Archive for the ‘Sex’ 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 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 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 September 21, 2007
OK…so the time has come to tell the tale of my trip to Washington, DC for the 9/15 Stop The War protest sponsored by the ANSWER coalition.
I’ll start in the beginning…I was sitting here on my ass at home one afternoon, a couple weeks ago…and saw THIS VIDEO on YouTube about Adam Kokesh and Tina Richards getting arrested for putting up posters advertising the march in the park in DC, arrested even though they were operating in compliance with the park codes and guidelines for such an act. They were the only people arrested for putting up posters in DC (so far as I know) in the last many years…or ever? I’m not sure.
Anyhow, as I watched the video my sense of rage grew against the growing tyranny which I often speak of within this forum and others. I was absolutely in AWE of the dedication of those two individuals to their cause and the way in which it was obvious that they had conquered their fear of the authorities and the authoritarianism which pervades not only our nation’s capitol but seems to spread daily in this great land. The tasering of a student at a John Kerry function yesterday speaks to the same type of typical abuse of authority in my opinion.
So I sat and watched this video and I thought about what I could do to support the cause of peace beyond just hanging out here upon my mountain and talking and typing to the world at large. I wondered to myself if things were really so bad out there like the video seemed to suggest. I wondered if the spirit of Liberty was still alive and well in this country. I decided to take a trip to DC to find out for myself.
Just jumping on ye olde grey-dog and bussing up there occurred to me, and I could have easily found the money for it…but it didn’t seem to be much of a statement. Then I thought to myself…self… you’ve hitchhiked around the country plenty in your younger days…for far less worthy causes, so why not do it this time for a good cause?
I spent about four to five hours convincing my wife I wasn’t either leaving the family to become a holy man or a homeless bum and giving up on life (though we’ve had it pretty rough lately to tell you the truth) and that I believed so strongly in the cause of peace that even if I were to be harmed upon this journey, it would be a small price to pay for standing up for an ideal…though I must admit that my faith is strong enough that I didn’t worry TOO much about that aspect of it. One of my favorite quotes…
“Of my life they may deprive me, but my integrity, never…”
We went shopping for some rations for my trip and settled on some snack packs of tuna and crackers and pop-top cans of ravioli, which were delicious in times when I found myself woefully distant from society or any type of store. (note: I never finished all my rations…never needed to.) It’s not hard to get stuck between exits while hitching due to the number of turn-offs and interchanges one encounters. A lot of walking is standard…I’m guessing I walked at least thirty miles or so on this trip. I broke the soles of my GBX’s before I ever made it to DC.
Mostly I prefer to ride over walking, and the rides came quickly and easily as my faith was confirmed time and time again by the good people who kept pulling over and offering their assistance to me without the hope of fee or reward, and without fear for their own safety or well-being. I’m eternally grateful for those who live their lives in trust rather than fear especially as it relates to this hitchhiking situation. I feel that the more we live by faith and the less we succumb to fear, the more we will become united as a nation and a people.
Ok…so from the top…the first two days were a little slow getting started…
I took off from the house on 9/11 around 9am…I remember waking up six years ago to a world gone mad on this same date…I felt sure that there was no better date to start on the path to peace than the same which our nefarious leaders used as a rallying point to turn us as a nation onto the path of war that same day.
My first rides were short ones through the Ozarks but quite enjoyable…I didn’t know how much I’d miss the mountain air until my trip home. The air is so much different here. Clean, crisp, dry.
I stayed the first night with my good friends in Conway. They are fellow believers in the cause of peace and justice…I upgraded my backpack from a Petsmart to a more suitable military rucksack (thanks Mark!) and caught some much needed sleep after “chili with the homies.”
The next morning I went across town to the university I attended to discuss my trip with my Honors professor…and I tell you, we had a great conversation. He offered his support and even helped me with a few shekels, despite my saying that I didn’t NEED them. I suppose he felt it was one way he could think of to help without walking with me himself, being a man in the twilight of his years and not as sure-footed as I, though we travel upon the same level of time together. I wasn’t about to refuse his graciousness when I saw things that way, and due to his help my experience was much smoother when I found myself in need of a federal reserve note or two. I left there satisfied with my visit to my hometown (Conway, Arkansas) and refreshed…to begin my second day.
The next rides from Conway on managed to get me all the way past Little Rock by nightfall. I was dropped onto I-40 east by Remington Road and walked a LONG distance on the freeway (in the rain) to Carlisle, Arkansas, where I stayed most of the night at the local truck stop trying to catch a ride. As soon as I got there I called the wife to let her know…that I was reconsidering this whole trip. Part of my faith is that if I’m obeying the will of the divine, then my steps are ordered and will be blessed…and that night, I didn’t feel very blessed.
She told me something I never thought I’d hear her, of all people, say…”give it one more night baby…I love you.”
This was a HUGE shock for me…I had spent four HOURS convincing her that I was sane and convicted of my intentions for this trip to DC on foot in the first place. After all that she missed me, she said just what I needed to hear at that moment, or you would be reading a different story most likely.
With those words ringing in my head, I headed to the overpass to catch a little sleep…for those of you who don’t know already, overpasses provide great shelters from rain and even from the cold if you know how to insulate a sleeping place properly. Some are nicer than others. I’d rate this one at about a 7 out of 10.
Upon awakening, I gazed at the beauty of the sunrise from my resting place under the noisy overpass…morning traffic was contributing to a cacophony of thumping and bumping that was making me a bit uneasy after watching footage of recent bridge collapses around the world…a little unfounded fear makes things interesting.
I emerged from my hiding place under the bridge into the morning light and took a picture of the morning star…glorious in the dawn of this third day.
I walked to the entry ramp and sat down in my obligatory post behind the sign that says I can’t legally walk on the freeway…and within maybe fifteen minutes I had a ride down to the next rest area, which I thought would be a good place to catch a longer ride. I had just sat down and taken off my socks to dry in the sun when a man came up and asked me where I was headed, and I told him to DC. He offered to get me as far as Knoxville, which was 600 miles away. I was in like Flynt.
Paul is one of my new friends from my journey who I’ll never forget for many reasons…to me he represents the undying spirit of patriotism and activism despite circumstances which I would say NORMALLY excuse a person from being too involved in a political movement. He drives an 18-wheel rig over the road…an owner-operator to boot, with a fine old green Peterbilt and an ambition to help change the world. I updated my information to the web while rolling 70 mph in his cab on our way through Tennessee…it was a great ride.
When we got to the I40 369 exit in Knoxville I felt the memories of my OTR days creeping back in as I looked around at my old world of truck ports, strip clubs, and freeway interchanges. I hollered on Paul’s CB to find out if anyone was heading on out of there to DC…we caught a response but it was muffled…but by the time we got parked (in a pull-through lane, nicely done) I heard the call from a man pulling into the fuel isle at the Flying Hook..(flying J) which is the same truck stop we had just parked in. OH THE LUCK!!!
So 30 seconds after hopping out of Paul’s truck I was in with Dennis, a company driver from Alabama who was heading all the way up by Bethesda, Maryland…we drove for a few hours and shut down in a Wal-Mart parking lot. I talked to him at length about personal issues he’d had in his life, and tried to offer whatever helpful words I could. I’m hoping for the best for this man…he’s had a lot of tragedy to deal with including the deaths of several of his closest loved ones. His caring for his fellow man was genuine and spoke of a spirit of southern hospitality that has been noticeably dying in the world outside these past many years…here in the South, I mean…
I was dropped off close to the Department of Energy…thought about trying to tell them about salt-water energy as a viable option but the building didn’t honestly look that warm and inviting. Maybe it was the big fence and concertina wire…I don’t know.
I found it’s IMPOSSIBLE to catch rides ON the DC freeways…I took some great shots of stuff I thought was amusing though, like this sign telling motorists to watch for “suspicious behavior.” I took a pic of it…then did the MC Hammer right there in place. I thought it was funny. *shrugs*
Then I traveled along the DC freeway ramps for a while until I saw a sign that was a little more INSPIRATIONAL to me…and I knew that I was approaching the heart of what used to the exemplar to the world for life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
I felt pretty sure that any place with a street named Democracy Boulevard..had to be in pretty good shape, right?
Not exactly…I’ll tell you more in Part 2.
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Posted by jeremiasx on August 17, 2007
I’ve said this before and posted this clip before but somehow I think people just don’t quite get it yet. I don’t know what it will take for you…does it take the government lying to you to support an unethical, illegal, and immoral war? Does it take knowing that the government is going to bail out corporations and the stock market (like they have to the tune of something like $20 BILLION DOLLARS in the last WEEK…) while watching poor Americans who were suckered into ARM loans dreams of home ownership go up in flames with no recourse…and Bush has stated publicly there will be NO bailout for homeowners…or maybe it takes hearing about how they killed one of our own guys by mistake (Tillman) and didn’t have the balls to tell the truth about it and then dishonored his memory and his family by creating a bullshit story surrounding that tragedy…or maybe it takes realizing that they’ve been chipping away at our God-given rights and liberties as fast as they can since the still-unresolved event of the 9/11 attacks…or that every time you pick up the phone you can technically be legally wiretapped without a warrant…or maybe it’s the REAL ID act that’s “got ya down” and you don’t want an RFID tracking device on you at all times day and night…or maybe it’s because you don’t want to be saddled up, yoked, and whipped to death to work off two generations worth of DEBT or you don’t want to be irresponsible, like those generations obviously were, and pass it to your kids or grandkids…or maybe it’s just the way that you don’t like the way Chimpy looks…I don’t know what it takes for you, personally…but I know that I’ve just about had enough of this BULLSHIT. If we stand idly by and do nothing…we deserve whatever we get.
NATIONWIDE GENERAL STRIKE ON 9/11/07…HIT THE STREETS.
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Posted by jeremiasx on July 17, 2007
My feet are sore, I have poison ivy, and my shoes are nearly worn through after the numerous trips I made up and down the hill to the various areas of the Gathering I visited. (They were another quality product brought to me by the magic of Wal-Mart, Hecho in China of course.)
Don’t bemoan my personal situation though…the truth of the matter is that I was not any more of a Gonzo journalist than any of our local reporters who visited and covered the event. I only drove out there four or five times, never camped overnight, and wasn’t interested in infiltrating any “secret inner circles” of Rainbow hierarchy (of which there are none, presumably, since it has no official hierarchy other than communally accepted elders, of which there are no elections or ritual installations of the same to speak of.) I wasn’t there on the behest of any interest group whatsoever, regardless of what some paranoid souls probably surmised, as I’m guessing a few did due to their paranoid reactions to my presence. I probably stuck out. I didn’t really dress any differently than I do in my everyday life…I can’t really ascertain the same for all the other Rainbows…some of them dress the same everyday, some just on weekends (judging by their luxury cars and SUVs), and some probably as part of their “job.” (Ooh now I get to play my conspiracy nut card…not really…it’s generally believed that many LEO’s are undercover posing as Rainbows for the normal purposes of routine undercover work and I surmise less forthcoming COINTELPRO-style operations as well, undoubtedly.) It’s well known by EVERYONE now that the Law Enforcement Officers involved with this “special ed” team that the Forestry Service has assembled are majority asshats. Video evidence.
SAY…speaking of ENVIRONMENTAL IMPACT…how much impact do MULTIPLE SUV’s DRIVING THROUGH THE RIVER have? I wonder. Let’s take a look at a USFS trail during the gathering…notice anything “unnatural” after these SUVs went up and down the road in the main gathering area which was blocked off to private vehicles, ostensibly for the preservation of nature?
Hehehe…either way, I wasn’t dressing to impress or try to be anything other than what I am, which is me. HOWEVER you want to dress yourself (or maybe even your woefully subserviant partner or child), if you really dig it, it’s you being you. I’m just saying not everyone is so lofty as to express anything other than a mindless devotion to “fill-in-the-blank style/trend/fashion.” There are such creatures. If it were not so, there would be no market for Club Gitmo T-shirts or retro Debbie Gibson CRAP. Hot Topic would probably go the way of the dodo bird. I might miss it…nah.
Anyhow, enough about my opinion of people who try to be outlandishly different from society by looking outlandishly similar to each other for the sake of the same. I’m losing your interest, perhaps…so back to our story.
I’d heard so many things about the festival from locals and from the internet…very little of the negative hype the government has thrown at the Rainbows stood up to even moderate scrutiny and their reaction to this annual event defies logic whilst taking a piss on reason and duly decimating whatever general concept of Liberty one might assume was left in the world…then shredding general decency as an extra bonus…needless to say myself and MANY OTHER locals are in various stages of disgust with the federal, state, and even LOCAL COUNTY police response due either to the harassment we received ourselves or the harassment, incarceration, and abuse we witnessed the Rainbows receiving. Oh…by the way…we WON’T FORGET IT come election day, either.
So regardless of the hype I wanted to do a cool, level-headed and thorough follow-up on the Gathering and I thought I’d address a few of the issues surrounding the event and see whether there was any truth to them…you know, see for myself instead of just mindlessly accepting what others had said. I started at the Fallsville Store.
Elizabeth Moak was helping a new summer hire with a few of the ins and outs of the business during the 3pm rush hour in Fallsville (there were several customers buying gas and sundries including myself and apparently some of those “Rainbow Folk”) and I felt it prescient to the discussion to ask her about all the alleged theft at the store by many and various local figures. Turns out, nothing was stolen from the Fallsville Store, according to Ms. Moak…and she doesn’t know that any local gardens were verified to have been raided by would-be “Peter Rabbit Rainbows” either…apparently there is a trend in these rumors where they are ALWAYS second-hand, and usually begin with “well so-and-so said that…” She chalked it up to a lot of rumors and fearful fear-mongering and said her experiences have been pretty GOOD with the Rainbows and called many of them “adorable characters.” I agree.
I left the store and turned my attention to the Gathering area itself, for surely in the dark forests there lay certain “eco-Armageddon” just waiting to be laid bare for my discovery if some local accounts and interstate blog comments were to be believed. (Yes, that’s a swipe at some of the comments made on my PAST posts, and it’s well-deserved.)
I encountered the same monstrous pile of garbage that the local reporter did except for one difference. It was at the TOP of the forest service road by the highway instead of at the BOTTOM in the valley just past “A-Camp.” Quite a relocation effort, considering the modest group of men involved. Here’s what was left of the “front page photo” pile of trash.
Don’t be mistaken about it: this is a MASSIVE clean-up and restoration effort being led by a team of roughly 25-50 good-hearted Rainbows who have stayed behind to do the
yeoman’s work of removing and then SORTING and RECYCLING all the refuse…and currently trying to find the most environmentally safe and economically viable means of DISPOSING of it. (Any churches willing to donate a dumpster? The county and the forest would APPRECIATE it…will you complain about the mountain of trash or help to be rid of it?)
Anyhow after a short time there I met Richard, a former taxi driver from New York who made coming specifically for the clean-up effort his goal for this year’s Gathering…along with attempting reconciliation between the tribe at large and the Lecotah Sioux Nation over some strange “sweat lodge” beef…I’m not sure what the details are but apparently even methodologies and esoteric considerations as they might relate to spiritual medicine, as well as their methods of administration and eligible participants, can be the topic of hot debate between light workers and peace pros and even indigenous tribes of Native Americans…curious, eh? Here are the remains of the sweat lodge. Unfortunately I did not attend, though I look forward to being there personally in the future. Time makes many demands, though, as you might expect.
Far out and away from the virtually non-existent Montana Mud (which I observed to be the main area of congregation during my previous visits)
we scaled the mountain to the “Fat Kids Camp” which I quickly found out is not named on behalf of your averagely obese American, and I probably lost a few pounds hiking up there. It’s named for the idea of “living fat” which means to basically have the maximum luxuries of home available to increase the comfort level in the outdoor kitchen /camping setting…they had basically re-molded the Earth completely to suit their purposes…large stone kitchen megaliths and flagstone stairways abounded and all of these are sworn by the wrecking crew to be brought down as soon as the last campers make their weary exit. On the way out there is a food/supply drop area as a midpoint for the exiting campers to hide if the rain comes during their exodus. It’s rained a lot during the Gathering. We love the rain this time of year. Here’s a picture of Richard on the “altar” (firepit) and of their nifty zip-line which was used to transport cooking supplies and food.
We made our way back across the river and I snapped some more shots of a nifty stone bridge and a few more empty camps…
there was a pile of unclaimed camping supplies we encountered which Richard said probably wouldn’t be there much longer near the Arkansas camp, which was still inhabited but reasonably clean…
Heading back up the hill we encountered “Handy Dan” and his rest stop where we saw him trying to help one of the cleaning crew fix a flat tire with his vehicle’s air compressor…
Before we left I took the opportunity to interview a nice middle-aged couple who were strictly on FS 1463 to do a little tourism and fishing. They were from Hot Springs, and were in visiting in the hopes of catching some fish and soaking in all that nature had to offer. I asked them if they were aware that thousands of people had just been camping in the exact spot they were currently fishing. They said flatly, “Really? No. We didn’t notice.” That pretty well sums it up for me, personally. Oh…they also caught fish. Kudos.
So back up the hill and I dropped off Richard and took on “Sammy,” a young man from Texas who had come up to check out his first Gathering but ended up spending most of it in the Newton County jail. Although he didn’t really speak poorly of any particular officers, he said the initial arrest incident seemed like “a crock of shit” and after a series of charges ranging from public intox to obstruction of justice the LEO’s had managed to work up a $1200 bill (fine) for this young kid who thought he was coming to have a good time. He got poison ivy too, but never got anything other than a bleach rag for it at the local poke. His case was much more severe than mine…and mine is driving me crazy even now with plenty of calamine and alcohol to bathe it with. Connect the dots on that one. Anyhow, he was done with Newton County though he looked forward to going to the next Gathering, possibly a regional or the next national. I dropped him off close to the county line. I hope he caught a ride from there. I’ve done enough hitch-hiking myself in the past…I help when I can.
Anyhow…to summarize. The event is largely what you would have imagined it to be, and if you ever go it could be your reality, too…but for now just know that it’s over and it will happen again and no matter how much money our government wastes trying to hassle these folks they aren’t going to quit and they aren’t going to buy a piece of paper that says they have the right to do so. They (and I, and millions of other sane Americans) believe that we already have a “permit” to Gather and Remain peaceably as often as we wishand with as many people as we’d like…it’s called the Constitution.
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Posted by jeremiasx on July 1, 2007
We knew we were getting close when we saw strange signs of Rainbow activity on the sides of the road. Eerily reminiscent of “Blair Witch” but in a cool and groovy way.
As we walked further along the road, we saw this bus and were sure we were in the right place…
About a couple miles down the road, which was mostly level to this point (thank God because you WILL be walking if you go out there…parking is all the way to the highway now) we encountered this lovely roadblock. I must admit, the rangers were pretty laid back at this point…except for the guy drinking on the tailgate…
Officer McBuzz looks like he’s got a hard-on to bust a hippie…at least in this photo. LOL…
After the grueling road march all the way down the hill, even with limited gear as we were only day-tripping and not camping overnight, the headwaters of the Buffalo were a welcome sight. Plenty of people were out and about taking in the sun and enjoying the crisp, cool waters of the river.
This is an impromptu stone art abstract we encountered on a section of the river not far from the main camp. There were many others along the beach, but I found this one to be the most impressive personally.
Though the clouds threatened (and delivered, eventually) rain there were hundreds out enjoying the river and right before we left they gathered to dine as a group…all the people you see above (and MANY more who showed up after the conch was blown) were fed and the process seemed thoughtful and orderly to me. Any who had a bowl and a spoon were welcome to eat, for free. Who says there’s no such thing as a free lunch?
All in all it was another fun and strange trip into Rainbow Land…I plan to go out at least once more for the big 4th of July “auming and meditation for peace,” most likely with the family in tow. Hopefully the weather will be a little dryer and the paths a little less muddy next time. We enjoyed the views on the short drive back to the house. I love my “neighborhood.”
Posted in America, Arkansas, Civil Rights, Dissent, Economy, Education, Environment, Freedom, Homeless, Journalism, Justice, Law, Law Enforcement, Liberty, Life, Media, Medicine, Money, Music, Nature, News, Opinion, Peace, Politics, Poverty, Protest, Rainbow Family, Random, Recreation, Religion, Revolution, Sex, Society, Tyranny, Uncategorized, US Forestry Service | 39 Comments »
Posted by jeremiasx on June 25, 2007
Just in case any of you thought the website directions were kind of vague…try this. I live here and have “mad Google Maps Skillz!” LOL
From Clarksville (On I-40) drive north on 21 till you get to the AR-16 split, go east about a mile and three quarters till you see the turnoff to the left for the USFS 1463
From Deer (on Hwy 7) Go West on AR-16 till you hit Edwards Junction, then you are only a couple miles away look for the turnoff to be on your right on USFS 1463
There are roadblocks. Don’t be stupid. Use Common Sense.
Hope to See You There!!! Peace.
Posted in America, Arkansas, Bizarre, Civil Rights, Dissent, Environment, Freedom, Homeless, Law Enforcement, Liberty, Life, Media, Music, Nature, News, Peace, Politics, Poverty, Protest, Rainbow Family, Random, Religion, Revolution, Sex, Society, Television, Uncategorized | Leave a Comment »
Posted by jeremiasx on June 25, 2007
An Open Letter To Denise Ottaviano, Public Relations Official for the National Forestry Service Currently Working on the Rainbow Family Gathering in Fallsville, AR
Thank you for returning my call earlier, I wasn’t expecting such a quick response. Sorry I didn’t have all my questions right in front of me, but my little boy was hungry and I needed to get him some “vittles.” I was also having a hard time understanding you because once we started talking about constitutional questions, the line kept beeping and screeching like there was some sort of interference of some kind.
I have those questions for you now, though.
- You responded to an interview by the Harrison Daily Times with a statement that part of the concern was if law enforcement officials were under surveillance. Would you elaborate on that issue? Have there been any attempts to videotape or establish surveillance on the police and forestry service that have broken some type of law? If so, what is the law that prevents public scrutiny of official duties conducting their business in a public place?
Denise Ottaviano, U.S. Forest Service information officer out of Albuquerque, N.M., spoke to the Daily Times from Fort Smith where she is stationed during the Rainbow gathering.
She said Rainbow events often attract as many as 10,000 to 25,000 members from all parts of the country.
Those members can have “a large impact” on the forest and surrounding communities, she said. So, the Forest Service developed the National Incident Management Team (NIMT) to “manage the impacts of Rainbow Family national gatherings,” a press release said.
Ottaviano said officers come from all over the country to follow Rainbow Family gatherings.
Drivers in the area are stopped often, especially ones who drive on or off the Forest Service road that leads the two miles to the main camping area.
Drivers who ask why they were stopped are told that officers are making sure everything is all right and to make sure law enforcement officers aren’t under surveillance themselves.
2. Are you aware that a camp host in the Ozark campground (upriver from Hasty) died last week and that it took roughly a week for park rangers to discover his body, which was reportedly in such a state of putrefaction that the cause of death hasn’t been immediately determined, thus complicating an investigation of a mortality…and that there could be a rationale for the public to assume that park officials are focusing so much attention on the Rainbow Festival that they aren’t able to conduct their usual duties in a timely, responsive manner? The increase in calls which had to be responded by Newton County Deputies at Hasty and Kyle’s Landing instead of Forestry Service officials seems to be another indicator of this trend. What is your response to those who say that these enforcement actions surrounding the Rainbow gathering are detracting from their responsibilities to the public in other park areas?
3.You have stated that the rangers at the roadblocks are conducting vehicle inspections for compliance with state motor vehicle codes, and that this includes a check for drivers license, registration, and proof of insurance. Reports are that the roadblock is off of the highway, and not in plain view of approaching motorists who turn onto the FS road. This could possibly violate earlier rulings by the Arkansas State Supreme court and other courts which have contended that roadblocks which cause “fear and surprise” to motorists may not be constitutional or acceptable. What is your contention on this issue? Here is some info on how the court has previously ruled and I have bolded the relevant information, such as the “three-pronged test” I alluded to over the telephone. You said you hadn’t heard of it. While quite unfortunate, that doesn’t surprise me..
Roadblock stops constitute "seizures" under the Fourth
Amendment. See United States v. Martinez-Fuerte, 428 U.S. 553
(1976); see also Michigan Dep't of State Police v. Sitz, 496
U.S. 444 (1990). The question, then, is whether the Benton
County checkpoint stops were "unreasonable."
Sobriety checkpoints are reasonable under the Fourth Amendment
if, on balance, they maintain a proper equipoise between: (1)
the gravity of the public concern; (2) the degree to which the
public interest is advanced; and (3) the severity of interfer-
ence with individual liberty. See Id. (citing Brown v. Texas,
443 U.S. 47, 51 A checkpoint's subjective intrusion
lies in the perception that a checkpoint may generate fear or
public concern. Id.; see also Sitz, 444 U.S. at 452 ("The
fear and surprise to be considered are...the fear and surprise
engendered in law-abiding motorists by the nature of the stop."
)(5) This fear is heightened, if motorists perceive they are
being singled out by random, roving, patrol stops. See Martinez
-Fuerte, 428 U.S. at 559. The fear is, correspondingly,
decreased if the stops are conducted in a "regularized manner,"
which "both appear[s] to and actually involve[s] less
discretionary enforcement activity." Id. When, as here, the
approaching motorist can see "visible signs of the officers' authority" and all traffic being stopped, the public is
"much less likely to be frightened or annoyed by the intrusion."
United States v. Ortiz,
422 U.S. 891
(this is an aerial map of the turn-off to the Fallsville Gathering Site, and the location of where the roadblock was reported to be, just around a bend and not really VISIBLE to approaching motorists…maybe you should change this?)
Well, I hope that isn’t too much to throw on your plate right away…thanks for your help. You also asked me to supply you with my blog address…now Denise…I hope you realize that my blog isn’t overly sympathetic to the government’s authority because I am a Constitutionalist and I believe that in many ways the federal government and state governments have FAR exceeded their Constitutional mandate. The level of privacy erosion, the loss of individual liberty, and the progression towards an authoritarian state are issues that I report upon regularly. Don’t take this personal. Most government employees are GREAT PEOPLE and if they did a little more research into issues regarding THE SPIRIT AND ESSENCE of liberty and the Constitution in particular I think they’d be better off. So, in essence, that’s why I write. To illuminate, elucidate, inform, and infuriate people into action. I hope you’ll take action personally to make sure that “We the People” win here. I’m not on “your side.” I’m not on “their side.” I’m on OUR side.
Views From Within: A WordPress Blog
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Posted by jeremiasx on June 25, 2007
Pilots for 9/11 Truth obtained black box data from the government under the Freedom of Information Act for AA Flight 77, which The 9/11 Report claims hit the Pentagon. Analysis of the data contradicts the official account in direction, approach, and altitude. The plane was too high to hit lamp posts and would have flown over the Pentagon, not impacted with its ground floor. This result confirms and strengthens the previous findings of Scholars for 9/11 Truth that no Boeing 757 hit the buillding.
Madison, WI (PRWEB) June 21, 2007 – A study of the black box data provided by the government to Pilots for 9/11 Truth has confirmed the previous findings of Scholars for 9/11 Truth that no Boeing 757 hit the Pentagon on 9/11. “We have had four lines of proof that no Boeing 757 hit the building,” said James Fetzer, founder of Scholars for 9/11 Truth. “This new study by Pilots drives another nail into a coffin of lies told the American people by The 9/11 Commission“:
The new society, an international organization of pilots and aviation professionals, petitioned the National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) under the Freedom of Information Act and obtained its 2002 report on American Airlines Flight 77, a Boeing 757 that, according to the official account, hit the ground floor of the Pentagon after it skimmed over the lawn at 500 mph plus, taking out a series of lamp posts in the process. The pilots not only obtained the flight data but created a computer animation to demonstrate what it told them.
According to the report issued by Pilots for 9/11 Truth (http://pilotsfor911truth.org/), there are major differences between the official account and the flight data:
a. The NTSB Flight Path Animation approach path and altitude does not support official events.
b. All Altitude data shows the aircraft at least 300 feet too high to have struck the light poles.
c. The rate of descent data is in direct conflict with the aircraft being able to impact the light poles and be captured in the Dept of Defense “5 Frames” video of an object traveling nearly parallel with the Pentagon lawn.
d. The record of data stops at least one second prior to official impact time.
e. If data trends are continued, the aircraft altitude would have been at least 100 feet too high to have hit the Pentagon.
As Robert Balsamo, co-founder of Pilots for 9/11 Truth, observes, “The information in the NSTB documents does not support, and in some instances factually contradicts, the official government position that American Airlines Flight 77 struck the Pentagon on the morning of September 11, 2001.” The study was signed by fifteen professional pilots with extensive military and commercial carrier experience. They have made their animation, “Pandora’s Box: Chapter 2,” available to the public at http://video.google.com/videosearch?q=Pandora’s+Black+Box%3A+Chapter+2 .
According to James H. Fetzer, founder of Scholars for 9/11 Truth (http://911scholars.org), this result fits into the broader picture of what happened at the Pentagon that day. “We have developed four lines of argument that prove–conclusively, in my judgment–that no Boeing 757 hit the building. The most important evidence to the contrary has been the numerous eyewitness reports of a large commercial carrier coming toward the building. If the NTSB data is correct, then the Pilot’s study shows that a large aircraft headed toward the building but did not impact with it. It swerved off and flew above the Pentagon.”
Fetzer, who retired last June after 35 years of teaching courses in logic, critical thinking, and scientific reasoning, expressed pleasure over the Pilot’s results, which, he said, has neatly resolved the most pressing issue that remained about the Pentagon. He added, “We have previously developed several lines of argument, each of which proves that no Boeing 757 hit the building,” including these four:
(1) The hit point at the Pentagon was too small to accommodate a 100-ton airliner with a 125-foot wingspan and a tail that stands 44 feet above the ground; the kind and quantity of debris was wrong for a Boeing 757: there were no wings, no fuselage, no seats, no bodies, no luggage, no tail! Not even the engines were recovered, and they are practically indestructible.
(2) Of an estimate 84 videotapes of the crash, the three that have been released by the Pentagon do not show a Boeing 757 hitting the building, as even Bill O’Reilly admitted when one was shown on “The Factor”. At 155 feet, the plane was more than twice as long as the 77-foot Pentagon is high and should have been visible. There are indications of a much smaller plane, but not a Boeing 757.
(3) Indeed, the aerodynamics of flight would have made the official trajectory–flying more than 500 mph barely above ground level–physically impossible, because of the accumulation of a massive pocket of compressed gas (air) beneath the fuselage; and if it had come it at an angle instead, it would have created a massive crater; but there is no crater and the official trajectory is impossible.
(4) Flying low enough to impact with the ground floor would have meant that the enormous engines were plowing the ground and creating massive furrows; but there are no massive furrows. The smooth, unblemished surface of the Pentagon lawn thus stands as a “smoking gun” proving the official trajectory cannot be sustained.
Members of Scholars have contributed to a new book that analyses the government’s official account, according to which 19 Islamic fundamentalists hijacked four commercial airliners, outfoxed the most sophisticated air-defense system in the world, and committed these atrocities under the control of a man in a cave in Afghanistan. Entitled, THE 9/11 CONSPIRACY (2007), it includes photographs of the hit point before and after the upper floors collapsed, the crucial frame from the released videos, and views of the clear, smooth, and unblemished lawn.
“Don’t be taken in by photos showing damage to the second floor or those taken after the upper floors collapsed, which happened 20-30 minutes later,” Fetzer said. “In fact, debris begins to show up on the completely clean lawn in short order, which might have been dropped from a C-130 that was circling above the Pentagon or placed there by men in suits who were photographed carrying debris with them.” The most striking is a piece from the fuselage of a commercial airliner, which is frequently adduced as evidence.
James Hanson, a newspaper reporter who earned his law degree from the University of Michigan College of Law, has traced that debris to an American Airlines 757 that crashed in a rain forest above Cali, Columbia in 1995. “It was the kind of slow-speed crash that would have torn off paneling in this fashion, with no fires, leaving them largely intact.” Fetzer has been so impressed with his research he has invited Hanson to submit his study to Scholars for consideration for publication on its web site, 911scholars.org.
“The Pentagon has become a kind of litmus test for rationality in the study of 9/11,” Fetzer said. “Those who persist in maintaining that a Boeing 757 hit the building are either unfamiliar with the evidence or cognitively impaired. Unless,” he added, “they want to mislead the American people. The evidence is beyond clear and compelling. It places this issue ‘beyond a reasonable doubt’. No Boeing 757 hit the Pentagon.”
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