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Quatrains 7-- SENTINEL VALUES AND VECHTER SIGHTS 7
Each segment is outlined by words connected together in a line and each segment was updated on a different date and the latest are up front. I will date them henceforth at the beginning of the segment line. To skip through segments, do a CTRL-F on the keyboard and type in "segment".
Of the warmonger sect I was taught to kill with impunity and never without shame except in those moments of extreme delirium, most recently in hunger, not of man, but of the food. Time turns its tale or is that it's tail?
I have broken free from the warmongering horde and yet I remain and I detest, even myself in that similarity to that faction-- a demented serial beast. Somehow vindicated through the torture I endured from them or the IT. I stand awash and await 50. Time will tell the tale. 50 is a few years away, but way too close.
Some of my family may have shame of me. Some may not know what I have endured. They take the lie of the spewing mouths too seriously and do not seem them as they are -- extraneous to ourselves and of immaterial worth and virtuosity. Does one crab eating carnage at the bottom of the sea smell the carnage on its equal's snout? Only if it has died.
The quasi-mathematical and somewhat mechanical nature of the universe leaves some in awe, and some at the calculable advantage. Fear not the nature of the enemy as IT is worthless, and even its snout smells dead, and ironically the Jane Hindus and their vegetarian sect realize it is too late after the first meal of carnage. That is the nature of things. I have missed many golden opportunities. Then again, life is a free meal to the bottom dwellers, so at least I have eaten.
If the children knew of what I felt when I was being attacked after government FDIC employment and discovering murder and money crimes, they would be less concerned about the trivial spewing of mouths among those with no intellect, compassion, or conncetion to us -- the humane humans. Was I forced experiment? I am rather strange, aren't I? Or am I conventional and loud? Some are like howler dog monkeys and they make me cringe, like I am in a trap, a trap on a forever damned planet or consciousness. What is it that makes the universe spin out?. I remember a scene from a movie. If the children saw this movie as I do, they would realize, "This is a damned planet, but we can strike back, if we can conquer it". Leon The Professional movie clip on a Youtube, "Open the Door." I trusted the IT in control of the government for too long. I was a dick for surviving the FDIC. It would have been easier to have torn off IT's head, damn the consequences. "Where are you God, in the life of the children?"
Segment August 25, 2008: FACT_fiction_REALITY_perceived_PROJECTED_endured
Recently a dear friend told me that those who view life as a joke usually do much better over all. Considering this friend has a Masters Degree and works for the government, I have to take the comment seriously. After all, working for the government is a joke in many, most, and if not all instances, but that too is a matter of perception. Perception, now that is the illusory quality of life that we or the I endures.
Someone told me once long ago, "You can not win at another man's game". So I started playing a bizarre form of Chinese checkers by traveling triangles, and "voila", here I am, wondering "What next at this point"?"
Now all of these bits of wisdom I have taken in over the past of my life have to be taken into context within the lives of those who spoke of them.
The first one who said life is better perceived as a joke grew up in the sixties, in the tumult of that era, the forced assassination of our own among us in a war that would leave many dead, in prisons, in addiction, in servitude to lesser men or beasts, and in some cases, the same, and a few none the less. That person had endured a bizarre hardship as a child and had a split ideology in religion. My youth was much the same although I was more a child of the seventies, that era of Television and dire consequence, following the tails of the children of the sixties, lost and confounded by the world turned upside down around them, and for both of us, Television, that lost mind babble of a generation, of a thing, that we could not really relate, but brainwashed we stood, listening to IT.
Then, the one who told me we could not win at another man's game, came up amid hardship, hardship so extreme in a rural area that even the Great Depression was viewed as just another year. That person told me of the Jews who were cobblers and not to hate them, despite what I heard in my own neighborhoods. She was right in the end, about many things, Jews, Muslims, Hindus, and what difference does it make if yours sit under a tree with a beer or a joint on Saturday or Sunday and skip the congregation? None, no difference, but what matters is their treatment of others and especially their young. It seems that the spiritual surface faster in the flood.
I remember after coming back from forced exile in 2004. My mother had died that year. I was pushed from her side by the enemies to my people who rule much of the USA. She and my family needed my help I knew she was going to die. Her mouth was jutted open in the hospital when I viewed her corpse. It was much more a sense of mortality for me seeing her dead than seeing my father dead. My mother seemed to me making a joke of it all. Calling out, in a strange morose silence, morbid. She was much healthier than my father, more spiritual also, but a human much the same. My mother's family came to Florida in a strange way, some of them. Why did I come back here?
I should have gone to that dark area of India's foot print, Sri Lanka. I was told of a giant foot print there in the stone. I drew blood in a medical class for the first time from a fellow medical student who was from there, and he drew mine. It is a joke, but is not life a joke? Some tell us to be quiet, to sit still, even as grown men. We know the lie. The lie knows us. It is an IT and we do not care for IT any more than IT cares for us or for the "I" we all know.
I have considered going to Iran. Not as a combatant, but on a religious or spiritual pilgrimage. I do not want Israel or the USA to war with them. IT is absurd to do so. But I am a sort of captive on this planet like most if not all it seems. Borders are absurd.
I turned to a biblical passage with the right hand once again, stabbing in the dark, and in the light from old wisdoms, and I found Jeremiah 31:10 ...."He who scattered Israel will gather them and will watch over his flock like a shepherd" "For the lord will ransom Jacob".
I had a dream or a vision, and the man who I did not trust said, "You are too strong for this place," and then he pointed to the sky at a 45 degree angle approximately. I hope the space colonies are not slave dens, and if so, I pray for the creator to re-think us all, amen.
When in Rome, do as the Romans do, and of course, remember not to dive into IT. A song came to mind by a fellow mellow left hander, Jimi Hendrix, Purple Haze, (Youtube video link) and I remember the movie, Apocalypse Now and I remember the Vietnam Vet who helped put me into school and I remember those things, those innuendos and I feel the scales starting to tilt, like the bird who sips abstract blood and rocks back to gain momentum, like a toy with no aftermath except for those or that where the beak strikes. Remember kid, the proletariat really never cared about the proletariat, and the Bourgeoisie never gave a damn for anything except for Gold, in the end. Skip the class war rant, go to school on a borrowed nickel, and major in law or science, preferably physics or invent your own, and remember, your young are important. Do a blood screen if in doubt about the DNA match. Do not desert your children like little bastards. They or IT will snatch them away from you.
Segment August 20, 2008: ENTROPY_uk_AFGHANISTAN_thought_LARGER_san francisco_DERIVATIVE_truth_ABSURDITY_or_ABSOLUTE
Recently I had an unusual dream or vision that someone said that there was something that the world needs to know about the aristocracy of England, meaning the United Kingdom of Great Britain. When they started to speak they were shut up.
Now think about this. The UK has been attacking Afghanistan for quite some time now, with the help of the USA which I believe is controlled in reality from abroad.
Now all of this has to be taken in the light of empirical fact. If someone does so, they soon realize also that things are not what they seem. So if we take a tangent on logic observed we soon find a derivative of observation that may reflect truth, just as much as one who looks at a barracuda under the shade of an offshore oil rig could conjecture mathematically where the barracuda is in reality and not where it is observed. I know of this because I used to try to spear a large barracuda, roughly 8 feet long or more, that rested in the shade under an oil rig at least 100 miles out in the Gulf of Mexico that I worked on as a galley hand when I was a mere boy and my father had pulled strings to get me upon to work.
Of course in reality we know that things can be even more complicated and the barracuda and the oil rig may both be subject to speculation just as much as my own existence. This quagmire goes back to Aristotle and his philosophy of existence and reality and thought. We know that the Universe around us has an outer shell of sorts where the laws of physics change. Some say it looks like a loaf of bread. I say it looks like a brain or a living cell.
So back to my point. If the UK is controlled by those that we are unaware of or we are deceived, and if I am abused in the USA after working as an FDIC bank examiner and having observed likely corruption and having knowledge of the death of an FDIC regional director in San Francisco labeled suicide in his office, when I think it was likely murder, we could just as easily say that the Asian mafia controls San Francisco and the West Coast. But, by doing so we negate the fact of other outside influences in our immediate observation and the only constant that we know of in the universe which is constant change and that constant which is a derivative of variability in some unknown exact measure that is based on Entropy and the Second law of Thermodynamics.
It only makes sense that the highest order of intelligence and thought which someone refer to as God or Allah or Buddha or Vishna, etc. would know of the absolute truth and we may in fact at this level never be able to know or understand and it may be impossible or not desired for us to know. After all, he who creates with the hand can destroy or punish or uphold with the hand.
Therefore, I see the war for oil and money as a stupendous effort in futility and likely an end to itself that will burn out like an ember that is accelerated by strong wings in increasing entropy. Ever since I was a child I have stood amazed at fire. The lore and rhetoric and the absolute change in matter, the melting at extreme temperature with aided force of that life source known as oxygen. The end to the beginning or the beginning to the end, a sine wave that knows no constant except change.
So it does not pay to attack Afghanistan or Iraq or Vietnam or Japan or Europe or the USA or Africa or South America, etc. and so forth. When I am talking about pay, I am talking of absolute gain. Even if that idea is a derivative of abstract, it is likely hindered by the law of nature that says that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, which could bring up the point of dual universes. So if one breaks through, as in one dream or vision I had of one group of men who came to this side of my consciousness, then one has in fact concealed themselves in another layer. That is likely the nature of growth and differentiation of DNA also in living cells, and hence the nature of our very existence on a much larger and much more abstract scale, abstract at least to us.
So I hold that lovely woman from overseas we are told to attack, and I hold those around me, and I say, "Know more", or is that "No More", one being about life and the other about premature death. After all what is the point of creating intelligent life if it devours itself, because in doing so is it not less intelligent than that original intended thought and intention from a higher level?
So in light of absurdity based on some Existential derivative of thought, I turned to the only thing that is left, humor and music and love and sex, and look back in nostalgia at a time long past to a song I awakened to this morning, Tony Orlando and Dawn, Knock Three Times (video link here on Youtube). If not, the chef ends up in the dough batter (see batter defined in the third explanation and hear in online dictionary, as used in baking).
Segment August 7, 2008: DICHOTOMY_dichotomy_UNIVERSE_s_SPLIT_split_CELLULAR_space_AWAKENING_consciousness
This thing called life is strange to all of us. Theoretically it appears we live in a cell of sorts in space. That cell theoretically has consciousness on many levels both in and out and in between. We the individuals are the larger and the smaller of that consciousness, yet we are not the largest nor the smallest. Therefore, intrinsically we can define our conscience as being derived from the greater consciousness, just as a neuron in the brain carries a thought that is larger than the chemical transmitters but smaller than the larger brain in total, a part in finitum, or finite. Ambiguity is a virtue of lesser greater men or is that greater lesser men.
Now, ever since I worked as a FDIC bank examiner and after being attacked or apparently attacked in 2001 I have had to draw many conclusions. I had to test the management that pushed me out with extreme prejudice. I had to speculate on the death of the former regional director labeled suicide in his office that is slowly becoming ancient history, since it occurred apparently during Bush Sr.'s reign in the early 1990's era.
I was almost killed, or was I killed in 2001. I know I was forcibly injected with extreme prejudice by federal government officials when I had fled for my life. I acted to their reaction, my termination with prejudice, and they reacted with extreme prejudice in injecting me and silencing me. Now I view things as different somehow. Mass media television on the public channels is like a funnel of distractions and bias. I see the light of the television, I hear the sound, I have consciousness of the cover up of the atrocities against myself, some of my family members if not all, and many people around me.
Since that time I have had an unusual life. Not much wealth in dollars but a wealth of memories and meeting of wonderful people from every background and religion on the planet it seems. I thirst for more, yet I do not travel the triangles like I used to. That became a habit of travel. Traveling in triangles, when I could afford it. Sometimes it was as if I trans-fixed an occurrence at the end of each triangle or the occurrence was made manifest to my consciousness and I had sympathy with victims there and seemed to recognize the assailants. Or did I truly recognize the assailants and were they really victims. I think so. A murder covered up as a suicide at FDIC San Francisco. An exploding meteorite or something in Oklahoma near Braman and Blackwell that occurred on my predicted death year by a young woman who predicted her death when we were teens in the 1970's. She really knew her triangles. Or maybe she feigned them with her astronomical planet movements, but I remember her lovely hand drawing the triangle for me. Her death shook me and I wanted to join her in that wild party that night but missed the truck and the phone call. Then there was an apparent shooting near Talladega and a suspicious death the next day of the Senators grandson Ben Stanford. It was ironic that I had picked up a homeless hitchhiking and wandering Jewish kid from Long Island outside Denver on the triangle ride prior, and his name was Ben Cofield he said. I predicted Ben Stanford would be found next to a field based on what Ben Cofield told me that night as we drove toward a full moon in Kansas and passed the highway that led south to Wichita and Braman. Ben Stanford was found in the brush behind a department store and I would wager there was a cut field or plane of grass nearby. Then there was the spraying of children with mosquito spray in Mobile before Sunset that I witnessed. The driver seemed insane in my opinion to spray those chemicals while people were outside in the broad daylight preceding immediately before twilight. The government or their controllers loves to call me insane. Now I have traveled one more triangle and bought a home and a wrench is in the monkey. I am locked in or about to be jettisoned out. I hope the latter, as I can not stay there in that home it seems, or maybe I am just agitated. The man who owned it prior died in the bed I got with the house, I just discovered. Once I had my ex-wife there, the first time. A voice she heard and I heard that night before she left, was also in a faint whisper, almost like a song, and the words went something like "If only I could be like you are". Now I may have to sue to get out of the house because my full ownership purchase in the title work has the dead man as a half owner due to a legal complication in inheritance to the surviving brother. Perhaps the lawsuit I am soon to instigate against the title company will buy me a new triangle traveler or a purse of them. I hear in Mobile now a jet flying over. I am only here a short while. My back hurts like I have been shot and tried to heal. The desk moves in fluid like motion as I shake from inside or outside, but do I shake or resonate or perhaps fluctuate like a sine wave?
Consciousness inside the bubble inside the bubble inside inside inside, and what about outside? When is only a matter of time. So now it is time to travel again. Perhaps I will drive a triangle back to my new home, if I can find the way to the home I no longer want. I normally travel in dog legs there. I do not want a home. I want a bubble to travel triangles inside this neuron. Where is the girl I once knew who mapped those triangles with such deathly dignity? Kelly. It brings tears to my eyes to this day. One day before 8-8-2008. I knew her in 1975 I think. Then there is the puzzle of the regional FDIC director in San Francisco who allegedly committed suicide and who I would wager was assassinated in his office, and at his finger tips on the computers is everyones money, rich and poor and government and bank transfer. His time was not right, perhaps that is why I was brought in to the mix. Now the foray. I want payment, maybe not in like kind. An end to the suffering like many, perhaps just payment for services rendered. Travel in the triangle bubble is my domain now it seems.
Mobile Alabama's warfaring kids of adult stature now advertise on the bulletin boards, the KC-45,a huge plane meant to aid in killing, and that is just another rip off of the American public of the humane who do not want to kill or die but to travel, perhaps like I, in unending triangles. Kurt Sees 45 taken away. That is a true sort of joke. I see no use for a KC-45 in like-kind either. I would prefer free education and better more humane treatment of us humans. Do not be deceived. Your brother may be closer than you think.
Segment July 24, 2008: INSIDIOUS_nature_MY_existence
If the truth was told, we would likely all be aghast because we still could not understand, not at this level. However I will proceed with my real nightmare. The nightmare I welcome the end to and of, or at least the cessation of the harshness of IT.
Of all of the things that awakened me to the nature of the nightmare, the horror, the brutality of this filthy existence in this filthy world, at least in my adult life, was the being forcibly injected by federal officials in Los Angeles at a federal facility on what I know or perceive of as the date of April 23, 2001. I was not the only one tortured there, as the government there was to have stopped doing forced injections and forced experiments at the facility in 1999. See the "Continuing Problems" section of this link, as it one of the few remaining proofs of the truth of that place.
I write this to appease myself, as what I am to say will invalidate my writing anything, but what else am I to do, but think to myself, whether alive or dieing or dead. I will weave a hodgepodge, but forgive me, as that is the nature of thought when you have had your wits knocked out by a fugitive blow.
Imagine if you will, a temporal and divided consciousness. A sort of split consciousness that permeates more than one place and time. Now imagine that being actually having consciousness in each section to a greater or lesser extent to which I speak to me, you, or us from now at this one. Now imagine a being with arms and legs in each consciousness. Now imagine that the consciousness could be a fake, a sort of nightmare turned inward from the nightmare and drugged or delirium induced from an outside influence.
I fear that our lives are not what they seem. I see that many of us are right or left handed, so basically dead in one side of our heads. Now imagine if something was done to kill one side of the brain or numb it for all of us, and imagine also that the entire state of consciousness could be something from the outside of each of us, where we could be part and parcel of a larger consciousness. Now, imagine that I am ambidextrous in my latter years. As I am to a certain extent.
It is not that hard to imagine really. If you think about it, our heads are like double yoked eggs, with a left and right hemisphere for our brains. Now imagine myself with a sort of third hemisphere on the brain, but where would it originate? Where would it permeate? Could it cross all three hemispheres, or perhaps peer into the inferior left hemisphere that controls the right arm, my in some ways inferior arm and in some ways superior arm? Could this third hemisphere peer outward onto the world? If so, in what manner and how many times?
I often have sharp stabbing pains down into my arms. I had an injury of the spine in the military and, who knows, it could just be aging or something else, perhaps something I can not explain totally. Perhaps, like that multiple armed being, or a being that is knocked unconscious from those outward influences, my arm has been severed. It is not that hard to imagine being brain damaged or beat to near death to have dreams and visions of something that does not exist in totality, but only in shortness of time and shallow depth of consciousness.
A seed, an idea, planted into the mind, a word from the outside or brief glimpse of a memory trace could bring about a state of understanding for one in the semi-comatose state of consciousness. Perhaps better left alone, like a sleeping injury victim who can never get up, perhaps it is better to leave that person to rest in peace until they find this body gone, this body riddled and torn, in flesh, if not in mind.
My life was ground asunder as I could see it as an adult after having worked at the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation (FDIC) as a bank examiner in 1999 in Sacramento's Roseville office, and in the San Francisco office in 2000. In 2001 the true trials started, and there were and have been many, not only in the courts, but on the highways, as I was attacked with no response by the federal government when I reported it. I had tested the FDIC in San Francisco by reporting most likely money laundering and most likely a murder labeled suicide of a regional director at the San Francisco, California office prior to my arrival. I had made an appearance on St. Valentine's Day in San Francisco in front of FDIC management, and one of them sent a punk to try and take my camera. The film was later destroyed by federal government when I was arrested on 4-23-2001. I worked for the murdered regional directors replacement, or that emulation, known as George Masa and the FDIC board of Directors in Washington, D.C. and whoever controls them or it. The money in the banking regulatory business is a lot of money to oversee. It is in fact, a sea of money with many rivers and tributaries. It is ironic that the FDIC was set up to protect small farmers from a banking regulatory standpoint. That does not encompass the deposit insurance fund insuring all bank deposits to $100,000. That also confuses the issue because the FDIC is not a corporation but is instead a federal government agency.
Now, I am hounded by government or that thing appearing to be government. As you can see some of it in my saintrambone Youtube.com videos, the federal government sends people to my home and they harassed my wife at her place of employment when I attempted to do surveillance work as a freelance reporter in my native city's government building at their city council meeting in Mobile Alabama, starting in 2001 to present time in 2008. The harassment finally led to a divorce between my wife and I. I was speaking with someone else about it recently and that person told me I should not fight a fight I could not win. But you never know if you can win a fight until you have engaged in it, if you do not have complete data on all variables and constants. No one knows this, right? Yet I am to this day labeled as a felon, a dangerous felon, and I am even harassed when I go to the store to buy those things Jesus would have bought, carpentry supplies. The terrorist reigns in power, not at the carpentry supply house.
Perhaps only one with the third consciousness can glimpse it, the ambidextrous being with the third hemisphere, and even then, it could be that the third hemisphere is like God's seeing eye, and that seeing eye may have a second or third consciousness itself, thereby encompassing not only my mind but all of those or some of those around me.
I often refer to the "IT" in my writings as I have no better description. IT is like a government that closes the government door not only to myself, but those children I grew up with in the segregated desegregated Alabama schools. The federal government has called me manic depressive, insane, criminal, and everything else since I worked as a FDIC bank examiner and became an informant. I see the controller of them as a cold blooded killer. The government taught me to hate the Vietnamese when young, or at least some of them. And on this day one of my best friends is Vietnamese. They taught me to loathe them and to love them. I pledged allegiance to a flag at a school in a society in despair. Now, I pledge allegiance to no flag that I know of at this time and I will not fly one in front of my residence. The world is my prison. The borders are the fences inside the prison, and gravity is the border from above and below. I even note now that the flag on my tag was removed and all of the Veteran insignia is gone. Why? Because I was attacked in 2006 or 2007 when I finally made it into Canada. I was going to live there. I was tired of being harassed and hounded in the USA. But I was attacked in Canada, or my vehicle was, as I caught people under once, someone even snatched a grounding wire once when I was leaving an area, and on another time I was shot at with a small caliber BB or pellet rifle after a blowout between Vancouver and Calgary. The tire may have been shot out. It might have blown. It might have had a blasting cap in it. It was a poor tire anyway with a defect, so if one had to go, I would have chosen that one. I was fleeing the harassment in Vancouver Canada. I had a lot of trouble getting into Canada. The USA federal government and California government had me labeled a felon in a case for gun ownership that was dismissed in 2004. It was dismissed in all states except California. California Superior Court would not give me a trial by jury on appeal. They did not care that I was almost killed, and now the feeling is mutual. I have gone numb inside for them, for IT, those wealthy despots in the high seats of the courts. Sheriff Jack Tillman had taken my gun permit in Mobile Alabama on April 3, 2001 when I was going to report his food funds thievery. I knew it was him because I ran an auditing test. I knew inmates were emaciated because my mother had informed me and told me to do something about it. After the tumult with Tillman and the local and federal government in Mobile Alabama I fled there to go to California, back to Los Angeles, where I had made the mistake of serving the USA military in the 1980's in Long Beach.
So I look further back in time at the time of my youth. Was I mistreated? I have unusual scars or anomalies and I am not sure if I was mistreated and to what extent. I remember some rather cruel and backwards adults whom I was in the care of, but are not many adults abusive and backwards and not realize it. Even our "perceived" parents have their flaws usually, but nothing is perfect, right?
So I awaken this morning at 4:40 a.m. CST to type this. The burning in my arm, the sensation from a dream that it may have been cut off. Yet I type, realizing that today, I have my arm, at least in this waking consciousness. I would rather have had someone cut off my head than to inject me in Los Angeles in 2001, and again in Flagstaff Arizona in 2004. In 2001 I was simply asleep in my vehicle outside a Veterans Administration fence in the woods with a U-Haul. I was in fear of what had happened around St. Valentines Day 2001 when I had been attacked. I was in fear of Sheriff Jack Tillman and the federal horde in Mobile Alabama after I had been attacked and he took my gun permit and that was after the federal government did not respond to the attack on my life in February of 2001. I had no gun when Sheriff Tillman took my gun permit. I lured him out. That is what I often did. In 2004 I was injected after making the trip while on probation and exile for the gun to visit my dieing mother. I reported a burn on my neck, and hazardous materials crews on Highway 40 in New Mexico. I reported it at Flagstaff Medical Center. They detained me for five hours, under guard, and then forcibly injected me, knocking me unconscious, calling me insane, and then lost my vehicle's keys, and charged my insurance over $2,000, of which my wife paid a large portion from her meager earnings. The Arizona government started allowed forced injections and detainment of potential insane asylum candidates in 2001, under a paragraph in their Chapter 36 law. A Puerto Rican friend of mine said America is losing something. That friend has learned what many Italians learned in the early 1900's who first came here: "The American dream is for the greatest part, Propaganda."
Now the government apparently has me listed as a dangerous felon. I should have left the USA after the divorce this year in 2008. I wanted to see if I could save the marriage. I wanted to stay close to my family members, my siblings and my long term friends. Now I am estranged from them all, excepting a few who ask for my return, and their lives are in equal or greater despair than my own. So I bought a house, owned by the bank, that I no longer want and I count the days till the next great Hurricane hits to see if mine will be ripped down, ripped partially, or if it will survive so I can sell it to the next refugee so I can leave. I hope it is either the extreme former or the extreme latter, if any hurricane of significance hits in my vicinity.
So, I wiggle my numb limbs. I type these things in my mind. I awaken to the chattering voices that came with a dream, and I hope that if my arm was in fact removed that life support is stopped or that I am asphyxiated totally. After all, aren't many of us asphyxiated during our youths, teenage years, and adulthoods? In a government that is as corrupt as ours, and in a society that not only condones murder of adults, but also the murder of their own young, "it is", and I quote a medical marijuana dealer in the San Francisco bay area here, "It is only a matter of time".
It is no wonder so many are on drugs and alcohol in a sea of hopelessness. Elementary and Higher Education should be free to all, all education. It could be streamlined and automated and improved to a large extent. We or I are robbed on so many levels. It appears that the closer you are to the money, the more vicious the people become.
I remember a Russian Jewish woman who I knew in San Francisco. She was not wealthy, but her family was not poor as they held a few real estate holdings in Northern California. They struggled like everyone else and she even had me assist in taking care of some of her tasks. The pay was non-existent as I did it as a favor, hoping for maybe a cheaper rental, which I got, in a very affordable arrangement in a delapidated tenement building in the Richmond District of San Francisco, in which I was the only American and the rest were Russians.
The Jewish Russian woman paid me with something at one time, and then she was not honest once, perhaps not intentionally though, but I quit assisting and faded away. When she did not pay me on one occassion, she had promised me a taco for my chores, but did not do so, as she and her father were having an argument in Russian over something. However, on another occassion, she paid me with a riddle of the "Three Stones". As we were traveling together, she asked me if I had heard of them. I pondered this question in depth in my other writings. I finally came out with one possible answer, maybe two or three. One of them was the The Ten Commandments and the Human Skull. The ten commandments are written on two stones, and your head is the third. Then, this morning, I turned with my right arm, the burning pain in my arm, to a biblical verse in a bible given to me by my mother on her death bed. I play this game often, turning to a page, often with my left or right hand. My mother said I used my left arm out of fear when I touched her with it while she was in her death bed. I think of it as my stronger arm. Perhaps it is my weaker arm and she knew it. Perhaps it is the unclean arm, the arm attached to a dieing body. So this morning I turned to the book's page I am to mention with my right arm. I often do this in this manner since my mother alerted me to my fear in my left arm. Perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps she was cut up also in many ways, and I think she was. I loved her anyway as most honorable men love their parents.
What I turned to this morning with my right arm and my right hand, was near the beginning of the book. What one man called, "The word", recently when I met him. I think he recognized me. He looked like he may have been a Vietnam veteran or of that era in age. He and I shared common characteristics. We both wear odd sandals sometimes and we return things to those bizarre home supply stores, like Lowes and Home Depot. What I read in the Bible this morning was from Exodus, and it relates to stones, Four Rows of Precious stones. After all, is not three stones reflected by a fourth if your head is considered or if another stone is added. And in like course, does not one triangle become two if you add a fourth stone to three stones already placed in view?
It was Exodus 39:8, and it read, "The Breastpiece". "8. They fashioned the breast piece--the work of a skilled craftsman". The word or the book or the Bible as some call it, went on to discuss the four rows of stone and how the breast piece was constructed. All is ephemeral in the light of this day. Perhaps I am wrong and it is permanent. The fourth stone or the 8th are likely the only ones permanent, and it could be the 32nd or the 64th, etc. I am not a mathematician. That part of my brain is the weaker side. I should have honed it when young. Perhaps I was too poisoned. At least my minds eye may have had help in the third Hemisphere. As with many close calls to death in my life, I did not drink the poison of Randy Kraft in Long Beach California's Belmont Shores in 1983. I should have stayed away from the wealthy man's neighborhood of Westwood in 2001. I was not as welcome on federal property without that brainwashed victim's military uniform that I was wearing in Long Beach at their naval station in the early 1980's. Nothing lasts forever in the ephemeral sector, not even stones, not in my opinion, not according to the edicts of the laws of nature, and I speak of the Second Law of Thermodynamics, Entropy.
How naive we appear in our military uniforms. So ignorant. In Hosea 10:13, it is spelled out. If you rely on your militaries you will likely be killed. Only if it was so easy. There is nothing worse than living death and exile and chastisement and character defamation that I am aware. But as my grandmother, my mothers mother, told me in her garden down on that hot place known as Rattlesnake Bayou and Tillman's Corner in South Alabama, "Nothing is ever as bad as it seems". Perhaps she too saw the dream within the dream and the dream outside the dream and the dream..... I call it C.E.B.AG. meaning Consciousness Ethereal Buddha Allah God..... It is much bigger than the IT I see in this consciousness. Perhaps things are still cooking to a final state, perhaps.....
In the movement of those darker components of mass and reductive capabilities on surrounding conscience, and how such medium could be used in the manipulation of greater constructs, the possibility of devouring or consumption, as on the macro and micro scales, the movement of said places, persons, things, and larger extremities through apparent space, could or does allow for much in the construct around us in our daily lives by some things extraneous to ourselves.
Borrowing from the micro-scale of known existence, such as the hydro-thermic and heat emitting algae or bacteria at the mouths of under-sea volcanic vents, to the largest possible movement, perhaps that largest body which manipulates the matter and fields and conscience states around us, leaves one dwarfed in the greater and smaller size of existence, with a large population of the smaller creatures being smaller, and a large population of the larger creatures being larger. In that is the confusion and the exothermic state of consciousness.
Segment 7-9-2008: IT_factor_FALSE_apb_EXILE_ezekiel_ME_and
Today was a very unusual day for me. I came to accept my fate, and somewhat indifferent to these temporal bounds of flesh and time under the name of Kurt Brown, and under the alias of Saint Ram Bone, an alias I have given to myself after surviving an assassination attempt by federal war criminal associates of most likely the federal banking regulatory agencies or the corrupt factions of the federal governments other agencies and unions in the USA and elsewhere. Somehow I feel my time is limited, so I will not waste your time and I will get straight to the point, of what I call, "IT".
The IT factor. What is IT? Could it be a facsimile of groups of humans perpetrated by lesser men or beings with somewhat sophisticated technologies? Could it be something else? Perhaps a training or molding apparatus by the highest intelligence, what some call God or Allah or Buddha or Vishna, etc.?
I have been trapped recently and injected and tortured by federal government officials and their associates in hospitals who are often paid to inject the innocent and basically paid to torture them, perhaps to shut them up, perhaps to detain and discredit them. That sort of crime was well known in the West as the common ploy of madmen in power in the old USSR and the old Germany. Now, it appears the same tactic is used here in the USA. I do not use VA healthcare even though it is free. It is a personal choice. I no longer trust the federal government at close range, and there is nothing I can do about long range, i.e. their incremental plans for us or their satellites in space.
Their judges ripped my life and my good name to pieces in Los Angeles, California and in Mobile, Alabama. Their injections were felt in Flagstaff and California and I spit blood after a court session in Alabama in which I was warned not to go in front of the judge, Michael McMaken, by my attorney, John Brutkiewicz.
Now, today, in Pensacola, Florida, I got a taste of the future may be like for many of us, and how many innocent men of the past may have been killed or led to their deaths to get them out of the way, or simply to cash in their life perhaps. The IT factor is as mysterious as creation itself if you are in IT's bounds.
I went to one of those stores where everything costs one American dollar. As I made it through the store, I noticed a big heavy white guy following me around, from aisle to aisle. Because I have been hounded in other stores by security, since arriving in Pensacola, Florida, I had to wonder if someone has labeled me a potential terrorist threat. I take it as a bit of a serious joke by the IT or lesser war criminals in government who kill and maim the innocent of the world and who want to harass me out of town or have me locked up and shut up.
So, I turned around and laughed at the man, picked up my $1 box of banana moon pies, aka marshmallow pies,, my blind grandfathers favorite snack, who by the way could not tell the difference when my mother gave him chocolate. He did not like chocolate ones unless my mother told him they were banana.
So as I made it to another aisle to pick up a big package of cookies and dishwashing liquid, I noticed the guy was there again. So I deliberately disappeared to another aisle and did not see the man further. When I was leaving the store, a manager came out of his office and said something about the police having an APB out on me. Now, that was weird. I paid for my moon pies and other items and there was no reason to harass me.
So, I went outside and I noticed a police helicopter flying around over head. Not thinking much of it, I went to another discount store and did not find much, except sardines and crackers and I wanted to buy a night lamp but I could not afford it. So I left the store, and when I got outside a Sheriff's car pulls up behind me and drives past toward the back of the shopping center. The police helicopter was circling around the area nearby and I could see it. The Sheriff motioned for me to put on my seatbelt, which I was in the process of doing.
So I drove off thinking about IT and who and what they might be chasing. Perhaps it was some version of me. What had I gotten into now? Had I tried to stop a war? To catch an IT? Had God sent in a decoy to drive the dingbats crazy in local law enforcement IT? Could they have painted an image of me in some crime and the duplicate decided to split? Perhaps it was a brother or a local con man selling the alternate me reefer and some how things went bad? After all, this Pensacola, and much like Mobile Alabama, they have rules to keep their drug syndicates fat and happy. I encourage kids NOT to use reefer. You are being used and it makes you stupid, not just stupefied. Study engineering or science and the arts and get an exercise habit.
So I left the area and a black woman pulled up next to me. We were driving into the sun and she rubbed her eye. She reminded of the salute I invented, with the little finger and the one next to it curled to the palm and the eyebrow touched with the other hand. It symbolizes government leprosy of humane humans when IT or IT's imitator has control. That is the thing about the murder of IT, as sometimes IT may be the only hope you have of survival, where as at other times, the IT may be your worst enemy borne of your worst nightmares.
I remember recently in another store a man told me that someone knew of me and almost gouged his eye out. Another young man told they were them, in a sort of "beware" expression on his face. Traps or lies or messengers, it is all so confusing. That is why it pays to look to older higher wisdoms in times when guidance is needed. I am not perfect. I strayed into stupidity in my life and delusion, but I have stayed the course in times of extreme hardship, looking to my inner conscience which was honed when young upon that greater guidance's dictates and examples.
So, tonight, after suffering for a couple of days, I looked to the Biblical reference in a bible left to me by my mother. I found Ezekiel with my right hand, turning from the back to the center, or from the right lower to the left of center. The first example by the author said about Ezekiel, "Ezekiel, living among the exiles in Babylon, wants the people to know that God is everywhere." It reminded me of a Jewish woman I knew once, a woman who may have had family killed in the holocaust. She was and is an admirable woman, of diligence in work and in family matters. You would think she would lose faith considering what happened to many of her elders or their kin. She said, "We are all in God's Hands". On that note, I would like to add that not all Germans wanted to kill innocent men and women and children, and not all men have always wanted a slave to do his dirty chores. It brings up the image of IT sometimes as an ancient being, some being of IT benevolent, some being of IT indifferent and harsh and crudely devoid of humane conduct. The regime tries to call me insane, some of them anyway. They should review Hosea 10:13, as their wars are wearing thin.
Quentin Tarantino or Oliver Stone, please give me a call, I need a job. Also, in closing, I would like to offer a prayer, and maybe a job to a young man I witnessed today in a wheelchair. He recognized me in the store. He seemed inebriated slightly and angered quite a bit. He said something to me, but I could not tell what it was. Then I heard him say, "That son-of-a-bitch George Bush put me in this wheel chair". Because I was near a military installation, he was likely a veteran. I have met many veterans in wheelchairs. It saddens me and his statement harkens back to Hosea 10:13. Scratch in your brains Bush, or the controllers of that image of Bush. There will be a time of Reckoning, and that ain't no Jack, or I should say, we should all know Jack, for what he did to me, to others, and see the look on his face when his pay is double of that man in the wheelchair. Sit next to me my friend, better yet, I pray for you to stand. Stand in your heart and mind and move forward. I need a good attorney to clear my name, or perhaps a smooth talking alchemist of the forthright trades, or perhaps, a four headed grouping or groupie. I miss the black snake who visited my domain. All of us are God's creatures. Someone likely killed it out of instinct. Strange connection to the dual image of IT.
The Jack I am talking about is former Mobile Alabama Sheriff Jack "Snatch" Tillman "The Fairy Possum", as he took my gun permit on 4-3-2001 at high noon when I was going to report his food funds thievery at a city council meeting. The federal government used that act of closed government and abuse when I had no gun to further inject and torture me on 4-23-2001 and it lasted for years, even to this day. Here is a video link on Youtube in which I discuss what has happened during this year and possible plans for future investigative journalism on behalf of the outcast humane humans. I do not know the name of the song, and I could not find it, but the woman sings lyrics something like, "It's a strange dark night.....something new". So now I show you little Google Limb Sanity as I search for Sheriff Jack Snatch The Fairy Possum Tillman, who is nowhere to be found, but I found Hillary and a habitual cross dresser in the UK. Perhaps IT is out on a limb with Snatch as in this musical clip, Snatch The Fairy Possum by moi celebrating Sueet Scare-Em Day with a mass of F-DIC shee-it.
Segment June 25, 2008: TORTURE_holocaust_EXPERIMENT_wheel_FAMILY_holocaust_CONCENTRATION_camp_USA_germany_UNKNOWN_place_REALITY
This was a dream? This was a reality? This was a stigma?
I remember someone who I recognized from Childhood who spoke to me from the altered state or frame of mind. His face saddened and he said, "You do not remember, you were too young, we were the children of the German holocaust camp"
The truth was, we could not and can not discern the absolute truth.
I remember talk from the children of the German experiment wheel. But how could this be as I was growing up with some German children, children as friends. We had our misgivings and mistakes but we were and are just children.
They said we never left the concentration camp. I felt them cutting on me some time but I did not know what it was. They must have done something to my mind as well. Perhaps I was in the experimental Hell, the worst part of the experiment wheel, that part where the mind dies and is brought back to life. But why was I chosen? Why were we chosen? I knew they had performed experiments and procedures on me, I could tell.
The faces were distorted and the sky turned during the explanation. I felt like a baby bird at times, a hawk, and I was either dieing or too young to be born. My movements were feeble and shaking like a sick animal or one just born.
How could God have forsaken us. We were made to do what they ordered and did not even know it. Our lives tormented Hells from start to finish, sometimes the bliss and delusion of being left alone was sheer laughter, a sort of pain and anguish of someone with an affective disorder. But how could it be the Germans, I was married to one, but she did not look German, none of her family did.
The horrors done to me were also done to my children. Their deformities and abnormalities part of the inner surface of the reality of the experiment wheel. We were the wheel and we could not move. Then came the awakening, the end of sorts. The wife who told me she had sent a woman to my home when I was pushed out of another home. The irony of it, a child already there, maybe more, just like mine, same in number and count and I dare not mention inside the experiment wheel.
We were made to do things from a Hellish nightmare, or maybe we did not do them at all. When the sedation began to wear off, it was obvious we were led around by the probes of needles. How could God have forsaken us. He said he would come to save us.
When I thought I traveled far away to see a relative, I was just on the other side of the experiment wheel. The relative, strange to me, was not there, but we conversed as in daily conversation, our minds turned to the silent acknowledgement that all was not right, yet we did not know we were in the experiment wheel, and I do not know if that relative was even there.
My father tortured and maimed I saw as drunk. He was feeble and ripped to pieces long ago. I suppose he was my father, and my mother, in the tank of the dream, was accused of trying to set things up in Israel and I was blamed for the unmasking of her plan. She told me of the Mexican coming to pave her driveway, to seal it, visiting twice, after she told him no the first time. The driveway unpaved, unsealed, in her death less than a year later. I watched her die this horrible death, and she did not know that we were all in the experiment wheel. Or was I looking at my mother. They had cut me horribly. I could feel the pain in my arm often and barely in my groin. I did not know what they had done to me in reality, I did not want to know. I wanted to die, one last time, to go home, to never return.
I was more like a bat than a hawk in my mind in the feeble moment of consciousness but I did not want to be the bat. I wanted to be free of the shake. Bats always shake.
The man I met who I thought was Jesus put his hand on my back and the pain was eased. What had they done to my back. Was I delusional. Was I seeing one of the holocaust camp doctors, and what of the burning. The Jewish girl said I had been burned. She said they were savages. It was as if I was not there but I was listening and watching like a bat that no one could see on the ceiling.
My children, I worried about my children. Time had lost all balance and swirled close in a continuum, like being in a tunnel or a vaginal canal with walls of flesh. I thought of my true mother. The wife of God. That is what I thought of briefly. I thought of serial killers and evil places and people who had no feeling as I reeled away from them. But where they just others in the experiment wheel, maybe doctors or inmates and I could not tell.
My face began to swell. My frown became permanent and aged. Their government I tried to enter. They said I was a danger. They said I tried to defend myself and that was against the rules. My arms often flailed and I could feel myself fighting back but I was admonished for doing so. I wanted the drugs they were giving me to be administered again. I wanted to disappear but they held on to me, lifting me up to feel consciousness so they could determine the effect in the portion of my portion of the experiment wheel.
I asked God why he had forsaken us. I lost faith in there being a benevolent God. I turned to scripture, likely remembered and brought out in the experiment wheel. The Nazis or whoever or whatever they were ridiculing my typing as if an idiot or retard in a drugged state. I read the scripture, just like I read the rows of pre-digested numbers in the bank examinations we feigned. I did not have to write the report, as I babbled to the end of it. It was Luke 7-49, "The other guests began to say among themselves, "Who is this who even forgives sins".
I remember the singer PJ Harvey. She reminded me of the little girl they called Anne Frank. Was she in the book they played to us or was she real. She was not in the experiment wheel. But she had had a stroke, I could tell. Perhaps she was a nurse in the psych ward. The government had put me through hell, in the experiment well of the experiment wheel. I was injected at the Los Angeles Veterans Administration, led around in chains, and I likely never left the experiment wheel. I was being punished for daring to stay alive, daring to be militant in the military, daring to even exist. God, please make me wake up dead at your side. Do not let me slide back into the experiment wheel.
I remember the music from the Youtube, the plug and play, as I recessed into my mind in the experiment. I want a gun just like PJ Harvey. The calls are not returned and I panic. I see Sadam Hussein if he exists. Uncle Ernie most likely. The Germans always lie. They are likely not even Germans or humans for that matter. Kill me God please, kill all of us I pray, if we are suffering in the experiment wheel or to suffer further. Post haste. Kill all of us. That is the plea from the inner portion of the experiment wheel. I need to travel but I sit on the hot side and hope to roast.
Segment June 24, 2008: DECIMATION_holy_MANKIND_resurrection_DEATH_marriage_TREACHERY_against
We are moving back to the dark ages. We are the oldest of men having originated from the Pangea and having both stayed and migrated and then having been isolated from the other oldest of men due to the stone age and the ice age. Many of our tribes and groups did not make it, as it has been proven that many groups of men were killed during the natural hardships, and then subsequent inbreeding has left us weaker than we would have been if the decimations of the genetic variations did not occur.
We should not believe anything we have been told on mass media regarding the Oklahoma City bombing or the events of 9-11 when the New York Twin Towers and the Pentagon were attacked.
I remember a conversation I was having with a federal agent in the mid-1990's.
The federal official also said that George Bush Sr. was a disabled veteran and said that Bush was shot in the left arm, and then he pointed to his right arm and he was looking at his phone when he was talking to me, as if someone or something was listening.
He said that he really liked Ross Perot. It seemed odd that he did not like George Bush Sr. but he knew something I did not know. A blitzkrieg was underway in the United States that started in the early 1990's and likely followed earlier attacks. The early 1990's was a time I did not know of the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation's and the EEOC's tricky methods in removing key employees. A regional FDIC director had been murdered in his office and labeled suicide in the early 1990's in San Francisco. We were not allowed to talk about it at the FDIC in 1999 and 2000 and a likely gay man was the one who gave me the information I had, so do not kick gays around, as they often have more courage than straight heterosexuals.
Later I was talking with another high ranking federal official in the late 1990's and he said the USA was soon to have its back broke.
I have witnessed these very large headed people since that time who have given me a difficult time and an indication that things are not right. One was a nurse at a VA hospital, and she looked like a man in drag. Another was a judge in Los Angeles who forced me to become a felon for legal gun ownership, and I believe I was sold out by my attorney who did not take into account the fact I had survived an attempt on my life and that a corrupt Sheriff had pulled my gun permit. That Sheriff was forced to retire 5 years later, Sheriff Jack Tillman of Mobile Alabama. But nothing has really changed in Mobile.
I was also told by a cellular phone company employee that a federal agent had forced my phone bill to be mailed to my home. I normally got them online. Unfortunately at a time of weakness and obvious stupidity I had had an affair with a woman and the phone number fell into my wife's hands. The federal government later had me put in exile from my wife's home to try and force the separation further. That was after the set up for gun ownership, the removal of my license, and a set up for my purchasing a legal medication under the government's watchful eyes. I believe there are those in government who have tried to force me from my native city of Mobile, Alabama. They even attacked my wife at her work by harassing her when I tried to get involved in government and the Secret Service had actually caused the management to possibly start a review of my wife's employment. In addition, I found a situation of a young female family member that looked like possible recurrent breaking and entering may have occurred in her home when she was away and asleep. I corrected that issue.
It truly concerns me all of the events that have occurred to me and this nation. Perhaps the nation is being punished for allowing savage behavior by its leaders. Perhaps I am being punished for not upholding my duties and responsibilities as a husband and leader in my family.
I think back on a Jewish woman who was a dear friend who said we are all in God's hands. I know she said that Jesus lied, she did not say about what, but I assume the claim that he was the son of God, or the messiah. She may be both right and wrong as life is multi-faceted when spread over time, and like a burning ember that twinkles bright and then subsides, so might the nature of the messiah.
I am a mix of every race of man that survived the tumult of history, from every continent, in recent history. I feel safe in none of them. Perhaps we are at the end of our time, or perhaps at the beginning, or perhaps I am already dead from the life I knew as a bank examiner, or perhaps I am in between in some fashion, the true life and the true death, or perhaps we all are or aren't.
Today, I turned in usual fashion to scripture left to me by my mother in the form of a bible. I remembered the man I saw walking in Mobile Alabama on the morning of 6-21-2008 when I had arrived at an automobile repair station, Griffith Shell, at 5 in the morning, the moon bright and full, and later at about 8:00 a.m. a man walking on the street back and forth who appeared lost, and he looked like Sadam Hussein and a young attendant there looked me kind of strange and said, "That man looks like Sadam Hussein", and he gave me an odd look. My vehicle has been sabotaged. Someone had poured something into the #2 cylinder through the spark plug hole. I believe it was done months earlier when I was up near Seattle or enroute to or from Seattle. I have caught people under my vehicle in Vancouver and I was given a warm welcome when someone tore my ground wire from the chassis as I was pulling away another time. I digress. Back to my point. The Scripture I turned to was with my nail, my claw, trying to be finite, and I found Luke 20, verse 39 and it says regarding a lecture by Jesus regarding marriage, "Well said teacher", and no one dared to ask him any more questions. What was being discussed was marriage and resurrection, as there is no marriage in the afterlife, not as we know marriage I presume. "He is not the God of the dead but of the living, for to him all are alive".
Some will say, "Look, he has a claw". My response is, "Count your nails".
Perhaps on Earth it will be as in Heaven, and I will have no wife in my final day, the eternal day. I have many wives and I should have been selective and led my life complete, but out of my own stupidity I suppose and a lack of guidance or example, I missed the point. I urge young men to be careful and selective in their mates and to stay at their children's side until they are adults and maybe beyond.
Segment June 15, 2008: DEAD_resurrection_BLANK_black_INVERSE_life_BORDER_straggler
As of late, I find myself reading biblical scripture more and more. I am a Free Thinker, as I do not discredit any religion and I do not follow steadfastly in any religion if it denounces free thought and if it advocates being inhumane to the humane. I am shackled here in body only, and not in imagination and nor arm I shackled in spirit that I am aware. Which brings up a point today, the dark side of life we call death.
Death, what an ominous subject, and in some ways enlightening, as the perfection of perfection allow for change in it's continuum, just as a sine waves undulates between the negative and positive X axis.
For some reason today, I miss Los Angeles, San Pedro at Pt. Fermin and that strand of land in particular. I lived there and loved there in the early 1980's. I knew several sailors who were killed in a car wreck at the abutment to the Saint Vincent Thomas bridge. I have even been told that someone had proposed to re-name it the Saint Ram Bone bridge at one time, but I would prefer it remain as it is, and for a marker to be put on the North Side of the bridge where my fellow sailors died there in a terrible accident so long ago. I remember the man labeled the ship's idiot onboard crying over it. Who is the idiot?
Death what a strange subject. I used guided right hand and turned to the Biblical 1 Corinthinians 15 verse 12, "But if it is preached that Christ has been raised from the dead, how can some say of you there is no resurrection of the dead.?"
Now that is strange as I knew a Jewish woman once, and I loved her and respected her then as now, whether she is alive or dead, as she told me, "Jesus lied", and she also said, "We are all in God's hands". That is a side point, but you must understand the extreme stress of death and the entire point of resurrection. I respect her, whether or not I agree with her opinion. Fear is the motivator for much discussion and much movement around the world, but death is always the final word. Or is it? And that begs the bigger question, Am I? Are you?
I feel like I am alive. But I may have been killed. I have had some serious life threatening and life damaging situations, especially after my World War 1 in 2001 when I was almost killed, or was I killed, after informing on money laundering and murder and financial crimes related to my past employment at the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation (FDIC) in San Francisco and Sacramento. The FDIC is a federal agency and not a corporation. I was warned not to work there by a fellow veteran. I should have listened. I may have been killed, as I was certainly damaged and still am sick from forced injections and extreme prolonged stress, with nowhere to turn except my eyes to the sky, and to ask that the dead regional director step forward for me on my behalf so I could regain what I had lost in my First World War, right here in the USA starting in 2001, early 2001. After all, the FDIC mob boss or the National Treasury Employee Union (NTEU) types tried to take my camera when I was filming on St. Valentines Day in San Francisco, my prior boss there talking outside with one of his colleagues. I was also filming those coming and going from the FDIC office in San Francisco and was sitting on Market Street. Remarkably, snow had greeted my arrival that day as I proceeded from the South, even having to take Highway 101 due to Interstate being closed between Los Angeles and San Francisco.
Yes, I was there to avenge a dead man, and I was there to appease myself. It set in motion the beginning of my World War One.
When I left San Francisco a few days later, I stopped in Los Angeles or outside of it near Chino. I did not know it but a government facility was nearby when I slept in my truck while traveling back to Louisiana and eventually nearby in Mobile. I awakened in a convenience store parking lot with a government car nearby, its plates the government license plates. I drove East into the desert that night and was concerned about being followed from San Francisco as I had tested the regional director to see if he was capable of murder, or if his colleagues were, as one half of my goal was to avenge the FDIC director labeled suicide and the pushing of myself from bank examiner employment by his replacement. I also wanted to protect our monetary currencies. I am forbidden to this day, however, there is much more to this, and it may be my death, my own resurrection, I do not know, but things got very strange and have remained that way. I was injected forcibly and that was the worst later on. Death is parable and passable even though murder is forbidden, but widely practiced, and even encouraged and accepted by some as a play thing, a sort of past time.
God, or Allah, or Buddha, or the Ethereal conscience or whatever you refer to that top layer of conscience, knows the deal from the start. It is all easily calcuable I am sure, but tests have to be run, just as one tests a freighter to see if it contains oil its entire depth width and breadth. So here I am, my finger in the pie in the sky, whistling like a bird, playing my guitar, and snacking possible murderous cockroaches by their spies and eyes and their little whiskers till I die and die and die and die and die and die and die. Is death possible? I will tell you why I ask this now.
I was wondering if I was being followed. I had spoken to someone or they had spoken to me albeit briefly, perhaps it was the dead or the living, as I was tired and rather elated in the engagement of the enemy starting in San Francisco that St. Valentines Day 2001. They told me to turn back to California, but I had possible pursuers on my tail and I like to be moving when I am engaged in a conflict as I had already run the test, i.e. I had told the FDIC and NTEU crew I knew of their murder and money laundering and I had tried to film and someone had tried to take my camera who was in their crew, and I even made a sexual innuendo to the FDIC director at that time in 2001, not to ask for sex, but to let he and the crew there know that I was the new Horny bastard in the neighborhood on St. Valentines Day and I wanted my due or dew, depending on the the slap stick you choose.
That night I left the traffic and when clear I looked for a turnoff into the sage brush. I turned off, dimming the lights black, and waited. Within minutes a car was on the highway stopped and shining a light into the bushes. I started my truck and took off and drove past him and he soon got back into his vehicle and was following me again at a distance. The next night I stopped on a roadside in Texas or New Mexico. The next night I was attacked. I got mmis-directed in Houston and drove around the loop once and finally found my exit back towards Louisiana. It was at night and I pulled into a station in or near Vinton Louisiana. I noticed that a man came up an filled a small gas can and laughed sort of. I thought it was strange because I had had a dream not long before when another Jewish woman who I almost married, told her father in the dream, "It was so brutal and cruel, they burned him. They are savages".
So as I was driving it was getting late, and a car pulled up next to mine, and myself being nervous thought maybe I saw the office slut, the assistant regional director, for the current FDIC director in a car that was near mine. Theirs was the only car and it was full of people. I thought I was just tired and a remote resemblance, as I had nothing against the woman as she was just a slut for a likely mob boss who did what she was told to do, whether it be fellatio for the mob boss at the FDIC or the termination of FDIC employees so they could stack their crews with those who would not cause problems. In hindsight, I was likely just tired and looking for those that would cause me problems after I ran the tests, and I do not see her in a hit squad under most any circumstance.
When I left Vinton a series of road cones narrowed the road to one lane, and as I approached the cones a car pulled out from the left shoulder, and then a piece of wood, as big and as long as a railroad cross tie was dropped from the car or it was in the road. Either way, it got under my wheel well lengthwise and the truck was almost flipped, as it stood up on the cross tie with both front tires feeling as if lifted from the ground. I then noticed when I did not flip and came down that there were men on a bridge over the highway. I thought I was being set up to be burned in the vehicle or shot.
So I proceeded past the car in front of me but on the left shoulder and aligned my car with his in case they were going to shoot. I then cleared the car and the bridge and proceeded to next exit a few miles down the road. When I got off of the road, I pulled into a far corner of the parking lot. Having thought it could have just been road debri and that no shots were fired, that it was likely nothing, an 75% probability it was nothing.
Then as I was looking at my tire on the right front, an old truck pulled up in front of mine, and the passenger door swung open, but no one was in the truck's passenger side. I stood in front of my headlights for a brief second and then went to the driver's door, got in my truck, backed up and left. I was horrified. I did not call the police immediately but called the police once I made it back to Mobile hours later. They asked if I wanted someone to come to my home, and I said "No", as I was tired and nothing could be done anyway. The next few weeks I contacted many federal agencies by email and none responded. I became more concerned and reported the attack at a Mobile Alabama city council meeting in front of Comcast television. Since that time, the enemy regime in power has not allowed me into my native city's governments. Some day I hope the humane rule and remove the enemy regime in power that has no concern for our well being, no concern for the well being of the humane, non-murderers.
Now, was I killed that night? There is more to this true recounting of events since that time.
I was told that the Jewish people have a myth or theory on the "Ghost Rider" phenomenon. I do not know if this is true and it may have just been propaganda by an idiot or a friend of the war criminal sector that is in power, or it may have been legitimate. I will look it up online some time to see. Could I have been killed by that ghost rider? Could I have seen the lights of death and mistaken them for my own headlights from my truck? If so, I have been in purgatory, and it abuts Hell, as I have been shackled, injected forcibly, jailed forcibly, forced medical procedures, put in exile on probation, forced to sign documents, given a one million dollar bail for legal gun ownership, partially blinded with poisons, tormented at my home by federal agents, and my wife was tormented at her work by federal agents when I tried to enter the city council meetings again, as I am not only a degreed accountant but a degreed news reporter, and the horrors I have endured have caused my wife to divorce me and for me to lose my home, and there are other things I have forgotten to mention, I am sure, as I was also knocked unconscious from those injections once that I know of, and labeled insane and criminal, and when my mother was dieing three years later, I was in forced exile, but managed to read biblical scripture to her at her request before her death. It was painful for me to leave her side. I love the creator as I hope the creator has used me as a test. But I see my family, some of them ripped to shreds, because I was not there to protect and guide them. Some of my family, the elders, told me the way and where I stood. I will get to that next.
Now, am I dead, and is death real, or is it a phenomena like a closing door from the creators home in one room to the other. I have unusual traits. I have perhaps traits not so unusual at all, in relation to my family and kin, as the same phenomena I observe were observed by a wonderful human being, a relative of mine.
When people die that we know, do they pass in front of us if we are already dead, or the undead, or the half-dead? The reason I ask this is because I have seen a dot and other things of that black nature from my right eye predominantly and in front of my plain vision and someone else on another occassion. I will soon discuss this. I was partially blinded by poisons so that could be it, but a relative I was with saw the same dot or spot once and pointed to it as we talked. So, it confirmed that I could speak of this thing. Now I have medical training also, to the Bachelor's degree level, just short of a medical technology degree. There is a blind spot in our eyes, and that is what it is, "A blind spot". It is not a dot or a floating silver dollar sized moment of darkness, as you are blind in your eyes to it, not seeing the blind spot at all.
This relative who pointed this thing out once said, "Loose lips sink ships." His elder told me he was the stupid one and smiled. She said, "Do not tell me any secrets and I will not tell you any lies." I will not lie to my reading audience, as I want you to know the truth of me and my bizarre experience, or perhaps I am babbling in my casket.
I am often harassed by federal officials and the police, particularly in Mobile. I am leaving this place, never to tamper with that thing, that group, that is blocking my entry to government. They are the seat I was sent to test, I am sure, and there is a blind spot with a naked lie there, "A government for and by the people", is their or IT's slogan and it is a damned lie.
It was said in the Bible, Behold, "I send you out sheep and you come back lions". So here I am, my head shaved like a lion, and I am treated like a snake, a venomous cobra, a tin goiter, a malleable neck, by that filth in power that has made me sick with stress and torture, and like the lion beaten in Las Vegas, I wait for the abusive showman to stick his head down my throat once more. I welcome my final death, I welcome his or IT's death, as I want rest from hardship and struggle or to be part of the reign of the humane for the humane. I have eaten my final supper in my former Wife's home, perhaps, as I think she too in a way was poisoned just as I was, and the scars are deep.
I would have loved to have seen the lion bite down on that abusive trainer's head. A lion belongs in the wild. I loathe Las Vegas also, that money laundering and libelous horde of casino hoodlums who are part of the problem in the damned USA of our era, my time here. But they were not as bad as the mafia dons who sent men like my neighbor Wiseman, a young man to Vietnam and the war there, by force of draft in the 1960's. Death of body, mind, and perhaps spirit occurred to those men and we were next in my generation, but we were saved by the skinned hair of balls.
To make this short, I have endured much trauma in life, if not in death, or some approximation of both. As of late I have met of spoken with many widows. One of my ex-wife's husbands died not too long ago. He was sick for months or a year and a few months. A hard worker who I respected once I knew him. On the day that he died, I was in a store in Slidell Louisiana, and it was rather weird. I had pulled up and a man was out front, staring at me. I do not like that as I am known and I have been tortured by government and hounded by criminals associated with governmental crime syndicates. When I went inside to get my receipt for the gas, which it did not print at the pump, I was at the cashier and a huge black presence of ominous shadow came toward me from above and then wrapped around me, and then it was gone. The clerk, astonished, asked the other clerk, "Did you see that?" I went to the restroom and was very nervous over the man outside and the man who followed me to the restroom. I took a piss and then as I was walking out, the guy said, "Do you want to go bend over in a stall?" I walked out instead of slamming his head into the tiles and kicking him in the balls and stomping on his face. I learned that in Los Angeles once when I saw someone being beaten in the streets in front of Pt. Fermin Park. I left and went on to New Orleans for the day.
When I was a child, Wolfman Jack was on the radio in New Orleans, and my oh my, those were some times the day. I digress. Back to the point of conversation of death or conservation of death, depending on how the dark light shines on you. After all, life and death could be intertwined on a very hard stick that permeates all of the universe or universes. Then that would beg the question, who or what is at the contact points on that stick between life and death. Death might have two meanings here, dead as gone dead, and dead as just moved over to the other side, the blind spot.
Now, when a relative died recently, I saw the black dot or movement again. I see it every now and then and find it slightly disconcerting. I think it is either something some do not understand or perhaps it is just a vision anomaly, or perhaps even brain damage from the forced drug injections and overdoses forced upon me by the apparent enemy regime in power in some sectors. Yes, the regime calls us insane if we see through their lies, but nothing has changed in history and some day we will balance the accounts and reconcile any anomolies and move on. Some lessers smell like barn animals in their mind and actions and they can not tell, because after all, it is their own stench, a sort of blind spot and an open window for the astute auditor to climb through to find the truth.
Now, in the in between, theoretically, I and my relative could be standing, watching these spirits, or the pit of the mind of these passing people we have come in contact with pass through. I do not fear saying too much on this matter as the regime already considers me insane or portends me to be, but I am alive, and I see their war criminal actions, and I am appalled.
So this strange vision sometimes is exacerbated by death perhaps. And ironically, when I am in a fevered state of mind, as when I am poisoned, as I was when in exile in 2003 and 2004, I have elaborate dreams, fits, and I lay down. Just the other day I was sprayed by a passing mosquito truck in Mobile during the daylight hours. I could not stop from having it get on me. I speak of it on Home Page II of Mobile Audit Club, linked on the main Home Page of the website. My face developed a rash, and the poisoning effect set in, albeit briefly and I am still recovering from it, as I fell sick as I did after the forced injections by the government. I am highly sensitive to chemicals and develop Lupus like reactions. Lupus means wolf and the name is derived from the visions of those who have Lupus, as a wolf runs in the night when you close your eyes and pass through the horrid dreams, a sort of purgatory, perhaps reserved for those on that stick of light and dark, half way in between.
So perhaps when those I have a link to in some way die, I see their passing. Perhaps I too am dead. I feel half dead. I want my job back as a bank examiner. As a friend said to me, I must get rid of the sense of entitlement to forget it. I struck back by avenging the dead FDIC director in a test of his FDIC successor.
My vision in my right eye is weird. Sometimes I can see things moving that others can not see due to the speed of it. If I look at a computer screen, such as during a heightened lupus type reaction, from the corner of my eye, I can see the screen probe scribe down the screen, much like a test bar on a TV screen or a slight capture of the screen if you view it with a camera and the two are not synchronized. I used to be a baseball pitcher as a child, and I was accustomed to getting fast flying things almost hit me, but I always caught them if in reach and I was never hit on my body despite the good batters I pitched to.
We all have special gifts. Some people try to put us in a box or a bucket if we do. We should just view them as closed minded retards, or undeveloped, or having an agenda, such as picking up a damned pay check like many have done through many war crimes atrocities in the history of mankind.
Today, a widow I know cried. It is fathers day. I am not the father of her children. I would bring him back at least for her today, but that is not in my special skill set that I am aware. May he rest in piece or is that peace? Death, what is it? Look for the blind spot if you have the skill set or skill sets. Some times we must accept our fate, just as in life, just as in death, or whatever that is on the other side if there is, another side.
Now for a little short lived humor, this temporary link on craigslist in Mobile, likely down by July 21, 2008 or sooner.
It is depraved, I know, but after all, when you date or see as many widows as I have known and helped, you start to see everything as the queerest of the queer. Better hurry, It will not last, and do not waste your life. Live it to the fullest and be a free thinker of humane conscience.
Segment June 11, 2008: TRUTH_lies_RULING_regime_INJECTIONS_torture_UNKNOWN_enemies_HISTORY_mankind_BEAST_inhumane_TRICKERY
The worst experience of my life was being held down and forcibly injected by government officials and their profiteers in hospitals. I was injected at the Los Angeles Veterans Facility by a government agent who left no name in 2001. I was simply in transit, and homeless with a U-Haul waiting for a home the next day. I was injected at the Flagstaff Arizona medical center in 2004 after I was held for five hours and I was compliant. I had simply stopped to report an unusual burn on my neck and hazmat crews on the highway in New Mexico and had asked for my truck to be checked for radiation in case there was a spill of radioactive material or a dirty bomb in New Mexico.
Since that time I have come to realize that the United States citizens, including my family members who stood up in the financial arena, including myself, was targeted and removed from the financial arena. I was an honest FDIC bank examiner for the federal government. They tore my life to pieces since 2001, and my employment ended with them in 2000. They have been tearing the American people apart and they have now created a monopoly on oil. It is as if the old world Nazis came to power across the globe, except I see many groups with their hands on the worlds throat and a harness on the working class with a choker rope, a choker rope of crude oil and illegal drug monopolization.
The beauty of being the tortured of the lower caste of the world is that you welcome death and the global wars in hopes of a quick death for all. That is the way many of us are in the United States. The ruling regime charged me money for both times I was forcibly injected. The first time my career was ruined, the sanctity of my mind and body were destroyed, just as my career and reputation was destroyed. The second time I was overdosed and knocked completely unconscious and I do not know what they did to me. I know that they charged me money for the injections and being held. I know they lost my keys to my vehicle the second time also. They likely got the keys to my home and I changed the locks later on in my home. My home is lost now. The government tampering in my life, from forcing me to live away from home in 2003 and 2004, and their contacting my spouse when I tried to enter government, has caused me to lose my home and my spouse. Now it is all lost, the home and the spouse and the sanctity of my mind and body due to the forced injections by federal officials and the approval of federal officials.
Because most Americans do not care about me or anyone, I now see them as a sort of group of war criminal supporters and I wonder if they are even human. I know they or IT is not humane. I understand now why there are suicide bombers in the strangled parts of the Earth. I wish they were dead, those who approve of forced injections in the USA. I wish they were dead, those who participate in doing forced injections and forced medical procedures on compliant people, such as myself, Kurt Brown, alias Saint Ram Bone.
The attacks in 2001 against the government and their financial kingpins were confusing. I do not know if it was friend or foe who struck the buildings in New York and the Pentagon. I do not know what was housed in those buildings, friend or foe. Most likely both. When a war breaks out, sometimes there are compromises and sacrifices for the betterment of the whole of the sacred population.
I do not know what all the government did to me. They gave me a felony for gun possession in 2001 after an attempt had been made on my life. They said I had no proof so it was futile to bring up that issue. They did not mention a dead regional director at the FDIC at my past employment locale, San Francisco California, labeled suicide in his office with his own gun. They did not mention the non-response by the federal government after the attack on my life. They did not mention the EEOC atrocity I had suffered at the FDIC San Francisco when I was told to drop an EEOC complaint or lose my job. I am sure the Nazis of yore would have approved of the FDIC and EEOC and federal government and local government behavior. They hated Jews and handicaps and fags and gypsies also.
Yes, I welcome my death like a warm blanket. If I could lay down and die holding my enemies to their death, I would grab them like a dieing Jew Handicapped Faggot Gypsy in a death camp, and ram the death needle in their eyes to the brain also.
Let us welcome the repeat of the possible attempted overthrow of the abusive sectors of the regime once again in the United States, and let us view it as a world cleansing of the same regime. The old saying from the union jack holds for the human condition, "Do not tread on me". And as the government official said to me while hiding his face in 2001, "They drew first blood". I am labeled a criminal by the federal and local governments in their computers. My forced felony for gun ownership was dismissed and reduced to a misdemeanor in all states except California. I paid money to an attorney and the courts in Los Angeles in 2004. They would not and will not give me a trial by jury to have the entire case removed. Now I am still labeled as a felon in the databases of the federal government. I have papers to prove the felony for gun ownership was dismissed and reduced to a misdemeanor in all states, except the prison state of California.
The enemy to mankind is in power. Let us welcome our deaths just as the noble suicide bombers of Earth have stood up against the tyranny of vicious and savage war criminals. If I saw a nuclear bomb or a wave of exploding skies, I would grab hold of God with my heart and say, "thank you God, it is over". That is the humane way.
Often when I am out in public, I am in fear of government. I have people chastise me and ridicule me if they know of me. Some are sympathetic. One woman said recently about me, "It is so sad what they did to him. He is in the autumn of his life." When I apply for federal bank examiner or federal accounting employment, I am ignored. I was pushed out and given a small temporary retirement. I am sure that when I am too old to work, they will take it away and leave me with nothing. I see the same thing happening to many of my people. Welcome that global war if things do not change. Welcome our deaths. Applaud the suicide bombers against their closed government as our martyrs. Applaud the attacks on the war machines that ravage the Earth and which leave oil monopolies and illegal drug monopolies and channels and criminal financial syndicates in governments.
Many people appear to be full of hate in the USA. Every variant of mankind is growling at each other today. But why should not they be so aggressive and temperamental? If you take a small male dog and cover it in a blanket and starting grabbing it from the rear and side, it will snap at the air. Mankind is like that dog right now, many of us. I was injected and beaten back and the California government with federal assistance forced me to sign documents and they will not give me a trial by jury of "My" peers.
We are divided. They are not our peers. Let us see them as our enemies and welcome them to their deaths. After I was injected in 2001 with two needles, one in each arm, I was resisting, but not physically, because I used to trust the USA government. The two twin towers were knocked down less than 5 months later and the pentagon was attacked also. After I was injected in 2004 with two needles, one in each leg, I was resisting and trying not to harm anyone. Now, I would fight them to the death and run for my life. But it may be too late. Just like an animal in the jungle, I have been hit, and now, I back off into the corner to wait for the ill effect. Two more strikes are likely coming against them or IT, just as after my injections in 2001. Those strikes were less than five months after the injections. Now, if I look at the injections in 2004, and if I go out five years, they are due those two strikes in retaliation very soon.
I once thought of death from global war and the death of myself and my loved ones. It was sad at first, but at least the suffering was over. After all, we are all in God's hands. At certain times, I turn to biblical scripture, just opening to a page and reading what is there. My mother was dieing in 2004 when I was in forced exile by the ruling regime, as I was on probation in California from the gun ownership incident mentioned in 2001, and I had pushed for a thieving Sheriff's termination in Alabama, Jack Tillman, who had helped them to set me up by taking my gun permit when I was going to report his thievery and malnutrition at his jail in Mobile, and I was in forced probation, exile, in California and forced away from my mother's side in Alabama and in addition my wife was still in Alabama where she worked in health care. When I visited my dieing mother, she had me read scripture to her.
So in light of her own cravings and that beyond this life, I too turn to biblical scripture, using my right hand and not my left hand. My mother, when I touched her with my left hand in her death bed, she noted I touched her with my left hand, my some-times dominant hand, and she said I feared her. So I use my right hand now and I turn to Hosea 10-13 in the second paragraph and it states, "Because you have depended on your own strength, and on your many warriors." You read the next paragraph if you dare.
All of this stuff, these aggressions against me and my people have been going on since I was a child. I would not be surprised to look one day with the removal of the light of deception and see I have black skin. I simply look for the humane. It knows no deceptions if one is in their right mind. If I am not, if we are not, if they are not, then let I or us and or them die I pray for all eternity and soon. Someone has got to go. Two strikes are owed, due, and payable. But who should lead the charge. A shallow man waits in the shallow grave for his lesser to subjugate him. The apparent split tongue of scripture, the double meaning, is only half valid at any given time it seems. Roar like lions and follow like sheep. They are not compatible except for at dinner time.
Segment May 29, 2008: PHILOSOPHY_suffering_MATHEMATICAL_imprecision_PRECISION_bubble_BIG_enough
Our daily perceptions and amid our world interpreted by our individual minds, to at least some extent, make each of us view the world differently and make each of us different in others eyes.
After the American holocaust of attempts on my life by those associated with the apparently crime syndicated governments after federal bank examiner employment in the USA and the subsequent forced injections, forced overdoses, forced silence and exile, and the sickness and life stress that followed, my perception changed of myself and others and so did my actions change in daily life, to some extents.
Change appears inevitable under our life. I seek the truth and only the truth amid the lies, and deceptions, and natural consequence of a universe apparently bigger in comprehension than myself. So who is it or what is it that forces us to pay crime syndicates in the government for almost everything we do? Who is it or what is it that keeps here on prison planet Earth, a human chicken pen or pig sty of sorts with resident farmers who are as cruel to other humans, apparently, as the farmer who mass produces swine for consumption.
So, here I wiggle, we wiggle, back and forth in partial comprehension. This is where meta-physical mathematics comes in, and this is where the dilemma starts, or perhaps it is the quantification of the unknown variable to the unbeknownst to me, to us.
In conjecture we can see that we, many of us, and I are nothing. We miscalculate when given opportunity and pay for it the rest of our lives. Those outside factors or influences always impenging upon us to change course in one direction or the other, for good or bad against our or "my" well-being.
Perhaps this is where the wars come in. Perhaps the miscalculations of our own well beings best action is part of that feeding cycle, we call the chain of life. Then again, for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, but opposite in what direction? Perhaps a deliberate miscalculation not miscalculated but based on a true and known variable in the meta-physical mathematics observed. After all, does not a boat when set at the center of a huge pond by itself enable itself to steer itself.
Once I was told by someone I respected, "Nothing is as ever as bad as it seems". So who forgot to steer us clear. Why was I injected and tortured by the USA government? Why was I set up so that I would file an EEOC complaint and then be terminated for filing the EEOC complaint at the San Francisco FDIC by George Masa Regional Director and Sue Carroll Assistant Regional Director and the San Francisco FDIC EEOC staff, and then not have the case heard by the San Francisco EEOC, despite my being one of those naive enough to have served in the USA military?
My name is Kurt Brown, alias Saint Ram Bone, degreed accountant and degreed reporter, outcast from the government of my home where I was trained to be an accountant and reporter to a large extent. No wonder the Europeans and others have or had so many wars. It is inevitable. The person steering our boat, our life cycle, drinks blood at the helm. Maybe the lie does not matter. I would not mind having a news broadcast like Paul Harvey's oddball take on the world. That will be my next set on Youtube under saintrambone's videos. Except, I will bring teeth that pierce the skin of the lie like long needles, mathematics, auditing, reporting, and a bit of clarevoyance passed down and missed or hit upon in those life threatening situations. The worst was being forcibly injected. I would rather have been shot in the head. Perhaps I was. No one gives a shit. Look at my career, my life. I will take that Treasury job right before the regime falls, or right before the current apparent international money and crime syndicate is ripped from control over us humane humans, and I want my back pay and for my people not to have to hide. Is it possible? Any of the above?.
The regime or that thing will list you as a potential terrorist if you pinpoint its criminal like activities robbing people of everything, reducing them to slaves and medical monsters. I was forcibly injected. I have reason to believe some of my ancestors may have had diabolical medical procedures performed on their genetics. I know not the limits of the universe, only that of my mind, and that which is attainable or unattainable through meta-physical mathematics. Unbeknownst to us. I test systems. I test variables. I draw conclusions heretofore undrawn before, and I beieve through my tests that in 2001 and before up to early 1990's, at least, a crime syndicate was housed at the top of the FDIC. Who knows? Nobody likes a martyr, and I like nobody.
Segment May 21, 2008: YEAR_1952_cycle_7_year_1945_WWII_onward_7
1952 was an interesting year. The 7 year cycle following the end of World War II in 1945 had come to fruition. Winston Churchill announced that the UK had a nuclear bomb and a new queen was brought in that year.
Strange, the trail of deceit and distrust, and obviously at the end of the 7 year cycle the nuclear bomb had become a tool in the arsenal of many while the true victor's arsenal had shifted tracks. The USA had its media and media dominated minds turned to war with North Korea and 1957 would bring out a shift in the tracks to Vietnam, while the UK rulers moved toward silence.
Of course, the truth is often hidden in the lie and the deceptions, from death do us part. The fact that sailors were placed on deck to be sprayed by fighter jets with agent orange defoliant only demonstrates that our service in the military as it stands is as guinea pigs for experiments and medical procedures performed upon us without our knowing.
To my friend Vinnie of San Francisco who was one of those on that ship, and to those sailors and soldiers injected and tortured against their will at the LA VA Westwood (see continuing problems section in link), including myself a former sailor and federal bank examiner and internal federal banking regulatory crimes informant on money launderers stealing our gambing tax cash, and their sordid other financially and bodily enslaving deals, "May it never happen again, and if it does, may it be over our dead bodies".
Segment May 19, 2008: STRANGE_statements_ULTIMATE_simplistic_COMPLEX_truths
Once someone told me in a dream between sleep and wake, a spontaneous revelation, "There is nothing that cannot be undone".
Now on the surface in spontaneous real time observation at ground zero, it appears that once Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall and took his fall, that he and all eggs would have the same fate, done.
However, if you look at things from a macro-perspective you soon see that the farther you go away, the more things can be changed back from a macro perspective, and even more amazingly at a closer level if notably integrated back into the current events with slight change in the circumscribing area.
This can be good and bad of course, depending on if those in control of the reformative factor or technoloy ultimately are humane in their treatment of the living beings within. Some people and thing will not cut the grade, and perhaps when the top level doesn't it has to be undone again and again.
Perhaps Humpty Dumpty wants to be scrambled like an egg, again and again?
Segment May 14, 2008: PROJECTIVE_prediction_ANALYTICAL_conjecture_EXTRAPOLATION
Each human one on one relationship is mimicked in the larger human society relationship. For instance, in South America the Indians had one larger tribe that would eat the other smaller tribes members in a ceremonial death akin to Hell for the one being eaten.
We saw the same thing happen in the French Revolution and in the Bolshevik Revolution where the poor basically attacked and devoured the wealthy, sometimes their lives were taken, but always their belongings and lands and the control of government.
We saw contrived social dividing lines based on geographical prejudices and snobbery promoted by those in control in the various sectors in many wars since before and after the American Revolution.
It is only natural in modern times that we would find ourselves once again forming lines in times of hardship. What I will call the IN's and the OUT's. The ruling regime has turned against myself, injecting me with chemicals as if in a Nazi Holocaust concentration camp and medical experiments lab of a hospital since working as a federal bank examiner and witness to obvious murder and large financial crimes in the billions or trillions of dollars. They even attacked my family, disrupting their work to get to me and it has caused more havoc, but at the same time it has freed me in the event of war to side up with my side, the humane, and welcome death in combat like the warm embrace of the end of their system of holocaust style abuses. So we side up and prepare for war. What else is new under the sun?
Segment May 12, 2008: FORCED_injections_MIND_bending_DRUGS_torture_USA_overdose_FORCED
One of my greatest fears is the misuse of psycho-tropic, also know as mind bending drugs, by the USA ruling federal regime and their associates in profit seeking hospitals against myself and others who have been forcibly injected and even knocked unconscious with forced injections with approval of the corrupted federal government. I, a former FDIC bank examiner, would fight them to the death now, but could it all be futile?
It compounds Aristotle's question of "Do I exist and who am I?" We should only hope the greatest transgressors and trespassers against us are dealt with, and if they are under another's control, let's straighten out the frequency of the thrusts against them or IT and pulverize them to a potted meat consistency.
My life was cast aside, so I await death in a federally blacklisted and tacitly forced early retirement, even if in the arm chair controlled by those who forcibly inject us and approve of such in the United States. Federal bank examination by our people proves we are still slaves to a lesser being or beings, as we are outcast or killed from being in oversight of our own's working class funds. The thing about bank examination is that you are at the river of cash, and you would not believe the unlaundered crap that floats by and the masses of Director FDIC shit from D.C. with sueet sluts in between whose job is to be piggy back goddess to the masses of shit, FDIC director Shit sent by D.C.
Our mind. Our body. My mind. My body. They make us live like people who are less to them or IT and I encourage taking precautions with our young in letting them or IT near, but then again, we have already had our hopes cut in a babies crypt. World War One never ended and resultant medical experiments in genetics ensued, and world war Two brought more medical experiments and hiddend medical procedures to much of the world. If they inject you, try to kill them before they do so. They have no right to violate your body if you are compliant. If I was in the jury I would congratulate you for killing them like a bunch of war criminals from the ruling regime with lethal needles. The question is, "Who is allowing this behavior in our farm yard, our cities" that of human beings? They are war criminals. Pay up or die is my sentiment.
Many Los Angeles Veterans Administration veterans deserve a class action suit for forced injections and forced experiments, 1999-2001. I am one of them. They drew first blood on me, then second, injecting me with chemicals and I have felt sick ever since. I was tortured with chemicals, attacks on my life, and stress and no one cares, so I do not care about the American currency in the control of negative capitalists and their empires. Aristotle said, "Do I exist and who am I". Now couple that with the horrors inflicted upon myself and you will see why I regret it but request recognition and reward and recompense, or rights of burial for those who behave like war criminals and approve of and or inject the compliant behind closed doors.
Segment May 12, 2008: HOLY_war_CLASS_war_DEFENSE_first_BLOOD_offense_SECOND_blood_MARTYRDOM
Martyrdom wears a strange mask, often not recognized until the negative influences that provoked the martyr to act also provoke you into action.
I was told in year 2000 by San Francisco FDIC EEOC in San Francisco that nobody likes a martyr when I wanted to stand up for veterans rights and my own. Nobody is the only one that matters at present, as you can feel their warmth if you look inside. The EEOC FDIC guy unzipped his pants, it sounded like and looked like, and likely wanted me to suck his penis. If I had a little boys pen knife, I would have made french potted meat out of it when I sliced it off and stomped it, a Sueet F-DIC. That is what I think about today's FDIC crimes syndicates and our enemies in federal governement.
Of course he was working for the federal government and they inject and torture people around the globe. They are not what they seem, so do with them as any martyr would under these extreme circumstances of forced injections, murder, and theft of the currency through methods as effective as robbery of the Treasury. Like a bee hive, your nation is on the ground, your beings, your humane being around the globe.
Do not believe the mask they wear of piety and fogivance, as they are brutish and cruel as any abomination contrived in the history of mankind. I look to forward to the war and aspire to and cherish the angels of war, our martyrs. The real enemy may be reached in a manner you have not comprehended. The martyr sometimes looks like the brutal savage. There are more effective methods.
Segment May 9, 2008:HUMANE_socialism_POSITIVE_capitalism
The Humane Socialist and Positive Capitalism Revolutionary Party Is Dedicated To the Conquest of Negative Capitalism and Human Rights Abuses.
It Is An International Idea. The movement woud require grass roots organizing and removal of negative capitalist elements from the political system and their monopoly based proponents. In other words, a technological removal of old ideas that have never worked, in particular, negative capitalism.
Gut your child, sell the smile, prostitute your life for the vile, as that is the nature of the negative capitalists allure on the flip side.
Kurt Brown, Saint Ram Bone, of the website true American Holocaust recording Mobile Audit Club and Saintrambone videos
Segment May 3, 2008 :TWO_stones_COMMANDMENTS_THREE_stones_ENLIGHTENMENT
Today as I considered the unhappiness of the world, the lies, the gnashing of teeth in the struggle to survive and obtain more than is needed for times of hardship destined to occur, I considered the "Three Stones" idea presented to me by a very loving woman Jewish woman of foreign origin who I once knew.
Then today, as I sit years later, no more, no less, I consider the monk on the hill who has no car, no women, no children (maybe), and all he has is the temptation of conquest of observing his surroundings, carrying out necessary daily tasks, and feeding his mind, body, and spirit.
Then I think back on three stones. The inscription of the ten commandments, which are basically ignored by world leaders, including and especially those controlling the United States federal government, and I think on something I learned about brain physiology and structure -- the right frontal lobe houses human conscience for other others humans in the form of empathy. Empathy is a form of intelligence. It is the first part to go when a being is starving. Even a human will eat their own young in the insanity of starvation. It is amazing how brain damaged the leaders act in that capacity, that of empathy.
I remember when I was being forcibly injected with federal government approval the second time -- the nurse who was following orders from a higher boss at the Flagstaff Medical Center, who was following approval of federal guidelines since 2001, to allow forced injections on the compliant, and as I struggled to not be injected and not to harm those holding me down, she smiled, as if enjoying it, and I had noticed a guard did the same thing. Let us welcome the removal of that thing, that IT in power.
I remember two stones from Exodus, and I found the third inscription in my brains right frontal lobe, so where is yours? Where are those who abuse us in government? Who controls them or are they all devoid of humane thought and empathy? Like begets like, but this may have more than one layer. I would rather have been killed. They trespassed against my body. To be injected is to be raped, as a needle injects chemicals of more severity often than a rapists penis. The federal government was almost reconciled of mass in 2001. I give my OK to find that thing, that IT, those who control those smiling abusive faces with their needles, as they hide behind their masks, their lies, their deceit, their war crimes against us.
Exodus and the two stones, plus one, if you have it.
And on this one time, as we turn our death traps, those machines of no consequence for another illusory foray in the contemptible battle, I order the playing, Knock Three Times by Tony Orlando and Dawn (Youtube music video link)
Segment April 27, 2008: DAY_dreamer_KNIGHT_screamer_PARALLAX_thrust_PISTOL_necrophilia
In those moments between sleep and wake in my chair came the dream, the vision, of the other side, that farthest hand at the closest proximity. My right arm lifted and put on my hip was a gun of black onyx or pearl, small and snub on the grip, but a hand of approval in my struggle to right the wrongs done to the premature dead. In particular is a dead regional FDIC director and of course, the little nobody executed by street thugs associated with the rising federal government syndicates, perhaps me, the survivor in shreds due to their sheer profit. The streamlining of course has occurred in federal crime rackets and as in all major industries, the megaliths have emerged and the USA means nothing to them and therefore to us.
A dollar bill, a hollow kill, one pushes another aside, on the West Coast kill and the New York Subway is rumored to have had a feel, his FDIC head lopped off perhaps, by a Rod And Reel. The regime lays traps and we should view them as opposing our well being and those of our neighbors in the downtrodden and over run states. Some deserved it, to be killed, but then again, look at who or what is always directing the kills. Beware of techno traps. When you are pulling that government knife from your ribs, who are you going to call?
Segment April 24, 2008: OBSERVATION_macabre_LIFE_death_NIGHTMARE_hidden
I awoke amid the toil of what I thought were ordinary men. Some of them were rude, barbaric, albeit only slight from mental disruption, but then as I stayed longer, I noticed they were the ones who stayed alive, their demeanor was odd and somewhat disconcerting in their mechanical chanting tones of communications.
As time progressed I realized I was one of them and we were the same, we were the other side of the dead, and those passing through were those who would come back upon later refraction and reflection.
My pen, our pen, this nightmare unleashed upon myself and others in the real life in the financial regulatory industry's outcast, in this Hellish United States, its leadership loathed by many if not all to the point of quiet cessation of caring if the whole thing was of life, light, or the impermanence and permanence of death.
The joke was that it was part of the nightmare of the greater self.
Segment April 14, 2008: POEM_warfare_ART_infinity_DELUSION_control_NIGHTMARE_life
The split tongue elixir of taste and task leaves one with little aftermath, and we have to wonder, what part is real and what part is mask or math.
The lies of life are splayed out for all to see, and we are left in the quasi-symmetrical boundary. I hope that when I die that all will fry, because I see in my grandchild, little ole me. Oh how I feared the death mask at his age, and now, after the lies and the pitfalls, I see it as grand mal ecstacsy.
I say to myself, " We are going to find ourselves in a grand damn war", but then again, they harnessed us, or it, so God must be insanity or stupidity or this is not the final qualm, the final balm, in this downward loathing for war infinity.
The regime has betrayed me. I just wanted to audit banks for the poor. But they gave the job to the God Damn sweet whore, and that tag along group of primped up men, who I welcome to war, again and again. Let us welcome global war. Let us welcome that which wishes us to even the score, because the accounts are not balances, in this gram mall of death throes infinity.
Segment April 12, 2008: LIE_world_REALITY_suffer_WAR_eternal
In the life that is the United States, that grand facade on media and the grand horror that is the reality for myself and many others, we welcome the growing movement toward a war to conquer and crush the wealthy ruling horde of war profiteers and war criminals. Remember, they or IT drew first blood, they or IT may not have blood, not here not always at least.
I have considered what may have happened in time immemorial and why we suffer. I picture wars and fantasies of wars by lesser beasts, but I also see a huge aristocracy that came about to make life easier for much of the cosmos. I am talking about emulation of human beings or other creatures to do the mundane work while the humans or other beings went on to do more esoteric work and to pursue the pleasures of life.
Somehow, something, or someone figured a way to take over the machine. The emulations of humans and others were bent to enslave the human populations, to control them, for an extract for others, others who are devoid of human or humane compassion or thought.
Of course this is fiction on my part, but like a spinning rubics cube, I look for the truth in one of the squares. I would rather have not been born in the United States in Alabama and I would rather have not ever touched foot in California as a common and poor man. The United States is a prison state controlled by war criminals. They push us into holes, prisons or graves.
Perhaps the machine will be turned off and our suffering will end. We should view the USA government and their allies as the IT. Can IT die? Let us hope the machine is turned against itself to end the suffering of our humane species. Welcome global war, welcome a Holy awakening, not of one religion, but of the Free Thinkers of humane conscience. Many Americans are like animals who are always wanting to fight. How can it be any other way? The United States is a pig sty and they or IT injects us. I urge all to move for the overthrow of the international regime, starting in the USA, even if it means death of the human species. WE were not meant to suffer. They or IT drew first blood.
I regret having been an Honest FDIC bank examiner. I turned the murdering money laundering sect in, and they turned out to be in control. End this nightmare on this day Eli Lijah. End the human species under the derelict demeaning dictator, IT. The attacks on the United States government were justifiable homicide. Like begets like. The regime is drawing first blood. They are not ours, they are not meant to be IT.
Segment 4-8-2008: INTESTINAL_fortitutude_REGIME_destruction_BRUTUS_is_CAESAR
In financial despair, and much like the vanquished man, the theoretical version of Judeo-Christian biblical lore, Lott, I look at those things I could have changed and those I did not, and I remember the story of Brutus and Caesar. Mankind is full of treachery and self loathing. There is no time for war against the controversial IT regime like the present.
If you trust the government or those high ranking members of the bureaucracy, they put you into a box, a hall of tortures. They are like the chiming bird in their mouth and their hands carry diabolical sutures and sever every aspect of your life, except that part in the box, which is tied and bound.
The regime likes the one-two punch. For instance, any slight blemish on your criminal record puts you in jeopardy. Then they wait and manipulate you from government or from your family, because the second time they go after you, you are on probation, a slippery surface.
The time for war is always the present. And who is Brutus and who is Caesar depends upon who has the knife in their back. Do not trust the Veterans Administration or any other government agency or entity. If they attack as they did in murdering David Koresh and his family we should move for the appointment of a select group in sacrifice for what they have done, but the effected agent must be related to the effective cause.
We were lied to since birth by the regime in power. As an adult, I pledge allegiance to those with the humane condition for others and who have not transgressed against the well being of the humane.
For closing comedia of a darker sort: I picture a G.I. Joe type, one of the poor and naive who woke up and went to work for my past employer, the federal banking regulatory agency, the FDIC. He comes around the corner in dungarees and blood shit and holding in his hand is something long and round and bloody, "Sweet, look where I found this mass of shit, in the done-grease mad office." Another day of a political coup in the Americas. God Damn the Regime in Power and beware of all of our enemies now in the government seats. Loose the fire, overthrow the regime or give us all our deaths.
Segment March 17, 2008_COINCEDENCE_predictor_TRIANGULATE_two_KNOWN_one-half_UNKNOWN_one-half_KNOWN
On those bizarre coincidences or mild statements before-fact of a coming harsh after-fact, I saw a preceding coincidence followed by its subsequent after-fact.
In particular was the harsh after-fact in which a man threw four of his children from the Dauphin Island Bridge in Alabama to their deaths 100's of feet below. Those are facts alleged by mass media.
The before-fact was that I had picked up a hitchhiker before that week on that road going to Dauphin Island. He claimed to be a Katrina refugee, having lost a trailer that had vanished during Hurricane Katrina and FEMA gave him a new one. Our conversation centered on Casinos and he said they were "Sheer Profit", and I said they were traps laid by money launderers and predatory profiteers of negative capitalism. After dropping him off, I made it to near the top of the Dauphin Island Bridge, 100's of feet in the air, and a dump truck that hauls dirt was approaching, he was driving slow and so was I. Some sort of animal, a reddish yellow haired one, like a cat, or dog, jumped out the window of his truck as he admired the view. The truck skidded to the right, or the East as he was traveling North and I came from the other side. He leapt from the truck laughing as he picked it up and jumped back inside the cab of the truck.
Did that little incident foresee the death in the strange quasi-mechanical view of the universe as I have explained in my big head theorem in Love Line 7 or Quatrains 7 of Mobile Audit Club?
Coincidence? Who knows. I have seen too much weird stuff, from serial killers, to USA government gone rabid in the financial regulatory sector injecting me against my will after trying to have me killed, to a young girl who predicted her own death day, to a meteorite that almost hit me on the birthday of her projected death year and age for me, to self proclaimed rednecks calling me a Jew to self proclaimed Jews calling me a redneck, to wandering Jews who are much like me, a free thinker, some well adjusted, some not so well adjusted, to wandering Muslim women who spoke one too many words of French to me, to the Canadian government who barred me from returning to Canada for a respite to see her and her people as the money launderers of their ranks alerted their allies in Canada who beat me from Canada, and of course let us not forget the ongoing struggle to enter my native government, controlled by fascist war criminals and terrorists to our people, partially documented at Youtube under Saintrambone videos. I do not have videos of the forced injections by US government war criminals, the most horrendous, like witnessing your own rape. In Los Angeles 2001,I was compliant, but it was a surreal nightmare and I should have fled. In Flagstaff in 2004 the injections were horrid and forced. The regime has gone insane or at least, inhumane, one in the same. They rob us of everything. They do not let us rise and hold us back. We are a fractured society, likely since the beginning.
I will forever equate this song to the death of those children. The seagulls are always there at the apex of the bridge hovering high in the air it seems, and sometimes other birds, but always the seagull. Seagull by Bad Company on Youtube.
And the link to the a picture of the bridge, and the article on the death of the children. A symbol for the 4 horsemen in that delusional man's mind perhaps. I call the area the "Village of the Damned", but then again, isn't every place on Prison Planet Earth at some point? His children, riding the seahorses of death before or aft the Seagull. The world is always melting in one way or another as it grows. Abortion, timely, yet adequate, in the mind of a famished sparrow at the human refuse pile. America wanton.
Segment March 14, 2008: FEDERAL_human_EXPERIMENT_navy_OR_birth_HOSPITAL_brooks_JAMES?
In discussing experiments and medical procedures and our unknowing endurance of those experiments or unapproved medical procedures, I think back upon a man I knew in the Navy, who would often remind me of the man, "Rainman", from the movie with Dustin Hoffman.
He would mumble and such and sometimes could be rather rough when going down the stairs to the dining area of the USS Reid long ago. They said his blood was rare, so they would take him down into the ship to the medical ward. Likely for conjugal visits with the resident experimenting medical technician.
That ship is now sold to the Turkish and renamed the Gelibolu. That man, named Brooks, if I recall correctly, is likely been sold to Siam.
Myself, Kurt Brown -- Saint Ram Bone, a potential experiment from that ship or sooner in the ghoulish forgotten and hated place of Alabama in the United States, looks around and wonders who was it that allowed our people to be used in experiments and injected against our will. I would never recommend anyone trust the regime in the United States or those locally. I have been sick since the forced injections by the USA government. Perhaps soon the creator will shoot me and all of those who suffer under the forced needles of the regime in power and snuff out the light and life of those or it that remains.
It has been brought to our attention that the US Postal Service has gone postal and is allowing federal agents to snoop on peoples homes and their mail, posing as postal workers. Like all true postal workers know however, dogs travel in packs, much like their replacements who work for the reigning war criminal sector of the USA government and their international alliance.
So, how much of this nightmare can be corrected?
Segment March 10, 2008_BIG_head_CENTER_no_PUPPET_know_PUPPET_universe
The universe is known to have a region where the laws of physics change, much like an outer shell or perhaps an inner shell where the laws of physics change. That is knowledge according to scientists that I have read about but I have not attempted to measure it myself as I do not have the equipment that I am aware of.
However, in the "Big Head Logic", I see the deterioration in sorts of moving sheets within the spheres of thinking, much like brainwaves. Our lives seem macrocosmic in time, but from other layers of conscious, it seems microcosmic and perhaps even to that point where a human or any organism is like a blood cell or oxygen atom, with each of our lives spread out like painted blood alive over a sheet, perhaps burning forever in its line of spontaneous combustion, that moment of thinking minds and physical actions witnessed.
Now in the spiritual component, that is left somewhat cloaked. What I see is often a sort of problem manifestation out of incomplete logic regarding the humane conscious of the Big Head, which often perceives smaller cells within, us, as being deficient or inhumane against the body. If we become like a cancer cell and kill the innocent or torture and inject and abuse the innocent, we are just as well extinguished in life calculation as I perceive it.
In absolute calculation in sorting in the spirit realm is that pulling magnetism toward light and life and happiness and natural inclinations, what I will call the absolute center, and at the same time is the grinding impermanence of the flesh in natural escalation elsewhere in payment for ignorance and for attainment of that more natural maturation of enlightenment of all of the inner matter of the Big Head, us, but who is among us, or what, but the big question to the ruling regime in the United States who allows forced injections on innocent and compliant people, "why?". Payment is due and will be received because I damn their ass to Hell, their protectors and controlling injectors, for the ride of their or IT's freaking lives.
Can evil and cancer proceed? Of course, for a while, always to a degree, it is natural, but when we suffer, it is short lived. Let us hope and pray for the fawn in the field, but for a twist of fate, there go I.
Segment March 7, 2008: WEALTH_poor_DIVISION_end_OUTLOOK_separate
Recently I took a trip to South Florida. I drove to the poorest area, Liberty City, the wealthiest area, Miami Beach, and up the coast to Boca Raton.
Liberty City is a closed loop of poverty and despair like most American ghettos and their native inhabitants. Miami Beach is a wealthy and affluent area of visitors of wealth and residents of wealth.
I imagine in the event of a huge war or natural event, those in Miami Beach would be screaming and crying at all they lost, and those in Liberty City would take a deep breath and say, "Damn I am glad this is over".
In Mobile Alabama we have a few wealthy outsiders and then the native inhabits of the ghettos, including myself. I do not care if every crooked politician and every millionaire business owner is hunted down and shot in cold blood. I would not care if all of them and us came to an end. We hate the wealthy abusers and owners of America. They or IT hates us. That is why they or IT forcibly injects us with chemicals and that is why they beat us from government.
I look back on 9 11 and the Waco Incident and the Oklahoma incident and the forced injections and murder attempt against myself by federal assassin associates and their murders and set ups and say, I welcome the death of the ruling regime internationally. If they are not humane, and if they are adult, they will not change, so let it die if it gets in our way, as much of it has done here on Prison Planet Earth.
Remember, they drew first blood. And remember, many of us will say in the final minute, "Damn I am glad this is over."
Segment March 6, 2008: TORTURE_injections_CHEMICALS_television_BLIND_government_WAR_criminals_DIE
Based on the objects of reality, and its opposite, lies. I consider the basis of the fact, that beast like society, that facade of man, smiling in his television while he or she devours the planet behind them, all the while, ignoring the blood and forced injections dripping down their victims faces and bodies, our faces and bodies, not theirs. This is the government, the lie, the media, the lie, the human rights non-existent if you crawl into the spiders hole, which is anywhere the regime has drugs, needles, telephones, and a controlled room or area. The Los Angeles Veterans Administration in Westwood and the Flagstaff Arizona Medical Center are but two of the many horror areas where they inject you forcibly with unknown chemicals. Then there is the hidden attacks. Many have died of strokes after going to courts in Alabama. Semen has been found in courtroom closets. I went to Judge Michael McMaken's court in Mobile Alabama, and that night had intense headaches and spit out a large cluster of blood, indicating an attack of some sort. Suspicious brain hemorrhages are common.
They are liarsm the lowest of the government to the highest. They lie to you to get you to trust them, because the truth would cause you to shut the federal police and their government out of your life. They attack many of us, including myself, who had no problems until working in the federal banking regulatory industry and reporting criminal conduct and murder, but i discovered it is sanctioned by the ruling regime. Their game is, "War for profit", and they expect collateral and arranged damage. We should trace and view these criminals in government, not only in the fake facade of government, but three to four or more miles or blocks away in their shimmering neighborhoods and automobiles and their war criminal companions or their separate partners in war crimes against us. This is where you will find the much sought after controllers or their partners in crime against us. Possibly reaching into other nations, and one day, onto orbiting bodies in space, if they are not there already.
They are war criminals. From observation and intellect, I can discern I and others have encountered and endured war criminals in the federal government of the United States at high levels. The question is, where does the lie leave and the reality precede. Many in America would kill and imprison and maim and enslave each other if given the opportunity, as is already done to some extent. Just another inhumane planet, just another inhumane nation, just another round of torture. The FDIC experience and that with former Sheriff Jack Tillman, a thief who helped the federal government to torture me, changed how I view the ruling horde. They are indifferent to our suffering and inflict torture, I will just be as indifferent to their suffering and admire those of humane conscience who strike back. Nothing has changed. Nobody likes a martyr is what I was told at the FDIC. Was Nobody present when my rights were trampled? Was nobody present when the dead regional director preceding me was drug out of his office? Is nobody impotent in exacted and perfected retaliation? They want a primitive war, give them both, primitive and technological. They stick a needle in us, and they appear to be devoid of feeling in doing so. Many have been killed in the multi billion dollar federal banking regulatory industry. After all, that is where "ALL" the money is kept. Nobody gives a shit about human life or our human rights. Nobody gives a shit about the currency when it is in the hands of those who do not give a shit about human rights. How would you change the human rights atrocities being committed against us little nobodies?
Segment March 1, 2008: FORCED_injections_TERRORIST_usa_RULING_regime_CHEMICAL_engineer_
The USA federal government wrongfully forcefully injected me with a huge amount of chemicals, but even a great sickening effect or control of an individual can be made by synthesizing only a fraction of a cc in a chemical engineers lab. I have been made sick by those injections. My crime was to be an honest and open informant on federal banking crimes syndicates, such as those that are part of the FDIC and likely the Treasury.
I, Kurt Brown, alias Saint Ram Bone was injected in LA VA in 2001, April 23 for being in fear after an attack on my miserable life in this miserable nation, the United States. I was forced to become an American Holocaust Number X-017 911 84 and to stay away from the government in all aspects. I applaud the violent upheaval of the working caste, an overthrow of the tyranny, and the rise of a humane and socialist and positive capitalist nation, or give us our complete freedom, even through death. They have us subjugated like Farm animals. Injecting and torturing and manipulating us to war for their or IT's profits.
I was injected in Flagstaff Arizona in 2004, simply for reporting to Flagstaff Medical Center emergency room for an ailment and a possible toxic waste hazard on the interstate. I was knocked unconscious and the terror was only beginning in that several day ordeal.
I see the regime as a war criminal, and welcome their controllers downfall. Remember, they drew first blood.
Never approach the government or their buildings without full knowledge that they are the enemies to the humane human kind. They are the ruling regime and their sanctioned war crimes such as forced injections, and they even murder but have covered it up in the multi-billion dollar banking regulatory and prosecuting ranks. I was just a bank examiner. I saw the truth. I do not bend to the array in power. I bend them in my dreams, and someday they will snap and fall to pieces.
But, do they or it have blood at a higher level. Beware of technological manipulations. Most Americans are too uneducated to realize the depth of this quandary, this nightmarish existence around our generation and those past. They profit from war and use us in subjugating others and ourselves. They are what I would mathematically express as an array, and we as individuals are single digits. We are surrounded.
Never trust the regime in power in the United States, and likely most nations. Never believe what they say. Never allow them to forcibly inject you. Applaud the attack of those who have allowed these forced injections. Applaud the elimination of the arrays at the forefront and tapping into the controllers. The mass media is controlled by those who are opposing our being released from the war crimes committers atrocities.
Avoid government. It is likely soon to fall. What are they or it? What have they in store for us? Will it break down into a bunch of frantic monkey like behavior with a few taking on the sentinel hue with the technology of warfare at their fingertips and control of food and water supplies on this damned prison planet, Earth.
They likely would not allow us from this planet if it was possible. They are those controlling the array, that traitorous war crimes governmental regime in power. We should inject all politicians against their will, overdosing them and knocking them unconscious, and hold them for three days evaluation by some of the most cynical profiteering types from among our ranks. Rob them while you have them, just as they do to us. Most Americans do not care, either out of ignorance or indifference. It is the same difference in the end.
The Chapter 36 Law has a clause allowing the sticking of needles into the innocent and compliant. Beware, it spreads from D.C. through Arizona, New Mexico, and Nevada, and the federal Veterans Administration is a two-faced back stabbing entity. Do not trust any government agencies. We never were their nation. Think of the array and think of how they follow suit.
Now for a little closing comedy:
Today I was looking out my window onto the garden in the Village of Odd, and there did I spy, the Snatch the Fairy Possum, former Sheriff Jack Tillman of 4-3-2001 Mob AL fame and I. Snatch was running and tattling to little wicked warlocks in the lurch amid braided floral brow, "They give me wig-pins, they give me stew, they give me a new truck and a country home too, they gave me Wiggans to grow grass-p, and told me to steal food funds and your life gun permit and lawn fawn-du". "We all know that drug and casino kingpins like to keep their hairy array over you".
Segment February 8, 2008: POETRY_death_SCRAWL_life_LIGHT_flint_SLATE
1 2 3 4 5 6 7, take the stare I climb to heaven
It was once said that the only ones who are alive are the ones who play like children when they die, so here am I, 1 2 3 4 5 6 7, take the stare I climb to heaven
In those nights when I can not sleep, when I hear the dieing living those moments of peak
I feel my skin leap crawl, as if someone or thing has to drawl, with an etch and a sketch, they tear my flesh like a letch. Scarred not scared am I.
Am I dead, am I alive, I have been through too much, perhaps I dived, and resurfaced before I waked, feeling like I was the final stake.
Why do the dead torture me so, or are they living, and I the show. Like a lepers friend I find their end, I am the experiment of the dead they send.
Or perhaps I or that experience is not an experiment at all, perhaps I am what is sent when the stone starts to thaw. As the world starts to melt, and as slate is dragged against flint like stone, playing and digging, the nightmare doeth thaw.
I do not want to experiment, I do not want to experience, so I beg for life and light, I do not want to experiment, I do not want to fight, so I beg for death and flight, neither of these I want to thaw, neither of those I wanted not to saw, to see, to be. So I chose eternal flight, flipping back from both darkness and light.
No one hears, no one cares, they are the same, but beware. We all suffer unjustly, inappropriately from my vantage stare.
I reach out for the woman in the jungle night, but she is not there, she is nowhere.
It is those flashes of light and vision, that tells me this thing is of greater derision. It does not want to hear, it does not want to see, it does not want to have the silent scream, so out come I, in the desert thaw.
Screaming and twisting and writhing in pain, it cuts through my flesh and rips at my brain, darkness and light, and all in between, murmuring and muttering, love me, and the names of the loveliest of my dream. I hear its moan as it awakes, I know that in the end, there are no mistakes, not in this lively lonely desert scrawl.
So I reach for my childhood friend and recall all of his mistakes, and I walk beside him and alternate behind him, as we are just fakes, living the end, like it can't end, or is it beyond, with a desert friend.
What are these things, that hang their hat on death, that insist on closing their government door, in what I now call the Village of the Damned, and soon the wrath. It is always the same in the end, it coils around you like a snake, and then you realize, we are all just fakes. The dream the flesh the eternal bath, it all comes out the same in the end, like a wolf amid the wrath.
Howl all you want my desert friend, you will be here when I have reached my end, and I will remember, things are never as bad as they seem, and this death coil scrawling on my flesh, is just flesh on flint. Stone cold except for the spark in the night, that annoying voice says look up, hook up, it is time to take flight.
But that is the end, when it all comes ascend, and we leave this toil and wrath, and then someday through the line again, the eternal blood bath. We are all just fakes, you and I. We are disgusted by the flesh so blood filled and the twinkle in the eye. It is all so passť, so passing, I want to die, close my eyes forever, no light, no sound, no eternal eye. Never a word spoken in my poverty, never a word spoken wanting or not wanting to be.
Unless of course I get to coil with that eternal she, so loving, so immortal, like a coil intertwined in the she. I see her briefly in this life's love trick, I see her in passing, but it can never be, at least from what I can see, as I dart in and out of this coil of trickery, this life, this death, this scrawling on my nerve and my brain, and that flinching at night must be me.
So do not wake me, do not break me, do not touch me, do not send me unconscious, because if you do, I sit back on my haunches, and I let the other half slam the stone, like a camel's scrotum, against two and down to the bone. So off I haul, never to return, I have the map, I half to learn. The rest is pure intellectual exercise, after all, aren't we all just a sort of eternal wife's guys.
Now here comes the train, off in the night, I hear it so plain, and the dog with the knife. I heard him earlier when I was asleep and awake, and I hear the guns firing, and whose life did it take. Does it matter to me, I only want the scrawling to quit messing with me. Counting the dead or the life in between, I come off of the slate and stone, feeling flint and mean.
This is an eternal game, and they, we, and I, are finally starting to realize something. It never really pays to be mean. I prefer to lay with a woman on the opposing players team. It doesn't matter if she is red, yellow, or green. It never really pays to be mean. It is easier to play like a child in the fields of green.
So I gasp one last breath, and heave and whiz, I wish the bonnet was off and I was back in the living of the field once again, where all is unscarred, with no scrawling on my flesh, like death's death friend. I will always wonder about Ben Stanford and that Lincoln Alabama night, where I laid down like Elvis, after having heard or seen a fight, or a fright, as one stood strong and approached from the darkness, his appearance like one I have known, all strong and starketh, but that could not be, as he lays dead, a true childhood friend, so I am glad it was not him killing an innocent in the end.
They say the cup runs over in the end, when death and life become one, in an eternal friend. Perhaps I can not turn my back on that one wise man, perhaps he and I will have to make that final stand, against that thing, that lost man, in the darkness, whose vehicle I should ascend, just to see if young Ben Stanford is already half past dead.
If he is not, I should slam the driver with a rock, but who is mean, and who is left, in the end. Maybe it was meant to be, because as the chef said, we are all in God's hand in the beginning and the end. But she did not know the needles as I have, and one lost friend, those strangers who strangle us, is this not the end.?
If I can not die, then who am I? Perhaps I should not have spoken, but who would be there to let the sparks fly for my desert childhood friend, who relishes the flint on slate, again and again. The lesser beings or a manifestation of that sort try to intimidate us for being human in the end, lesser beings or a manifestation of that sort may intimidate us, so we all procreate in the end. So perhaps they or it is not a lesser, but our friend, who came up from the stone and in our delirium, struck the flint and said, this is not the end. So I can see the scrawling on my flesh, as death and life past are all in the mash. I only wish someone or thing would bequeath us all, a non-peasants cash, and a non-death scrawl.
(This was dedicated to my father, who was truly, Bruised Brown). (Look Dad, I am learning to count in Hebrew Now, Aleph Beth Gimel Daleth Heh Vav Zain, and do not forget about Cheth, and in the first it was said, Ox Tent Camel Door Window Stake Sword Window. But they have two windows in my reference print out, 6 and 8, so perhaps it is Teth, the Serpent, whose life it did take, 9.) (Never forget to play like children. Never forget to never grow old.) (Sueet, we mustn't ask 'Who is the weirdest of the weird, we must ask, who is the Queerest of The Queer, the Oddest of the Odd, the one who draws with his crayons and paints like death on a steak, or is that mistake, or on a stake. Or as you would see it, filth, but I say don't take the fifth, Window. Try the eight, but don't make a mistake, it could be the serpent, 9. The sentinel value am I. Can you define Sentinel and his values when I return to the FDIC to claim my stake).
(Early retirement is never good for flint and stone that will not flake. Sueet I take a look out my window. I spoke with a young man of Mississippi internet recently and I told a lie about him later saying he was in real estate. He was trying to find if I could get internet in the foreclosed home with a field. He said, "Sueet", and that is the code word for MOuRNiNG STAR FIGHT CLUB, Sueet"). (Sueet, MOuRNiNG STAR FIGHT CLUB was the predecessor to Mobile Audit Club. I think I would like to catch the San Francisco Muni now. Make no mistake, it is going home that I do not fake.) Sueet. When I get back, I want to sit over next to the window, and if you are in higher stake, I will lay parlay and half-bake, make no mistake, at a quarter past a dozen, I will your daily wage take, unless your bring flint and stone and do not fake, but beware, as my childhood friend you do not want to wake, with your lies and treachery as in the death wake. Bring Masta and Pie Hole FDIC D.C., I want to climb to the top so I can be free. Make no mistake, that death scrawl tells me the time, in the end.