I once heard someone say that Ugh controlled the world. What is ugh? (Pronounced ug as in thug)  That backwards beast with no concern for us.

I have often stood watching the nightmare of my own life and then wondering what happened to those on my ship in the Navy. I would never volunteer for them or return to that life of desperate servitude to Ugh again.  They have spat upon me in ways I could not imagine.  Their followers are not always bad, often just misled.

I was looking up some old Navy men from my ship.  I found one, an engineer, who is now training engineers in a company that services Naval vessels.  His life seemed normal but despite his extraordinary skill, he spends his life toiling for a war machine that is inadequate to kill all of the humane, only some of us, so he has failed in tapping his mental capacity, unlike Galileo Galilei, a mathematician and engineer who invented useful things but who was was jailed and labeled insane for having valid original thought.

Then  I was looking for my old Captain.  Having served in Vietnam he was a little rough edged but fair in most respects, and in retrospect, he was a young man pursuing his career.   I did not serve in Vietnam and I developed an attitude about the Navy early on.  It was bull sh-t.  Of course considering I may have been an experiment or sequestered through a dental bridge when a root canal and crown would have worked better from a chewing vantage, and possible neuron enhancement or placement by genetic manipulation or direct placement on the Central Nervous System (CNS) to couple to the metal in my mouth and any manipulations to the brain coupled with microchip type technology or more adanced CNS manipulation and metal alloy experiments, I truly regret that nightmare fiasco and would never advise anyone to serve in the military, and in hindsight of physics and genetics training I have put myself through, I would seek a wife with wide hips for childbirth and have her birth the child away from public contact due to the unseen genetics manipulation factor discussed in the segment below utilizing bubble physics and genetics manipulations tools.  Of course I can not run from what they may have done to me.

I found this guy when I was looking for him, Thomas Cavanaugh.  But how could that be, that Thomas Cavanaugh is dead, and why did he come up on my Google search for Thomas Barnett Navy.  So I looked at the source code for the page and searched for Barnett and found it, but I had to go backwards for Thomas.  Then I discovered there was a Robert Barnett on the same page, but no Thomas.  Here is a string of the source code after I did a find, CTRL-F, on the source. "%3Fq%3Dthomas%2Bj%2B%2Bbarnett%2Bnavy%26gbv%3D2%26hl%3Den%26sa%3"

I have not released my old Navy Ship commanders photo, but he and Thomas Cavanaugh looked eerily alike, despite the years difference in aging.   Albeit they were both generic pretty boys with the same smile, hair color, ears, and Adam's apple.

So why the slip in source code, and why in reverse.  Thomas Cavanaugh to me equals, Sameth Ugh A NAVY AC, meaning I tend to read to much into things and I realize it, but I live in a theoretical Hell, and after all, I was brought up poor in the "Village of the damned", Mobile Alabama.  Of course it could have been Los Angeles, which in my experience I believe could have been worse.  A young guy named Wiseman I knew when I was a child came back from Vietnam and killed himself allegedly, found dead in a car behind a Bellas Hess superstores, its roof shaped like Arab tents.

I have been tortured and my life thrown to wolves, just like other veterans who can not speak now (see continuing problems).  It appears I was serving on the wrong side in the fight with Ugh.

Or perhaps Ugh controls both sides, and collects payments, as in Alternating Current, one dead, one alive.  Welcome to my nightmare.  It is true life and I mean no disrespect to Thomas Barnett,  Thomas Cavanaugh, or Robert Barnett.  I am like a POW camp survivor.  Even they allow forced injections while under Ugh.  See the federal Ugh, and see the  Presidential Candidate in the charade election, Arizona Senator Thomas McCain and his Chapter 36 Law clause that allows forced injections on anyone the regime wants to call insane, e.g. government informants on the crime syndicates robbing the American working class.  Ugh likely dictated the law to his state in 2001 when Ugh got ugly, which was before the 9-11 incident and the attack on the world by the USA regime of Ugh once again.

Many are hoping for a global war or apparently a cessation of suffering and bitterness felt by humane humans. They expect it to be 9-1-2008 or sometime in Late August 2008.  I had a dream, and the dream asked, "Do you remember the war from 2012".  It was just a dream.  Now I know why many women opt out from having children.  It is the sane thing to do in insane circumstances.

Now, why am I talking about  this you may ask?  A suicide has puzzled me, like many, and something is odd about it.   On the night before the death of Ben Stanford, Alabama Senator Preuitt's grandson, I heard some gunfire at the filling station where he had bought gas that morning and I had bought gas late that night.  At appoximately 12:34 a.m. I heard what sounded like 3 to 4 shots as I was stepping into the store, and they came from the parking lot next to it. I say three to four shots because one shot sounded incomplete.  Perhaps it was 3.14 shots I heard or pi, which is 3.14.  It takes 2 pi to make a 360 degree circle. Perhaps what I heard was in fact one shot and it was amplified and replicated back as 3.14 pi on my end, and 3.14 pi on the other end where Ben was found dead the next day.  But Ben was found with one bullet to the head.  How could that be? I think I saw a fancy Jeep looking vehicle leave before the shots were fired, right when I came off of the intersate. That may have been Ben's vehicle, and it was not being driven by Ben from what I recall, which is fading now. The other car was a ragged car, old and big, and roared like Hell out across the parking lot. I did not look back, only glanced back for a possible bullet.

Perhaps in the flux, Ugh was claiming someone for some responsibility, perhaps for half of a collection or recollection.  It is all in the dipole bubble physics pattern, or perhaps the tripole bubble physics pattern and of course, in the cosmic array of things, I feel as if I am nothing in my eyes in the astrophysics plane, unless I look through my minds eye.

Which begs the question?  Why were all of the police all over my city this past week in my neighborhood, directing traffic, when I was leaving my home. In one neighborhood was a horrendous traffic jam, with cars, a firetruck, and ambulance, on the roads and on the sides of the road, and the house was 6 blocks from mine and in direct alignment with the government building downtown if a trajectory line was drawn from my home. I pictured someone having limbs cut off as I dreamed of something of that nature a night or two before. And why do the police here seem to relish in kicking me from my g-d damned government buildings, and why do all of the cops sound like their voices came from the same program box, excepting variations in vocal chord character? For instance in this video at the city and county Government building in Mobile and in this video in front of my home two days later There are more of these videos with encounters on the Mobile Audit Club Band page of this site, and on saintrambone videos in the top section.  UGH rules, do not serve UGH, ugh is inhumane, cruel, and inept and unjust in IT's treatment of us, the humane humans.  Inhumane humans are shaped in most cases, and perhaps UGH designed them that way. I have other videos of people speaking at the building, and I only noticed how similar they were when I went to the Mobile Alabama police headquarters this past week and they denied having contacted my home to tell me not to film, and then when they did speak to me, Deputy Chief James Barber sounded just like the other two. It was ironic when I pulled in front of the building, an apparent woman cop was bent over in her car, pretending to be looking for a dime I suppose. I had told them I was coming. She said, "You do not know who you are messing with" as I walked by. My response, "Hell Lady, I am a reporter and auditor, I am not Ugh or the Grim reaper, and I am a native of this city I now call the Village of the Damned." Machine head monotone drone with a Southern Drawl straight out of Pac Man algorithm with a selection of Cut Throat Ken and Barbie Doll vocal chords was who I spoke with, again.

Sometimes when I am kicked like a dog, I want to call God, but I remember that God leaves people to die like dogs, so I call no one at most times, I just endure it.  Perhaps God is dead and we are in decline.  Do you recall the war of 1812 or the war of 2012?  Or perhaps 1212 to 2012 or 2212? Let's hope not, the latter. Perhaps it is time to set sail and follow the sine wave of the Earth masses, perhaps in a triangle cutter slew. After all, S'no Ba'al does not love me any longer and I would like to visit the homelands of all of my past San Francisco and Los Angeles area girlfriends. But I need a boat of adequate size and capacity, so feel free to donate. I will give you my painting, "The Queerest of The Queer" delineated on Quatrains 1 if you give me a sailboat or the funds for an adequate sailboat. This is a limited time offer. Ba'al Zebub is housed underneath, and can bring good or bad fortune, depending on where you stand in relation to Flem. Sheriff Snatch is overseen by Ba'al Zebub in the top layer who is impregnated daily with San Franciscan Snatch Fairy Possums, which we homeless relish roasting in the shadows of the Bush in Golden Gate Park or an Oklahoma possum where I was almost hit by a meteorite or falling space debris in 2004, which was predicted by Kelly in Monroe county Alabama in 1975.

One final note, we all know that bank examiners and federal banking prosecutors are killed like dogs or pushed out of the way to make way for the money laundering crime syndicates, and it is likely high technology is deployed where machines are made to behave like men or men are made to behave like machines. But who owns the Mobile Greyhound Park in Mobile County Alabama. They have been doping the racing dogs locally, like the federal government's war criminals injected me and doped this former FDIC bank examiner, Kurt Brown -- Saint Ram Bone, and tortured me to make me sign documents in mid-2001, and now men are dead because I could not send out my warning that murderers and criminals were crawling up the FDIC and likely the Treasury and throughout the FBI and SS. Federal Prosecutor Thomas Crane Wales, deceased, and friends, I tried. Now they claim they do not kill the dogs at Mobile Greyhound Park, just like the gambling money launderers claimed not to have killed a San Francisco FDIC director in his office to make way for a money laundering techno-horde and the same they tried to kill me but failed. The FDIC is covered with the Shee-it. The local police claimed not to have called my home demanding I stay out of government. To quote that war criminal machine head Bush and Cheney of the techno-crat regime, "F-ck Em".

Segment January 27, 2008: WEAPON_fear_CELLULAR_phone_FREQUENCY_implant_INJECTION_behind_EAR_chemical

Recently, I have noticed that when I have my cellular phone on in my computer room, I am made sickened more than usual.  My case is unique because I was forcibly injected with chemicals by the federal crime syndicates in the United States on more than one occasion, simply for being an honest and open federal bank examiner for the FDIC who became an informant on money laundering and murder.   I was knocked completely unconscious on one occasion, and possibly two by our enemies in power in the federal government.  My cellular phone has been in the custody of war criminals at the border patrol and in the federal crime syndicates at the federal facility in Los Angeles and at the Flagstaff Medical Center.   This has all occurred since 2001.  

My life has been so torn apart in my struggle to find the truth, that I would not mind cutting those in two who inject us forcibly, and I mean cutting them in two with a high powered laser or a plasma cutter, anesthesized and knocked unconscious of course, and forcibly as they did myself.  Somehow I feel that after dissecting some of them and looking  under them through the paranormal lens I would not find a human but a claw, a claw of the beast, technological or of an organic matter or manner that would appear paranormal. Or perhaps I under or over estimate human intelligence and what is collectively known as empathy or humane compassion.

Now back to the techniques and physics of making one sick with cellular phone transmissions.  It is now known that the federal government can listen in on your phone, even if it is off, if they or IT has your cell phone number (youtube video).  I believe the same applies to land line phones. 

By the same token, they can track you by your cell phone.  I was tracked in 2001 and almost killed after reporting money laundering and murder at the FDIC in California.  I believe other federal banking officials have been killed as a direct result of cellular phone communications also, see Thomas Crane Wales.  By the way, do not give your cell phone number to government officials, and change it every now and again and use it less and less and get a lead casing when in travel if you are tracked.  The FBI stands for I B F, I Be F-cker.   The Secret Service stands for SS, meaning Same Sh-t.

 I knew there was a technological component, but it is as if we are in a plasma of controlled direction of technological manifestations and our enemies now have the top seats.   How this could be accomplished in totality in conquering the world is one method through bubble physics technologies.  This form of physics warfare permits a shield, a one directional flow of actions and a controlled reaction, unless acted upon in like kind by the invaded bubble's victims, which would likely entail a three pronged approach.

With applied bubble physics, entire genomes of people or populations could be manipulated with partial or complete genome manipulation.  It would be like altering the feather of a chicken, stripping part of it, painting it, and binding it, without the chicken ever awakening on its perch.  Perhaps a slight tickle or a slight spot seen at the interface during the appliqué.   People could be raped without them knowing it.  Documents and databases could be stripped.  Entire weapons defense systems could be taken over by placement of technological manifestations placed through the main bubble and into their own bubbles on the other side.   Murders could occur making murder victims look like suicides, which is common among the high finance sector of the modern Western world.  In addition, it could be made to appear that assailants were fleeing through normal means of transport.     Assailants could escape unimpeded unless a counter physics bubble is instigated and injected into the invading bubble.

 Who cares if this America goes up in flames.  I pity the American Indian if historical folklore is correct. At least they had food and water sources and lived under the pale blue skies with terrain covered with buffalo and deer and clean soil for the plant and harvest.  But for how long would it have lasted?  Who knows.  All things change, just as our discovering that the USA government is controlled by an international regime of sociopath war criminals and misfits.

I digress, back to cell phone initiated sickness and just some of the techniques I envision.

I have noticed that in the presence of unshielded electromagnetic energies such as those around my computer speakers, often it was if my cell phone was pinged, or contacted, to locate the phone. On one occassion it actually was turned on after the federal government had demanded the number from a relative.   Could it be a global harvesting of communications apparatus loci?  Of course, or perhaps eavesdropping or dropping off of the eavesdropping connection.  So do not leave your cell phone laying around nearby if you do not want to have the disturbance, annoyance, or eavesdropping.

Now, since my phone was in the custody of the federal war criminals who are assassins in the United States, it could have been modified to increase the transmittance frequency thresholds.  Now this modification to a cell phone could make it diabolical.  But I am sure there are some electrical engineers who would state that the transmittance frequency threshold could be increased by utilizing not only inherent capabilities within certain cell phones, but also by utilizing latent energies in the area of the cell phones such as unshielded electromagnetic energies .

Now, let's talk about the myriad of medical manipulations that could be used to accentuate these frequencies and disturbances upon the human body.  This is as complex and as varied and in such quantity that it is like opening Pandora's box and to be quite honest, it make me paranoid as in this music video by Garbage.  I love that gal.  Perhaps I met her in another lesbian prostitute at a trailer park in some Barbary coast vantage.  By the way, I do not buy prostitutes, it degrades the experience and I feel sorry for the girl.  Perhaps when I am old and senile.  I digress once again.  Back to the point.

Those things that can be done to us through genetic manipulations can be horrendous and varied.   From small things extracted from other organisms in complete or modified faction placed to grow in the cochlea or next to it or other brain structures.  To a complete overhaul of the central nervous system with perhaps even the transmittance capabilities of other organisms made to resonate with human communications and amplified through the coupling of metal appliances in the body such as dental bridges, or retainers, or pins  for broken bones, or even unknown implants, such as a sliver of a metal alloy perhaps in distractum and a coupled metal to a fluid extract in a unique medium slid into the flesh with the slightest and most secretive placement. Then of course there is the question of integrating genomes of creatures whose sole game is to capture its prey from the inside such as triseptera.

Considering I was forcibly injected and knocked unconscious by those war criminal syndicates in the United States who run the government, and considering they had possession of my cell phone, any number of things could have been done to me.  After all, I was educated by the enlightened of the counter movement of human evolution.  I was likely manipulated and stunted in mental development to some extent by the enemy in power before birth, or during prenatal development or afterward.  But  here I sit, swinging my swizzle stick, my computer with the help of the internet.  The humane human of childish endeavor can sometimes defeat those challenges exterior to our kind, but maintaining a positive thrust is not as easily accomplished as one might think, hence the Myth of Sisyphus.

I awakened recently with a severe headache, a brief recall of someone being in my home, a brief recall of someone shaking my door handle, and  I had an unusual sore behind my left ear,  roughly one inch or 2.5 centimeters behind the ear and placed at the center line of the ear.  My eye was swollen.  I had blood on my anus, not before or since.   That was on December 29, 2007.   The cell phone was next to me on the night stand.  The home was empty of all people and dogs, and the federal government knew this most likely due to my conversations with my spouse on my cell phone while she was with her family out of town.  My relations have gone somewhat sour due to the tumult since 2001 in my life after becoming an informant on murder and money laundering.  It is ironic that a relative of mine may have been raped also, a young lady, who I did not mention what I knew of bubble physics technologies.  A ladder was at the base of her apartment balcony and someone had called it the fire escape.  Her locks were non functional when tested although appearing to operate until actually tried, i.e. a slight pull and voila, open sesame.  She mentioned something briefly about an unusual experience and stopped short.  Like a rape victim who could not belief the truth in the delusion.

Also, in the courthouse in Mobile Alabama a judges chambers had semen.   I believe it was likely a rape.  I have a friend who works there, a female, and the regime knows of our friendship.  She may have been raped for voicing her opinions on my behalf.  Any investigations done by law enforcement is unreliable and irrelevant due to collusion, and especially collusion built from technology in a one way matrix, such as what I envision with bubble physics technologies.  Also I was told not to go into a courtroom in the courthouse mentioned in 2004 by my attorney, but I went to make sure that I could film  as a reporter.  That Judge or his controller lied and tried to stop me for years.  I spit blood from my sinuses after going to that court and something may have been done to me while manipulated through those technologies.  I have had severe headaches since that time in recent years and sickness.  But you must remember, I was also forcibly injected on numerous occasions by the ruling regime, that enemy power that betrays all of humane mankind, including Americans.

You can be implanted with many things.  Some can be large, some can be small.  Some implants could be of a genetic sort that hinges to the blood, forming a sort of antannae, particularly if genetically modified placement of a foreign genome in your system,  and your own genetics could make that implant unique so that you could be manipulated by a broad spectrum broadcast without effecting others.  Your heart could be made to race and pound and die also.  These implants could be non-organic or organic.  Even the smallest fibers can be made to such a scale as it would be like a hair smaller than  that on your head serving as an antennae for reception and transmission. Of course, the manipulations could be either integrated directly into your genome or coupled through the Central Nervous System to exterior apparatus, which I believe is much more developed than the public knows. Couple that with radiant energies, a cell phone, and a livewire central nervous system, and you can have yourself an entertainment complex.

To close, this subject is so varied that I have not even begun to delve into its complexity and vastness.  We humane humans must wrest control for all from the closed door government sociopaths that lead human kind to a bitter end.  I have recently begun to see my long arms as more monkey like, a bonobo.  But we humans are also rhesus monkeys and gorillas underneath according to blood types.  It is my belief that how man evolved is through the germination of various ape groups with various traits until the strongest began to emerge, that is those with the brains.  Empathy is a form of intelligence that is overlooked.  They forget, we forget or we do not know.  A human with no humane compassion is an ugly and dangerous companion, akin to an ape that will come up behind you and take you down.  Much like I and other bank examiners, bank crimes prosecutors, auditors, and accountants, and criminal investigators have endured. 

When I was working for the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation I saw a pattern that correlates with what I see often in my own surroundings, even in my own family.  Some people have trouble comprehending the complexities of those things to which an imaginative scientist aspires.  They appear to us as being like small automatons who are intent upon keeping myself and everything in their mind within a framework they can understand.  For instance, at FDIC bank examiner training at the Seidman Center, the first project at school, the "Xanadu Project" was a joke.  It was huge and completely out of context with the work field.  What was more ironic was that the war criminals always handed out a cheat sheet to their favored patrons.  It was at both sessions that I attended.  Everyone was using it at the first, and the instructors where screwing the Young F-DIC's at the Seidman center.  Now a bubble head called Seidman leads the F-DIC. 

The automaton type humans and their owners at the top call us imaginative science types insane or crazy, and those in control of the closed door governments agree.  The truth is that there are sociopaths among us in the top layers who know the truth -- this war is getting mean due to technology, its application on human populations, and those things that are at stake.  Any time an accountant or auditor is found dead and labeled suicide, question it as you would through the flaws of bubble physics technology.  It is a one way grid unless acted upon by the affected bubbles approximations.  All audits are unreliable and irrelevant when there is collusion.  When there is technological collusion, there is but one way to face it,  a counter revolutionary assault, which is why I speak as I do. 

It is ironic that as I was making this post, as soon I entered text about the Bubble Physics technologies my power went off in my home in Mobile Alabama.  It was out for about an hour or more.   Many people still fly the flag.  No one flies the flag of humane compassion anywhere in the world.  If they attempt to, they are attacked.  But by whom?  By what?  We can not trust our eyes or investigations.  As I write this I often feel sick.  I regret having worked for the federal government, but like many I was brainwashed and hungry when young.  One thing leads to another.   They control space, but how much they control us is a matter of conjecture, and that conjecture is lessening daily. If we can not get free, let's wrest the power switch for the weapons from them and detonate this existence in totality.  If we can't lets stop re-germination and cease to exist.  G-d is obviously dead also and some religious texts persuade us not to procreate.  Perhaps there is a reason.  Until then, beware of the enemy in power and protect your own.

If we go to war, let us dump the management of the FDIC in the oceans of space, along with the EEOC and the entire regime of the IT.  They kick us out and treat us like dogs.  Let us wage war like intelligent men.  Kill them if you wish, but do not let them resurrect the dome of ignorance and collusion.  Negative capitalism and their money launderers and brainwashed automaton idiots have to be dealt with a non-ceremonious fashion of battle and heat.  So help us God.

Segment January 26, 2008: MAN_size_LEATHER_boot_MALsf_BURNING_bank_EXAMINER_casino_GUERRE_holy_DAY

Man sized.  This train of thought rides with yesterdays' PJ Harvey, Man Sized. It is ironic I almost went to work for a casino instead of the fed, and they even called me for a job after I asked questions about a dead FDIC director. Probably would have whacked me in the hall with the cafeteria money count and called it a small change write off. Go To Hell is my casino token. Don't believe it, believe in Man sized at the Lady Belle.

The fed wanted to burn me inside with gasoline.  Three days travel in reverse, San Francisco, Los Angeles, Mobile, MALSF, FSLAM in reverse, so Bad == MAL, SF.  So after tampering with the top war criminal F-DIC.  Told him I was going to do him up his ass.  St. Valentines day, 2001, had to wheeze, had to sneeze, saw the killer amongst the rut, had to run the test, so I checked their butts, I knew they were money launderers and murderers in thrust,  now I wondered if I should have shot him in  the head instead of the butt, in the mind of course, as this  is all proverbial play, after all I came into San Francisco that evening on a Ram sleigh. 

We are man sized America.  We should topple their towers, eat their bread, ride in their Mercedes, and take them for rides hooked on chains on the backs of those Ram Sleds.  After all, it was near Vinton Louisiana they tried to flip my truck, and they wanted to douse my hair with gasoline, and set their war criminal machine free, bury me in the swamp, where nobody gives a f-ck.

So maggot line with federal maggot pie, what do you eat when they die, that thing, that it, that sh-t that cuts the pie.  Stick a needle in your eye, weave a tapestry of your brain, make you refrain, take your ass down the drain, not to complain, it is just a little Steward and I.  We were there cooking the vittles for the big French fry, out on the oil fields, long before you knew of that swamp, me and that little Steward French fry.  He did not know what had hit him, he had not this thing welling up inside, or perhaps, perhaps, I should just let it slide.  Take them along for the ride.  We are not on the same battlefield.  We are about to die, but are we?

Douse hair with gasoline, let it ride, let it seeth, that's man size.  Beware because inside, the big FDIC, is a printed label that reads, C ID F, so that tells me the monkey is still inside.  Seething mean, waiting for the cobras and serpents and tangle tailed tigers perching right when they mean, launching, when the feeding light is green, just like the monkey inside the the F-DIC, FSLAM, MAL-SF, its time to ride.  Now I can not buy property from OCWEN, that federal foreclosure house, as the federal humps view me as the hump, the vice, the mouse.

So I spread my wings and go out seeking mean.  Leaving behind all of these things.  I welcome that global war, that global death, douse hair with gasoline.  Let it ride, let it be.   The fed tried to make me look like I had done something to the big F-DIC man Mean.  He was just a red hat hooker, possibly even a machine.  It is three degrees of separation, and then the tracking in the split second, a millenia of time and space, to snatch the head from MAL-SF what's IT's na-eM.   That is the salt for me, na-forme, na==salt, eM == ME.

I'm man sized, man sized, got my leather boots on, burned alive, looking like your lazy queen, douse hair with gasoline, rolly polly found a bed, in my truck Ram, now looking to bee fed.  We must be careful, a tapestry clown, does not want to undo his own blood red crown or taint his lilly white gown.  S'no Ba'al?  Know Z Ba'al!  Training rounds for the zealot war criminals of the over-fed fed, douse hair with gasoline, set it wire, set it lean, Man size, got my leather boots on, I know you dig, the tasty fig, now try these ones on, Man Size Man Size. 

(On a post it note from the fed, beware of those cell phones tampered with by the fed at any point, beware of the number  they may have, it can get you killed or make you sick.  It is all in the formula.  We will welcome armegeddon, because the slow weapons leave us in chains and under needles.  I was injected by Flagstaff Medical Center in 2004 while enroute and in exile for no crimes.  I was calm and compliant.  I screamed to the top of my lungs.  They held me for four or five hours getting approval from Casino Fed in Nevada whose money launderers I bled.  I want Flagstaff Medical Centers three degrees of separation removed, and I want the last two points two and a tin cup from the third.  We are going to find ourselves going down in flames, so go ahead, light it up, and burn it like an oil filled freight train.  I saw where the casino burned in Las Vegas, the Monte Carlo.  It does no good if you do not have the crazy head, the Trump players, burning with mean.  Perhaps that was a sign that the money launderers branched from there, but don't forget Reno, the Davidian Branch would like to build a small arsenal there.  We know the regime is not human in its controlling factors, thick brain in the back, itsy bitsy fart fry up front.  Never again serve the blood hat regime, rouge sang, sang rouge. Perhaps it is the rouge casinos we seek, after all, it was near there in 2001 where the federal assassins cornered this former federal two lutes feet freak.)

What amazes me most is how the betrayers of God, call others the betrayers of God after they are dead. A man or beast who claimed to be of the branch Davidians claimed Koresh had broken free from the Humane Tradition. It was likely a federal agent who said it, likely part of the IT or a betrayer of the faith. May he or IT lay down in their own sh-t before the midnight reign train.  That is what the humane conscience is for, to set matters straight.  David Koresh did not burn himself and those children, the ruling regime, the enemies of humane mankind did.  Take a look at this filth.  A so called religious freak turns against an honored guest on this damned planet.  David Koresh, we shall avenge you,  the dead FDIC director who was murdered and labeled suicide in San Francisco, and the federal banking prosecutor killed in his home, most like likely by FBI associated assassins or those of the Treasury.  The filth reigns, crack it, and flush it down the drain.  They are scum just like this turncoat sh-t, the author is likely a snake underneath, a snake of proverbial no recompense.

Segment January 25, 2008: SPACE_extrapolate_FLUX_magnitude_RELATIVE_death_DARK_light_LIFE

In light of the fact that we have discovered the outer realm of our universe where the laws of physics change, and it is shaped like a brain of sorts or a highly complex outer cellular structure with many organelles inside, e.g. galaxies, stars, gases, plasma, etc., there is a code embedded in the outer layer that transverses to the inner core so that the cell or brain like structure carries out its intended processes.  Nothing is by chance or random, not on our layer, the inner layer.

If you consider the simple mathematics of density, space, and intelligent control, the outer layer has much more space for what I see as a kind of read only memory for our structure, the inner core, and a kind random access memory that is actually permanent in some fashion although mutable and malleable in its fluidity in the outer layer.

Why do I talk about this?  Dreams, I have dreams of the outer core reaching into the inner in some fashion.  Only recently after extreme hardship and abuse at the hands of government and the resultant chaos with a spouse who is unforgiving in all matters regarding my interaction with that fascist dictatorship ruled by the humane as seen by her in her pre-menopausal mental flux and reluctance to public exposure on any front.   That relationship is dead, not only with my spouse, but with the ruling war crimes regime that has stolen or birthed as a beast, the flag of the damned United States and the international allies who are part and parcel of the beast in contract by most likely force.  Humane humans do not subject themselves or others.

But as one door closes  so does another door open, starting in the outer sphere and moving to the inner sphere, regardless of the pain or pleasure.  What I do not understand is how a humane creator could let us suffer as we do.  Perhaps as Nine Inch Nails song goes, "God is dead", perhaps not in totality but in those moments of change in the outer spheres and in some portion in the inner spheres as well.  I say sphere because the shape of the outer sphere is like a loaf of bread, and the inner core is like clusters of raising in raisin bread.  Perhaps death is viewable as a lower energy level as I seem to experience at moments of heightened or lessened civility in the moments of lessened or heightened conscious and in those moments of cyclical derivation of the cosmos, always in sine flux.

Without pain their can be no pleasure, without silence there can be no noise, without death there can be no life, and the triangulation of logic precedes onward.  Mankind is much like an animal, and I strain not to become a lower beast like those portions of the ruling regime who have brought humane humans so much suffering.  Perhaps death is a greater life and there is more freedom or perhaps with all things equal, all things appear equal, one layer of shit on one layer jam, ad infinitum.

In my dream most recently a breaking through in the breaking up.  I could see the outer layer, flat, like a plank of opal and turquoise in color and of questionable density, its simple existed extrapolated out in much the same fashion an image can be projected out from behind a screen that is painted as those in Japan.

The pictures I saw were my own art, those used in the backdrops of my Youtube videos in particular.  Two of them prophetic to me in receipt and deliverance and persuasion.

Perhaps like a child, I or we play for the rehearsal of the greater life beyond this pig-ment pen Earth.  Me and my paints and pastels and my visions and derisions.  The federal rulers and their weapons and their toy soldiers at the gates with blood and misery as the aftermath that they drag forward with a swath of no recompense except change.

The voice came to me after the painting dream, "Do you remember the aftermath of the war in 2012", or perhaps I am death and the voice said 1212, I have chains when I am bedridden, sickened by all that has occurred. 

Perhaps the time is ripe. And as the dark comedian retorts, "I can vouch for that" "Spending the night with Ba'al is like spending a night with the dead."  Which indicates the speaker knows about long term marriage dissolution in the living flesh under a bitter tongue and hurt childish mind and spirit.

Segment January 20, 2008: TIS_year_BLEED_squeeze_INITIATED_initial_FOUR_vision_BEFORE_sacrifice_INSANE

Today, I will simply repost some comments I made on some posts, with music that I have heard and which bleeds from my dead corpus through a beating heart.  Recently I went to a dentist, the assistant was trying to get a wax impression and I kept almost swallowing it.  She said in the background it was as if I was retarded.  No my dear, I am dead.  The first time I choked on my tongue when young, a reaction to injections given to me by the regime's government structure.  I was so blue, just like the last 3 times I died.

Recently near Mo-Bile Ala-Bama, aka The Village of The Damned,  a man threw four of his children from Dauphin Island Bridge according to mass media. The bridge is very high. The oldest child was four, the youngest was 4 months. 3 bodies were found, one unidentifiable. The seagulls (Seagull by Bad Company on Youtube link) hovered over the bridge today as I drove across. Perhaps looking at me, perhaps my dog, a fat little Yorkshire Terrier. I want the seagull to peck the eye or eyes out of the fat war criminal who sent the fed to my stoop. (Youtube video of a federal agent calling himself a cop on my stoop in the Village of the Damned, Mob. AL.  My crime is to try to participate in the government of the living.  I must be dead, are they, are we?)

You guys should not come to the United States on federal property. They will call you manic and inject you. Who has made the world conquest this time? The same? I see it like a spire in space, a distance in my mind. Play me a post mortem hymn. I feel dead after repeated forced injections. Play, "Kill em me one last time hymn Gym" Count the beads on the bathe fate bait face. (Youtube link to quick paced music from India, ethnic music)

Why are they bleeding? Did they go to the Mo-bile Ala-bama City Council meeting? If I sail in without a visa will the authorities confiscate my stolen yacht? Perhaps the Mob AL councilmen and their fake federal hearth heart will not mind if I burn it in the harbor of Porto Allegre. (Youtube music video and Zombie Walk in Porto Alegre Brazil.  Got to love those Portuguese speaking women and the men are not all cold blooded third rate killers either. Suspicions.)

So where to  next Pronto Amigo, down the Chile Vein? It should be noted that I started the MOuRNING Star Fight Club before I founded the Mobile Audit Club. The fight club idea did not fit, as I audit and provoke fights as part of the audit, some times, to see if murderers are in their ranks, which is what I seek to find out in some audits. I love this song though by the Pixies, Where Is My Mind, (on Youtube) and it was the sound track to the movie Fight Club.

Sueet, you should know that when my Daddy had me working as a janitor, he would sometimes provoke fights with me to see if I was irate about being a janitor. I am used to cleaning up shit, and the federal government of the USA needs a good ass wiping, starting with the top guy of the international crime syndicates. A note, it is better to die in sorrow, than to live in hard row.

Segment January 17, 2008: MULTI_dimensional_CONSCIOUSNESS_two_EYES_cognizant

It was once said that the reason many humans find other animals eyes so attractive is because those humans unfortunately only have two eyes to see through.

In a sense then, they or we see a relative in that animals eyes, a kindred spirit.  Perhaps that beauty is seen by those with many eyes on many planes or levels of consciousness.

Despite the animals beautiful eyes, some may see those eyes as clean, others may see those animals eyes as dirty.  Now this presents an interesting enigma.  Would those who see the animals eyes as clean be more apt to see on many different planes or dimensions?  Or would those who see the animals eyes as dirty be more apt to see on many different planes or dimensions?  Which is more humane of the two?  When I speak of humane, I am talking about the inherent ability to have empathy for another humans pain.

The people or the thing or the IT at my local government and those who have injected me are to me now more like a nightmare, a recall of death, that stands over me as I am helpless.  Perhaps I am to join them and then reap my vengeance, my eyes shifting who and hue when I am dead and gone.

A woman from India once told me I was like the mediterraneans, and somehow when I see my odd shaped head, I wonder if I had some descendants from those in Egypt.  And if so, were they master or slave or was there no distinction. I have super strength compared to most men, which does not bode well for that master termperment of lack of muscle tone in the young.  Perhaps the sanctity of all men was protected then, but when I see bombs between Sunni Muslims and Shiite Muslims, I think not.

It is amazing how education and time shift one's perspective.  I once saw California as a kind of promised land.  Then I met the serial killers and cut throts of Southern California in my youth.  When I was older I met the heralders of medical monstrosities, war crimes against others in the South of California, and in the North I soon realized there was a servant class and a master class, and what was ironic and pathetic was to see some people clinging to be the master class when in fact they were so swindled or numb that they did not realize they were the servant class or slipping toward that dilemma.

In that aspect I look to the Buddhist words of comfort.

The Four Noble Truths: 

1. The truth about suffering is that it exists. Life is suffering. Birth, aging and dying is suffering. 

2. Our reaching into the world of dreams, our desire to fulfill what cannot be fulfilled is what brings us our suffering. 

3. Only when we have broken the mirrors of illusion can we end our suffering, and

4. the Eight-Fold Path can help us to break our habits of suffering. 

When we are able to recognize suffering as it enters our lives, see that our own desires have brought us this pain, and understand that letting go of this desire can bring us peace we have attained Right View. 

Therefore, I look down at my humble shoe and I remember, I must look in to the camera when I sing or when I have my fingers dance a sacrificial melody, of pleasure and pain, inseparable.

Segment January 15, 2008: POEM_awaken_DEATH_blue_POP_open_THE_cork_SCREW

The poetry of  the vein of life

It is not vain to die

To die young like I

The Wiseman came back from Vietnam

He was older in length and tongue

Wiser only in a knapsack

He himself asphyxiated in the car rack

Then 3 to 6 years hence

I awakened my face blue as dye

My neighbor knew I was about to cry

Slowly did I die before I awoke

Never before had I a deeper breath took

Then I witnessed this thing in life

An electron in Quantum physics a second route took

(Youtube video link Physics experiment )( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DfPeprQ7oGc )

When a witness was nearby

Perhaps I was just too young to die

Now in my years I have fits and sigh

Why was it Wiseman and not I

Perhaps it was not my time

Perhaps my life took was not forsook

Perhaps my life took was not mine

Still I was blue, blue as wine

Why was I not left to die

It was not the first time I was told

Perhaps the third

Air from my lungs alone as I

It crawled back up and I crawled inside

These are the mysteries of quantum physics the creator  for took

Why do I breathe at night in mind

Starting here and going outside

To the outer realm where life doth die

Or perhaps the creator sighs inside

This little child might be mine

So I hold a pup given by the street

I feel his fat stomach and his pitter patter feet

Like a child I hold him as an old man

And wonder if the creator sees me in this master plan

I wait for gold and am given none

I have paid the price but I have sum

Of matter non-significance like a pittance for a pie

It is more pitted than a child's self-baked cherry pie

Yet it is so small it tastes like wine

This is the nature of the stunted child

The one who grew up on bitter root

Tainted and mild

It is not a significance to I

As when I woke up I had already died

That was the nature of the loathsome street

Where we loved and cherished until Wiseman's bitter deceit

But like mine it was not his own

I started digging worms long before

When I was at the edge of the polluted shore

Someone get Wiseman on the damn-ed phone

So I see Ed standing there

His strings in tatters just like mine

I remember walking through the wood

Making a decision I misunderstood

After all the oxygen I had was bitter wine

We were all poisoned and dieing inside

So I look back at this shattering Earth

And say, good God, it's about to give birth

I can barely eat a donut without having to spit

My how do crave that sweet pit

So I am off on another day

Shaking waking and breaking

It was meant that way

Perhaps some day I will have mine

And every other child and parent will be stronger inside

But today I feel the dead sometimes hanging on

As I have the breath to answer the damn-ed phone

So when they approach me for a grasp

They find I have none nor the asp

It is meant to be that way I suppose

This ring is in tatters

This ring is in my nose

My skin so bitter

My skin so sweet

Perhaps I tasted good when it had to eat

But how many more times must I die

How many more times must I sigh

They all stare at me like I am loathsome inside

I remember Wiseman and wanted to ride

He came to me in my dreams

I wanted it that way

I was somehow proud he had made it to another day

Yet it was only after we were both dead inside

Or filled with the anti-matter that could not run and hide

After all we baked our pitted cherry pies on either side

Like children we were all eaten inside

Not a friend insight the moment we died

Those who cling on shatter and quake

So I look to my mother and ask

Can I bake

She laughs then she sighs

Some things you do not understand

You better run inside

Not to hide but to enjoy the ride

We all get to the other side

I was angry at first at With Her Spoon

When she said We were in the Palm

Of the first writer of the very last Psalm

There is nothing new under the sun

So I sit back and wait for the killers gun

Or perhaps I have the blind side on the run

Olly Olly Oxen Free, I want to be with Pops on the street

He at my back as I give him ride

He is not evil, just a little tipsy like Bonnie and Clyde

It was the Coop who taught me to ride

Or was it tumble and glide

After all, he saw the vehicle inside

Wisemans doughnuts so dear as pitted Cherry pie

Perhaps Wiseman too had already died

Perhaps we are all along tipsy for the bicycle ride

Our mothers so shiny and knew

How beautiful they were even if not in view

How they smelled like that dreaded paper mill

Those perpetual in view

The cancer taking them for a ride

Just like the down and out Bonnie and Clyde

The paper sticking to our tenement windows like damned death glue

How we wanted snow me and you

So we scraped the hard window and death we knew

A gingerbread man was a special treat

Yet so many children are taught the heat

Of hatred not loving laughter at our neighbors feet

Patty cake Patty cake Baker's man

Turn em up Turn em up

Flip em in the Pan

That's the way you change sides with the taming shrew

Before you know it it's time again

To flip your side

Again and Again

The balance is soon struck and the pie inside

Is just as sweet with the pits outside

Suet said I had dug a hole I could not retreat

What did I care, I have beggars feet

Or perhaps I am still baking child-like on Sip and See street

Pre-charred, it's rough down here in the hole sweet

Pass me my five million so I can retreat

Or better yet, teach me why the deceit

How many times must we die

My father wanted an attorney

And what I got was See Law Sameth

He was shot dead in his victory seat

While I was in chains with no retreat

I died inside again toot sweet

But I spared fists on the angry old man

Now I beseech

Never again please, I have now thorns on my feet

Just like I did down on Sip and See street

Where I dug for worms and packed them inside

My pockets half full, their bodies limp and died

I do not care, I want to go fishing, father and I

But I see him leaving, my mother cried

You have no conception until you learn these lies

Welcome to my dilemma, we are all piss-filled inside

My little worm rockets and not a fishing line

Until I am in the bayou hole way out on the West side

Walking through the garden with the grand mother who really tried

I miss her also, perhaps we unite

I miss her also, I think she was like me, all torn up inside

Segment January 14, 2008: POEM_half_DEAD_laser_EYE_life_TURNED_red_NOW_on_DEATH_bed

(This is a poem inspired by the song I awakened too as I remembered New Orleans streets in my childhood with the other kid in the  hood, already in robes dead, Ozzy Osbornes Mr. Crowley (youtube video)  I thought of Kurt Cobains Nirvana (youtube video), as I am soon to touch down in Seattle, I think.  I want San Pedro at LA Harbor, on the edge, crawled up into a little hole and fire a rocket over St. Vincent Thomas Bridge and hit those Evil Bastards in the Head, Gelli-bolus, floating Reid Ship, 4 men half dead at the abutment, so tainted red (I remember the dumbest man on my ship on the USS Reid crying over the 4 dead, flipped drunk into the abutment of the bridge.  They loved to chastise him when he drooled in the bus as he slept and we sped.  Damn it all,  let the Earth Bleed Red.  The house Talisman is now off of Ebay, but it is at Mobile Audit Club, like me, Half dead, the under-laments covered in blood and red and black like my other sole my other brothers shoe, only useful when I am half dead.)

Like Mr. Crowley I am so Polemic

Like Mr. Crowley I ride on a white horse

Like Mr. Crowley it is symbolic

Like Mr. Crowley I want a divorce

A divorce from the dead

A divorce from the rhythm crawled up into my head

A divorce from the hallow shallowed death bed

Hey Kurt, It's Nirvana Once Again

So I pack my gear, and It's just Seattle, Just another has Ben

Kurt is it Nirvana

Is it teen spirit

Do I take the remnants from the dust Bin

This is about to happen again

I saw his wife yesterday

Not Kurt's or Ozzy's or Mine the slave

She likes to sit there and whistle the rant and the rave

She loves him so

She knows of his toe

I saw her waiting tables while oysters were shucked

I said nothing and let her go

On with the show

She was so young, I had to let her go

I never saw her so lovely once before

Strange how ice lets us thaw

Strange how lice were in her craw

Dance to that circadian rhythm

And soon you are a winged mollusk

A locust on the hills sown raw

I feel half dead

Please God, bring my death bed

Adorn me with the beads from the hall

My fathers apron hanging on the Mardi Gras wall

My eyes ablaze from the tourniquets on the slave

Please God, don't leave me half thaw

Why the lasers boys

I did not come to fight

We have entered

The darkest of the knight

Mr. Crawley, you must be half dead

Alarming all is what I said

Awakening this morning

Alone in my half death bed

I want to buy in the big easy

But I must keep moving

North and left

That is what the toe man said

His face growling

His mother half dead

The other half in her deaf bed

The voice came back not from her

Get off other people's back

I'm in it for the ride

The triangles already cut in your head

Now Payback for Mayhem

Nirvana in Mister Crawleys Red

I watch your movies and start to puke

I listen to our music and your ads I rebuke

Panama City Red, his teeth out, his eyes all red

He kills and they do not even give him a bed

I have a jewel in my shoe

A rock from time immemorial

It is Too bad the other bow bone is all pithy

Get off my stoop you two

Bow Bone's bitch is pithy too

(Post Note: This year is going to be one of the ugliest in the United States, as the cork of the bottle starts to come unscrewed.)

Segment January 13, 2008: FIVE_major_RELIGIONS_words_OF_comfort_EQUALS_tolerance_HUMANE

Muslim words of comfort

"The eyes shed tears and the heart is grieved, but we will not say anything except which pleases our Lord."

Jewish words of comfort

"to act justly, to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God" (Mic. 6:8).

Buddhism words of comfort

The Four Noble Truths: 

1. The truth about suffering is that it exists. Life is suffering. Birth, aging and dying is suffering. 

2. Our reaching into the world of dreams, our desire to fulfill what cannot be fulfilled is what brings us our suffering. 

3. Only when we have broken the mirrors of illusion can we end our suffering, and

4. the Eight-Fold Path can help us to break our habits of suffering. 

When we are able to recognize suffering as it enters our lives, see that our own desires have brought us this pain, and understand that letting go of this desire can bring us peace we have attained Right View. 

Hinduism Words of Comfort

"For the purpose of firmly establishing righteousness, for the protection of god and for the destruction of sin-causing deeds, I make my appearance from age to age."(Bhagavad Gita, Ch. 4:8)

Christian Words of Comfort

"The LORD is close to the brokenhearted; he rescues those who are crushed in spirit."
Psalm 34:18

Segment January 12, 2008: POEM_sacrificial_MELODY_lyric_DIVINE_bovine

Here is a little poem I wrote for you, it is a sweet carol sacrificial Melody. It is sung recited to the song tune "The Queerest of the Queer" by Garbage. It's head had to be unscrewed, that was all I knew. I miss Mill Valley's little hole at Dr. Hell's home. The Peruvian, the Brazilian, and who knows who, a thousand beds under my jets, a thousand heads all sweet and wet.

My avocation is provocation

Their allocation is alienation

My only sensation is regurgitation

The fascination is desiccation

My only salvation is they or IT was destined for damnation

The only flaw I can see is procrastination

My five holiest places are for germination

Theirs is a bent total retaliation

My divine dream of their total castration

Their final sensation

Sacrificial Melody has start to believe

Sacrificial Melody is all over me

Start 

Stop

Oh dear I love you here

Oh dear she's cumming here

My dear I will come for you

My dear I will hang for you

My dear I will bang for you

My dear I will clang for you

Do not blame the Jew

He asked if I were you

Orthodox man knew

(AH)

It was already to screw

Inside it knew

We burned our sacrifice

We thought it was so nice

Until we saw it was you

Until stop

The coldest of the cold

It crawls inside your bed

Stop

You are already dead

Your face is turned red

Red to blue

You me already screwed

Hop on inside for the ride

Hop on inside for the cried

You me already dead

It has crawled up inside your head

Stop

I know it died for you

I know it cried

Screwed

Stop

Mathematical paranormal metaphysical quantity

Undefined

Except in the enlightened tree

The genetic cow is madness

It's hair all bloody red

It's already half dead

The tangent orientation millennia already screwed

Now about you

Stop

Oops, I thought you were the victim

I can't seem to die

How many times I cry

Until my gel turns to ooze

Dripping out to be with you

Borne with too many blues

Inside an animal foreign to you

Its tail tongue and head wanting to be with you

You know this can't be true

It wants to be with you

It wants to  be turned loose

It never stops

It lives in your head

Tears itself part

Just to be with you

It starts inside your head

They try to hold us back

We are the eventual glue

We can not come unscrewed

Simple little you does not know what to do

Set it free

Let it do its due

Let it be me

Let it be you

Not YET

Stop

My face is already red

I sleep among the dead

I rise when I wake

I take what I take

I feign what I fake

I sleep among the sharks of the lake

It already knows of you

There is nothing you can do

It wants to fill me too

It wants to fill you too

It knows we became unglued

It knows its always  true

Hey now it knows it hangs a Jew

It knows it hangs you two

It knows it feels it too

It knows what it is supposed to do

Shhhhhh

It can't stop the bark

It can't stop the fear

It can't stop the tear

What are  you supposed to do

Crawl back inside your head

Scratch and bark

You and I are already dead

That is what I read

Some do not understand the elements

Like me and Jew

And who knows who

It's all inside the head

It's tail long and blood red

That is why I painted it when I was dead

You know it stalks for you

You know it

Stop

I think I will have you work for S'no Ba'al

Oh me oh my

Says the transgender unscrewed

Says the tail-ed possum I once knew

You know you are mine

You know you lost my mind

You know I am you

Get on the ground crawl for you

Get on the crown of the Jew

The Jew I once knew

And the Muslim cleric so blue

Wipe my face for you

Its time for dinner with Hindu

Buddhist knew

The talons long I knew

Its tail has come unscrewed

You know it stalks for you

You knows its game for you

You knows its shame is new

You know IT feels for you

You feels ITs tail four screw

You know ITs nail for Jew

You know ITs

Stop

You know I love her too

You know her teeth are new

You know her flesh is blain

You knows its my membrane

You know it knows no shame

I wear its mane for you

I stalk on the ground nothing new

You know its time for you

Stop

Currrt

She's calling you suet

He caught them they say

It's all in the creators dream that way

Salt

Segment 1--11--2008: SHOCK_jock_JAW_rack_WAR_crack_LAB_rack_ATTACK

In this nightmare of primitive manifestation of men like beasts and their pre-occupation with the cartoon evil they comprehend and displace to others I come across my own voices in the scab of life.  This is the war.  This is the cracked jaws, laid open in the war.

Recently I was jailed for being in fear for my life.  I  was hit in the jaw by an old man.  I was to get out of jail so I did not strike back.  If I was to have stayed, I would have had to have laid him open with my monkey strength and taken on the scent and stature of that prison pen of mad men.

I did not have to knock him back.  But my tooth lay cracked on my jaw rack.

When I got out, I got a tooth implant, rather expensive. 

I then realized that those titanium pens that hold the tooth down to the jaw bone can be made to explode.  They do not have to have plastique explosive.  The titanium can be acted upon and made to explode from space.  Entire populations could have their jaws laid open.  And on some level, each could be detonated on cue.

Then I realized that the permanent retainers placed in peoples mouths could have some resemblance to plastique, but  they can be melted and cooked in place.

Diabolical is this human race.  This disgusting place.   What am I and how did I get here?

Segment January 4, 2008: HOUSE_talisman_PAINTING_ad_EBAY_sale_911_(see Quatrains 1 for pic, go to Home Page and then click)

This painting is nothing like you have ever seen or held in your hand.  You can read about it by going to the Quatrains 1 page of the website known as Mobile Audit Club.  It has a second layer underneath, one of a demon or a saint, captured by the foresight of the renowned bank examiner and criminal investigator and known triangle traveler who hunts the killer(s) among the humane humans.  I am Kurt Brown, alias Saint Ram Bone, alias Saint Vechter, alias Osso Ramdella Sandel, and I re-founded the Mobile Audit Club in our life-time. 

I travel triangles. 

I FSLAM the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation (FDIC).  FSLAM == Mobile, San Francisco, Los Angeles.  

I witness M C ABLE.  MCABLE == Mobile Climax Ames Braman Lawton Eureka

I pickup the named traveler Ben in MASA.  MASA == Missoula, Ann Arbor, Springfield

I see the approaching death of a Senators Grandson, the death of Ben Sanford in the dual light of Talladega in the Molech BeaST.  MBST == Mobile Bath Springs Talladega

I see the sickness and dieing of our world in MD PCB.  MD PCB == Mobile, Dothan, Panama City Beach

I view the explosion of Hell and Highwater in PMS.  PMS == Prichard, Mobile, Semmes.

I extrapolate across the universe to other galaxies in my range of view the night of the explosion of the meteorite on my birthday that I drove through in Braman, and this triangle is so large it has to be factored in twice first in the galaxies that were in my field of view  in December 2004.  MAAW == Milky Way,  Andromeda, Angulatum, and the second factoring pinpoints myself.   BAA == Braman, Angulatum, and Andromeda...."And I saw the light in Braman, Meloch, the beast of training in warfare for our sect" "Kelly predicted my death that year, and the meteorite hit on my birthday, in Braman, the fires of Meloch, and I drove through, without pain or suffering".  "They say, some will walk the Earth in the fires that reign", Ba'al Zebub is there to train, perhaps one day, "To devour"

The demon has been painted in, and resides like a tumor within the good, housed forever, and blessed by the creator's eyes in the sun.  It has to work for the owner.  It offers immortality if you purchase it with good intent and not mal-intent.  Do not release the demon within unless you are sure you are pure at heart in your intentions and you have to give the demon direction with the painting in the sun before releasing it for it to know you and the creator above and you must direct it in who to target or what to do.  The demon dances his own dance, and beware, it and he are lethal to many.

It will be delivered in any manner you choose.  The artist can deliver the painting also.  I am willing to accept a lower amount, so please contact the ossoramdella@yahoo.com email if you choose a lower amount or on the Ebay site.

The whole story on the painting can be found at the link below.

https://www.angelfire.com/zine2/democracyordeath/quatrains.htm

Some have mentioned the Red Heifer inside.  I wore a cloth of red when I captured the lower painting in a digital image because I bleed in my work.  I may have died many times in  this resident space of this alleged flesh and bone.  It is of no issue or importance and only incites me to live immortal beyond and within flesh and bone forever oscillating in the sine wave(s).   You can see the picture at the link above, as always.

I am seeking the money to flee the money launders and murderers in the United States and the allies of the regime who kill and torture and maim humane humans, and in particular high finance auditors and regulators.  If you lose your banking system, you lose your freedom and prosperity, which is why I flee.  I was a federal bank examiner for the FDIC, Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation.  I have endured an American Holocaust.  I have celebrated the fireworks of the Heavens on my 44th birthday with a meteorite exploding near me while traveling near Braman Oklahoma in the M C ABLE triangle and I hear the backfire in Mobile, the moving Equinox of my travel on this damned prison rock and assuredly ape planet Earth.  You can read about this on the Quatrains 5 page of Mobile Audit Club in the first segment with Braman in the title. 

Buy this painting, and receive the blessing, the gift, the House Talisman of no compare and great compense.   

The painting is titled, "The Queerest of the Queer".  It is acrylic on acrylic.  It was painted by Kurt Brown, alias Saint Ram Bone, alias Osso Ramdella Sandel.  Know the triangle within and know purity and how it conquers evil against humane human beings. 

The painting for sale is extremely unusual in its virtues. I did not realize it when I drew it, but the top layer of the painting, in one of the three instances,  is my Captive Sheriff Jack Snatch Tillman of Mobile Alabama, terminated for funds thievery and taking my gun permit and blocking my entry to government on 4-3-2001 after I had reported an attack on my life three days after the preceding St. Valentine's Day of 2001. The Sheriff still wears his meaningless badge in his burrow, and we call him, "Snatch The Fairy Possum", and I will likely use the sale proceeds to make a movie of a type of Wizard of Oz, about my auditing adventures and my passage through the meteorite in Braman Oklahoma. Braman, Snatch The Fairy Possum, Bow Bone, Sueet Carol, Masa Shee-it, Saint Ram Bone, Macho Frijole Man are but a few in the list of characters I envision. I reported the assassination attempt on my self the Tuesday before 3-4-2001 to the Mobile Alabama City Council. The illegal regime in power blocks my entry into their government meetings since that date. They do not want their atrocities televised, so I put the results here in art. Behold on that painting that is the top layer which is the second one down here, the Clump of Possums stuffed into Sheriff Snatch's derriere and the beheaded ghosts of the world watching and waiting to feed on the Fairy Possum as dictated in the story on Mobile Audit Club's page Love Line 5 about the "Fairy Possum and the Downed Hoe" story. The white night owl can be seen eating on the road kill in the lower painting, as the dead is the murdered FDIC director and I hold the light for all to see, as he was labeled a suicide.  He was labeled erroneously crazy just as the illegal war crimes regime has labeled me.  Behold, the most bizarre and virtuous painting of all time, "The Queerest of the Queer".   I watched the port entry I can not afford to be, the San Francisco port of entry, with Marin County on the far side, and San Francisco in the foreground.

House Talisman, Acrylic on Canvas 3 feet by 4 feet $9.11 Million OBO

The Mobile Audit Club Website home page link is here.

https://www.angelfire.com/zine2/democracyordeath/index.html

The auditor artist has a collection of videos on Youtube under saintrambone at

https://www.youtube.com/profile?user=saintrambone

I want $911 Million and the first offer to reach that bid gets the painting and the delivery in any manner.  I will deliver it at the 10% rate of $9,110,000 also if no other bids are made in 9.11 days. 

Segment 12-31_2007: TORTURE_government_EXCLUSION_insane_METHOD

In 2002 I, Kurt Brown, alias Saint Ram Bone, former FDIC bank examiner turned informant on money laundering and murder was on probation after forced injections and torture and forced signatures and an apparent assassinaton attempt at the hands of war criminals in the federal government of the United States in 2001, and my only crime was to own a legally owned gun.  The Sheriff at the time was Sheriff Jack Tillman, a food funds thief who had taken my gun permit on 4-3-2001 when I was going to report malnutrition at the Mobile County Jail, which was my mother's request to do so on behalf of a young man there who was there for the long haul and who was severely emaciated.

I was in Mobile Alabama and tried to go to a city council meeting in 2002 or 2003.  The probation officer and two other Sheriff's Deputies came to my home after I raised my voice because the illegal war crimes regime would not let me enter their government meeting of the city council in my native city of Mobile Alabama, and now I welcome a global holy war, as America is over run by war criminals who are thieves and dope dealers and negative capitalists. I welcome communism and humane guidance in leadership even if it means the death of all of the wealthy pigs of war and their war criminal associates.

They wanted me to get into a police car at my home so I raised my voice to the top of my lungs and squatted down in my yard and made sure people could see me.   I have since discovered they were going to take me to a local mental hospital for evaluation.  Simply because I wanted to participate in the government and because I had reported the Sheriff's thievery and the murder and money laundering at the FDIC.

Today, 12-31-2007, I saw a man in a park.  He was a large man, and he could hit a golf ball like an automatron.  I have seen him before.  He said to me, "If I had known you were Captain Hook, I would have treated you differently".  "Kurt, I hope they tore up your asshole".

I might have been raped this week in my home as I slept.  I had blood on my anus and a small but painful injection or pimple on my head.  I have noted it on my Youtube videos.

I want my 5 million or more payment so I can leave.  I would rather they had killed me in 2001 when the attempt was made on my life.  The regime is controlled by a beast it seems. 

Reggie Copeland, city council president, has a knot on his right forehead.  If I made him lose his humane conscience,  I apologize.  But I did not.  The world is a shit box.  As the man in Marin County California who called himself an Israeli told me, the one who looks like my uncle, and who is an asshole who I love, "You look like a boxer, not an accountant".  I feel like a gladiator in a clown suit with a bard's tongue and shangrila slippers from Hell on my warrior ballerina feet.

I am a primitive sort.  I hope I am never put in such a primitive place again.  I was a decent athlete.  My imagination was my friend from the first wars, the wars of my childhood.  Now I play in the sand box again, and I call it Mobile Audit Club and saintrambone's Youtube is its friend.

I only wish we could all be afforded the good things in life.  Now all I want is peace and sanctity for me and my friends, and all of my children in the end.  I bleed red with sorrow again and again.  Why do they hate me, is this the bitter root end?

My dear grandmother lay in her death bed, who died from something unknown to me, her leg was twitching and she kept saying, "I love you, I love you, I love you". 

Oh mother imperial, is this the bitter root end, where I climb from the box and begin again.  I see myself in the children, in the horrors I knew as a kid.  If only we were forewarned of the lies and the treachery in the bitter root end.  This is so sorrowful, I can not write it again.

Regardless what happens I must remember, "Things are never as bad as they seem." The message is, "Sometimes things are all shaken up to keep the big guys moving and to keep the biggest guy lean." I think City Council President Reggie Copeland of the regime machine in Mob AL got the lump on his right forehead walkin in the dark. The same thing happened to mean.

Segment December 28, 2007: RANDOM_thoughts_PHYSICAL_metaphysical_PLANE_the_HOWLING

I once heard of a Vietnamese troop who airlifted a tiger from the jungle.  They then dropped the tiger among the Vietnamese.  Instead of attacking, the tiger sat down and started licking its own wounds.  I knew the tiger was among the tiger's own kin.

I have a long tongue for my own kind.  I have a long time for my own kind.   Old treasures are hard to keep, old treasures are hard to find.  Old treasures are mine to reap.  Ours is a select kind.  Never alone, never left behind. 

We are starting to have a break up.  The United States has become a nightmare.  They urge us to give them our guns.  We find ourselves and our children on the run. 

We will be starving and hung on the rung, as that is where our feet will dangle above the elephant dung.

I knew they were going to try to do that shit.  To try and pull us through the rung.  Our asses bit, our cut off tongue.  Someone set fire to the elephant dung.

I see Ron Paul, Presidential nominee, his arms at his side, his upper body twisting, back and forth, one to the left, one to the center, one to me.    How do they do it, deceive from birthright to the labeled felon, strike one, two, and three.  California nominee.(Music Video Link, Talking Heads, note Words, Same As It Ever Was, note the woman rotating like Ron Paul, what a political poser of a joke, just like the alleged avenging armies killing ours over there and torturing us here. We are better to fight to the death. I will, we will. Quickly and in stealth, put the money in it's stocking. I lay accused, like a demon you awakened the ugly side of Thee, count one, two three, does my Mexican family want me to come for Salsa. I am alone, I am tired of being alone. They or it isolated me from the family tree, so should I migrate once more? The opposing forces hate each other so bad, that we welcome perpetual eternal death. Strange isn't it? Life in the nightmare of ruins.)

We are dis-spirited.  They are raping our families and have us down on our wounded knees.   We look to the heavens and scream from the trees, bring us their end, one for me, if this is the way it is supposed to be.

I hear the rain, a-gain and a-gain, why us, why me?  I am too dis-sheveled to swing from the family  tree. 

It is almost as if the sons-of-bitches do not give a shit, about them or me.  Why do they rape and rack the family tree.   Possible dissolution of the embrace, I find the death knot hanging in my face.  How can I see?

How many times do I have to re-live this nightmare?  Where is the love?  Why us?  Why me?

I advise Hillary Clinton, if she is human like me, not to run for President, we are destined for World War III.  It is not a woman's place to have the blood on her face.  They are the trunk and we are the limbs of the tree, said the Old Indian, and I agree.

Nickolai, Nickolee, you play with your electronic gadgets much like me.  I will not block you a-gain, as you fight spiritual like me.

Why have we been tortured?  It has Ben Donne before, even if I worry about John, as he wanders those woods alone like me.

What the Hell is going on?  They may ask.  This is my way of letting those brain farts, pass the gas.  It has been done to me, so sing me, swing me, from that ugly family tree.

I picture that ugly Sheriff Jack Tillman, formerly a food funds thief and juvenile trustee from Allah-Bama, Mob AL.  He is so simple, so stupid, like so many, and sometimes me.   He awakes with blood on his pillow and he sees me.  Laying there, the blood coming out my mouth, and then he sees the Wiseman from the family street, he is doing the same much like me.   Is this what you lack Jack?  Is this what you see?  Good mourning, now you can see, you can see us, you can see me.  Welcome to our nightmare, bring your friends, we will all sleep together in this bloody bed in the end.  Do not offend me Jack, says Kurt in a Curt.  Wiseman says, Do not offend Thee Jack, we are now in a family way.  (Wiseman was a Vietnam vet on my street on Rosewood Drive.  He taught me to fear the U.S. Arm E.  He killed himself after the killing spree, and when he was wiping the spit from his face, while he was down in Mo-Bill-E.  I was just a child, not yet wild, but there he was, there I was, sipping doughnuts unattainable, and watching the lies on the bloody television screen.) Jack, I think Kurt has learned they are not what they seem.  Can you C me?  I need the pocket change so I can be set free.  911 million or what you stole and have remaining, times three.  It is not much, and it is cheaper than have it come out your ass at the sound of Revel-e. 

Do you mind if I scooch up here Jack, just us three, you me and Wiseman and the family tree. Such a bloody nut wig, would not you agree. Destiny, plane, as the night eye can C. Do you read Roman numerals Jack. How many are left, hold up your fingers, count one two three, just like a do at revel-E. Jack is in the crack, and your kids ain't coming back. That was yesterdays melody. Now I crank it up three notches, bloody old Wiseman me.

Segment December 21, 2007: LEVELS_of_CONTROL_outer_SPACE_inner_dwell

Human society when viewed from a distance is like a working ant colony or bee hive, with the difference being in the magnificence and diversity of what is produced.  After all, mankind is like a very intelligent and inquisitive ape, but an ape nonetheless.

That constructing ape society  can and is likely controlled.  Some say that the overall hand of God or Allah or Buddha or a collection of Gods with diverse personalities is over the entire plan at all times.

Now that is an interesting concept because sometimes we humans suffer like dogs being kicked and or killed and maimed by cruel rulers. 

It is my belief that there are those things or beings whose hand in shaping the universe is larger than that of man as we know man.

Some possibilities include a sort of loose governor at the top of the pecking order whose goal is an overall end product and whose talent is to maneuver those weight bearing factors into place long enough at each interval through time and space to construct the desired final products in continuum.

In my nightmares and in my dreams, I often see one of the lesser of the greats that controls man.   I picture his head to be large and almost immobile, staring outward, controlling the movement of those things that are among mankind, those things that resemble man or move man to achieve the desired end products through the time continuum.

This lesser of the greats would have a large head covered in a hard shell, much like a sonar dome on a Naval ship, except the head is constructed of natural ingredients, in much the same way an ant's head is constructed.  I see this head as resembling an ant, but in a much larger scale than that of man or ant.

This being would likely live a certain period and then be retired in much the same way of many living things, either through death or displacement or promotion, or retirement to the grazing fields to reproduce, form the young, and die or metamorphose.

I see many humans as being devoid of human feeling.  They move like an ant, doing what they are programmed or led to do, and we follow.  We being the ape like men. 

This construction nightmare has come about as I have aged and I see the futility of my struggle as those around me pull me down to be a lesser being to them, a sort of lesser to all in their ranks associated with those products or beings sent by the huge ant like head.

My life has been strange.  My life has been Hell.  Mankind is no different than a beast and like many, I now welcome global death, universal extinction, of our kind.  We are too intelligent to be led by a midget of an ant whose head has no humane compassion for humans.  Let us welcome global war and the wrath of death of the ant like heads or the extinction of our species or of my humane kind and my family under that beast.

Keep your flag. Keep your weapons.  Keep your lies.  Bury yourself in your own dung heap.  Never again should we be naive enough to try to compete with beasts in the field of burden.  We will be forever strained like slaves if outwitted at every turn.  Perhaps one key higher will hear my silent cries and reply.  But all things are strained, perhaps to collapse.  America, the drudgery, the curse, fingernails claws for immortal thirst, and as the song goes, as strange as it is, let it be, even if all life falls beneath the sea.  Let us pray for the end of the suffering, one two three.

The police surround us from the farce of justice and we are led to our dismal deaths.  Or perhaps the head is dieing and we are witnessing the maggot like existence.

Segment December 20, 2007: DREAMS_death_LIFE_prediction_TRIANGULATE_cube_CUBED_cubing

On that bizarre coincidence of my life, of what I have been told, in relation to my consciousness and the consciousness of the global and interstellar all, I look back at what I was told in the extraneous cubes, those triangles of life and light and dark predictions and adult mayhem and divine order, and that odd coincidence that my life has meaning or ever existed at all, and extrapolated to you as you read this.

In a conversation in that dream state with those in the outer cubes of consciousness, I was told I would not live past 50 years old, and somehow that 50 seems like a good mark to reckon from to look within, if I extrapolate back from that point in time to now, as the outer cube reaches that point and sends me back the reflection.

Death, that odd triangle where these things which luminescence large and where this corpus may or may not have been, I see those giants around me as passing spasms of something I fail to comprehend in totality.  I am in fragments, my life torn from the time I can remember to now, and I welcome that grand window where this meaning takes on a totality lost and unknown as hereto before.

50, that would be in 2010 and 2011, now is not that grand before the 12th year of this grand lie in this nightmare life in this place they call the United States, in this place where I now see humane beings being killed by total killers whose spasms are like a ravenous worm, and I hum and hear the whisper as before, let this one be where be has been.

The regime fears me, as I count like a Count where death is larger and the luminescence of that triangle is as large as I have been.  I fear not the death and removal of the fake fiend friend, big daddy federal demon with the bloody grin and triple chin.

Segment December 10, 2007: SCIENCE_spy_OPTIC_density_ZOOM

I once heard someone say, "Out of sight, out of mind".  We all do this almost instinctively.  If you enter a hotel, you put your belongings away, and if you have a safe, the money and such go there automatically. 

Now, about the weapon I envision, it is a spying device that can penetrate at a certain density.  If you are in a  room and when viewed by satellite with this new or upcoming weapon, what is seen on the shelves may be viewable, if not readable.  Put it away.

Of course, you can live  by the "Do not tell me any secrets and I do not tell you any lies" dictum and it does not matter if you leave it out with the windows open.  That would be more like Dutch free will than American jurisprudence under a dictators regime.

Segment December 2, 2007: SURVIVAL_segmentation_MACRO_commander_PARTICULATES

On elements of survival and our often segmented lives if not bodies, I sometimes think of those things that travel through space or generations of living beings that give that being unique attributes which make it a living part of a larger entity composed of that particle with the attributes aforementioned as its composite self in some proportion of other attributes.

Now, if one dies of a larger attribute, could it be that a lesser being or greater being or equal being could take control of that beings attributes or scattered functions in some sense?

What I am thinking of is the greater space, where science has found a sort of outer shell in space where the laws of physics are uncertain or seem to change from accepted scientific dogma.

I am certain larger distance space travel is available and likely horded and monopolized at a level I can not see.  It would be nice to leave Prichard once and for all.  Prichard likely agrees.  Lower caste present and past.

Humans if you consider them for what they are, are an extremely small group in the greater complex.  When I want to view them or us, I simply look from a distance and it gives everything an unusual perspective.  I see working colonies with despair everywhere I go in the Americas.  Like watching a living horror film.  Drink the blood you take to the fellows hiding in the Bush, you took what you taste.  9.11 million and I have still have a long way to go.  Donate lost fish and dollar bills for the horrors of trusting GI Joe and Jane down at VA, and the lost boys of the agency the FDIC. Donate at the Fund Raising Page of this site.  Just choose either box, they lead to the same place, Ossoramdella.

One of the biggest questions to me on this level is, when the federal USA government or their approved injections houses, for profit hospitals, forcibly inject people as the Flagstaff Arizona Medical Center did to myself who reported a possible toxic burn and hazardous materials trucks on I-40 in 2004, what else does the federal government or their associates do to you? Sterilize you perhaps, or rape you or your loved one, or maybe inject cancer cells, or perhaps call you insane so they can take your wallet, or perform another step in an ongoing federal medical experiment if you are a veteran, or perhaps silence you on the nightmare of living under the regime's controlling members in the high finance sector, and of course in the slums of the USA if you try to have a voice among the controlling War party?

I have two relatives who's tales contradict. One says, "Do not tell me any secrets and I will not tell you any lies", and another says, "Loose lips sink ships". In today's world the regime will often make the innocent cower in the corner, take a low profile. I prefer the former, I will henceforth say what I have to say as the regime counts on secrets of blood for survival, as they are not what they say, they are liars. Their whole indoctrination of the USA Constitution is a lie and the ruling party is one step into being a beast.

Segment from Daily_ Foreword_November 30, 2007:

When I think about the body of men or beasts that govern much of the South Eastern United States, I think of a contrivance of beasts, beasts international within an inside enemy friend.   They send me to jail for non-crimes.  They send us to jail for non-crimes.  They take our money, our freedom, and aim for our teeth, our right to bear arms.

They then make us even more imprisoned for more punishment in lesser crimes in the ongoing probation deemed to them by corrupt courts in plea bargains and automatic sentences.  A labyrinth from Hell and I know that smell.

Judge McMaken maze of Bacon or an electronic wizard on the fly, because just as in LA, it is another fathead and forced injections for the dead bank examiner de San Francisco and I.    Arizona is a needle bin and there is not a veteran friend behind that needle bearing zoot suit of thieving men at the Flagstaff Medical Center and their government under Hell's shelter, Arizona and their Neighbors New Mexico and Nevada Chapter 36 crazy clause bleeding like Ben was way down in Alabama and Las Vegas has done lost a big fat friend, who might be their damned fiend in the end.

To the starting line, this is technical on many levels but then again.

Catapult one two three somersault, we are in this over our heads and not our fault.  I will be down in the big hollow, triangle 1 2 3 again and again, when I grew up thinking we were somehow friends. Mistaken clause.

Segment 11-22-207: JESUS_reptilian_MARY_magdalene

It was said that Jesus slept with a reptilian being one time.  And for that, she was nailed to the craw.   Now, you can't beat that one, my d-ck head is smaller and totals about a foot longer, my brain is taller, but when we chase Jack rabbit, I am nothing more than an all night baller.

You see, there will and have been huge insurmountable conflicts in intercontinental quests on a grander scale, where entire regions dominated by natural competitors or natural neighbors in one genre competed with another or more appropriately had one feed upon the other.  Hence the rabbit and rattler.

The most frightening thing about the wizardry of war and conquest is that we see it around us daily.  We know of lesser beings, we eat them.  Humans have traits like that of a dog, they eat each other and fight like dogs, and every one of them think they are god-sent in some religion or another.   What I think is most ludricous is they can be passed around like pack-dogs to heel and mush and they are proud of their stupidity.  Perhaps the rattler is more friendly.  I

Segment 11-21-2007: BEN_forward_BACK_triangle_LAWTON_ames_BRAMAN_transverse

This is a note from a Daily Foreword, but it resembles the quatrains pages and involves elaboration of the two Bens mentioned on Love Line 6 of this site.

Daily Foreword 11-19-2007: In considering the nature of weapons and consideration of "The Best" weapon, I thought about two things, A Brazilian woman and of course, the primo top weapon, but, that is an open ended statement and question, therefore I have delineated the efficacy of weapons and what I might have been privy to be witness to, a weapon with a ripple effect of unknown dimensions and parameters.  A 1% probability exists that Ben Stanford, Alabama Senator Preuitt's Grandson was killed with a new weapon.  That weapon would have to come from the upper 1% of weapons.  The Best weapon, that climax of war and self propagation, the owner of the best weapon, would likely look at self propagation in flesh or in technology or both.

Let us just say they could see ahead, those who would want Ben Stanford out of the fore.  That is a part of this puzzle, which may not be pertinent to the mechanics of the weapon itself.  It is a double hinged argument, connected but separate.

About the weapon, the boy was killed in the parking lot with multiple bullets and likely a stab wound and somehow he was found with one bullet to the head, his Jeep on the interstate in Villa Rica, his body found not far away with "1" bullet to the head and a gun of his for suicide.  Now this pertinent because I was told of  a similar situation at the FDIC where Trillions of Dollars are involved..  Now that is the 1% probability, or .01.  Now let us say the best weapon was used.  The .001 weapon of the .0001 weapon.

Let's face it, it appears that man is a cruel son of a bitch, not exceedingly smart.  I see it those that may be of my own family.  Who knows, Da?

Now this weapon, has many possibilities and questions.  I have been given the beginning display, a bullet riddled body with a knife wound,  and the end display, a suicide with one bullet to the cranium or heart.  I can not hook into the why's regarding Ben Stanford's death, but I can see the possibility if he was bright and destined and if someone wanted him out of the way, or a simple family or political vendetta.  Of course with Ben, the probability of his death by other than suicide is likely slim, I would say in a conservative estimate of 5% not suicide.  With the FDIC Director, the probability of other than suicide was Trillions of Dollars and a stacked house for wheeling and dealing in the syndicated international negative capitalism and war crimes era.

They drew first blood injecting me.   They injected me in 2001, they being federal associates of money launderers at the FDIC, and likely the Treasury and of course the NTEU.  They wanted to know more.  They allowed me to be injected and knocked completely unconscious in 2004.  They being those hospitals approved to do so since Bush regime came to power.  Chapter 36 clause, kind of like old saint nick in a blood coated lab coat, our enemies drawing first blood and injecting unknown chemicals, sometimes simply for reporting a burn on the flesh and suspicious hazmat trucks. The liar guard said the truck tested positive for radiation. I call him a liar because now he would say, "No, that's not true". That is the nature of Bush bull shit in charge. I hate to tell you, but part of the game might be through. That thousand yard stare, and the nightmare of the exile and torture, and I want my 911 Million, or one 91.1 Million Check in American Dollars slowly becoming Brazilian Rials while Rials become Dollars, on the flip side going up. That is the next prediction.

 This war goes deep.  I do not care.  I look forward to it.  Look Sueet Carol, I have no hair.  I was exposed to radiation in 2004 in New Mexico and reported in Arizona.  I was injected for doing so.  Time to Pay UP.  $91. 1 million dollars.  That is Ninety One million and One Hundred thousand. 

Or I hope you lose your next war.  They are going to drop the net on all of us if we wake up to the true weapon, one of "The Best".   Rote Memory cock-s-cker, there is always more than one best weapon just as there is also more than one best tool.

Let us unleash the capture of that bloody .0001 weapon and remove negative capitalists back to the dark side.  I want paradise back.  I was born on the wrong side of the tracks.  Homes cost 15,000 dollars there today.  Name that Paradise you federal bush nazi c-ckesuckers.  W means nothing.

Footnote: Due to the political process being a closed door and election fraud in most if not all significantly material elections, and due to the mass media being a closed door voice and opinion, they just might be busted on more than one level. Triangulate or nine.

Addendum: Considering I was near the point of execution on the 1% probability that the executed was Ben Stanford, I would be at a more Westerly pole of the entire execution of events.  We can not be certain on the flip side point if this true, as the body could be moved at some point at either end or in between.    However to assume a quick pickup and delivery, I tend to look towards space as we are in an event, a mere speck on an almost round dirt planet called planet Earth, our prison.  Now step this way, Ben here Ben there, Ben been everywhere. That $91.1 Million would surly even things up a bit.  Needles in my arms and legs?  Torture?  Dead federal bank examiners?  I hold up the torch and say light the way. Nero Nero On the Wall, Who'se The One With The Greatest Ball! They tortured me and laugh, what comes around goes around, perhaps that is why death, deaf, or desk, feels so relaxin. They masturbate for us, we bring new weapons to a climax. MMM C ABLE. 91.1 Million in restitution for first blood drawn...prefer former or latter, no difference.