Right the Wrongs

We have all been misguided, of that I have not a shred of doubt anymore.  Our culture, our history, our news, our entertainment, our religions, our future, have been fabricated and falsified and manipulated in such horrific ways as most folks can hardly fathom.

And it’s going to get worse.  This is not some apocalyptic vision of mine, there are plenty of those going around, and for a very long time.  Forever, even.  I’m a tiny fraction of a grain of sand in that vast hourglass.

“. . . A clown-like, grinning mockery of the victim(s) as a show of power and macabre arrogance.  When this is performed in a veiled manner, accompanied by certain occult signs and symbolic words and elicits no meaningful response of opposition or resistance from the target(s), it is one of the most efficacious techniques of psychological warfare and mind-rape.”  —Michael Hoffman, Secret Societies and Psychological Warfare

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We can lay blame, and I often do, on our own selves, as well as others.  I didn’t invent society, I can’t change the shit-show I was born into, that was fate, or something.  You can complain your shit-show was worse, or better, and I won’t argue.  I imagine most folks around the world had it much worse, or better, for whatever that means.

When faced with this truth, the truth that we’ve all bought a pack of lies, we don’t have a lot of choice on how we react—anger, resentment, bitterness, confusion, frustration, apathy, hope, forgiveness, fear—the list goes on.  I know all these reactions have value, I take them seriously, I dismiss none of them as of more or less value than another.

 

But when they are not a transitory state, but where one then chooses to reside, we’ve allowed the reaction to dissolve action.  We must make great effort to move from the reaction to the response.

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Our response, not our reaction, is what defines our humanity.  Every animal will react in fight, flight, fawn, freeze, in order to save their own skin, unless they are impaired.

Human nature has a higher calling.  You stand for, you stand against, it doesn’t matter, you’ve got to take a stand.  Once you’ve taken a stand, you know you fall, you know what falling feels like.  That is the wisdom of the gods.

A boxer once told me, while I was cringing, trying to be polite in delicately couching the fact that I hate his so-called sport — “Boxers don’t train to fight.  We train to get back up.”

I was flabbergasted at the wisdom in that simple statement, which I’d never considered before, and with which he was able to so tactically and efficaciously respond to my reaction.

I think of this now, because, as much as I never liked sports, or games, still I’m somehow wired to think strategy.  I was born into a game I don’t understand, which no one gave me the tools or teachings to navigate, but to which I was expected to adapt nonetheless.  At some point I chose, and still choose, to not simply adapt.

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I’m weakening, physically, but my mind and tongue are still sharp enough to benefit where age and injury weigh me down.  I think that’s a sign of one’s wisdom years, now beckoning me to return to the studies that will find new meaning in re-engagement, with now decades of life experience to inform on their deeper meanings and interpretations.

I feel blessed for this time and space and luxury to reconsider.

Hazing is Gaslighting

This comes from my personal experience pledging the sororities at SMSU, Springfield, MO circa 1986.

Part of our plebe requirements after pledging was to memorize the names and birthplaces of all those sisters above us and to recite them, along with details of their preferences, and whatever else they felt should be important to us, for the privilege of belonging to their group consensus. Shortly after winning my entrance, I lost interest completely.

I didn’t last long once ‘Activated’ in Alpha Sigma Alpha, not surprising.  I was sucked in nonetheless for another year in these ritual phases until I refused to perpetuate these abuses onto the new coming plebs, and ultimately perhaps just to record them in my own small way now in the later years of my life.

My ‘big sister’ aka ‘sponsor’ had died in a drunk driving accident during my apprenticeship .  It was this tragedy that gave me mercy among the rest of the disapproving sisterhood.   You see, I’d given the horrid affront of not assuming appropriate position in appropriate hour with appropriate humility, and therefore, I must suffer.  I was grilled like a pale shrimp on the Barbie (bad pun intended).

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It was the candle vigil, dressed in white, yes, it’s really like that, just like you see in the movies.  And I was grilled.  It was ‘fair’ for some, not for others, who stood up for me, and won.  I was relieved.  That’s how Stockholm Syndrome works.  I lived in ‘the house’ as a pleb, and that’s how it works.  Good cops/bad cops.

There is no time-space.  These memories come to me as current, right now, right here.  This is not a blessing. Since the last weather disaster this spring, these memories just come, beyond my reasoning or control.

Just maybe, it’s some sort of karma.  And I’m not afraid anymore.  And I pity those who are still afraid, sometimes very sincerely, sometimes with a sense of sorry superiority that haunts me in the middle of the night.

I do know better now.  I am not that naive girl anymore.  I’ve made choices and braved chasms beyond these putrid machinations.  I’m not proud for that,  I did it mostly of necessity.  But I know, because of it, we will reside in different worlds, and will remain so, for the rest of our short lives.

You needed me to conform.  I get that.  I don’t shame you for it.
But, still, I do resent you for it. Though I’m very sure you couldn’t give a rat’s arse either way.

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Chilling Roosters and Boiling Frogs

I wonder what it is like to be a lover of life-squashing.  Or enjoying the chill of boiling frogs.

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Like this one CIA program among so many others  You see, because life means so little to them, and power so very, very much.  But it’s not about the CIA, this is so much older, so much deeper, so much bigger, and sadder, and harder, and simpler.

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I don’t get it, why are y’all self-harming for him, enlighten me, please.

Because too many are too disengaged.  The opposite of love is not hate, it’s apathy.  It’s “I don’t know what to do, and . . .” Nothing.  Let’s stop there.  And have lunch. And get back to life as we know it, which is just bloody rosy as hell.

The sun will come out tomorrow.  Little Orphan Annie.  Perhaps Big Daddy Warbucks will tuck you in one more time. Pray on that.

You know, if you’d just get them before the age of 3, your mind control would be so, so much more simple, and effective. Just ask Mengele.

Could you be a member of a cult? The whole family thinks you’re crazy and making up lies about the absolute perfection of our existence! And being a bully to boot! #scapegoat

You refuse to see gray, insist to paint all white, well, what other choice do you give me, in this pre-conditioned slave paradigm?

But, what happened, oh so wise ROOSTERS?

A trip-up in your programming?

So very trendy now, I wonder why, and how?

Never happened. All normal, mass illusion, Disney programming, all in good fun, laugh along now . . .

Or just continue to sleep . . .just dream . . .  All suits us very fine . . . .

 

 

 

American Made: Reality-based Fantasy

Another real-life murderous criminal conspiracy turned into cagey comic Hollywood blockbuster with all that this entails, including, but not limited to: shallow, superficial characters pumped with botox, canned laughter, glamorized crime and ridiculous happy endings. And I haven’t even seen it yet!

But I know something about this story, quite a bit actually. That is, about the real story, that took place in Mena, Arkansas, among other big and small towns in the jurisdiction of the Dixie Mafia. In fact, in ‘conspiracy’ circles it’s a huge, old story. Old as in, decades old, first surfacing around the time just before the Iran-Contra hearings, you know those televised ‘trials’ kind of similar to the OJ Simpson trials only starring Oliver North, where we all witnessed the charade of our justice system live on prime-time.  I was a teenager.

I watched about it on TV and in the newspapers for about a decade and in that time my father moved to Mena, AR with my half siblings, and eventually came to marry a local woman and eventually still, to lease space at that airport. I’m not saying they or anyone they know have anything to do with these crimes and coverups, only that for me there was an added interest. I mean, it’s a super small town, about 5,000 people, which I would take as nothing more than odd coincidence and just write it off, expect that I got curious, which led to reactions I did not at all expect.

Over the next few posts I’ll be recounting some of this, as well as providing additional documentation to demonstrate that unlike what is stated in the below New York Times article, this story is most certainly not “based on a true lie.” It’s based on a true conspiracy.

https://www.nytimes.com/2017/09/28/movies/american-made-review-tom-cruise.html

List of precursory articles:

Lemons, Terry and Fullerton, Jane “Perot Called Clinton About Mena Inquiry” ARKANSAS DEMOCRAT-GAZETTE, April 19, 1992 “Bill Clinton to discuss the allegations of cocaine trafficking on behalf of the Contras in Mena.”

Morrison, Micah, “Mena Coverup? Razorback Columbo to Retire,” WALLSTREET JOURNAL May 10, 1995, p. A18 “Recounts the efforts of Arkansas State Policeman Russell Welch to investigate Mena, and the career troubles which ensued.”

Morrison, Micah, “The Mena Coverup” WALLSTREET JOURNAL Oct. 18, 1994 IRS Investigator William Duncan developed documentation proving the monay-laundering of cocaine profits through Arkansas.

Nabbefeld, Joe, “Evidence on Mena-CIA ties to go to Walsh: Airport inclusion in Contra probe urged, ARKANSAS GAZETTE, Sept. 10, 1991 Iran-contra Independent Counsel Lawrence Walsh is given evidence on drug money-laundering involving CIA-Contra activities at Mena.

Norman, Jane, “Arkansas Airstrip Under Investigation” DES MOINES REGISTER, Jan. 26, 1996 pg. 3 House Banking Chairman Jim Leach is investigating Mena.

I have several pages of these articles compiled, as well as some personal anecdotes to share along with them, I do hope you’ll come back to try to gather what might most likely be behind the reality-based fantasy blockbuster starring the legendary Tom Cruise, Scientologist extraordinaire.

Which came first, the truth or the fiction?

 

Reclaiming Time (part 3)

On becoming my own Authority

I have been fortunate enough to be able to fashion a life that affords me more freedom than the vast majority of the world’s population. While there was a fair degree of luck in this good fortune, there was also a fair degree of sacrifice, and I believe, a dash of ancestral wisdom.

Could it be because my Sir name is Shepard that I now find myself so comforted sitting among the pups and sheep? I’m not saying one has a destiny that could be decoded so simply as through a name, though I do think the clues to our destiny, individually and collectively, are all around us in every moment.

What it takes to see the clues is the very thing The System works to deny us: Unstructured time.  The System calls this loafing.

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Time to absorb, to reflect, to introspect, to daydream. Time to watch the sheep and the pups.

This is different from what The System does provide in order to replace unstructured time, which is Entertainment.  Which, by its nature, is extremely well-structured.

I find the path the thoughts take in unstructured time is intrinsically connected to creativity, which is a joy in its own right and not necessarily a precursor to productivity.

Where my thoughts go, I imagine, are at once beyond time and space and amalgamation of time and space, co-creating the pathways to the Self.

In the Western world today there is loads of criticism directed at the narcissism of the youth. I believe this is primarily a grammatical and perception issue. Just because the younger generation prefers Selfies and the Internet more than old Westerns and glib conversation does not necessarily make them more narcissistic than previous generations.

I think they are searching for paths to Self that are becoming increasingly more difficult to sense as the social structure becomes increasingly hostile to individuality.

Or, maybe the social structures have always been hostile to individuation, and the youth, generation by generation, continue to claw away at that putrefying foundation.

Maybe, on the inside, with every social Selfie they scream, “I will be seen! My presence here will be recorded in time! I will matter!”  They just can’t figure out how and why they will matter, because we lost that thread several generations ago.

Could it be they sense that time for them is running out? Could it be an act of desperation to record every moment and connect it somehow with the world at large? Could it be that we, of the older generations, in our criticism of their narcissism is a reflection of our own narcissism? Is it our own non-acceptance of a role that told us when we were children that which I heard so often in my own upbringing: “Children are to be seen and not heard.” Are we subtly sensoring them due to our own unprocessed fear?  Are we repeating to them with our criticism, ‘don’t be the tall nail or you’ll get hammered down’? Or my personal favorite: “Don’t be so entitled.”

Who are the black sheep of today’s youth I wonder sometimes as I’m watching the sheep. Maybe that’s where our criticism should be directed. Where have they gone? Have we been so successful as a ‘civilization’ that we have managed to breed out the black sheep?

On becoming my own Authority I’ve realized I have an amazing gift of finding my own teachers when I’m left with my own instincts and unstructured time. This is often thanks to technology, but not always. There is so much knowledge being shared on Youtube that our television hangs nearly useless in the living room most days. I’d bet The System calls most of these at least arrogant, if not narcissistic. How dare they skirt the established hierarchy and create their own channels. How dare they question their social roles, or entice, indeed, provoke me to question mine.  The System calls them just another nutter with a podcast.  A so-called lone wolf or black sheep.

Here is one such ‘teacher of the week’ for me. I hope his narcissism peaks for many videos to come, because he’s got great gifts to share, just as we all do.

Michael Black was introduced to me by two other powerful teachers at Unslaved.com: Michael Tsarion and David Whitehead

https://unslaved.com/episode-47-give-us-solutions-feat-michael-black/

Below in the video The Endgame for the United States, Mr. Black talks about the inevitable MEGACITY of the near future and its myriad challenges according to the Pentagon.

He delves more into that pesky Progress and what it’s doing to the individual and the world. He advises one thing here I am inclined to advise against, which is, leave here if you can.

Defeatism, I suggest, Mr. Black. Don’t undermine us, we just may have the ancestral wisdom and courage to stand and fight. If only we could get the youth to see there’s something here still worth fighting for.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xV45sOakhsI

Reclaiming Time (part 2)

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Me 3rd from left with friends in front of the Prague Astronomical Orloy, 1995

I lived for decades at the command of Time, Inc. That’s how I understand it after nearly a decade now adjusting to the rhythm of nature. Before that I’d lived like most others in the post-industrial world with a calendar that was invented not by nature but by men. As a young student bells sent me scurrying from one room to another along with the rest of my peers.

I didn’t like it even then, didn’t understand it, though I was always curious and loved learning.  But as I had known nothing else, as a university student I thought it a fantastic improvement to be free to walk from building to building based on my watch, free-range and bell-free.

I thought Time, Inc. was ingenious as it got me on the planes and trains and kept me punctual for my various social roles as a student, a teacher, a patient, a shopper, a volunteer, and the various other obligations of ‘she who is participating.’  The clock got me to the concerts on time.

“Get in the game!” was the advice from all directions. I did sometimes question this word, ‘the game.’  Is that what this is?

I have never been a big player of games; I don’t particularly like them.  At one point it occurred to me, so, if this really is a game, I can choose whether or not to play?

So, slowly, little by little, I began to remove myself from the game. Like all games the ones who’ve created the game make the rules. It is only a one who follows the rules who wins the game. You may scoff at this analogy now and say, but there’s so much corruption and crime and it clearly pays, so it’s actually breaking the rules which gets one ahead. If this is what you are thinking, you haven’t yet understood the game. The game is working as it is meant to function.

I figured not only did I not make the rules of the game, I don’t particularly like it and I started to resent all the advice that insisted I continue playing it.  Seems logical enough that you can’t win a game if you don’t like playing it. Or, maybe you can, but then you’d be winning just to win and not because you enjoyed playing. Not really my style.

Notice I have now started five paragraphs with “I.” I do this quite deliberately.

“I” is who I know, not you, not we, not them. To know oneself is not to know all men and this is part of the on-going collectivist brainwashing flooding the culture. We are not all one. We are not all in this together. We are not all created equal. In fact, we should, in my opinion, stop striving for equality altogether. It’s not working.

I admit, I was once one who said such things as this on my first website nearly 20 years ago: “Once we have leveled the playing field in education around the globe communication will flourish and then we can call ourselves One World.”

I had drunk the Kool-Aid. I really believed this then. I was too young and optimistic to understand that ‘leveling the field’ meant leveling it to the least common denominator, not the greatest. I did not understand Globalism at all and thought ‘One World’ sounded pretty awesome and fun.

I was a card-caring member of Time, Inc.

I remember one night on the exquisite Old Town Square in the Czech Republic gazing with a large group of tourists many an evening at the famed Prague Orloj, a working astronomical clock 600 years old. It was one of my favorite spots in the city, a city where I was lucky enough to live before the latest great invasion of mass tourism.

I remember what the Charles Bridge looked like at night in winter with only a handful of locals walking over it.  Back then there was a free puppet show behind a makeshift stand under the bridge where I sat on the ground with a dozen children listening to them laugh, which was making me laugh. That was 1989.  I have photos somewhere in a box that are mostly blurry or dark, sometimes in black and white, because that was the only film I could find there to buy.

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Fast forward a decade, then two, and you can barely get over the bridge and it has become a sort of tourist marketplace. That pesky Progress at work again.

I’m not bitter, though I know I sound that way sometimes. I still have my memories, one of the few states which has remained, at least in part, at least for now, beyond Time, Inc.

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So it was one night, as I said, on the exquisite Old Town Square gazing with a large group of tourists (not quite this large!) waiting for the Apostles on the clock to do their nightly dance, when an English-speaking drunken youth passes between the clock and the upward gazers, his back to the crowd, raises his arms in worship and slurs at the top of his lungs as it begins to chime on the hour, “Oh my God! Oh my God! OHMYGODOHMYGOD!!!!” Falling to his knees theatrically then, to the astonishment and awkward chuckles and eye rolls from the crowd.

I laughed at the time, mostly at the audacity of it. Now I wonder if that sauced joker realized how genius his move actually was. And how memorable.

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Part 20: Sabotage

Sabotage is a word that immediately makes me think of a song, which makes me remember a person.

I wish this were not the case, because the song is rather awful, though I liked it in my youth.  The person is the one who introduced me to the song, my first real love relationship as a quasi-adult, accompanied by the typical bittersweet accoutrements those loves tend to take.

We were too young to think seriously of marriage, or seriously about much of anything.  It was sex, drugs and rock and roll, seasoned with a bit of university study.  The song is by Beastie Boys.  I danced at frat parties, singing along between beer bongs and hits off the pipe, to some of the most offensive and vulgar lyrics imaginable.

My imagination was obviously not too developed yet, as those early rap songs were Shirley Temple’s ‘Good Ship Lollipop’ compared to what was being sung a decade later. And now?  It sounds as if the bar has been so lowered as to no longer be visible by human perception.

Here I’ve been harping on for months about fake and fraudulent science and the disaster in the making that is Geoengineering, and dreading this particular post, #20.  This path of the fool is nearly over, I haven’t the stamina to begin another one too soon, which means I must get these last two right.

I have not judged myself too harshly, for those extended years of parties and travel and romance.  I grew out of it, eventually, as did he.  Some were not so lucky, and died instead.  For me it was relatively harmless, I was a foolish party girl for a while, and I expect I’d choose it again in that age, though I’d never choose a redo now.

Are you kidding me?  No way! Have you looked at what’s going on these days?!  It’s not about kind buds and ecstasy, it’s heroin!  It’s round-the-clock pharmaceuticals.  It’s multi-generational drug abusers who make Grandma’s daily dry martinis seem like teatime at the Waldorf.

There is no real making sense of any of it rationally, until you understand sabotage.  Sabotage I’d first heard said, comes from the word ‘sabot’– a wooden clog–which is rumored to have been a way French anarchists would slyly disturb the status quo, apparently by using their shoe as a proverbial monkey wrench to the machine.

What our world is experiencing now is layer upon layer of sabotage.  Like the 100th monkey, the game catches on, it begins to accelerate exponentially, more folks get sucked into playing, some get very good at it.  Some of the saboteurs get so good at the game, they forget their role is as saboteurs.  They think they are heroes.  They hold the loftiest roles in the game. They BELIEVE!  They are proud! They helped to lower the bar and so they are good.

‘We are all in this together,’ they chant!  The answer is LOVE!

The answer, so they say, resides in one of the most nebulous terms on the planet.  We should know what love is; it should mean the same to everyone around the globe, we should spread that knowing and embrace whatever comes as a result, because unconditional love is contagious and we will all be one big happy human family.

We’ll just have to lower the bar a little bit more, because debauchery, vulgarity, lechery, sloth, addiction, those words are all so judgey and we can’t have hate speech!  We can have songs full of debased and abusive lingo, we can sing along to them, but to question what we’re singing is too critical and hateful for normal conversation.  Just pretend you are still 22 and a silly party girl, forever.

Nothing is worth fighting for.  It’s just the grand chessboard. Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose.  Sing along.  Repeat after me.  Everything’s fine.  You’re getting sleepy.  Nothing to worry about.  Surrender gently . . that’s right . . . it’s just the age settling in.  Just stay calm, we’re almost there.