conspiracy Theories, Democracy, Dissent, Economy, Education, Energy, Environment, Federal Reserve, Finance, FISA, Florida, Football, Fox News, Freedom, Freemasons, Funny, George Bush, Global Warming, GOP, Health Care, Hillary Clinton, Human Rights, Immigration, Impeachment, Investing, Iran, Iraq, Israel, Journalism, Justice, Karl Rove, Law, Law Enforcement, Liberty, Life, Masons, Media, Medicine, Military, Money, Music, Myanmar, MySpace, NAACP, New Hampshire, New York, News, Newton County, NSA Wiretapping Scandal, NYC, Opinion, Pakistan, Patriotism, Peace, Politics, Poverty, Prophecy, Protest, Psychology, Race, Rainbow Family, Random, REAL ID, Religion, Republicans, Resistance, Revelations, Revolution, Ron Paul, Science, Society, Sports, Stock Market, Technology, Television, Terrorism, Turkey, TV, Tyranny, Uncategorized, Unexplained, US Attorneys, US Attorneys Scandal, Wall Street, War, War on Drugs, War on Terror, Weird, WTC | 2 Comments »