Enertialcall 10

Page 1

Enertial Call issue 10 Enertial Call

llaC laitrenE

issue 10 Sept 11 2012

featuring the ART of Geogre Jartos



I run from addiction in general. Even as I fall prey to Art, eating and love. . I can afford this. Like Stienbeck and his Diablo, mine is called Tara. A home from rain and thieves, though the protection is Buddhaistic. (a good bat ,a lonely road and your in) I keep a safe glance and a prayer, as a trusted security for the celebration, the calling of my gypsy.

Editorial desk mess

The sky is blue like always, the earth turns on it’s axis. By accepting to live without the guilt of bills I live my art.. Homelessness is no longer the raging bull of insecure economics. For all my life I have written. The life style of creation is yet only in moments un-guilty. So , I repeat, I afford my life and am happy. . All successful life seems a divorce from ap- prehension. Where thought comes in-Lue of power for completion of an idea. What is strength? but endurance. The tortoise and the hare race, except unlike the story the tortoise and hare really have no bodies and spiritual strength is easier to measure, tolerate, and respect. For it is a strength to feel. To Not buy , or rent or lease, but to own. ,and not to casually give away the living love. Walls complain of middle managed situations and a rising interest in violence nationally and locally,, the buildings becomes the lonely tales of mans inner cruelity of statistics and bottom lines.. The bootstrap makers, win all the time, as they tell you to pull them up.. It is only because they are pulling them down With this in mind I complete Issue 10, It has taken a year, when i planned four a year. Someday i will achieve that. For now we collect the best we can find and hope some of the words spark interest in a further persuit of the romance and delicate beautify of arts inspiration and merit. I have seen many fall to lesser Gods. With this issue I am secure in the fact that i will be creating these as long as i am alive. Hidding in Coffee houses and what ever shelter i can find for a computer and an idea. I have used storage sheds and spider ridden Attics, I have used out houses turned into living spaces just to keep my dream alive of creating so that you can remember we are whole when we remember the many reasons for art and civiliization. When we remember against all that tells us to forget. all the glitch and glamor of the Corporate lifestyles preposed in media, the Hard rocker and sour wealthy, All the shallow remorse is removed for second of realism I hope to present in this magazine. I hope to hope, for not only me but all the artist in this issue. Our feature fills these pages with laughter and rejoiced learning, with celebration. Our writers ,all, are looking for the human creative to balence the dreams of creative personal discovery. I have started to work on the next issue where our Feature artist will be from Sciense fiction and the turn of the whole magazine will be toward a preposed future. Please join us again for that issue. And finally , If you write, please keep to it. I personallly know that the changes and adaptation you make with each word are the progressives views you apply to the whole of life. Enriching your surrounds is to better my world. so thank you. And like always remember “We Unite in the Mind” Editor Kada aka K.A.Ambrose

Staff or content pages

Letter to editor..........................4-5 pg Feature Artist ..George Jartos .....pg 7 Occupy This..Terry Tinsley........pg 10 Feature Novelist ................A.L.Peck excerps from “Abstract Murders” .....................................pg 13,31,36,52 Lessons

How-to mediatate......pg14

Feature “Poe-it” Kada................pg 16 And what is day...Paul Jessu.......pg21 Reality Letters.. Saul DeGrass....pg25 Time and the eviction of time.... Harold Mistvictor...... pg29 . Pages by Dann Linn..Dann Linn.... Steam Punk Boy..............pg33 The Poet....................pg34 Petition Page..National Dayoff to vote ...................pg38 My Ten days of Virassana Scott Lahteine..................pg45 Public Document court papers NSA transmissions ELF mind control ......A found file on the internet while searching for whos afraid of viginia wolff................................pg48 Down and OUt in Mythos City Adam Bolivar....................pg50 Journal ...K.A.Ambrose.............pg 57



Letters to the Editor dear Editor Its your fault, Messed up artistic person. Fooling our minds to think of love. Tranversing spirits to find meanin in simple motives and fleeting feelings. You have cast us into a world lead by visions so as not to see reality. All of time the rich have supported you from the Medici’s on out. The church and the awful wealthy have paid you to warp minds to think we have more because of you, your culture. While we ,the regular, become, by image, the out casts. We that indebt ourselves. We, that have to look away or be confused , for what we see is not what we live, so it ‘s you to be blamed for our world disregards reality for a show of pomp and tails, for money over Morality, or power over piousness. You have scourged the earth for oil melted ice caps. YOu strip mined and deforrest the world. and that is not far enough, for even now you go after inner meanings and water supplies. Fighting for fracking and pipelines, creating only more need for your masters hand for Art is a slave to the rich. YOu who love the nuclear bomb/aids/cancer to promote the us or them, the death or life of the world around you. for only death promotes doubt when death is only a microsecond of life and yet its a moment you hold to promote deformity and tell of a fantasy. the communists tried to stop you and eventually your masters children will realize they are to blame and will but only because the earth will reclaim all it was, and the unbreathable air will make equality for all again. signed the culture Dear letters to the editor So much of your publication revolves around escape. It is funny you don’t advocate drug usage but you should try and be more current. Let me suggest some topics you could be more “intune” with. One- GeoEngineering: the seeding of clouds with Aluminum. this is performed with additives in fuel or some such thing , in order to create “Weather control” but what it is doing is killing nature by creating bad unnormal, unnatural Ph balences, Killing people with the rise in ashma. Creating drought conditions, and by doing so raise food prices and Eliminating small farmers. Geo engineering raises the heat on the ground by covering the nights sky stopping the release of heat, Hottest month, in recorded time, March 2012, See Http://_______________ Research and actions sponsored by General Electric but the benefits are reaped by cheap land grabs and the need for More GMO’s by Monsanto who manages to meet the need before it happens. Two- oh the years pass but still the world is consumed by the pains of 911. billions of dollars spent on Homeland security and changing law removing our civil rights Ie phone taps Ie lost of travel privileges because of taxes owed; such that only the rich can travel. Three- Oh my god there is to much to mention. but each fact filters down to kill liberty, in favor of monolific corporations and hidden government. We might as well just forget the peoples vote and only let the CEO’s vote who gets to rule America. Home of the free, land of the Brave. four- Fracking ,while cheapening Natural Gas, is ruining water supplies. All while fox television and other media sources fail to present overwhelmingly negative affecting evidence. I mean who is creating a story around the five percent who want the Advancement over the ninety five percent who need environmental peace seeing as the majority can not go into deluxe fall out shelters present ever since the age of nuclear war. Who presents them as equal arguments? I guess i should thank you , if you publish this. I know i have only



kicked the dirt of what we should pay attention to , . Barring your escapists ways and media tendency to disrupt the truth with heavenly escapes and published limited opinions. I know you are trying to get out unheard voices and styles of writing. but with all your money One would think you would find more writers to come out with truth in the face of the corporate speak we get every day; The escapism we have come to regard as news. Signed Occupy the Mind against Corporate Speak Dear Editor In regard to your petition page in issue nine, How dare you use your media to change Law. Don’t you know you are an art Magazine that the separation of media and governance is mandatory . that you are to be impartial, and smart! for the stupidity of letting people off work could only bring more people , who don’t understand the voting process out to vote. Personally i think only people making forty thousand a year or more should be allowed to vote at all, but you “rag” getting involved in the process by presenting a petition is wrong. someone should steal you pen. Why cant you be righteous source of media like FOX news or CNN or one of the 95% of media’s owned by the Major 5 corporation like good Americans. Fuck you sincerely in Gods name Howard Bane Dear Editors Thank You for your last issue. The art of lea Kelley really gave me a high. though I had to go to her web sight to see the work for real in color. http://www.Leakelley.com. I appreciated the subtle definitions of black and while presented by your release. the depth of the culture which comes to understand grey matter as a sign of philosophy to the rigid white or blackness opens my mind to the blindness created by staunch decisions, The ideological definition that blind common sense. Once again thank you and i will take the response off air. Dear Editor Have you ever been butt fucked by a barb wired baseball bat? or gang raped in prison while only twelve? Have you been blown apart and pieced back together while in the military as a peace officer pen pusher? or burned while sleeping only to awake in a hospital and find you have burns on ninety three percent of your body, and look like a monster the rest of your life. Have you ever worked for forty years only to think you are going to retire and your partner takes all your savings and gambles it away on state lottery? Or have you ever been pinned down to the ground with stakes in the sun whith honey poured on your genitals, or been robbed and knocked out only to find your kindney removed as you wake up on the street in Portland Oregon by another homeless man taking your shoes. Yea, I thought so.. with love bob





Feature Artist

g j

eorge artos

George Jartos is an artist who grew up in a blue color household. Yes, he sells and is hanging on walls across the globe. But also his work is more in depth than can be presented here. If you are seeing the enertialcall in black and white, for color go to the internet at Georgejartos.com. George is a life long artist. Lending his brand of life to the Ec. He is one of us. He has been selling cartoons since the sixties. Living all over the United States presently he graces Bellingham, Washington. George is a painter /sculpture who loves the faces and lives he tells in his paintings. Alive people, responsive and worldly, peer from the canvas. Inviting you to see the dream of yourself. Involved people, who, through their eyes, bring us closer to a common reality of being. My interview with George will be available soon at ECTV (youtube/enertialcall) so you can hear his words, but no matter what is said his pictures give a sense of hope in the variety of personalities he portrays and the themes his work embodies. George is a great guy. We would like to thank him here for his contribution to the enertialcall and to humanity. Thanks George.







Occupy This.. Ten Petitions for Change

written by Terry Tinsely themadHatter@enertialcll.com

One: Recall all senators who have accepted moneies from a list of offending corporations and/or Profiteed from Ethics violations. The Offending list should be started with; BoA, ChaseMan, (etc.) with an extra law naming Halibutron and the Bushes to be EVIL and tried in an international war court after America tries them for EconmicTreason. Two: Bring Responcilbity back to goverment. Mandate a law that all millionaries ,and above, are ineligible to serve in Government. Ruling that to serve the state would be a conflict of interest. Three: Redefine the Food and Drug Adminastration to eliminate chemical additives and Genetic motified crops from food sources and products distributed in the United States by adopting a Raw food and all natural model as Grade A classification. Four: Create a constutional amendment to insuring the goal of government is Global Enviromental Health with a mandate to focus on Affordable Eduction by revising the Student loan tax structure.. as a new defintion to ” Life And Liberty.” Five: Change education’s mandate to include meditation and taichi in physical fitness Programs in lower grade education. (including Massage in Health classes and Guidance Consoling) Six: Create a law that says corporation who act together to defraud the state shall be punished. Crimes agasint the state shall include, collusion, bribery, forged elections (Internationally ) Money swindling, Market Rigging , and insider trading, also and including Miss use of state funds. as well as prosecution for Single people acting in collision with multiple entities through stock ownership and board memberships. Once a corporation are concluded to be EVIL and in violation of this Law. The state shall take control and all money ,after operations expenses, shall be used for an environmental clean up trust. Seven: Create a federal mandate to take all university material shall be placed online and available for free. Also create a federal banking system to buy all Outstanding Educational Debt ;The low interest profits will be used for the furthering the environmental Cleanup and Debt reductions Trust. This system will be more flexible and take payments directly from paychecks with no extra fees from unemployed, credits are also earned toward future education if one wishes, also freinds and family can partisipate in the Loans of others and the future credits of others. Eight: Mandate Governmental employees get governmental housing. Including representives. Nine: Create a new class of people ,, the artist,, juried people who shall recieve a stipen to create and show work. Artist will also be asked to do as much public time writing, drawing, and performing. “An artist inspires by showing the focus” Ten: Mandate the state to take over cannibus production and solar panel production. Eleven: Mandate all new contruction to be “off grid” self sifiecent housing leading to a Retro fitting of all Structures by 2020. Tweleve: Mandate government to get first right to all new Patents, which secure the health and peace of people’s advancement. State gets first right to everything! The state also produces buisness to distrubute said products, selling all buisness eventually back to the free market after five years. pg10






Enertialcall Feature Novelist A.L. Peck’s Abstract Murders So it was my mother’s murder that ultimately charted my course in life and led me to the FBI’s Behavioral Science Division. I desperately needed to fi nd out what made murderers tick; but fi nding out what makes them tick comes at a heavy price. Whenever I’m working on a case I become consumed by it. I eat, sleep, and drink in the suspect’s mind set in order to catch him or her; and with each case I take on, I lose a little bit of my soul in the process. My mother’s murder may have acted as a catalyst for what I do for a living, but it’s the railroad job done to Mari Claire over thirty years ago that still haunts me. To this day, I still can’t bring myself to uncover the truth about what really took place on that Fourth of July weekend so many years ago. It’s still too painful, and deep down I dread fi nding the truth. Like most people. I fi nd solace in lies rather than in the truth, at least in my personal life anyway. But I know that one day forces beyond my control will suck me back into my horrible past like a vacuum and compel me to discover the truth about what really happened that night. Until then, the mystery will continue to hover over me like the cloak of the Angel of Death. It doesn’t matter where I go or how deeply I immerse myself in my work. It’s going to catch me! Sometimes, I find myself praying for a nervous breakdown just so I can get this goddamn monkey off my back. Perhaps this is the real reason I chose to walk the razor’s edge between madness and reality. Little did I know that I was about to get my wish. The cases of Reilly McHugh and the Artist would just about break and damn near kill me. • Chapter Two • Cynthia Benson At first they wore the aspect of charity, and seemed white slender angels who save me; but then, all at once, there came a most deadly nausea over my spirit, and I felt every fi bre in my frame thrill as if I had touched the wire of a galvanic battery, while the angel forms became meaningless specters, with heads of fl ame, and I saw that from them there would be no help. From Th e Pit and the Pendulum By Edgar Allan Poe Spring is the most beautiful time of the year to visit the Nation’s Capital. Tourists from around the world fl ock to the city in time to see the blooms on the cherry trees that line the Tidal Basin. Th e blossoms open and splash a bit of color throughout a town known primarily for its politics. It’s days like these when the images and voices of children at play should be heard lofting through the air, but the echoes of loud arguments and the sound of gunshots are more commonplace in the neighborhood where I live with my four-year-old son, James. It’s even too dangerous for him to play in his own front yard. My son and I live in the poverty-stricken area of Barry Farms in Southeast Washington a modern-day gulag where drug dealers and gang bangers rule the roost. James is an inquisitive little boy with a wide-eyed innocence but, the bright glow in his large brown eyes grows dimmer with each passing day. It’s hard for me to keep him cooped up inside the house day after day, but what else can I do? I try to make him as comfortable as I can by playing games and teaching him to read when I’m not hitting the books. I’m taking night courses at the University of the District ofColumbia where I’m a semester away from earning a degree in computer programming. I also work as a waitress on the weekends at a Red Lobster to earn some extra money. My ultimate dream is to one day be able to afford to move my son to a safer environment, a place where he can play



Lesson section

There was a study of self and my ability to try and itemize how non physical Innocence is natural and common . this is an Enertialcall. 17 Meditate 16 Nonphysical realizations ,Emotional self 15 Plant nature 14 Essence 13 Spirals 12 Nonphysical means without body so to tell of natural spirituality 11 energy survives Emotionalism 10 Balance comes the action to change 09 Happiness explained in the content , fed and sheltered 08 come back and love again 07 place the physical to balance with a learned state of meditation and the creative freedoms 06 break stereo types for the mental mechanism of self 05 come to re-see the physical 06 itemize personal discovery 04 react to emotional growth , be calm 03 fantasy is life really 02 repeat until you get it, meditation, astral travel, ghosts equal focus. 01 introduce a political understanding with world unity though common spiritual science of metaphysics 02 realizing death as only body separation 03 water contains energy; what dehydrates kills 04 chemicals promote depression (additives in food) 05 intuition metaphysical self awareness integrate 06 body is a tool, your moments are all moments 07 Notice where personal anger comes from repeat 17( create your own list) and add Everything is changeable.





Feature POEit KADA

and the day is here and in panic the tellings of interests, what do you ask me, who am I to be inside the forced inventions. what I would give you and pass away,, what I hear. is telling me to forget , so days slowly pass.

i do not have the dreams of my youth, if my youth had dreams. i see the world plain were once it was all faith. faith hasn't failed me, but dreams have, one separated from the other. the difference of love from romancing. I wonder where I would be without the constant re-considerations of life, and the diffident abstraction.

Removing the Mask Artist the rebellion to show honesty the cause I have trained in humanity without college or scheduled coarses but by the hand to see and the heart to feel I have been trying to survive Early consciousness Cultural Opinions and Moral Hypocrisy. I wasn’t yet part of life every angle commonly accepted of time I grew disrupted the honesty purging life from wholesomeness and left beauty arrayed like stains on cotton. Untold while Dressed in priest robs Somehow I found my actions with this Pen the only humanity I could join and by ninteen was on my own without friends with only transient equality Everywhere a traveler’s piece. always going somewhere Never staying anywhere.

Steps and Steps and steps. I have lived feelings I am changed. I have regarded path Seen generations Heard history Death has been With guns and starvation With panic and elliptical pleasure Have chosen not To love and forgotten while loving. Viewed greed stealing bread. And mourned my birth Only to bounce an orange ball Taking which ever way It would land On rocky earth. The pebbles chaotic perfection.


the country peels away slowly at the dirt Leaves rustling going no where. the sun fading in and out of clouds


Arms Made Lofty Arms made lofty Warrior strong amended from Guilt. devoted passive yielding Arms made Lofty cast unspoken equality familiar mystic hindrance only the man allie fearing panic and retreat so lofty can only cry. armed poetry hangs aloft.

The Heart is man made. When I want something gone, what I want! Muse stage, there where I am not. Just standing only as inner concern affect the moron. There is a place to stand, unknown, People are seen in this land for better or worst. I write in public, there is hope. I hear a Pan-Drum, I know the sound, as a friends instrument who for Christmas would smoke with lemon and tabacco. rhythm for life, tonight again I have felt rhythm given where only the muse can go. I felt paranoia of people who liked me. Shifting to view and reapproaching some effect of war ship, I see the smiles go down when I am not on. People love to kiss while a person writes. a philosophic reaction completes environment and a Muse gets a prayer.

Telling the cat to come with the can opener..

This heart is man made. put together with string and tape staples and excessive bits of cloth mended with novels of anienct statesmen and poets of honor. This heart is man made. Treated with time and devotion created around idea’s and fortified with experience. It is made to withstand it’s self. to honor what has been life with what is ultimately love. which gods call peace without creating.

The air makes joke of my mood. The air makes joke of my mood. Peeping out of clouds and back against a proposed conversation with God. Atribution to tone and alert nature. A paranoia Maybe accumulating but the animal “the forest wide” accepts what is controlled and what is nature. A Lasting point for some sane man Pretending to be insane, through and including reason. off and off and off and off. Slowly the bus goes to Hampshire I feel this prejudice of knowledge. within me , cause I let it. I see myself as an actor for a response to trauma escaping home into the thoughts and feel paranoia the off shot of clairvoyance and vibe as contradiction to actual energy.





But I was born a stone giant


Each day has an appreciation and a failing One seen leaves five unrecognized. a broad fence this life post; self known As any can predict for only weights of self possession. Growth eludes a moral base.

So goes a day, made mirth and chocalate the road warrior, survives with peanuts in his socks, the cool colored alien. Speak of anlatyzed evolution to grind martyr to wheels on the tom weight naturally. I can work no more work against self disfunction descripted function on one who dares. all can tell whats wrong staring into the gaps between seats, of that overlapping change mincing never type or cause survival indent always to remake the spent, time lies to purity debased speculative Abseen.

I am wrong to make comments on stones. Conditional amulets Given to the poor to give again to get lighter ones. So I lived another day Diamonds a pile of quarts at my feet thrown for the ripples I am about to give away to give away again prismatic cuts and healings next rock thrusts ever to gravities In turn I am given Iron ore tattoos and eventually ripping shale to let light through.

To consider Human Form: Beauty Straight focused eyes lived sleep hard full lips. An unknown Madonna with working class hurts which look up but only in occasion like eyes of a Victum. Looking to ask the torture to stop but no works come before the hard bites. like there also no tears after. Real beauty in form is quiet seductive as the dreams are endurance reliance. grace of presense more then form shape and siz Strength to be Real beauty is the strength to love and care in life’s minute self remembrances.

the dawning of spiritual natural political. for where you care you curse the fight to caring at all. and stole from the pains of sufferance . utters a crime of screaming. self taught and imbilical mercy seen , the noble do our venture into an autograph. yet what smiles on me, but this sweet timber. acendant on the winds , lost remember, lost and gendar, tossed and found as id and center. muercy desends lovely. just where you are standing Crying in the rain. your wetted hands ,, for to see your time. emblazened. in joys, we take form the need to fed. we seek to motivate the intuitions, an get hold of the guilts, and “impossilbes” the “i can not”. , for the path of self evidence. in moments in the sun,





And what is day Surrounded in plee’s Guilty to freedoms, Needing survival While costs mount up. A severity is country and pride. I go to work Which works Backward to the individual I want. Possesions of character Taunting, jeering from the side. a holding Spiritually occupied. and it is just life Lived verses the pursuit. So with a phone I must start again. with a car I must start again with developed talents what chances are real music , my hands the confusion of being tired the honesty of choices. Where else but America where is need met. for this “exceptance” self divined wishes.

And what is day

by Paul Jessu

“I have searched the world over’ a statement taken from Hee Ya, the adapted narrative of country life with music to understand nobility, purity and the truth of man’s nature. Maybe it is simple, “ man takes care of his needs without ethics or civility to others” and that is nature. The more you look the more you see. The rampant disregard for future through actions of greed and deceit. But yet, that is not peaceful. and even law inflicts no moral demand. We can manipulate law to cover any truth as legal; making no real law, only sides and more sides. While we argue humanity suffers. As an Artist I feel a responsible to live change and effect future as I effect life. Art composes the morals of culture; advancing cultural awareness. A high ideal? but yet I have lived for high idealism of personal freedom and change. Suffering rebellion to understand what has not been taught to me; except through meditation and intuition. I find peace only in the ways of the spiritualism I observe and wish only to stand up for the ideals of a spiritual responsibility as a world unity… the balance is dictated by technological society… It is humorous that an ill-educated man would choose to stand up for ethics and a moralistic view. or that he would think at all. I have come to feel there is no more important creation I can enact. True feeling leads true nature and creates the world equality beyond plotting and schemes. the plot is known. Reaction is automatic and simply understood. But yet, an enforced change to mankind would only come from the human with nothing to loose. From the bottom up. Big business runs the world: without the people, without global caring for children. We can not live without hope. Personal change is my mantra but devoid of corporate elitisms for a natural awareness. I had no energy to be alive so I slept. Dreams ran around in my head for the hours I spent walking through different events I can not remember. Help me oh lord without love I have no energy. I am old and wanting, like there was never a chance to be alive. I know I am wrong , but then she called and something inside smiled and awoke. I wondered weather it was love for which I lack or am I just so depressed the manic voice is triggered… Are we all so depressed we can not think. Are we depressed because the world’s problems accosts us every night on television. Or are we depressed because of the denial , looking at problems and forcing ourselves to forget them… I want only to live.. I want to celebrate the love of life. With love we can find peace i keep feeling.. All the world knows that peace. Most hold on to a piece of peace they have with all their heart, Some of them are of the material riches and love and peace are all they would want to preserve. but at the cost of others they choose to deny. The majority of mankind is material. They have jobs and they have love. They don’t have the power to control the future they have only the peace taken from life, taken in absence of power through the humility of the slave… I want only to live. but in living we must have truth.. in that we must have action , there is no peace with denial so close to daily thoughts, such that we must focus on blinding ourselves every day.



I mind a dog. a four legged Pitbull. She smiles softly with brown eyes from the bed of old laundry. Her joy; to run outside. searching out the smells which give emotions,story, give adventure to the gray dulled Sunday. I smoke and listen to the noises from the next room. A movie about war. I can tell from the shouted commands and the backward counting just before the rocket launch. Sade is the dog. I am bob. Who’s knocking at my door. A martin soccesse picture plays on the video machine. Life and more. the city of new york must be the most documented in the country. the south bronx, Brooklyn. Names I have never heard the origins of . but have seen enough in films to almost know my way around. the over head subways. the endless brick buildings. the well planned streets. it is a land away. and yet real somewhere. harvey kitel , so young , with his strong hold of friends, all filled with longing and Italian, filled with religion and guilt and blame. Ignorance documented. the Ignorance which conducts life. I wonder if anyone really saw themselves as this flim maker again told the tale ultimately of the Existentialist from Nausea to No way out… he knew . I wonder if anyone else did. It was life like smells from the poll or the grass and off she goes down the path further than I can see so I call ‘sade’ back. Harvey’s girl tells him of being raped. A long drive in the country. where no one can hear your screams. Harvey pulls away. visions floating through his mind of the brown haired girl with a bed for room decoration as a reaction to the rape, to her telling him of it. with disbelief. What you told the other guys he says. the denial and lack of compassion. Sade smells a dying bird and bites into it bringing me its life less body. You know the movie… you look for a nice girl but your heart settles for love inside without equal on the planet. and there is a reason we are loveless. sade and me. we get to much of gods adventure. it is everywhere and our minds have fostered our beliefs. more than my mind has felt its emotions. do god and nature fight? Ignorance…Sade barks at footsteps. I hold a lover in my vision, the place where I dream until It replaces reality.. Humanity conquers Humanity. my dream outlasting reality, but enjoining spirit without the connection physical , my Anna-bell, My Clarity. Sade smells male and female. “got a cold fever”, “want to meet” -- emails in dog shit. Can’t touch the owner but can have the dream. Harvey can’t realize change . he reacts like he is. naturally, while she has books and dreams…. each loving for reasons with imaginations, maybe that is one of the reasons for’ dsyharmony’. Loving with imagination where it is just nature. .. One of the ghosts tell me so. How long does Love last? When I am at work, the day is country hills and vales off in the distance. I work on a hill. putting up thin cement tong depressors over wall,wills.. the beauty is not interrupted by the loud pound of the nail gun, Its forced air deep plunk creates the other side , another side , god, nature and industry guess you could call it an idea. but it is not a love of thought, the thinking is kept at a minimum, it not the pleasure which represent nature. Oh my ignorance is showing.it is slavery. The Enforced slow evolution of mind and body. Mind slowly



dulls working on the wall , looking at lines. sometimes I forget they are there and reason leaves. I am dog tired and just leave, it usually rhythms perfect with the rest of the crew, I am one of five and we all quit. Sade’s tail wags so hard her middle curls obscenely. she despite to run after being trapped in the room while I was at work. she is my thoughts. she is a freedom to follow. I wish I could and run smelling testing and pushing I wish I was natural. a dividing line is the fig branch. the sky stays gray. I live in a little room in a large building full of little rooms. the walls , made of metal, stopping nails from being hangers, are unlogically taped with drawings I have done or flyers telling life I want to believe. A Bozo rubber figure sits half lotus at the bottom of the lamp. a square wooded brown base supporting four columns holding another wooden square holding the fixture in the center , a fifth brass column inside the first wooden four. Bozo’s back placed against a half oval polished brass bass cover; reflections coming back dulled and golden. Bozo always smiles. On the other side of the column from Bozo Is a whale in miniture, a toy , where you push up the base to move its springy arms to dance and sway. You have to be really good with the toy or it just falls to one side or the other, like a bullet to the brain ; instant and without romance the whales standing body flings dead. The drawings look like notes about a project one never finishes. thrown up quick, “ I want to leave this place” it says to me. I can only stick things to the walls which can go away leaving nothing, no mark. One little room. Do god and nature fight? How did I get in the middle. The fig is my favorite food. Composed of just enough bat shit. flying through the night blindly. I do not have the same passion I had when younger , these words remove me to a place where only the doing matters, I have an old high. a muse which works without working. lingering inside distant movements the typewriter pressing down, the day moving on. slowing tides of not being for which is in the outer world , a no one with long hair, the older guy feeling the attention, the paranoia, then meeting the abstract, telling stories to mark the day giving writing to the poets. some staring with youths confusion wanting to walk side to go where I

go the places and adventures I do alone inside to be a dog. and others older stand around looking at all, the lust ,the city , the outside here I am talking of. going by‌ the lust is without emotion. is replacement. and is finally to blame on both god and nature. our thoughts having to be staged, to be trained with such, that not all get , for god or nature fails to explain like industry does. to teach for a reason. the reason in both cases would be peace. Technology should rhythms with industry. Hard scorning eyes try to look friendly stare off into the distance when they talk ,tell about getting drugs, and who pissed him off, who ran away with the money, what “so and soâ€? is going to do. and look at that set of honkers. his eyes shinning for a moment. turned up at the crows feet. sip at the coffee with the rest of the street going by. everyone writing down what he does, sade gets right up to him and smells. love or not , sex for reproduction. her tail only swings back and forth slightly, stopping now and again to become straight and stiff, as warning and time to be aware. The room has a fan. Blowing constantly in summer, when sweat constantly reminds of secrets and lusts. where an encounter under the right conditions, gives the friendly wanting. where desire comes with all new friends in the sexual game. I like you. lets deny each other and have sex.





Reality Letters by Saul De Grass

I know not why my head wishes scribbling Maybe to ease the sense of knowing These days can end. Maybe feeling them in difference In heat of summer where winter rain threatens, Or moments of spring where fall fails fulfillments What heat tryes to cast off desperation Or maybe I have been reading Shakes-spear to much or by paying for street parking And want every moment. It, the purchased temporal, Real -I- state at the end of the bus station Come and go Come and go Like my last love, Like summer, In minute occupation temporal heat Scribbling in a space rented Between birth and death, training and maze, love and longing. I scribble what would be life’s graffiti Washed off cold On buildings Made otherwise Useless When they shelter only Commerce and failure. I could walk from here to the Library To the apple orchard, describing What ever is mistakenly reached For thinking it would further Her love , godess , moment I can only sit in shade the heat hurts Pains what process Inside needed clarity for A balance of why’s

Dearest K Hello I had to write this. Stirring thoughts ever since i left you and Sarah , an attraction , a lust, a common element , a human instant insanity I felt after looking into your eyes. the Intrigue of those thin slits and cornered star burst wrinkles shallowly placed small. i love wrinkles like i like bark on a tree. the telling of time spent and a known reality; wise and strong enough to say hello. The shining blue eyes with the slight crows feet. which stare like they could lift you. looking, searching,, silently questioning “Are you the one?” “Are you cool?” “crazy?” “Seductive?” “ intuitional?” “Are you hippy enough?” while the streaming of the younger crowd goes by giving a reactionary pause for your shorts and slick thick legs. You ketch each eye weighing purpose in your drunken heightened powers of self direction destruction. Wantonly confident for the vision you are choosing to play with. The animals stop of a second until you pass them on, like Emporer Catherine choosing her boy for the night. Meandering bodies with the choosy eyes. all the while coming back to me for a second to hold me spell bound a rabbit in a trap, a cobra to the crowd as they look at me wondering even from the first minute “is he the chosen”. Who are you and age determines more comfort in your choice as the alcohol has led you on a journey you will to fulfill passions demands. One night of freedom , after so many already lived. one to balance the torturous servitude of mother and student, which lie behind the drunken mirth and power. it is hard to repeat the magic, key ingredients must be fulfilled, and each that pass do not know how to feel the moment as a play of heat; the sky and the summer have given you soft warmth. Driven by sex, by submissions as natural and welcomed, Animal and possessive where direction is accepted and not over thought. This adventure is finely tuned to where you can see what is next and only want for it to happen. to fulfill a night of such expense with limited reward ; limited magic. You are all magic now , and the street lights help you along the dream. Maybe it was Shara, smaller in comparison, thinner with breats of a little girl who hid as you said hello. Maybe it was she, who told



you to say hello. Your side kick for the night, Her who you are resueing from the planning's her mother hood her three children and poverty. Who has followed farther into the rabbit hole to turn passive to your lead the extreme opposite of her controlling life. not sure of her role meek in the fog of magic, much smaller with down cast eyes almost trying to hid, you present her like “Here is the beast” you have caught for her, with your bait of sex , your huntress vision. both of you into the spirit more than the body, for the magic has made the mother of three meek when each day is strength and courage for the brood of her loins , you the lion queen with the much older son and the imposing of motherhood handled out of youth. You determined you would show her how to use the sex to the much younger mother. Both of you had escaped for the night to find the magic still there and waiting , the magic you put away with a small smile and remembrances as you instruct the children, as you tell them what to do and not. this is the magic i wish they can see, the magic which must be handled if one is to handle life at all. and you went beyond the call, you were just looking for fun and knew the pieces involved but I can not be sure, I have met many women who have wanted less from me. Me the musician with the long hair and hardened arms, with the crazy car written over with acrylic paints and slogans of unity and visions. A question mark in a world of exclamations points and periods. . No matter the reason, you drove me out of my normal. You gave me back a sight , a courage of myself just by the hello. “It is my birthday soon I will be 36.” “ I am forty six” my eyes shining at the moment of discovery that you are old enough for me and i am not to be asking myself in ten minutes why i am here. I can just be, the lights have glazed our faces for many days creating the visions of years , the pains the hopes the fullness of clarity of what could and would through what has been and accepted. It is a thing of faith to play with the nights lusting. I have not been free since i left the lands of the east where i knew and lived in each street to tell tales which come from years of magic, the sounds investing my voice as i describe, to some new light by my side as teacher ,as protector, the loves here shared. I have had no security of community ,for few see what could be for what they want and respect only the limited sights of man and money. I love to be wanted, so the bait of your body was enough. I know everyone does but you gave me the words. I wanted you because you could see me. I lead myself to let the magic run in respect of strength and intuition. In your brave first expressions i saw move than i really did, as you gave me the instant celebration of the moment and with that a hope for all moments through the faith that comes with observation and applied awareness. And for this man it is a hope only a women can give.. It is inspiration. it is depth , it is an awakening. to be an attraction, to voice a love , everything becomes more real after/during the fantasy is hope. Capture as i would let we walked to the beach at first , younger mother needed to pee and a building for cover she let forth the flow which grants the process of consumption. I ran to the car, to get toilet paper leaving my guitar as my presence. wanting only the magic to continue leaving it as trust, two blocks, i ran, for magic can be very fleeting, the sidewalk vendors laughing ,seeing me run knowing i had walked away with two women. Knowing i don’t usually run, anywhere, seeing me play in front of their stand so often. We sit side by side on the curb waiting, our lips kissing from the immediate need to show who has been capture and who was leading, a small touch and again and again until full lipped from nectars moments passed shortly and broke off, to receive the younger mother who had returned and again to the beach. jointly we resolve to drive, to go to a more secured place where fire could be and swimming, which complete the magic of a warm western night. the sea is the mother so it is to her that all loves begin and end. And all the next day , I wanted no more than to sit and write you, to tell you of the voices of clarity or fantasy as life really is in our choosing , you awoke in me, the sense of self motive. I can only write to you about. My phone is off, so i can not call. and even if i could i would be wasted for words come so slow vocally for me in reality , I prefer the pen , even as often it leaves relevance which far out weigh what is intended. I just want to thank you. for letting me glimpse love again. which always started with fire, passion, immediate intoxication. I will suffer nothing less. It is a lonely feeling while i sit writing you. It is a scary feeling for all that would change accordingly , like you have already. I have loved you and left, holding a past as a foreteller, , a past that i have to push away for the difference of my now. but yet in its wisdom i see holding a future of beaches and warm dialogues of caring for your body and trying to understand you mind. Endlessly i have thought of you today, like a constant vision of some prophet to turn around life , to be someone you could love for the artist rarely is , actually loved. Pictures are fine as long as you are not cast into the sufferance, the discipline, the poverty , the illgotten romance, even though our legs met and instantly i knew i would create a one of our immediate intimacy, as i would want to touch you with strong hands to find your spirit screaming pleasures of the box you hid in innocence. I have made love to you every day since i left



you , wanting to pleasure you to hold your passions with respect and escapes. Instant love finds equals. I yet know you might not feel the energy as love but our exchanges would be as energy finds equality, the strength ,the pain relieved, so substance of a moment. and yet in repetition, as all the truth of “after” looms like a specter of what it has been , and curves the hope to a moment alone again. without understand and change societies needs and individual denials. maybe you are reading this in front of me, my hands dyeing to find ways of feeling you and releasing my dormant sexuality , my art of living each touch to compose a moment of exacy. as i hold you like an energy i wrap around, who’s energy which would incite my own. Because i know that already has happened I have felt you hard as me. kissed your breats lapping water from the same ocean easing us into a harmony which releases . Maybe you are reading this while i test the boundaries of a sharing feeling , each tense muscle contracted or inviting passionate response, as i ease over your back, pulling at your muscles , gathering information that only you hold in the stresses and movements react. only shared with flesh and discovery, listening to quick breathing, as each touch further down your back gives me, touching you ass and your spreading of legs for me to enter with my tongue what is while in love, what is real giving and more dangerously closed to an all of ourselves. as we state to know each other as a key we couldn’t proclaim earlier. I wonder if you remember me today slightly still weather any of this will reach that into core of being you will define by the actions you prosue today. or have i again been subject to the denial that keeps us strong. or merely sitting as some dude who presents himself as depressive , which you can not afford to understand , it does not matter as i sit in my bed , i feel you out there somewhere, i feel you and wonder how far away from an us you could be by now. tired as the lost love have promoted, silently killing a greater embodiment which each failed possession has become, I am tired, after last night , yesterday morning now. i slept but a minute and proceeded with the day where i couldn’t play and only wanted to remember the night, the fire , holding you and Shara, , I wanted to first come align of this writing to re-see each moment my mind recalled. to listen , to the real voices replay and the fire consume me, as i would be to consumed each breath, each complaint , each decree, Shara so worshipping of you, how freely you run taking what you want with the promise you will not keep, or can not, the side she consoled of you. she needs your strength. I will write more tomorrow I am in bed with you , on the beach holding you , staring into a fire listening more to the tales i would not hear alone. philosophies of demented lovers and demented responses . of children who become the product of all this , this fire made from wetted wood , so smoky that only patience brings forth complete flames.





Time and the Eviction of travel by Harold Mistvictor

Zaleron was a poet. Well he thought he was a poet . it was not in the words he com-possed together as having all the necessary postulates of imagedum the verbatum wisedom of some other worldly body. the poems were mostly about breakfast and his two headed lover from the Planet Phais. But he was a poet as in he would write poetry and when ever he got a chance would spew out his poems which he memorized like a good poet when ever he got a chance, at dinner parties, at work, on the tran and even to complete strangers and often as it is said without their bequest. and often with less than contemporary acclaim in fact so unset were the people around him he was zapped many times by citizen critics wielding zappers he developed quite a twitch and eventual memory loss which gave him the right to forget he had just delivered his epic poems so he would often do them again , just because he had the urge. It also lead him into our present story , for just being a poet is not enough to warrant a story about him, he stood five five nothing and weighed almost 130 when quite wet, and as has been said his poems never made it beyond the office cubical or the tran even through the party deliveries were really the cause of all the stir with his friends even asking him to stop in fact they made a special room for him every time he came to a party at this or That house, for when he did a poem, he was often transfixed by the delivery and would become unconscious of the fact and forget where he was , such was the zapping effect it might be said, but he never remembered, not even from early childhood, just the forgetting got more in depth with the electrical and nerve rendering zaps of the zappers. His friends would carry him to a room , and there he would find himself when finished waiting for the audiences reaction.. often to look around to no one. but that is also how he met Twinta, his girl, she was waiting for him to finish and applauded so heavenly that it was love at first double sight. one head with a fawning look the other with a tear. END Time travel lead to rebirth, or Warning you to become a time traveled baby..





Enertialcall Feature Novelist Al Peck’s Abstract Murders continue from pg13 outside without my worrying about him becoming another statistic. For the time being, James and I live in an open-air market, where anyone can fi nd his or her drug of choice from the benign pot and hash to the more severe crank, crack, heroin and psychedelics. If it can be smoked, swallowed, snorted or injected, it can be found on the 1200 block of Stevens Road. It was while we were waiting for a visit from his father that my worst nightmare came true. Th e sound of a thumping bass from outside drew James’ attention towards the front window in the living room. James couldn’t have been happier. His little face lit up like a Roman candle. It was his father, Tank, a local high-ranking drug dealer and the leader of the Stevens Road Crew. Tank, whose real name is Jason Williams, and I dated during our sophomore and senior years at Anacostia High School. I found out that I was pregnant about the same time that Jason made his ascension through the ranks of the drug traffi cking and gangbanging world. With a baby on the way, I wanted nothing more to do with Tank or his world and broke off the relationship. “Mama, Mama! It’s my daddy.” James was jumping up and down, waving and hitting his palms against the living room window to gain his father’s attention. “Calm down, sweetie. I know you’re happy to see your daddy.” I on the other hand didn’t share my son’s enthusiasm. Tank was a thorn in my side. I hated whenever he came around because he was a bad influence on our son. I didn’t appreciate his use of vulgar street language, his extravagant lifestyle, or the way he spent money with the speed of light on anything with a label while I was barely making a living and trying to raise our son with morals. To James, his daddy was better than Santa Claus. He came every weekend and was never empty handed. His visits made it more difficult for me once he’d gone and I didn’t approve of the messages he was sending to our son--That money and power are what life is about and that crime does pay if you’re smart enough and have the balls to take out anyone that gets in the way. Tank wasn’t all bad. He did love his son and tried to be a good father in his own way. He tried to give me money to make our lives easier, but I wouldn’t take it. Tank off ered to move me and our son out of the projects, but there were strings attached that I just couldn’t live with. It meant having him around James constantly instead of just on the weekends, and I didn’t want to benefit from the blood money Tank was making by poisoning his own people with drugs. A black BMW with gold rims and personalized plates that read “THUGLIF” rolled to a stop in front of our house. A handsome, lightskinned young man in his early twenties emerged from the driver’s side of the car with a lit Camel clinched between his teeth and a bulky package under his arm. He had on a blue and white Tommy Hilfi ger ruby shirt and a baggy pair of Tommy jeans. Around his neck was his ever-present trademark, a thick eighteen carat gold rope necklace with a large dollar sign charm that tapped against his chest as he walked. Tank flicked his spent Camel to the ground and snuff ed it out with the heel of his Timberland boot. He closed the car door and turned on the car alarm, then looked up and noticed his son smiling and waving at him from the living room window. He smiled and waved back, unaware that a dark blue Mustang 5.0 with tinted windows was creeping down the street behind him. The beeper attached to his belt went off and he stopped to check out the message displayed to see who was paging him. The man on the passenger side of the Mustang rolled down his window and yelled, “Tank.” When Tank turned around to see who





He'd been watching. He was careful now. People made him wary. Too much of him ran on steam and he wasn't gonna run out again. Piano/guitar mounted and microphone imbedded, he works up the nerve to slip into Tesla's Coil and sign up to follow Senjata Witt at 7pm. His programs are hardly necessary, he has played the songs so many times before. Tonight he needs enough attention to hustle a corner relatively safe from assault to rest his nuts and bolts. His joke brings only a rueful smile these days.

Pages by Dan Linn

He snagged the fat cockroach and without even thinking dropped it in his tracheal bypass tube direct to the carbonol 100% power conversion unit he has appended to his stomach. This would produce enough steam to keep his servos humming at optimum for a week. Tom Savery, same name as his inventor ancestor, has an artist's heart, but he can picture hydraulics like some can their mothers. His mother's name was "necessity". "Bug powered", he coughs. She must have found his 'off' button. The only reason he did wake up was because when the 1pm gig at Tesla Coil calendar alarm hit, his aux power kicked in. Still, he'd been fully charged when he let her get too close and now he's been out for months. Self exams indicate clothing mods! He's in a display! He been used as window dressing! He remembered how much he hates Christmas. It's just that Profession Store Santa Association power struggle. Right now he has to deal with makeup paint. Him, a Barbie? I am no one's coin operated boy. Attached tip jar, rebuilt from a pachinko machine is just to entertain. "Insert coin" slot is built into skin for convenience, I am no jukebox for quarters like some stout squat metal DJ. Altered, not fake, not organic, but produced, self-generated and self-propelled. I jag on carbonite and jig on high wires, and always rock. I've been in the circus, but I am no clown and you don't even have to agree. I operate me. Her coins don't operate me. He walked warily to the edge of the lot at the address she gave him, but it was just some slagged out junkyard. He turned. The cab was already out of sight. The busker found him hiding out. She nearly jumped out of her urchin clothes when he spoke, and then noticed for the first time, his human parts, like his one remaining human eye. "Do you understand perversion, boy?" "Yeah," he said. "how do you think I live with what I've seen?" "I may have a gig for you, Tom, is it?" "Why do you make so many mistakes?" The feisty pretty busker smiled each time she made his gyro whirr as she poked his cast iron breast plate replacement with her finger. His hands are his and still connect to "joy of music" chemical paths in his brain, so he doesn't know why she wants to dog him. "it's my randomizer chip I found in an old circuit bender's stash 'cause some old jazz cat said I needed something to keep me from getting too mechanical." "Works too well," she says.

First--- Steam

Punk Boy

She'd asked if he could feel pain, but he could never fully explain the scale he had experienced. He had normal nerve endings in skin, but had gone much farther. He worked through the vacillating states of consciousness involved in attaching his own raw nerve to a hydraulic gauge. He knew that a 'piercing' is as a spring breeze to the polar agony of what he has endured, but he can feel the state of his mechanics like a pea in the princess's bed. Tom's augments could feel far more than she could imagine. The busker's curiosity about his senses drove her. That, and the fact she had some simple mechanicals herself, but nothing like his neural/hydraulics. Some steam-faddish self-contained add ons, lights on a pretty acid rain umbrella she rotated with a muscle in her shoulder like other pop gadgets on the street scene. "Dinnint hurt that much," she said. "Hook me up," and Tom cross-patched her in. All he felt was pleasure in the forest in her skin. All she felt was his pain. He would not do that again. The steam punk was well aware of non-organic and much of the meat circuitry of his body. His brain was less a mystery again to him than most, but he's made no headway knowing why the pretty busker set off those little super novas in his main computer. He knew the chemical reactions, but not why. Olfactory and ocular nerves were intact, so there were inputs to take into account. He still has a direct connection to his strangely independent and only somewhat involuntary appendage. He daydreams of seeing her.

He knew the instant they touched his servos it would be a long battle. They would try to fix what he did not want fixed and to heal what he did not want healed, but with an insidious little twist. This was a new strain of the dreaded nano-bot "talk-likea-pirate" virus. If Tom could reach back and strangle the doctor who thought he'd found an ultimate cure, he would, but the guy he really hated was the comedian who thought it would be funny to make everyone start every sentence with "Ahrr."




Second -- The Poet

by Dan Linn There was this struggling poet. He was headed to the stage one night, and in a somewhat spontaneous inspiration, he set down his laptop, launched iMovie, pressed record, and turned it ceremoniously toward the audience. He explained that this was because he had been reading from his iPad and didn't really see the audience reaction. His solution was to record the crowd reactions for study later. It did not take long for a group that had not paid that much attention before to arrange themselves in a more selfaware listening posture. He had dedicated himself to following his muse after his girlfriend said he made a better poet than a lover in a breakup tweet. He started going to a local poetry open mic and finally worked up the nerve to read some of his continuing series of love lost poems. During his first reading, he noticed the host hold up one finger. He was so happy at the approbation that he hurried off without moving to the next poem. The host smiled and he sailed out with new resolve. The night after that first recording, he started to identify reactions he felt were positive in the open mic attendees. He applied what he had learned to subsequent poems. Everyone noticed more people showing up each week. Competing poets started asking him how he did it, what programs he used, and if it was easy to do. He felt new attendance was evidence enough that the work was getting better. In an effort to get a wider set of reactions, he started posting his videos to YouTube. When one night at the open mic, a certain drunken local legend tried to denounce the effort as "anti-artistic posing", the recording on YouTube made it onto a Slashdot.com as an geek "oddity". It was then the whole thing went viral. Thousands of hits is poetry stardom and the Twitterjilted lover poet had arrived. The open mic was a shambles as everyone who had ever attended vied for the hipster equivalent of aggressive disinterest. The YouTube viewers started commenting on certain coffee-house denizens with cruel to be kind nicknames, some of which were, "Top Hat", "Tea Bag", "TV Lips", "Painted Eyes", and "The Hopeless Twins". Some started dressing for the occasion. Couples made out. Guys mugged like pre-teens at a photo shoot, and the whole un-official dress code went up several notches. There were even people discussing possible "flashes". It did not take long before there were hundreds of new poets recording audiences all over the country. Slam artists show-


ered listeners with spit and style. Whole schools of types of viewers blossomed on the internet seemingly overnight. There were even arguments about where the idea had originated. No one could dispute who had originally posted or how the first occasion came down, but doubt is a lawyer's friend because it is the territory of speculation. Some would say he had planned the whole thing ahead of time, then others would contend he was incapable. Fame is a rocket ship, and eventually it landed him on stage on late night television. As the lights came up the host said, "We have a surprise for you." The cameras turned to reveal, collected in the studio audience, parts of the open mic crowd from those early recordings. He began to speak and was drowned out by a roar. When the cameras turned to him again, he was gone. The following week, he did not come to the coffeehouse, jammed as it was with expectant faces ready for their chance to react in a way that would get them mentioned, acquire a nickname, stand out from the rest. They collected at the signup sheet, and the final spot, #13 remained blank. The next week, there were more in attendance. No one wanted to be the first to admit they had only come to be recorded. This was well in evidence per the many postings on various video feeds from this and that audience veteran, but the poet's feed was quiet. Then when all the wind was out of the sails of the ship of public attention, one night, deep in the cold of winter, in classic dark poet time, the #13 spot read, "Lessons". A young poet from a local high school slam team walked up, put a laptop on the, stool and turned it to the audience. There, frozen on the screen was a new posting on the audience recorder's feed. The student pressed play and the voice intoned, When the poet's poem is last in line, there often is no poet there in time, For It is in our quest for fleeting glories or our manic journey in passing stories, when we often forget about collective mind. It's true, one should make no mistake, that I was only on the social make. I don't even know what I was thinking. But that one idea was not my doing which I had missed as I was turned away. For this sin against the will of art, I have paid a certain price in part. Though you know the pen is in my hand it's not often mine, at my command. What happens then it is often cruelly kind.


Poetry is not always what we meant, and is often quite the opposite, It's as if we should start to write without, a thought in mind when starting out. To bring true inspiration in to stay We cannot compete and find in skill a way around our searching real Sitting at the keyboard being ready Heart in chest and head on steady Eyes aloft and antenna aimed. Starting, then seeing somewhat else occur, we haven't really lost our way for sure. All an empty poem I could not mend fame I gained was worthless in the end for lost love is the only name I use When at last I looked upon the audience for the lover lost in this sad instance I was simply looking for a substitute and I would surely fail there's no dispute my deprivation had had me down and maimed Not knowing I'd not obtain the fantasy of peer acceptance or artist fraternity For proving a better poet I have not but in my lover I found what I had sought I give myself unto my muse



Enertialcall Feature Novelist Al Peck’s Abstract Murders continue from pg31

was yelling his name, the man brandished an Uzi with an extended clip and sprayed the vicinity around Tank with bullets. The bullets ripped through Tank’s body like a swarm of angry bees. The Mustang and its occupants sped off with tires squealing as Tank’s bullet-riddled body fell to the asphalt. A haze of smoke, the smell of burnt tire treads, and the destruction left behind told the story. Tank’s handsome face was unrecognizable. In the end, there were as many bullets in his car as there were in his body. Dark blood poured from his many bullet holes, forming a pool beneath him that spread over to the cigarette he’d just stubbed out moments earlier. Like his idol, Tupac Shakur, Tank died as a result of a drive-by shooting. My neighbors came out of their hiding places and were about to breathe a sigh of relief that the melee had ended. Th e respite was short lived when a scream that would curdle fresh milk came from within my house. The screaming was coming from me and could be heard as far away as the next block. A stray bullet had penetrated the living room window where my son had been standing. Th e bullet struck my son in the right side of his chest under his arm. Horrifi ed, I rushed to my little boy. My heart sank into the pit of my stomach when I noticed the sparkle in his beautiful brown eyes begin to fade. “Oh my sweet Lord don’t take my baby! James, come on baby, stay with Mama. Don’t leave me!” I prayed as I scooped my little boy up from the patch of carpet wet with his blood. He tried to speak but all that came out of his mouth were gurgled gasps of air and bubbles of blood. I grabbed an afghan from off the sofa and swaddled it around my little boy to keep him from going into shock and to slow down the bleeding. I held him tightly against my breasts and ran down the street to his babysitter’s house for help. I screamed and kicked the bottom of Ms. Hunter’s metal screen door. “Ms. Hunter, Ms. Hunter! It’s me, Cynthia! Open the door! James’ been shot!” “I’m comin’!” Ms. Hunter was a rotund middle-age grandmother raising her son’s two children while he served a ten-year bit in upstate New Jersey for armed robbery. She’d come to love my son as one of her own over the course of the two years he’d been in her care. Ms. Hunter opened her front door and nearly fainted at the sight of me holding the limp body of my son in my arms as the blood ran from his wound like water. “Sweet Jesus, child, what happen?” “I don’t know, it all happened so damn fast!” “Bring him over here and lay him on the couch.” I carried my son over to the plastic covered couch and sat down with him still nestled in my arms. I was too afraid to lay him down, afraid that he might die if I let go of him. “Keisha, run down the hall and get some clean towels out the linen closet!” She barked her orders to her granddaughter like a drill sergeant. “Hurry up child!” Twelve-year-old Keisha ran to get the towels and gave them to her grandmother. Ms. Hunter folded a couple of towels and placed them over the bullet hole. “Here honey, hold these over the hole and press down hard to stop it from bleeding while I call for help.” “Damn it, I knew this would happen! They shot my baby while he was waving to his daddy from the picture window in my living room. Of all the places they could’ve chosen to hit Tank why, did they have to do it in front of my house, in front of his son?” “You just sit quiet and keep him warm. I’ve got the police on the





Petition Page

This is the petition Page. This petition is to enact a law for a New Federal Voters Holiday. ON November 4, Please have parties around getting this petition signed.. This is to insure the freedom of voting for everyone in America.. And to reclaim a government taken over by the rich.. There are more of us then them.. Sponsored by The Enertialcall Society







wOrds from NestFeather.com

About to kick the bucket? Or know someone who is? Then you (or they) have some difficult decisions to make. In addition to creating a living will and divvying up your estate so your children don’t fight over the furniture when you’re gone, you need to decide what to do with your human remains: Burial, cremation, or transmogrification?

a production of Cynthia and OstErich

With overcrowded cemeteries, space is at a premium, and grave plots can run in the tens of thousands of dollars. If you opt for cremation, who knows if the ashes your relatives get back are even yours (what if a Republican is mixed in?). In light of these drawbacks, why not consider transmogrification? Technology has advanced greatly in recent years, and client souls are successfully reincarnated into their chosen bodily forms 98.7% of the time.

We sense that this has been only a test. We also sense that we will soon return to our regularly scheduled programming. Please enjoy the cycle of death and rebirth while you wait.

Many people are curious about the soul extraction and embodiment methods we use. But as we are sure you understand, the technology is proprietary. Rest assured however that we will treat your human remains in a respectful and hygienic manner. Other people ask why we don’t offer the option of transmogrifying into another human being. This is because we have found that removed souls refuse to be incarnated back into human form, because people suck—and we don’t mean that in the sexy way.

Officials Shocked, Saddened, by New Statistic The Febreze huffing (or “fuffing”) epidemic, which has been raging in the US for nearly a year now, has taken a new and chilling turn: Public health officials have recently noted a sharp rise in the number of babies born addicted to F. Citing this new development, the Surgeon General today issued a warning, to be placed on all Febreze canisters: “Fuffing by pregnant women may result in fetal injury, premature birth, and a life-long preference for pastel colors.” Many states are considering placing heavy taxes on the sale of Febreze, with profits going towards all-expenses-paid addiction conferences in Hawaii for state employees. Some states have also begun issuing ration cards for Febreze, with the number of allotted canisters per month varying based upon family size, house size, and amount of bribe given to officials. Those who are not addicted can sell their F rations on the black market. There is also a thriving trade in counterfeit rations. The populations of states with rations are decreasing at a rapid rate, while neighboring states without rations are seeing their populations increase. Some states, such as California, appear to have issued ration cards as a way to decrease their excess population. What to tell your children about F: * If you don’t try it, you can’t get addicted to it * If anyone offers you F, scream “NO!” and run away. Then tell me exactly who offered it to you, where they were at the time, and how much they charge * Do as mommy says, not as mommy does

Once you have made the important decision to transmogrify, you must choose what animal to become. If you are a personage of class, refinement, and erudition (and sizable bank account), you may elect to return as an animal befitting your station in life, like a sleek jaguar, majestic bald eagle, or great white shark. If you are a broke-ass motherfucker, you may have to become a cockroach or a dirty city pigeon. Either way, it’s better than being a human. And you can hold your head high—or wave your antennae proudly in the air—knowing that you are no longer a piece of shit human being destroying the delicate balance of the ecosystem. Recycling is good for the environment. Recycle your soul with us. Brought to you by TCTEMPTBPITNL (the coalition to encourage more people to become parrots in their next lifetime). Hmmm, I wonder if I could get a patent for this... New product idea: The Suffering Scanner will function much like one of those security scanners at the airport. You remove your soul and put it in a plastic bin on the conveyor belt, where it travels through a mysterious box that scans the contents. When the soul plops out on the other side, you retrieve it, shake off the debris of other sufferers it accumulated while inside the machine, and put it back in your body, a bit askew but no worse for the wear. Only, instead of scanning for guns and knives and nail clippers, this scanner evaluates the level of suffering your soul has endured, and then gives you a printout of your total suffering points, with subtotals by category and a grand total. These print-outs could become exchangeable commodities analogous to business cards in certain settings, such as group therapy sessions, speed dating events, and political conventions. I envision job applications as well: for example, postal workers could automatically be given vacation days when they reached a dangerous level of suffering. One of the most refreshing uses: People’s recreational whining could be disregarded when it wasn’t justified by provable suffering. You can tell for certain whether that co-worker is truly an unfortunate soul who needs a sym-



pathetic ear, or a drama queen whom you can safely avoid without guilt. I still have a few details to work out. Should the scan results be relative to others’ suffering -- graded on a curve, if you will -- or determined on an absolute scale? If an entire community experiences suffering related to, say, natural disaster, should everyone’s scores rise, or should that level of suffering be considered normal for that community, and remain steady? Should the print-out show number of instances of suffering? Percent of time spent suffering? Degree of suffering? All three? Should the degree of suffering, if listed, be on a logarithmic or an equal scale? In order to improve my prototype, I need a good sample of souls to work with. Anyone who would like to help, please send your soul to me by overnight UPS. I can’t guarantee when it will be returned, so people who aren’t actively using theirs, like my exes (especially James), are most encouraged to participate. Valiant Officer Heroically Defends Self against Local Youth Gang Officer Dick Hardison, a respected 2-month veteran of the Seattle police force, came upon a gang of youth engaging in suspicious activities in a local schoolyard at noon on Thursday. The youth were running around the schoolyard in a frenetic manner, which Hardison describes as “wilding”, or a possible gang initiation ceremony. Hardison witnessed one youth chase and assault another youth, yelling “you’re it!”, followed by the assaulted youth in turn chasing other youths. Officer Hardison also reports that they were wearing gang colors, such as red, blue, yellow, orange, and green. Hardison, who had just finished a shift and was driving home in an unmarked car and wearing plain clothes, witnessed these activities from the street as he was driving by, pulled his vehicle to the side of the road and gestured to the apparent gang leader to come to his car. The leader failed to comply with Hardison’s instructions. Additionally, another member of the gang gestured towards officer Hardison with an elongated cylindrical object (later identified by ballistic experts as a “Pez dispenser”) which the officer took to be a gun. The youth did not immediately comply when Hardison instructed him to “relinquish your ordnance”. Hardison averted what he took to be a grave threat to his person by firing twelve rounds on the gang. Two youths were killed immediately, and four were wounded, with one later dying. Chief of Police Bobby Harrier defended Hardison’s actions, saying that the youth had failed to show proper respect for an officer of the peace. He added, however, that Hardison would be sent for remedial firearms training, to improve his shooting accuracy. “’One shot, one hit’ is our motto,” said Harrier. Ms. Celeste Carpenter, kindergarten teacher at Highland Park Elementary School, who lost 2 students in the incident, commented to the press that “words like ‘relinquish’ and ‘ordnance’ aren’t in the vocabulary of most 5 and 6 year olds”. She also said that she teaches her students never to get into the cars of strangers. Chief Harrier responded to these statements by calling Mrs. Carpenter a “commie” and demanding that the school board immediately terminate her. Highland Park parents are divided in their opinions of the incident. Some side with Ms. Carpenter. But Brenda Lipschitz, mother of a Highland Park first-grader and spokeswoman for the Society Honoring the Ever-Expanding Power of Law Enforcement (SHEEPLE), captured the sentiment of some parents when she stated: “We haven’t seen a single pair of elbows on the table since last Thursday. It’s hard to argue with results like that.” Timmy Lipschitz was


unavailable for comment, as he no longer speaks. Officer Hardison was given paid leave while the police department investigated the incident, but has already been cleared to return to work. He will be decorated for valor in a ceremony on Tuesday, the same day as the funeral for Samuel Waters, 5, the reputed gang leader. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ More shining examples: of the honorable and valiant Seattle police force (with emphasis on the word ‘FORCE’!) The “Cinerama slam” is now routinely taught to new Seattle police officers, as an appropriate way to arrest suspects who have stopped running and put their hands up in surrender. Officers are also taught that after utilizing the slam, it’s a good idea to drag the suspect around on the pavement for a while, to ensure that the spinal cord injury “sticks”. UPDATE: Fuffing Now Considered #1 Public Health Concern in US Most members of the public are aware of the high number of their fellow citizens who are involved in fuffing (if you’re not familiar, please see the following article for an introduction: http://www.nestfeather.com/2011/03/new-epidemic-sweeps-country.html). But what some people are not yet aware of is that fuffing, which was once viewed as a criminal activity, is now viewed as an addiction akin to alcoholism. Citizens are urged to treat fuffers with compassion rather than criticism. Experts advise that the correct way to confront a loved one who is a fuffer is to recruit other friends and family members and do an intervention. Only if that fails should you report the fuffer to authorities. When you perform the intervention, have a test kit on hand. If the person denies fuffing, ask them to prove so through testing. The test kit requires a sample of skin from around the suspect’s nose and mouth, which is then analyzed for traces of Febreze chemicals. Don’t believe the urban myth that fuffing test kits can be harmful to the testee: New versions of the test kits are virtually fatality-free. And facial skin grows back within days, or at most weeks. Even after the loved one is confronted with the truth of their addiction, they may try to bargain (“just one canister a day, I promise”). Be resolute in your insistence that no amount of fuffing is ever acceptable. If they refuse to or are unable to quit on their own, check them into a hospital 17-step program (it was determined that 12 steps are insufficient for hard-core fuffers). Once your loved one has ceased fuffing and is in recovery, it’s essential to keep a “fe-free” home; don’t just throw away the obvious stashes in the cleaning closet and under sinks in bathrooms. Many fuffers keep a stash in their minivan or in their desk at work. Hardcore fuffers may even keep one in the toilet tank or in their children’s toy chest. Also, patronize the “fe-free” aisles of stores, or establishments where Febreze is kept in locked cases. You can also become active in your community, writing your representatives to urge them to support anti-fuffing laws, or supporting Mothers Against Fuffing’s “Friends don’t let friends fuff” campaign.


CFOs: How to donate .001% of your company’s profits to charity, while spending 500 times that on ads notifying the public of your generosity

Together we can wipe out fuffing!

The Business of Doing Business 3-day conference: June 1-3, 2011 Location: overly-air-conditioned generic hotel in second-rate US city where when you look out the windows, you see blue skies, sparkling water and tree-lined avenues but it doesn’t really matter because you won’t have time to go outside $999 Early Registration / $1299 at the door / $1599 on your fudged expense sheet Learn how to: Maximize the efficiency of your workflow Leverage scales of economy to accrue buy-in from key stakeholders Adopt the best practices of market leaders, monetizing your existing knowledge assets, targeting actionable items and reducing time-to-market Utilize your team’s core competencies to provide robust, out-of-the-box, scalable solutions to mission critical challenges, resulting in a take-home message of cautious optimism Extend the branches of your decision trees so you can gather more low-hanging fruit from them

NEW! This year, a number of seminars will be held in English rather than business-speak. These include: How to make meetings drag on for hours so that you don’t have to go back to your desk and do actual work (Formerly titled: Dynamic Consensus-building in Group Settings) How to dress just slightly less nicely than those whose ass you need to kiss, making them feel superior while not viewing you as totally unfashionable How to strategically claim credit for projects that are about to succeed How to regain your self-esteem after the company geek fixes the computer problem that’s been perplexing you all day simply by turning Caps Lock off How to determine which department has the best snack machines, and then have your desk moved there

Call Center Managers: How to determine and implement the longest on-hold-time customers will tolerate before hanging up in frustration and choosing a different company for their product or service (Formerly titled: A schematic white paper on telephonic customer service efficiencies) Office Drones: How to accept your place as an inadequately-oiled cog in the groaning machinery of capitalist society (Note: as of 5/20/2011, all seating for this seminar is reserved. Standing room only!) Nontraditional Marriage Vows, Part I Many people these days find traditional marriage vows sexist, overly religious, impersonal, or passé. It’s become increasingly popular for brides and grooms to write their own custom vows instead. But writing your own vows can be time-consuming, and—let’s face it—many people simply aren’t very good writers. Below are some updated vows that better apply to the situations many modern couples find themselves in. Readers may use them free of charge; consider it NestFeather’s gift to you for your patronage. Traditional Catholic Vows: Groom: I, ____, take you, ____, to be my wife. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life. Bride: I, ____, take you, ____, for my lawful husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part. Junkie Vows: Groom: I, ____, take you, ____, to be my shoot-up partner. I promise to be true to you except when I need my next fix (then, all bets are off). I will tolerate you and wish I could get someone hotter all the days of my life. Bride: I, ____, take you, ____, for my awful husband, to shiver and puke with, from this day forward, in times when horse is plentiful and in times when the most reliable dealer has been jailed and not much is available out there, when we steal some rich guy’s wallet and when we only have begged change, in sickness and in even more sickness, til overdose do us part. Vows for Dysfunctional Couples:

With special break-out groups for... Human Resources staff: How to kill three Equal Opportunity birds with one stone by hiring a disabled black female and featuring her prominently on the company web site and in the Annual Report to shareholders. Project Leaders: How to use flow charts and PowerPoint presentations to convince executives that your inferiors are responsible for the project’s failure

Groom: I, ____, take you, ____, to be my ball and chain. I promise to alternately love you and hate you, with no way you can predict what my feelings will be at any given moment, in good times when I forget what a cunt you are, and in bad times when you can’t stop complaining until I want to bash your head in so you’ll shut up, in sickness which you will constantly remind me I have caused, and in health, as though I could ever be healthy with you dragging me down. Even though I know I’ll never hear a word of thanks for it, I will love you and honor you all the days of my life, except when you remind me of my mother, or when something good is on tv, or



if I simply don’t feel like it.

last minute, this is because one or more passengers had been added to or removed from the flight, and the algorithm has determined that a different gate is now required to maximize average walking time.

Bride: I, ____, take you, ____, for my lawful husband, to cling to like white on rice, and to blame for everything that’s wrong in my life, from this day forward, for better, for worse (though I know it’s usually going to be for the worse; I should have gone out with that neurosurgeon when he asked me, my life would be so much better), for richer, for poorer (though I know it’s going to be for poorer, because you’re so lazy and unresourceful), in sickness and in health (you know my health has never been that good; why do you continue to stress me out the way you do?), until we can’t stand it anymore and it all ends in a murder/suicide.

Unanswered question: what do the airlines gain from this? Why do they prefer to board sweaty, fatigued, angry passengers? Entertainment value? (Much greater than the shitty movies the stewardesses have seen a hundred times, I’m sure). Preparation for the indignities to come? (Hey, after you endure a multi-mile hike through throngs of people, maybe you’ll be too tired to complain about the sardine seating). Part of the War on Terror? (Uh, I can’t really think of how this would help with that, but then none of the annoying obstacles put in place by the TSA under the guise of fighting terrorism make any sense either). Erich suggested that next time we fly, we go up to one of those lucky “passengers” waiting by a convenient gate and quiz them. Ask them what flight they are waiting for. Whatever they respond, say, “Oh, good, that’s my flight too” and sit down. The confused look on their face should be ample evidence to support his theory.

Vows for Homosexual Couples: I, ____, would take you, ____, to be my (husband/wife), if I legally had that option. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will discreetly love you and tastefully and unostentatiously honor you all the days of my life, so that most of our coworkers and family members don’t suspect a thing--except for those we’ve cautiously decided might be safe to tell. When we’re around them, I might occasionally give you a peck on the cheek, or a brief hand-hold, making sure to back off if I seem to be making anyone uncomfortable.

Rejected Song Titles Non-creative people often misunderstand the creative process; they assume that a work of art, literature, or music just plops out of an artist fully formed, much like a good bowel movement. But it doesn’t work that way. Producing great art requires long hours of hard work and many revisions. Below, I’ve listed some preliminary draft titles of what are now famous songs, to help illustrate this point.

I, ____, would take you, ____, for my lawful (husband/wife), if I could do so; to briefly meet your eyes across a crowded room when we’re out in public together, from this day forward, in states with somewhat less draconion laws and in states where the legislators make Deliverance characters seem friendly, when the cursed Republicans are in office and when the Democrats are in office and don’t in fact prove to be much better for gay rights, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health. And when death do us part, I promise to hold vigil in the lobby of the hospital when the medical personnel refuse to let me into your room to see you, while your asshole family with whom you aren’t close at all gets to make all the decisions regarding your care and the final disposition of your body. The Plot to Perturb Plane Passengers My partner, Erich, and I recently flew to the East coast to visit my parents. On both the trip there and the trip back, we had to change planes. Every gate was as far as it could possibly be from the security line or from the connecting flight, requiring extensive walking (and even more grumbling) to get to. This might have been tolerable if we hadn’t been carrying all our luggage as carry-on, to save fees. In each airport, we would pass well-rested people reclining in comfortable chairs in uncongested seating areas at convenient gates, and our jealousy of these passengers increased as our fatigue did. At one point, Erich remarked that these people were not really passengers at all, but decoys set there to make us *think* that others didn’t have to walk as far as we did. In fact, all the real gates used by legitimate passengers are far away and require lengthy trudging to get to. The primary function of the complex computer systems run by airlines is not to coordinate flight schedules and ticketing, but to choose a gate for each flight that is maximally distant from security and from all of its passengers’ connecting flights. When gates are changed at the


Written & performed by: Ashford & Simpson First Draft: Solid as a Gummiworm Second Draft: Solid as an Old Rickety Chair Third Draft: Solid as a Soapstone Statue Final Title: Solid as a Rock Written by: Kipner/Shaddick Performed by: Olivia Newton-John First Draft: Let’s Get Emotional and then Blame it On Our Period Third Draft: Let’s Pretend That I’m Going to Get Physical, But We Both Know I’m a Tease Who Will Pull Back at the Last Second Ninth Draft: Ok, Let’s Get Physical, But You Have to Get Me Drunk First Final title: Let’s Get Physical Written by: Bob Dylan Most famously performed by: The Byrds First Draft: Salutations, Electronic Bagpipe Person Second Draft: Hello There Euphonium Dude Third Draft: Hey Mr. Harpischord Guy Final Title: Hey Mr. Tamborine Man Written by: Prince Performed by: Prince & the Revolution First Draft: Chartreuse Precipitation Fifth Draft: Aqua Snowflakes 11th Draft: Violet Sleet Final Title: Purple Rain Written by: Otis Redding Most famously performed by: Aretha Franklin First Draft: Grudging Tolerance, With an Almost Imperceptible Tinge of Condescension Sixth Draft: Basic Acceptance, With a Few Minor Reservations Tenth Draft: Unconditional Positive Regard Final Title: Respect Written by: Whitfield/Strong Most famously performed by: Marvin Gaye First Draft: I Discerned It Through My Powers of Telepathy Seventh Draft: I Accidentally Saw It Through a Crack in the Ladies Room Door Eighth Draft: No, Really, I Wasn’t Looking On Purpose


Final Title: I Heard It Through the Grapevine Written & Performed by: U2 First Draft: You Know, I Still Haven’t Figured Out What in the World Bono Has to be Arrogant About 70th Draft: I Still Haven’t Found the Street Corner with the Best ‘Hos 113th Draft: I Still Haven’t Found My Wallet That I Lost the Other Night When I Was Drunk Final Title (written by ghost writer hired by distraught record company execs): I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For Sometimes--very rarely, mind you, but it does happen--songwriters get lucky, or receive divine inspiration, and nail a song title on the first try. Such was the case with a track by the Rolling Stones: “You Can’t Always Get What You Want, Unless You are a Rock Star, High-Level Politician, or Corporate Executive... Then, It’s Pretty Much All Cake”. However, the Stones’ A&R man insisted that the song title be cut short so that it would fit onto record labels and radio station playlists. So, even when inspiration strikes, artists still have a tough time getting their unadulterated work into their audience’s hands and up their ear canals. New Epidemic Sweeps Country It started out subtly: A decrease in maternal attendance at middle school soccer games. A few mysteriously empty shelves in supermarket cleaning aisles. Then, things started really getting out of hand: Formerly wellgroomed women began appearing in public with accessories that clashed with their outfits. They were less available to serve heavily processed snack foods laden with preservatives to their children after school. They were more frequently seen furtively ducking into bathrooms and linen closets.

requests to remove chemical spills from minivan upholstery.

And the most telling sign of all: Car detailing services report that they have seen a 300% increase in the last year in client

The American public can no longer afford to ignore the burgeoning epidemic of Febreze huffing (known as “fuffing”). Fuffers come from all walks of life, but are predominantly middle class, middle aged women whose rage, formerly safely channeled into vigorous house cleaning, is now threatening to froth over and drown their families and communities in a pleasant-smelling chemical flood. What were formerly termed “soccer moms” are increasingly being referred to as “motherfuffers”. Signs of fuffing include: Suspicious pastel staining around the mouth and nose Breath that smells strongly of chemicals Increased attendance at “special” Tupperware parties Overly-vigorous cleaning that damages furniture and upholstery. Adding the prefix “Fe” to words that begin with “b” Rage that seems inappropriate to the situation Watch for the warning signs in your significant other, friends, relatives, coworkers, and female pets. Law enforcement officers advise that you should not directly confront a person you suspect of fuffing, as they may be dangerous. Instead, report the suspected fuffer to your nearest donut shop or other law enforcement agency.





My 10 Days of Vipassana Part 1 - What is Buddhism Anyway? From Sept 30 through Oct 11, I engaged in a 10 day course in the technique of Vipassana meditation, and it was a wonderful and challenging experience, quite frustrating at times, but ultimately very rewarding, transformative, and educational. I’ll be describing my experience in more detail in my next entry, but I thought first I better lay some groundwork to dispel any misconceptions and prejudices. If you’re not familiar with Buddhism and its insights into the nature of existence, I’d like to sum it up for you. Hopefully I can do it proper justice, without too much confusion, and without frightening anyone away. So open up your mind and enjoy! People unfamiliar with Buddhism may tend to think of it as a lot of hand-waving and mysticism. It conjures up in the mind images of monks in robes and funky hats sitting for interminable periods in front of golden statues and becoming lost in states of inner-hypnosis where they cavort with the imaginary gods in magical heavens waiting to be swept away from the mundane world. But the fact is, sitting in meditation can often feel quite mundane and tedious. Any position becomes uncomfortable after thirty minutes, and almost unbearable as the end of the hour approaches. There are no video games to play in the head, no gods or bevies of virgins to cavort with. Nothing but one’s own niggling thoughts and sensations, and the requirement of constant vigilance just to stay aware and attentive. It can be as boring as hell … but you can’t think about that! Buddhism, at its core, is a direct examination of the Human condition within the framework of existence, focused on the problem of happiness versus the experience of suffering. As a philosophical approach, it aims at getting illusions out of the way so that we can see things as they truly are, without comforting illusions, and to deal practically and scientifically with the central issue of the quality and meaningfulness of Human life. Although there are endless implications and extensions to the core elements of Buddhism, the foundation is surprisingly austere and simple. The central tenets of Buddhism are summed up in the Four Noble Truths. The First Noble Truth is the simple insight that Human experience is beset by emotional frustration, which we experience as deep suffering. Either we don’t get things we want, or we get things we don’t want, and we feel miserable as a result. Following from this, the Second Noble Truth is the recognition that the cause of our mental frustration, centralized purely in our own minds, is attachment - desire - craving. That is to say, it is not the external world that is the primary or proximal cause of our suffering, but the desires and aversions within us. Our habitual and conditioned approach is simply to pursue the things we want, and to guard ourselves against the things we don’t want, but this actually compounds the problem as we build up more and more of these reflexes at a deep level. For this reason it is said that people are “deluded” or “ignorant” of the true causes of their unhappiness. It all sounds very pessimistic, but in fact it’s just a fact of life. It doesn’t have to be that way. So the Third Noble Truth asserts that we’re not stuck: it is possible to overcome suffering. Although life is characterized by this dynamic of gain and loss, we don’t have to suffer deeply or remain reactive, overly controlling, or fearful of life as a result. We have the ability to look within ourselves, we have the great advantage of a Human mind which can examine things and understand them, and we have within us the innate drive to get to the root of things and produce gainful insights. And we can share the wisdom of our experience with others. Finally, the Fourth Noble Truth proposes a straightforward and practical solution, developed over millennia by careful introspection into this problem at the level of the “unconscious” mind. The solution is to train the mind by practicing well-established techniques that can release us from our cravings and aversions at the pre-cognitive level, guided by the conscious mind. The means to this end is to follow what it calls the “Eightfold Noble Path,” which means to actually walk the narrow path in all areas of life that leads away from suffering. To that end, it establishes 5 “precepts” of “right action” so that one can avoid behaviors that bring social discord and unsettle the mind. Specifically, this means not to lie, not to steal, not to kill, not to indulge in sexual lust, and not to take intoxicants that may lead to such behaviors. We so-called “ordinary” people live our whole lives only ever paying attention to the surface level of our minds, taking the thoughts that come to our awareness as being self-originated, taking our suffering as being caused by outside factors. We seldom think to take a deep look within, and when we do, we still tend only to examine our thoughts and ideas - contents of the neocortex - thinking that if we can just reprogram ourselves at this level we’ll learn how to feel better when bad things happen. But if we only work at this level without addressing the true root of the problem we continue to generate the same envy, contempt, and wrath towards the objects of our desire and towards those who possess or stand in the way of them. Fortunately, several methods have been discovered and refined to address the problem at a deeper level. Such methods are called “meditation,” and they are quite ingenious! A person who practices long enough, with a strong and sincere ambition to get out of the senseless game of stimulus-response, and finally overcomes all of their “mental defilements” is said to be “enlightened,” which simply means: free from burden. This is a special state of mind requiring a lot of discipline to attain, and along the way it has a transformative effect on the person’s total experience, as you might imagine. Such a person no longer lives a life of constantly slaloming around their sore spots, and thus no longer has to tell themselves lies or gloss over the facts of life. An enlightened person sees things “as they are,” which is to say, constantly changing, impermanent, and ephemeral… which is not to say that things are unreal! However, the conventional thinking we employ to deal with the apparent world is only the gross surface level of reality, and our tendency to imbue objects with “independent existence” leads us to make many errors, most fundamentally to become attracted to things and to desire them for what we imagine they will do for us. Through enlightening ourselves we see more deeply into existence and these deeper facts of life start being accounted for in our experience and in our logic and behavior.



Part 2 - Doing the Vipassana ( Part 1 at http://www.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=307629170178 ) All 10 day courses start on a Wednesday and end on the second Sunday. The first day begins early in the evening and the last day ends early in the morning. Beginning on the first evening students must observe Noble Silence, which means complete silence of speech and body. Only on the morning of the last full day may students resume speaking. I got a ride from a friend in the valley, and in spite of recent history we got on pretty well for most of the trip. She became suddenly irate when I mentioned that the opposite of ‘enlightened’ is called ‘ordinary’ in some Buddhist writing. I began to try and explain how it is that people are ‘deluded.’ She strongly asserted that she wasn’t deluded! I felt bad for transmitting the wrong idea. These words aren’t said as a vain conceit, but from a place of recognition. We’re all so caught up in life we hardly ever attend to the experiential side of our minds. Most of us don’t know where to even begin, and the popular prophets are of little help. I said, “It comes from the point of view of someone who has woken up. We never know that we’ve been dreaming until we wake up.” This didn’t seem to help. I was clearly an irritant, so I decided to just leave it alone. The air was still as we passed the apple orchards framed in blazing fall foliage. The beauty of the apple trees struck me, and the light on the hills. I felt the urge to stop and gather up some of the fallen fruit. I wanted to breathe in the cold air. We had time! But the impulse waned as the orchard receded. To the silence I said, “You should pick yourself some apples on the way back.” A minute later we were there; we drove up to the entrance and parked under a big maple tree. With the last knocks of the engine I had the vivid realization that I was embarking into something new and unknown. All my abstract romantic notions were about to become mundane, regimented realities. Worries about boredom and tedium hung in the back of my mind, but I felt comfortable. I had already committed myself, and put these worries aside. I knew I had hard work ahead of me. My previous sitting experience amounted to maybe fifty scattered 40-minute sits in the last 10 years. I didn’t have any daily practice - a flabby ball of rust. I felt like a beginner, but I thought that was probably good - an appropriate frame of mind. We lingered in the car for awhile, talking about the scar in the tree where a huge bough had recently been cut off, the night’s schedule, my nervousness, the things I was going to miss. The safe and familiar surface of the world was about to drop away, and I would be plunging inward… letting go of the rope. I was clinging to the familiar. Lest I should malinger, I felt compelled to get on with it. But what was I getting myself into? “Don’t miss me too much, okay!” Ugh. My job was to relax and be in reasonable shape for the wakeup bell at 4am. I filled out the arrival form, both sides. There was a space on the back for me to sum up my life’s story. I put down details about who my parents were, my religious education, my philosophical attitudes, my perceived evolution. I mentioned my divorce, the loss of my mother. Surely, I thought, this is meant to arouse my memories for the days ahead... My companions - my “sangha” for the duration - would be 50 men and - segregated from us - 50 women. I would be sharing a room with two other men. After unpacking my clothes and making up the bed, I joined the men congregating in the men’s dining hall, a collective space we would be happy to see again. For a little while the men conversed animatedly with one another, and then our orientation began. And so also began Noble Silence. Tonight we would begin receiving our instruction from Goenka and do meditation on the breath, called “Anapana.” At some point we would have a light meal, and beginning the next morning at 4:30, we would be called upon to meditate - almost continuously - for up to 9 hours each day. The actual timetable breaks down like this: 04:00 : Wake up Bell 04:20 : Second Bell 04:30 - 06:00 : Meditate in room or Meditation Hall 06:00 - 08:00 : Breakfast and Rest 08:00 - 09:00 : Group Meditation in the Meditation Hall 09:05 - 09:30 : Instruction 09:30 - 11:00 : Meditate in room or Meditation Hall 11:00 - 12:00 : Lunch 12:00 - 13:00 : Rest 13:00 - 14:30 : Meditate in room or Meditation Hall 14:30 - 15:30 : Group Meditation in the Meditation Hall 15:35 - 15:45 : Instruction 15:45 - 17:00 : Meditate in room or Meditation Hall 17:00 - 18:00 : Tea Break 18:00 - 19:00 : Group Meditation in the Meditation Hall 19:05 - 20:30 : Video Discourse by S. N. Goenka 20:30 - 21:00 : New Instruction and Brief Meditation



22:00 : Lights Out The bell is rung at the intervals by a program supervisor, who is one of only two people to whom students are allowed to speak, the other being an assistant teacher. A male supervisor and a male teacher are available to the men and a female supervisor and a female teacher to the women. Through their program supervisor students can request to meet with their assistant teacher during a designated break period to discuss problems and ask questions about practice. The Days Blur Anapana is a breeze, literally. You close your eyes, sit in posture, and just sense the feeling of your breath going in and out of your nostrils. Pay attention to the sensation of the breath on the area above the upper lip. Sense the subtle sensations on the skin in that region. (Gentlemen, you can actually feel your whiskers growing.) You want to do pure observation, just watch the sensation, and as you work you can selectively move your attention around in the small area below the nose, to sense other sensations that might arise. Sounds simple. But of course the hard part is getting permission from your thinking mind to work on anapana unmolested. The course dives right in, so it helps to have some experience and recent practice with meditation - at least, how to resume practice in a way that doesn’t agitate or engage the mind. I was seriously lacking in that department. No writing allowed. No reading allowed. The first few days were difficult. I was vaguely tired, not yet feeling very energized. I wasn’t yet making best use of the periods in between group meditations to keep practicing. I needed rest, and I had things to disgorge. A new cramp in my lower back was driving me nuts. I was beset by depressed and agitated thoughts. I was angry at my friend for misunderstanding me, and I replayed the conversation repeatedly, imagined what I should say or do to clear it up… over and over again. At times I felt unburdened, forgiving, resigned, and I could see it all as just thoughts residing in my mind in the present, just another something to let pass. But then I’d sit down to meditate and there it was again, stitches torn, the wound reopened. My only serious practice had been ten years before. For a little while I tried shikantaza, mindfulness or emptiness meditation centered on no object whatsoever. One just lets go of thought, of sound, of sight, of all sensation, and just is. A free-fall. I was never very well-practiced in it, but I liked its pure and austere quality. However my practice was groundless. I sought only the cessation of thought - nothing else. But even my limited experience proved to be of some value. There were more than a few times when my equilibrium was restored by some unseen helper from those hot summer afternoons of innocent emptiness. I didn’t feel perfectly established in anapana when the night arrived to learn Vipassana. I felt certain I had the practice itself down, being so elementary, but I still had so many thoughts distracting me. I thought of my mother, wished that she was still around to share with. At some sessions it had felt better to just let the tears flow rather than force myself to focus. I reminded myself it’s a point of the process, that feelings of loss come up. They arise and by degrees they lose their power over us. Every night there was a video discourse by Goenka. In these talks he explains the theoretical basis for Vipassana, with liberal use of analogies and stories illustrating the right way to practice and the right conduct of a practitioner. He answers the most elementary questions about the practice and its beneficial effects. He is very funny and personable, and very down to earth, with a skeptical and inquiring mind that doesn’t accept or promote miracle solutions. He emphasizes the necessity for each person to work hard. Vipassana On the third night we learned Vipassana in a two hour evening audio session with Goenkaji. The practice involves moving attention around in the body in a directed manner. We had learned how to direct and sharpen our attention in a limited way over the last three days, and now we would be starting at the top of the head and sensing our way through every part of the body down to the tips of our toes. The description of the technique caught me by surprise. I didn’t realize the meditation was centered on this particular exercise. Lots of magazine articles have been written instructing us to close our eyes and pay attention to each part of the body. Have people been doing Vipassana without knowing it? It suddenly seemed kind of trite to me. Could it be that simple? I didn’t want meditation to be that simple. But I had committed to the course - to give it a fair trial. And there was another 7 days yet to go. I went outside to get contrast and distance from the meditation hall. The sky was black except for the wispy clouds fringed by the light of the full moon, then at a point just above the trees. To my left I heard the distinctive cacophony of Canada Geese. I turned to see them coming over the opposite hills and watched them for a minute as they drew a determined trajectory towards the highway and the warmer climes beyond. I felt it was an auspicious time to be outdoors, having just learned Vipassana. I smiled at the moon before heading back inside to practice. Coming up in Part 3: A week of strong determination!



To see more go to http://archive.org/details/NsaTransmissionsElfMindControlCancerCorruptions_4

NSA transmissions ELF mind control Cancer corruptions IN THE UNITED STATES DISTRICT COURTS FOR THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA MIREILLE TORJMAN CASE NO.: Plaintiff V. FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATIONS, et al.935 Pennsylvania Avenue Northwest Washington, DC 20535-0001; CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE AGENCY Office of Public Affairs Washington, D.C. 20505; NATIONAL SECURITY AGENCY 9800 Savage Road, Suite 6711Fort Meade, MD 20755-6711; DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE 600 E Street, N.W. Washington, D.C. 20530; DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE 1400 Defense Pentagon Washington, DC 20301-1400; DEPARTMENT OF ENERGY1000 Independence Ave Washington, DC 20585; UNITED STATES OF AMERICA Defendants COMPLAINT 1. Plaintiff, Mireille Torjman hereby brings this action for injunction relief and damages based on personal knowledge and belief, as a victim and expert witness, to the information provided, as to all other matters, as to which allegations Plaintiff, without doubt or delusion, will provide proof, unrefuted evidence, overwhelming evidentiary support, witnesses, substantial facts, research, and investigation that exists as follows: PRELIMINARY STATEMENT 2. This case is about the wiretapping, civil rights violations, privacy, communications technology, and crimes of humanity, in use by the Intelligence Community. With the advanced technology unknown to most, of shadow network of surveillance and spying under DARPA projects, defendants are, transmitting, intercepting, tampering, and blocking the content of a significant portion of the Plaintiff’s phone calls, emails, instant messaging, text messaging, www, Skype, electronic and wireless communications, and other communications, both internationally and domestic, including Plaintiff’s family and practically every American, for the past 4 years, beginning on or about January 2007. ALLEGATIONS AND FACTUAL ALLEGATIONS RELATED TO ALL COUNTS 8. With suspicious FBI allegations and $122 Million Virtual Case File Project gone wrong in 2001, prior Board Members and Government Officials’, the new Parent Company SAIC’s (C I A Spacestar) servers and the (“Occult Connections”). Chief of Staff Jack E Thomas Air Force Intelligence, 1997 ties with DOD, NSA, CIA, and former Executives, Directors, Secretaries, Army Generals, all had knowledge of REMOTE VIEWING experiments spy biz, SPAWAR at the Naval Electronics System Command in San Diego and Los Alamos National Labs for Medical Oversight to American Intelligence Agencies (1996). A surge of Federal Spending raised Multi-Billion dollar Defense concerns with SAIC and Titan (moon) in 2004 (San Diego) and the mid 90’s on technology projects that REQUIRE HUMAN EXPERIMENTING as well. These BLACK BUDGETS are corruption hiding behind SSP. 9. Joseph McMoneagle, eventually revealed as such, but for the purposes of the Army’s psychic intelligence unit, he was simply Remote Viewer No. 1.” In his Memoirs of a Psychic Spy is a look at the most remarkable exploits


in a most astonishing career of military service. Remote Viewer 001 in Army’s Stargate Project reports this as still classified. The top secret intelligence gathering initiative launched at height of Cold War- David Morehouse 1998. This project was first used to retrieve intentions in a criminal or terrorist’s mind. (The Lucid View, Investigations in Occultism, 2004 and included in MK ULTRA is Project “VOICE of GOD”) This is used for unexplained phenomenon and to manipulate religion and/ or to compel a crime, command or order. It is undeniable that government agencies have tested citizens without permission as The Manchurian Candidates in the United States and the IRS. Cognitive Sciences Laboratories CIA research 24 years ago when Tom Beardon warned about these weapons and activities as serious dangers. 10. The core component of these Programs is Defendants’ nationwide network of sophisticated communications surveillance and spy devices installed overtly. NSA transmissions and NASA Remote Viewing have been in place and are being connected to the key facilities of telecommunications with advanced technologies like that of HAARP stations and Satellites for many years prior and covertly. As Quantum Physics (sound and/or radio WAVES) and subliminal are being used for Spying and breaching contracts with other Countries and Embassies, HAARP is used for Earth and human manipulations. (Jerry Smith, Jim Keith; Politician and Dr. Nick Begich, Alaska; “HAARP; THE ULTIMATE CONSPIRACY” 1998) The “Method of Inducing Mental Emotional and Physical States in Human Beings” was patented for the CIA in Virginia in 1993. 11. These projects of CointelPro, Psyops experiments for drones, and Surveillance/ spying have continued covertly to develop weapons that were first patented by Russia and China. Since the 1950’s, first revealed to the public were the Alien UFO Projects, and the subliminal cravings of coca cola, movies and pop corn. Shortly thereafter as technology advanced, mass control continued to this day nefariously against all Americans, called NSA transmissions today. Since 1974 under the Pentagon, DOD funded the ELF radio broadcasting in conjunction with hypnotic control and prior to that Doctors Bill Nelson and Tom Beardon had their own patents at NASA on Medicinal Energy and Biofeedback, already in use in other Countries with the same remote scalar waves and frequencies. (Apollo and Whistleblowers Second craft 11, shadowing Apollo 13 and no witnesses returned after the Shuttle) 12. In early 2008, after 25 years of being an accountant, and raised in the Mediterranean, Plaintiff purchased the Non FDA device from a NASA physicist at $21,000.00 with Scalar waves, (Russian Woodpecker frequencies), and Military Patents. Plaintiff became a certified practitioner to protect herself and attempt to deprogram. Plaintiff was intercepted by this HAARP and NSA’s SIG-INT Satellites, thus became a certified hypnotist trained in NLP (Neuro-Linguistic Programming; CIA taught techniques, (Bandler and Grinder 1976) and (Project Paperclip; Dr. Strughold Space Medicine 1963) 13. In her travels, Plaintiff witnessed these transmissions used in Israel, Australia, England, European Countries, and was further impeded when attempting to whistle blow the nefarious uses and crimes of humanity, to the embassies. Plaintiff will show documents or connections to MAFIOSO, KGB, and AL Qaeda, within the CIA, as with Donald Rumsfeld and his banking ties. World Banks (1910) JP Morgan, Black Budgets, and Nikola Tesla 1940) 14. Some aspects of the Programs of MKULTRA were publicly acknowledged by President Clinton with partial apologies on October 3, 1995 as past tense and not being done currently to down play their uses. The Pentagon has new buzz words SYNTHETIC TELEPATHY-Psychotronics. However, Plaintiff spoke with many other victims today, and the latest FT Hood Mind Control soldier. Psychotronics also has a non-profit organization of former scientists and whistleblowers of same. (Lynn Surgella-Cancer; Central Nervous System diseases and Immune System-FDA drug corruptions) Furthermore, under DOD, Combat Zones That See, or CTS, project of the United States Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA-1957) whose goal was to “track everything that moves” in a city by linking up a massive network of surveillance cameras to a centralized computer system. (Russell Tice called Spy Apparatus.) Artificial intelligence software will then identify and track all movement throughout the city. In 1958, immediately after Sputnick, DARPA began to secure our space and airways with these Directed Energy Weapons. (Project AGILE-1966 Pentagon). Plaintiff has knowledge that after this project was field-tested with experiments on Vietnam VETERANS disguised as Agent Orange. Plaintiff spoke with many suffering from ELF induced nervous central system attacks and complain of mind control. One of many victims is suing the Bar due to the VA computer systems uses. In an undisclosed report dated March 9, 2005, 8 more projects with strategic thrusts included Bio-Revolution, DIRECTED ENERGY, and Urban Operation of sensors on the existing Airborne Video Surveillance, all under the Iraq theory, also data mining all information from the Human. CTS is described by DARPA as intended for use in combat zones, to deter enemy attacks on American troops and to identify and track enemy combatants who launch attacks against


American soldiers, under Martial Law for a Police State and legalize Fascism. DARPA’s current Projects, XG, Robotic assured Military communication, CALO; Cognitive Impairment (ADDHD and Optical), and Silent Talk; A planned program attempting to identify EEG patterns for words and transmit these for covert communications. Telepathy were part of the tests the Plaintiff was sent for, including warming her blood without the Doctor’s consent and her eyes physically taken over by an MRI, data mining the Plaintiff’s optic pattern, DNA, and more. This computer-mediated telepathy allows user-touser communication through analysis of neural signals. The research aims to detect and analyze the word-specific neural signals, using EEG, which occur before speech is vocalized, and to see if the patterns are generalizable. As of 2009 the research is focused on military uses. Plaintiff, an unwitting guinea pig of these programs went for tests, as her hair has not grown since 1996, with induced rapid loss, a skin condition from the blood unknown to the doctors. In addition, since 1962, ARPA initiated the Office of Information Processing Technique and Behavior Sciences for Artificial Intelligence, Command and Control, known today as Behavior Modification or BRAINWASH. 15. Julianne McKinney, 1994 former Military Intelligence Officer and Director of these very PROJECTS is still battling with it today, demanding oversight and cease and desist of Microwave Harassment. (“The Classic Mind Control Operation Revealed” June 2003, surveillance and ‘neurocybernetics’ systems, which DOD refers to as ‘psychotechnologies’. (Former Pentagon Reporter, Sharon Weinberger (misfits scientists, remote viewing; internal emails, 1996) 16. John Herschel Glenn Jr., 1974-1999, former astronaut and U.S. politician who Introduced a Bill and Joint Resolutions (Page S645) Human Research Subject Protection Act, stated “In fact, our own Constitution says, ‘The right of the people to be secure in their persons . . . shall not be violated.’“, and compared it to the Nuremberg Code. His own experience and knowledge of unwitting civilians with Radiation experiments has already been proven that Directed Energy Weapons increased CANCER rates DRAMATICALLY in this COUNTRY thus far. Furthermore, patients have discovered leaving the Country for natural cures worked without further Chemotherapy. During Plaintiff’s brief work at the ACLU, Plaintiff learned that calls were made from patients complaining of being electrocuted while in Hospitals. the reason knowledgeable professionals warn against this Technology in the wrong hands; OUR CIA’s Cointelpro division of Terrorists within, and keeping their enemies close, unfortunately. Plaintiff met with FBI and Congress on two occasions and warned them of her discoveries, and the Gulf’s Red Tide in Florida before the spill as corruptions at the hands of our Shadow Government, and did same with Documentary “Un-Covered” as Marionettes. ELF Waves used in getting a war by Congress not reading full documents to invade Iraq. (Judicial Watch various lawsuits, FBI 2008 spinning their wheels) 17. Plaintiff also has knowledge of the manipulations to the media and miscommunications for the use of quashing, suppressions and propaganda to block exposing the government’s advertising corruptions with misuses in the 21st Century technology. (Operation Mockingbird Media, beginning in the 1950’s). The HAARP and HIPPA stations were set up reaching Woodpecker waves with Russia about the time space activities began 1970 when “Big Brother was watching” today known as “Big Brother gets a Brain”. Whereas Russia was in fact only deployed with these Weapons on the U.S. or on its own people. Paranoid, our Intelligence, DIA launched against its own people in 1983. Astronomical Defense budgets developed as black budgets, and SPYING nefariously went covert from media and public’s knowledge. (Jerry Smith, CARABAS Coherent All Radio Band Sensing, HAARP printed in Canada 1998) 18. Plaintiff and Plaintiff’s family members are ordinary Americans who were initially picked up in the “Big Brother radar” unwittingly in 1971, whereas Plaintiff was informed others who have ties with Military, Minorities, Government employees and buildings, all being picked up in radar with data mining human information for world domination powers. “Dumbed Down and red tape bureaucratic culture induced” 19. Plaintiff was informed that Pilots were mind controlled in advance in the U.S. and San Diego, and that 911 was created to lose our FREEDOMS and the commission investigation was sabotaged. (Naomi Wolf (Yale Journalist)-10 Steps-Freedom to Fascism, 2007- also harassed by and on no fly zone list) “Death Ray” for planes was Tesla’s invention in 1940 and a $2,000,000,00 device to zap and melt an airplane motor 250 miles away and an Invisible Chinese Wall of defense was built around the Country, no matter how large an attack, (Teleforce, manifests energy and creates rays; zapping beams, the new invisible war). Today, this Wardencliff Tower is in full action in Long Island

NY, along with 36 other stations or sites as GWEN, Globally and beam massive volume of Free Energy. (The New York Times, Sunday September 22, 1940-Science and Patents, Education News) One energy zapping causes confusion, mistakes, body temp-freeze, heat, miscommunication, fatigue, radio-sleep (Kucinich), and stalling engines. On or about January 3, 2009, upon contacting the United Nation’s African Human Rights; provided her information of these weapons in use for mind control overseas and found Alison Des Forges, senior Africa adviser for Human Rights Watch was deceased in the Buffalo NY crash in February 2009. On or about May 2008, the same occurred after contacting Ted Kennedy for assistance and suddenly became unavailable with Cancer. Plaintiff was scheduled to testify in NY senate hearing with the help of Senator Eric Adams which was delayed with a busy nation in transition, until his second home caught fire and the hearing never occurred. Plaintiff had numerous impediments of busy delays from everyone she contacted daily to block her and has more disclosures not included in this complaint. On or about January 2007, Plaintiff witnessed people and companies pointing the finger at each other, and creating a doubt to sabotaged lives and the LEGAL SYSTEM further. “What the courts should also know.” Today, Society’s Chief complaints are demanding OVERSIGHT and TRANSPANCY. Plaintiff has knowledge that it is the CORRUPTION and the bigger Agenda to change the Constitution, that’s HIDING behind SSP. Furthermore, testimonies made in 1977 to U.S. Courts and Congress by whistleblowers Cathy O’brien and Mark Phillips were blocked for reasons of National Security. This SSP has unwittingly allowed the crimes to continue. Today we are finally seeing the same has continued to bigger Government crimes and corruption with technology and war. Step #9 closer to legalizing Fascism, eyes wide shut: (Access Denied, Trance-formation of America 2003). The Judicial System has not connected the dots yet, on prior crimes from these technology weapons that blighted the Courts 40 years ago to bring us to this point and a corrupted culture. Plaintiff will show that smokescreens are created through propaganda to cover up what is going on in this Country from “We the People”, collectively since “Big Brother Technology” that outsiders already noticed or realize. (See § 34) 20. Plaintiff is also suing Defendants to enjoin their unlawful ABUSES of communications, records, and intrusions. Plaintiff makes demand for the inventory of records since 1971 when Defendant’s family applied to come to America. Plaintiff motions the court to compel the safety of “WE THE PEOPLE” by dismantling these Weapon Stations, and the CIA, which were born with the National Security’s Act in 1947, with criminal and punitive damages. 22. Plaintiff was pre-empted with these Serious Accusations to whitewash history, brainwash the public, and keep Washington in their bubble, as being too late. (CIA techniques; Jacketing- against each other or one against the other, and changing minds, Past Presidents-Dr. Walter Bowart, False Memory Syndrome Foundation 1992, and Alzheimer’s disease-like memory loss, 1996) 23. These are unconstitutional programs under Cointelpro divisions (Operation Mind Control and DIA Remote Viewing experiments and NSA transmissions) as described to include Monarch-The New Phoenix Program, MKULTRA (Constantine-Virtual Government, CIA Mind Control Operations in America, 1997), Project Philadelphia, Echelon, Clear eyes, Mockingbird media), and Military Pandora’s Box, Voice of GOD, Operation Northwoods (creating wars), Project Stargate and Spacestar, (CIA Psychic Remote Viewing and FBI Virtual Project, 1996 respectively), Project Paperclip (Space Medicine), along with many others), and include corruption crimes of abusive powers. 25. Plaintiff, was comatosed for 72 hours in her home and recruited for experimental remote mind control ESPIONAGE, SEXUAL SLAVERY, AND BEHAVIOR MODIFICATION, (brainwash) The Cult of Intelligence (1974) but censored in the U.S. During her research and travels, Plaintiff made acquaintance with retired government employees and other spies, using remote viewing on their target and countless victims. Plaintiff also interviewed others and found millions of victims complaining of the same tactics and tortures from electricity and Energy. Plaintiff called Lt. Col. Tom Beardon in 2007, and spoke to his wife as he was on a respirator, Kathleen Sullivan (Mind Controlled CIA child whistleblower) who was frantic about nursing her husband with CANCER. Plaintiff has many other murders to report with Automobile accidents, suicide, and offered to testify to Congress. With the use of surveillance technology, spying, and NSA Transmission conducted by top secret, Q clearance, Defendants and DIA, Plaintiff hereby makes these serious accusations against the United States Secret Government for the past 50 years on U.S. Soil. 34. Counter Intelligence Program was a series of covert, and often illegal, projects conducted by the (FBI) aimed at investigating and disrupting dissident political organizations within the United States. The FBI used covert operations from its inception; however formal COINTELPRO operations took place between 1956 and 1971. The FBI’s stated motivation at the time was “protecting national security, preventing violence, and maintaining the existing social and political order.” According to FBI records, 85%


continue on page 63


Down and out in Mythos City By Adam Bolivar

The Flying Spaghetti Monster—Frank to his friends—sat slumped in a piss-stinking back alley behind an Italian restaurant. He took a swig from a two-dollar bottle of vodka, clutched precariously in a limp noodly hand. Like so many aspiring deities before him, Frank had come to Mythos City for a shot at godhood, only to have his hopes crushed underfoot like an empty beer can. He thought back to the Inquiry, and took a long pull from his bottle. The liquor stung his twelfth-of-an-inch-wide throat and combined with the pureed tomato inside his stomach to form a delicious vodka sauce. The Octagon had tasteful teak-paneled walls and gothic stained-glass windows, which gave it the hushed grandeur of a cathedral. On each of the eight sides of the chamber was a high-backed oaken throne nicely padded with velvet cushions. The petitioner sat in the center of the Octagon in a squeaky swivel chair, of the kind you can buy at Office Depot. Frank had applied for the Inquiry thirty-seven times, and had received thirty-seven xeroxed form letters politely rejecting him. Finally, his thirty-eighth application was accepted, as likely as not to stop him from sending in more applications. He didn’t care. Godhood was the most prestigious club on earth. The fact that Frank, the Flying Spaghetti Monster from Piscataway, New Jersey had a shot to make his case before eight bona fide gods was the dream of a lifetime. As the gods started making their way into the Octagon, it was all Frank could do to keep from wetting himself with excitement. First came Thor, tossing back his streaming locks of heavily moussed blond hair. His pink, Louis Vuitton shirt was unbuttoned almost down to his belly button, revealing a chest of ripping, six-pack abs. The Norse god of lightning sat down in the throne directly in front of Frank, and gave the floppy mass of spaghetti noodles a glare that could melt lead. Thor’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the handle of his enchanted hammer Mjölnir. He didn’t like giving up a day of golfing on the fields of Asgard to deal with this bureaucratic bullshit. Frank rocked nervously in his chair. Things were not off to a good start. The next god to enter was Athena, the representative from the Greek pantheon. Flinging aside a pair of Ray Ban sunglasses, she flopped into the throne on Thor’s right. She shared her fellow deity’s contemptuous expression. “Can you believe this shit?” she asked him. “And on a Sunday! I was on my way to Samos to spend the day at the beach.” “Tell me about it,” Thor replied, shooting Frank another evil look. “I guess it’s in our contract or something that we have to do this pro bono crap.” “Whatever. As soon as I’m out of here, I’m calling my agent.” Next was an old man with wild white hair and a long white beard. He looked a little like Santa Claus, except that he was wearing a blue pinstriped Brooks Brothers suit. Checking his Rolex impatiently, he hiked up his expensive trousers so they wouldn’t wrinkle, and settled himself into the throne next to Athena. Being the sole deity of three of the world’s major religions had a lot of perks, but it also meant that he had to come to every one these damn Inquiries. YHVH couldn’t rotate the duty with other members of a pantheon. Well, there was J.C., but good luck getting him to do a day’s work. One by one, the rest of the gods filed in. Elephant-headed Ganesha took a seat, never once looking up from his Blackberry. A beer-bellied Buddha wearing an Adidas track suit jogged in, huffing and puffing. Joseph Smith strode in gracefully and took his seat. He wore a neat black suit, white shirt and a black tie. He took an iPhone from his suit pocket and set it to silent. The next god to enter was Cthulhu, who came shuffling in wearing fuzzy bunny slippers and a tent-sized Calvin Klein bathrobe wrapped around his squamous green torso. Membranous wings poked out of two tailored slits in the back of the robe. Cthulhu sank into his throne gelatinously and yawned. He didn’t appreciate being woken up before the stars were right. Finally, Charlie Sheen stumbled in wearing a “WINNING” T-shirt and a backwards-facing baseball cap. He gave the Buddha a high five and sat down in the last remaining throne. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked as if he could pass out at any moment. Thor cleared his throat. “Okay, let’s get this over with. As this week’s Chairperson, I call the thirty-eight thousand nine hundred and fifty-fifth Assembly of United Deities to order.” He used his hammer as a gavel and struck the block of wood specially installed in the armrest of his throne. A booming crescendo of thunder filled the Octagon. Thor loved that. He grinned like a little boy on Christmas morning. Athena rolled her eyes. “We are gathered to hear the plea of the party known as the, ahem, Flying Spaghetti Monster, who petitions to join our august company under Article 52 of the Charter of Confederated Pantheons...” “Yes, yes,” YHVH interrupted in a deep gravelly voice that sounded suspiciously like a movie trailer narrator. “We all know what the charter says. Can we get on with it? This whole thing is a sham anyway. There is only one true God.” “Stick a sock in it, Joe,” Ganesha said in a lilting Indian accent. “Your one true God schtick is getting old.” “I’m a warlock!” Charlie Sheen shouted, apropos of nothing. He had fallen asleep in his chair and been woken up by his cigarette smoldering down to the filter and burning his fingers. “Fastball! I’m a warlock with tiger’s blood. Winning!” “For fuck’s sake,” Athena said, rubbing her temples and wishing she had a bottle of vicodin handy. “Do we really have to put up with this asshole?” Just then, two black-robed monks entered the chamber. Their hoods were raised to conceal their faces. Each monk grabbed hold of one of Charlie Sheen’s arms and began dragging him from the Octagon. “Finally,” Athena said. “Godhood revoked. Winning!” “Fuck you, bitch!” Charlie Sheen yelled. Athena gave him the middle finger and smiled. She was in a much better mood now. A few seconds later, Elvis Presley stepped through the door and sat down in the empty throne. He was a late-period Elvis, and wore a hideous white jumpsuit decorated with rhinestones. He pointed his index finger at Frank and winked. “Thank you very much,” he said. “Anyhoo,” Thor said. “If we can proceed now. I’d like to get back to my weekend while there are a few hours of daylight left.” “Hear, hear,” Athena seconded. “We should throw this case out right now,” YHVH said. “The petition is ludicrous. Nobody seriously believes in the Flying Spaghetti Monster. He’s a joke concocted by atheists to make fun of the whole idea of gods.” Atheists were a pet peeve of YHVH’s. As were homosexuals. And people who ate pork. And menstruating women. And kittens. Every



time YHVH saw a kitten, he just wanted to kick its fucking head like a football. “To be fair,” Ganesha chimed in. “So was Cthulhu. But enough people started believing in him that he become a real god.” “Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn,” Cthulhu agreed. “Riiight,” YHVH said. “But my point is, there’s still nobody who actually believes in the Flying Spaghetti Monster. He has no churches, no temples, no holidays, nothing. The frickin’ Tooth Fairy has a better claim to being a god. Not that there are any gods but me...” “That’s enough of that!” Thor rumbled. “You can save that bullshit for your worshippers. Let’s keep things civil in here.” “Fine, fine.” YHVH smiled smarmily, holding up his hand and examining his perfectly manicured fingernails. “Have it your way. Anyway, you know what my vote will be.” Thor turned to Frank. “Would the petitioner like to say anything before we cast the vote?” Frank’s legs went wobbly like two strands of spaghetti. Oh wait—they were two strands of spaghetti. He had rehearsed so many arguments in his hotel room the night before. But now, on his big day in the Octagon, he was drawing a blank. “Er...um...” Frank said. “Well...I do have a holiday. It’s International Talk Like a Pirate Day. Arrr, matey... Pieces of eight. Polly want a cracker?” You could have heard a pin drop. “Okaaay,” Thor said, looking at Frank like he had two enormous meatballs in place of a head, which in fact he did. “On the matter of conferring the status of godhood upon the Flying Spaghetti Monster, how does the Assembly of United Deities vote?” Athena looked up from filing her nails. “Oh, is this still going on?” She gave Frank an appraising look and chuckled. “Sorry, dear. Nay.” “NAY!” YHVH boomed in his best Voice-of-God voice. Ganesha shrugged. “Nay.” “The thousand petals of the lotus blossom open,” the Buddha said. “And the jewel within is no jewel. Sorry. I mean, nay.” “Aye,” said Joseph Smith. “N’gaaah!!!” roared Cthulhu, his face-tentacles writhing like a pit of vipers. “I’ll have a fried peanut butter and banana sandwich,” said Elvis. “Thank you very much.” “Nay,” said Thor. “So that’s one aye, six nays, and one fried peanut and banana sandwich. The nays have it. No godhood.” Thor slammed his hammer down, punctuating the judgment with a dramatic peal of thunder. The gods turned their backs on Frank and began filing out of the Octagon. “Hey baby,” Thor said to Athena. “Do you like my hammer?” “Sorry, hon. The handle is a little shorter than I’m used to.” And then they were gone. Frank was alone. Alone in the Octagon, just as he lived alone in a tiny apartment in Piscataway. Just as he sat alone in a back alley, with only a bottle of cheap vodka for company. He had been so stupid to quit his job at Kinko’s and fly to Mythos City with his stupid dream of becoming a god. Stupid, stupid, stupid! And now he’d just spent his last two stupid dollars on a bottle of stupid vodka and the stupid bottle was empty. Frank hurled the bottle at the brick wall across from him. But his floppy wrist was too weak to throw it with any force, and it fell short, clinking on the ground without breaking. “Hey, man, do you have a lighter?” Frank looked up to see a familiar-looking man standing over him. The man had long scraggly hair and a beard, and wore a tiedyed T-shirt and blue jeans so worn out they barely covered his legs anymore. A total hippie, in other words. And to complete the image, he held a glass pipe in his hand. It was packed with fragrant emerald-green nugs. “No, I’m afraid not,” Frank replied. He’d even failed at that. He felt like bursting into tears. “It’s all good,” said the hippie. Jesus Christ, Frank suddenly realized. It was Jesus Christ! Jesus handed Frank the pipe and snapped his fingers. A tiny yellow flame blossomed miraculously from his thumb. Jesus winked. “4:20, dude.” Frank had quit smoking pot months ago in case he was drug-tested for the Inquiry. But what did it matter now? He put the pipe between his lips and Jesus obligingly lowered his flaming thumb to the bowl. Frank sucked hard and started coughing like a motherfucker. Oh yeah, that was some good shit. Jesus took a hit too, and then passed the pipe back to Frank. They each got a couple more hits each before the bowl was cashed. Then they leaned back against the wall and enjoyed the moment. Frank had been so focused on preparing for the Inquiry, he had failed to notice how beautiful Mythos City was. Majestic, snowpeaked Mount Olympus loomed overhead. The gold towers of Valhalla glinted in the light of the setting sun. Bifrost, the rainbow bridge cascaded from Valhalla’s gate like a Technicolor river. Even the faceted crystal dome that housed the Octagon, the source of so much anxiety for him, looked beautiful now, like a giant glittering diamond. “You’re the new god on the block, right?” Jesus asked. “I wanted to be a god,” Frank said. “But they voted against me.” “Fuck ‘em. Who cares what those dickheads think? If you want to be a god, then be a god. No one’s stopping you.” “Wow, I never thought of it that way before.” Frank’s mind was whirling like a dervish. Dude, it all made so much sense now. “Being a god’s not all it’s cracked up to be, anyway. My dad wanted me to be a god. Make it into a family business. God and Son, Inc. But what did I get out of it? Forty lashes and nailed to a fucking cross! It was bullshit, man. I told my dad to shove it and went on Dead Tour. Best decision of my life. Jerry Garcia—now there’s a god for you.” Frank had to pee. There was a back door to the restaurant in the alley. He thought he’d duck inside and see if he could find a bathroom. As he got up to leave, Jesus grabbed his wrist and pulled him close. “A word of advice, kid. If you really want to be a god, you need a story. Pluck out your eye. Make a sacrifice. Something. It doesn’t have to be huge. Just plant a seed, you dig?” Frank had no idea what Jesus was talking about, but it sounded deep. He walked through the door into a kitchen. On the stovetop, a large pot of water bubbled fiercely. A sacrifice, huh? The Flying Spaghetti Monster died for your sins. Eat this pasta, for it is my body. For the first time in his life, Frank took a leap of faith. And half an hour later, a tourist from Wichita had the best spaghetti dinner of his life.



Enertialcall Feature Novelist Al Peck’s Abstract Murders continue from pg36

line. Please send some help to 1225 Stevens Road, S.E. there’s been a shooting. No, lady, I don’t know who did the shooting! All I know is, I’ve got a four-year-old child who’s been shot in the chest and may be bleedin’ to death in my livin’room while you’re askin’ me all these damn questions!” Help arrived within five minutes in the form of a medic unit, two ambulances, and several police cars. Tank was pronounced dead on the scene. Two paramedics worked, to stabilize James who had lost a tremendous amount of blood. The bullet was still lodged somewhere inside his body. One of the medics started two IV lines in each of James’ arms. My little boy was hovering between life and death and all I could do was watch. “What’s your son’s name, ma’am?” “James.” “James, stay with me buddy! Ma’am I need you to keep talking to him.” “Come on, sweet pea, stay awake for Mama!” My eyes were almost swollen shut from crying as I looked into the faces of the people working to save my son’s life. “What’s going on? What’s happening to my son?” “Your son has a tension-pneumo thorax.” “A what?” “The bullet has probably lodged itself in one of his lungs, causing pressure to build inside his chest. I need for him to try and blow all of the air out of his lungs.” “James, listen to Mama. Try and take a deep breathe, you know like the ones you take when you blow bubbles.” My son was barely able to breathe. He tried to take a deep breath but the pain was just too much for him to bear. Th e medic and her partner applied a plastic dressing to the wound to prevent air from getting inside. His vital signs were dropping like a stone. “What are those things you’re putting on him?” “Ma’am, these are pediatric MAST--Medical Anti-Shock Trousers. We’ll put them on the lower half of his body and inflate them to keep him from going into hypovolemic shock. We’ve radioed for a medi-vac to transport your son to Children’s Hospital. The chopper will get him there faster and with this type of wound and his age we don’t want to run the risk of getting caught in traffic.”











Journal by

And there we step, So slowly we thought Of what was need, So patiently. Joe watched from the monitor. He should have seen it. He should have been right. And there like all great novels it stops. To let in more would be a worth of time unannounced. It would be a giving that makes gracious the thoughts and remarks of interest, and purpose. But there is little in the ways to see. Little in the ways lived, enough, to escape into the giving , As a lived way. I am noticing small things. Like I will have to move back if this chair is to be alive. If I am to live in it. If I am to write here. The table is cold, not good for the flow to my arms. The reinventing ways to aggravate corporal tunnel built into every Ikea pseudo marble counter.


But do I

do any Idea like I should. The ease of path seemed almost comical or cynical. Like this is what you do; now do it. Those words marked my head. A determined path. Believing in television’s simple plots. I thought that was the world I didn’t want anything to do with. And yet.

The next days are the hardest. Where ruthless is just another name for “do it before someone else does”. And the Streets are not as dirty when you see one rich fuckers mind. The blind captions attributed to a solvent Millionaire are as many as mosquitoes to a pond,, But I get over my point. The rich don’t matter, and “anything” must be wrong. So, we will . Look into the experience we know. Each particular real life dramatization Of childhood arrangements.

You see how a sentence reveals intent. You would say I meant to tell a couple of stories. Each from particular story line. And yet can not. The voice I own, my only relevance

You could represent this as a story but I think the forces at work are more about the conflict and resolution of why do I write. Why take these hours away from all the more sex I could have, all the more money interests I could fulfill instead of determining myself to the awful ways of a cloister being. So I must sleep now It another day. And like all and none, I have before me the ability to see the changes but do I really know how to handle getting what I want. It seems so simple, to advance cause is only to remember it. And yet remembering anything seems the challenge when faced with other people’s needs for which I can not help. It is not wrong to help where you can but remember yourself while doing it..

So today the new world started, the latest in ways of this town. Here is another that needs help but doesn’t want to pay for it even with kindness. I will have to be alive to the commonness of my actions. It is easy for the abused and mistreated to find helping others more rewarding then considering yourself to have matter. What I do for someone else is to lose a

sense of self. Balance is asked. So a new day , and the ending to one I will remember ,, if is funny but , I could not find a job , So someone said I could have money, I took the money but now they say I am able to have a job.. But there are no jobs to have, back to square one. The state is letting me go. I guess I don’t know but I am tired of feeling depressed over being alive. Like When I try I am cast into the bowing to this or that, I don’t work well. Maybe I have just become a loser, wasting his time when all I need to do is. ??? Make a fire. That will help Yes spending the day running from doctors to therapist. All just so I keep the only money coming in. Coming in. It is funny how the greatest minds in the world are either trying to get money or suffering cause the money they got.. It is no different than me , So I guess I shouldn’t worry. When my day comes to have I will have. I can not see clear what is to have. Do you know? Are we to want security when so many haven’t any? People who spent their whole lives equaling the systems demands, and there they are standing in the food lines with me. Me, who didn’t do that, who thought that was the easy road, College . Job, Family Life. No instead I went to my emotion balance, I had to feel my way. The torn ego from my youth wanting nothing to be as it felt. For all was anger and pain. Wanting only to be right maybe, like there is a right, and yet still with the knowledge of what is right we are cast into the world of what is.. You can not win if winning is physical existence. The rich are hated for their stubborn egos and unenlightened subordination of all around them. And yes I do hate them, I hate influence peddling of all sorts. Leading the knowledgeable to remember you must lie to system. You must bow to system. While yet there are people who control system. So system isn’t natural, isn’t made for everyone. But for the greedy few who are willing to step on other people using reasoning, to keep logic away. Self reasoning, self survival, corporate conditioning. Torn Egoistic reasoning. My family over yours.. But it doesn’t feel like that to some. For everything media wise aggrandizes riches and wealth. So much so, that people live in the despite hope of some savior that never comes. It is us against them no matter how many small minds tell you that its all the other guys fault you are down.. It is the system that demands subservience. That moves away jobs. That cheats the government of the people for the people by calling the corporate a person. But the corporation doesn’t retire so it cares not about the whole system . Just the part that concerns it.. Just the taxes.. The same taxes that train their workers.. Oh that’s right , They get as many workers as they can from the free schooling countries , The rising third world.. And scream for Immigration rights. Because you get five Indians for one American cause they want to be Americans. Home of the free and bound to the slave. Cause we have ? America the beautiful.. Yes I know I have been across most of it. Seen the Facts



of Land scored by the remembrance of capitalism. Large Business Zones Industrial parks empty where even the homeless can’t sleep cause there is nothing around a dead industrial park.. I wanted to tell someone about a business idea.. You know micro economics. You see what you do is get all the security contracts that require overnights, that guard parking lots and such ,, All the Mobile Homeless.., Cause you know the ever amounting Foreclosures are creating whole towns of people living in their vehicles. Well. These people, who would love to work and are the turnaround population like if they had jobs they would be back on the grid, these would be allowed to “Locate” their Driven Homes to whatever Parking lot they are securing. Two birds one stone.. The rich get on location security for 25 percent less than whatever they are paying the lowest bidder of a security contract.. And The Mobile homesteader.. A place to rest, and be.. Not like they can’t get to rest ,, But, there is the constant threat .... Of being Seen. The Waiting for the Tap on the window, and the “Hello, Hello in there” Then the questions , by the flashing lights. The where’s of what happened.. the long story,, Or the short responses that create suspicion, and then Flash Light searches, while you stand without a great jacket or the socks you didn’t’ have time to put on , Getting colder.. You stand and freeze while Backup is called , And the second flashlight , Comes up for the ID, and vehicle thingy,, a silly little piece of paper that says your car is a documented citizen.. And you freeze until they tell you about some murderer that lived in his car who they caught last year, and that they check everyone out,, And how they could arrest you for having less than the forty nine cents it takes to not be a Transient, Which is an arrest-ible offence. These people would have homes and jobs. Oh ,, And you cant sleep here, Pepsi. So every night you stay where no one bothers you. You see the streets as a homeland of creative blindness. You see the hope only in silence and obscurity. Coke doesn’t know this. No name brand feels the cost of the Capitalism, as long as around them are smiles and heads bowed. It only takes standing on the chances of tides to defend the honor of the natural God to know humanity. Calling Alien and outsiders together. Calling God energy, for a vibrational spirit. Engulfing the Whys of life with the peace of an accepted Global Knowledge. The moving of the humanities is up to all, we have only that to call home for the spirit in this time of commandments, and Of Soddum as tax Cuts.. The Now Reigning will suffer, for long have they told the people Law without any.. And for which only Nature Writes, and rights through rites. That’s only one also.. Imagine how much work a person would be willing to do .. For an electric outlet and a sheltered Parking Space.. You don’t know ? Think about it.. And then for the Free space,, would pay with Guarding, with house repair, with day care. It is like family ,, From a “religious Caring” for all, everyone would benefit for as giving creates life, Life is created from Giving. Our Peace to conquer. Our political upheaval,, Lost a son, daughter, brother, love in the War,, Get a homeless person.. But wait a corporation can never be homeless. Yet most have P.O. boxes.. And mail forwarded to "Do Buy".. Spelled wrong I know. I am Kenny , and as i know i should just read what I have, I would rather just write. It is like talking to someone on the street where one person says everything. you look at them but dont really listen. theydont notice everyone treats them the same way. i create a portal, and wish for others to step through into a world that accepts body as water energy as gods materialism inner truth as a world saving event. he Says Mechanically. Someone got to publish it.. And here is the new keyboard, smaller with less largeness.. with more portablity and less confusion. Through everything else is confusion. Like I went into the store to price Ram and to pick up a hard drive. Left with a keyboard that is small and slick. It works and requires less desk space. the old one will wait for another computer. The other which is waiting for a new ram, hard drive and monitor. I like it better. It is less noisy. But it works and new is next. I am getting old in the fingers, neck , legs, and inner body stuff. I have been younger, I am always younger mentally a reverse process with wisedom awareness of now. The body is growing without me. What is me. Of psychologly. Still One is involved with the other. Self respect is to count the rings And times by the number of dollars. Like a planet, nationalistically Add controlling countries. Against typhoons and nature devastations. Multiply by each hurting child. Each finger nails length Joining the man and god. in MIcoangleo’s chapel. We forget to see. We really don’t look up when in the Sistine. But we is not I . Or so I am told the excesses of confusion “does not weigh into an external.” The External has reasoning and law, has capitalisms, and thought “isms” defending against the movements of insanity by the interior (the dis-reasonable) the emotional the true. Balances of a trillion minds. Do not separate personal from political,



or reaction from reason. Like we cannot separate, Journalism from politicalism. All intertwined knowledge feels sides and opinions, the unsaid, the read through. The analysis of self. Why did you say that. What was the purpose. How much did you expose? This little time on earth does martyr the individual from the understanding of internal/external. Ego , the safety net. sees egos and binds together in the larger psychology like a corporate egotisms. “ We are Right”, except where we are wrong, and in that we don’t have to look,, we make laws against looking, such that we have a Reasonable system..” Reason curtails truth. Amends it. Awaits more information. Conferences, committees,, lets check with the Educational people. No not them the other ones. the ones we pay silently. All under the gun of an exposed truth which just needs more money to make it so. Socretes didn’t do it for the cash but he was the last one. Plato did it for the cash. He sold Socrates. All thought regards a one percent economic political, educational backing.. but the interior, Changes. Adapts and Waits for groupings of ego. The Just-us system for Bio pilots and a globally united nation. I have come to realize the desk is to high or the chair to low. And that is why I bought this small keyboard. Yes, the purchase was, from a thrift store. And that was the other idea i wanted to work on. I forgot about it. Years pass where I see the passing. See the bones get brittle. I wonder why first person is so hard. Off into some story connected to the all story of a self knowledge. Where is this connection to proclaim an indepedance of commonality to self ego. Which is rampant extencialism. And under scored by society, as dis interesting, for they do it all the time such then why talk about it. It is called thought, it is also called depression. And if self is the story one has only self to live up to. The Ego balenceing, with what knowledge the devil wants to use. Great symbolisms of the past. Like fighting with a loved one. You don’t know why you are doing it ,so possessed by idea, that the opposite just sounds wrong. I wonder. The reasoning used to sponcer blacken seas and dead children. So reason becomes the guilt. Then most must either accept or reject guilt. reasons has replaced morality. How much do you lose by reasonable approaches. Is nature taken off the table as an answer in civility? And as so can any Reason, stand without nature, and for how long? The first person, becomes more of an arugment with self. What hope the endless repetetion. I know this about me. And yet. The knowledge is based agasint the ego. So what knowledge is true. I turn to the society to forget. This battle. Watching the world , and my action and reactions. Watching self as, exterior passes, rarely reaching out. For to reach is to love. Or at least suffer the ego of what love has become to that person. To reach is to touch, and there by attrat the passions or truamas of said Action. To reach .. Walking outer. Y gives me a credit I don’t deserve. Or and Ego, I feel wihtu my partistpation , for it is sight, and I have been accused of handsameness, in that, there is fear and guilt. Touch is to love. Or understand your ego of love. To tear it apart and wait at the seams for some sign of blood. which can not come, for spirit is the rain crying , it is the moans of the trees which satisfy what ackes stones , how blind a mind can become. What impassioned loneliness, and timeless faith, that succors but never heals.

Hello, There are a couple of bees I want to put in your heads as you get this serial package together. I have been part of a small production house in the past. The director , Using my acting Well really, my a screen test, Got sponsors for a Feature length Film. From my image and his story line. I don’t know who you are featuring for the mc position. But I would like to be considered.. Now also. Short scene. Location; Small town street store fronts. (fade in) A man is playing guitar , just a measure, then, up walks man, (or out from store appears man) Man 2 Have you seen the price of peanuts Man 1 Yes it seems they have gone up some. And day. I have been thinking about peace. To tell the time is to know the difference between acceptance and regret for thinking. I am in a constant state of thinking. A constant state that the more you know of yourself the less innocense you see in your humanness. For the delicacy that keeps us in place, there where there is only our selves to see can not truely be looked at or it then feels maligned. I think at times the truth, is the proven place of difference. To think and discover even at such an age. Maybe that is the only respect I can feel now , the inner peace of being where i watch so many come to the edge of but never really cross the grounds of what they feel. Only give in to what they have done , in a definantly blind ego to keep alive the rumor of an individual nature but not the learning body. And they are sane. All my chemicals have been scarce. The cigerettes that add nothing . the marijuana that just confuse. I once thought that was my character, and fear that I have put to much into that character for which I long to rid myself of. I put down cause I couldn’t afford them for a couple of days, and tomorrow they wil come back like they never left .. or maybe I will change. Maybe I will feel the escense of life is not those that sort me out to be difient instead of different. Do I really want the difference to be just the consummation of my attitudes around not seeing. Am I so lost. I don’t know. All the chaos surrounding my birth has left me to want to feel I am exchanging the normalcy of life for a living I can see, with out



chemicals these last few days have only lead me to want the chemicals less, I see the removal as one step of many , but in that I am only reacting to the removeal as the side effects I tired to sleep though so that it didn’t consume me. I have felt the world without the chemicals and yet, I will tomorrow again remain in them. Seeing the extent to where I am able to . at ten dollar a pack and fourty a eighth, I am wasting thousands going though this process of equaling my denial. For which will again creep into the space where love of life should have. I don’t love life as it is . the pain is mine and childish. But even as I would see a better world for myself without them I still am faced with the world that is. A cold world of limited vision. A land where the most intelligent often are the most depressed for the vision of life is let to the creators and only power creates or chooses to let be by looking away. All else is subject to dominate thought which isn’t so intelligent as it is greedy and controling. So children seeing the truth of that continuation of “old school “ do not even get involved. New minds have only the will to escape into whatever form of love they can feel . and escape into love is like leaving life. For the hatred and violence of our economic system defile the life around them. Such that we can only ask ourselves what is life, and with little worlds hope to see another day. I often write cause there is no other way to express myself to an extent of being alive. I will again publish a magazine. I can see it. But most likly I will do it out of poverty, I will do it because I have no other choice but to accept the frank statements that are not said , the rumors I know though experience that are true, like we can change this humanness with a meaning of energy, beyond the god concept. The over loard has been proven false. In fact the over lord is leaving behind an era. Of ignorance. A left over of the past for the future will be ruled by the innocents we never accepted. But the chemisty we never faced for the mind is an exploritoy place. And humanness a statement of frozen time. For a clarity of nature which was once sacrilege. Today. Another day in the scheme of things. It is funny to say that I have seen something of myself today. Illusions to friendship and my own security issues. Have again come around full circle. A day with new People, and I do not attach to any one. No one becomes my friend. I watch the reactions. I see only people in one state or another of using each other. Character pulled from books of the lonely and disregarded. The music plays like lost children wanting to be see. No one is here. The musicians dare not use ears and scream for keys. Major or minor. Without complexity. But it was another body of people. I looked at each of them separately. This one a fool with a expensive haircut. And a “don’t care attitude” later we find he is the money man, he is a mike hog, and sucks even singing from a book. Then there is the Drummer, who is pissed at me for not remembering him. He doesn’t know about my limited memory, and takes it as an insult. I liked playing with him, not remembering his name had to do with his orginal attitude. I met him somewhere, I think he was condescending. I never remembered him. Still. Then there was a bass player with a fancy bass he especially tuned different so it was a learning curve to his axe and didn’t share. Who keep his sound loud, such that all bowed or just got louder,, a sheer forgotten timpory. And A singer songwriter, who says things like I love everyone. One of the shallowest statements I ever heard and she wasn’t even a Playboy model. She was standing with a large nose and a ripped off voical sound, cause she just needs to feel that secure, I watch for a moment the blindness of the worlds children explaining themselves. How can I feel I know a simple metaphyscics, Alone. How is it that I started with questions. All the time questions. Never a story here, just moments of story, the unraveling of consciousness. Oh and I guess I wasn’t far off thinking of Stanislov early in life. A set of characteristics. Some we create are some created for us, and the balance of each. The good bad of each, seperations taken accordingly. The crowd is getting smaller and smaller. The petty concerns of earthly manors, the Greed, defeates individulality. For mode and Function instead of realization and progression. And so when watching the characters of other, I am automatic in conclusions and judgements. I am that one. Who with an eye see you. Those who would hid, are exposed. Or that is how it feels. I get senses about people while I wonder Right or Wrong. Oh and I have tested them enough not to walk contray to a feeling, but lastely I just feel alone. Andthat has been this creations. This living butto live within the contrext of the written word, that gave me a mystic, My ego , holding on with both hands former reasonings and descisions. Or a Determination, has yet to escape the egos mask of a needed hope instead of a being hope. And simple like organge, shows of me. I have stopped even trying fro pretty the escapable meanins of all I have done only warrant the remarks fo the remaking, the creativeity escaping thourgh mental attentions. We are trying to explailn intuition to ourselves constantly, And the understanding of our past Yields the circles ever going, This I know. So then we have to stop , but let us not stop to soon, as the feeligns we leave behind are the first we feel daily , as under tones to our inactions. Like swearing is a sign of our violence and inner disquiet. Conflict seems drivine by ego. Ego is unacceptance. Nature as must be real , Would be an acceptance. Changed only by Ego. Ego is a set of survival functions from child hood. Smile and get a cookie.. The considerations of these topics are only for those who need them, They are written inside eyelids, and tattooed in micro-nerve endings. The small capillaries, where blood becomes air and Nature to leaves. But the vestage is humanity to knowledge of energy. the trauma victum to understand safty . I have been getting very stoned again , the difference being very stoned and stoned is slight , you will admit for me, my ego . so in function I am starting to concider the options of quitting as apposed to the un realizstic choised I have made. No to pick on my self , but the beginning is to know we are what we are, I am a man, short of form and making. But a man, and from brains comes connection to all time.and thinking invents where there could be.. And stories its all stoies. Each greater and more in depth. I have heard a million and two things always are presnt, ego. And excitement. There is no thrill ride here. So what am I doing, or is it. For me I boarder between seeing the excitement, I can feel the change, a changing, maybe it is the depth of age casting me further and further into some egotistical night mare, I walk for I can not think of what else to do. Maybe, I can no longer tell. I am amazed without even leaving the door.







of COINTELPRO resources were expended on infiltrating, disrupting, marginalizing, and/or subverting groups suspected of being subversive, such as communist and socialist organizations; the women’s rights movement; militant black nationalist groups, and the non-violent civil rights movement, including individuals such as Martin Luther King, Jr. and others associated with the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, the Congress of Racial Equality, the American Indian Movement, and other civil rights groups; a broad range of organizations labeled “New Left”, including Students for a Democratic Society, the National Lawyers Guild, the Weathermen, almost all groups protesting the Vietnam War, and even individual student demonstrators with no group affiliation; and nationalist groups such as those “seeking independence for Puerto Rico.” The other 15% of COINTELPRO resources were expended to marginalize and subvert “white hate groups,” including the Ku Klux Klan and National States’ Rights Party. The directives governing COINTELPRO were issued by FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover, who ordered FBI agents to “expose, disrupt, misdirect, discredit, or otherwise neutralize” the activities of these movements and their leaders. Hoover disclosed how horrific these weapons were thus, hard to believe. MKULTRA mind control experiments began at the end of WWII and then became public in the 1970’s, however imperfectly, and went ‘black” again because of Senate hearings, but these experiments have continued to this day. The only reason that MKULTRA was ever brought into the light of day was that a dissident group stole government documents and released them to the press, which initially refused to publish them. The MKULTRA archive was destroyed because of the seriousness of the crimes perpetrated by the intelligence communities. If it became public knowledge that the intelligence agencies had allowed Nazi war criminals to experiment upon American citizens, including children, and then replicated these techniques themselves, the damage to their reputation could never be undone. The only aspects of CIA criminal activity in general, or MKULTRA in particular, that the intelligence community ever admitted to were the ones that were already public, or details that had very little to do with the current capabilities of mind control weapons and techniques. Microwave weapons and remote influence of the Human Central Nervous System are the crown jewels of the intelligence community. The DEFENDER and AGILE Programs formed the foundation of DARPA sensor, surveillance, spying, and directed energy R&D, particularly in the study of radar, infrared sensing, and x-ray/gamma ray detection. During the late 1960s, with the transfer of these mature programs to the Services, ARPA redefined its role and concentrated on a diverse set of relatively small, essentially exploratory research programs. The Agency was renamed the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA) in 1972, and during the early 1970s, it emphasized direct energy programs, information processing, and tactical technologies. Today we know we have had the Technology as warfare and/or medicine, coupled with the Conspiracy theories of HAARP, (Dr. Hubertus Strughold, space medicine-project paperclip-The Jewish Telegraphic Agency 1995; “Dark Moon; Apollo and Whistleblowers Second craft 11, shadowing Apollo 13” and technical difficulties with no witnesses returned. Issues of Mind Control reported by Dr. Rauni-Leena Luukanen Kilde - Nyhetsspeilet.no with 50 year old technology from our government being disclosed as new, have consistently been deceiving the public, while mapping out a grid across the Country. DUPLICITOUS and INDUCED manipulations of grave mass control escalations have been documented and quashed over the decades. Experiments under MK ULTRA for Behavior Modification also became corrupted for tax gains with massive funding to LEAA Law Enforcements while Crimes were induced in major cities in 1968 by 50% (Newsweek, FBI reports) Unwitting citizens blighted the courts with lawsuits, prisons and Hospitals in this Country with complaints of mind control that the Media refused to cover. This erupted suddenly and massively over one year. Today this continues tenfold and is still uncovered by media. Forty years later the COURTS are now being blighted with cases of privacy rights, War, and Technology combined. Thus we have an agenda of larger government and agencies, created for more tax dollars and controls. CONGRESS spinning their wheels instead of meeting once a year, as intended in the Constitution. A Country is being usurped since the 1910 secret meeting on Jekyll Island and a blank check to create “The Federal Reserve”. 35. Is the NSA Conducting Electronic Warfare On Americans? Jonas Holmes May 19, 2006 CHRONICLE ARTICLE Russ Tice, former NSA intelligence officer and current Whistleblower,

was to testify before the Senate Armed Services Committee this week. Apparently the testimony, Mr. Tice wanted to give, makes General Hayden’s phone surveillance program look like very small potatoes. Mr. Tice’s testimony is expected to reveal further illegal activity overseen by General Michael Hayden which even loyal and patriotic NSA employees view as unlawful. I think the people I talk to next week are going to be shocked when I tell them what I have to tell them. IT’S PRETTY HARD TO BELIEVE, Tice said. I hope that they’ll clean up the abuses and have some oversight into these programs, which doesn’t exist right now. According to Mr. Tice, what has been disclosed so far is only the tip of the iceberg. What in the world could Russ Tice be talking about! To figure it out let us take a look at Russ Tice’s work at the NSA. According to the Washington Times and numerous other sources, Mr. Tice worked on special access programs related to electronic intelligence gathering while working for the NSA and DIA, where he took part in space systems communications, non-communications signals, electronic warfare, satellite control, telemetry, sensors, and special capability systems. Special Access Programs or SAPs refer to Black Budgets or Black Operations. Black means that they are covert and hidden from everyone except the participants. Feasibly there would be no arena with a greater potential for abuse and misuse than Special Access Programs. Even now Congress and the Justice Department are being denied the ability to investigate these programs because they don’t have clearance. To put it in CNN’s Jack Cafferty’s words a top secret government agency, the NSA, the largest of its kind in the world, is denying oversight or investigation by the American people because investigators lack clearance. It just gets scarier. The Black Ops that Mr. Tice was involved in related to electronic intelligence gathering via space systems communications, non-communications signals, electronic warfare, satellite control, telemetry, sensors, and special capability systems. For greater insight as to the impact of these programs readers should review decades old FOIA authenticated programs such as MKULTRA, BLUEBIRD, COINTELPRO and ARTICHOKE. Radar based Telemetry involves the ability to see through walls without thermal imaging. Electronic Warfare is even scarier if we take a look at the science. NSA Signals Intelligence Use of EMF Brain Stimulation. NSA Signals Intelligence uses EMF Brain Stimulation for Remote Neural Monitoring (RNM) and Electronic Brain Link (EBL). EMF Brain Stimulation has been in development since the MKUltra program of the early 1950’s, which included neurological research into “radiation” (non-ionizing EMF) and bioelectric research and development. The resulting secret technology is categorized at the National Security Archives as “Radiation Intelligence,” defined as “information from unintentionally emanated electromagnetic waves in the environment, not including radioactivity or nuclear detonation.” Signals Intelligence implemented and kept this technology secret in the same manner as other electronic warfare programs of the U.S. government. The NSA monitors available information about this technology and withholds scientific research from the public. There are also international intelligence agency agreements to keep this technology secret. The NSA has proprietary electronic equipment that analyzes electrical activity in humans from a distance. NSA computer-generated brain mapping can continuously monitor all the electrical activity in the brain continuously. The NSA records and decodes individual brain maps (of hundreds of thousands of persons) for national security purposes. EMF Brain Stimulation is also secretly used by the military for Brain-to-computer link. (In military fighter aircraft, for example.) For electronic surveillance purposes electrical activity in the speech center of the brain can be translated into the subject’s verbal thoughts. RNM can send encoded signals to the brain’s auditory cortex thus allowing audio communication direct to the brain (bypassing the ears). NSA operatives can use this to covertly debilitate subjects by simulating auditory hallucinations characteristic of paranoid schizophrenia. Without any contact with the subject, Remote Neural Monitoring can map out electrical activity from the visual cortex of a subject’s brain and show images from the subject’s brain on a video monitor. NSA operatives see what the surveillance subject’s eyes are seeing. Visual memory can also be seen. RNM can send images direct to the visual cortex. bypassing the eyes and optic nerves. NSA operatives can use this to surreptitiously put images in a surveillance subject’s brain while they are in R.E.M. sleep for brain-programming purposes. Individual citizens occasionally targeted for surveillance by independently operating NSA personnel NSA personnel can control the lives of hundreds of thousands of individuals in the U.S. by using the NSA’s domestic intelligence network and cover businesses. The operations independently run by them can sometimes go beyond the bounds of law. Long-term control and SABOTAGE OF TENS OF THOUSANDS OF UNWITTING CITIZENS by NSA operatives is likely to happen. NSA Domint has the ability to covertly assassinate U.S. citizens or run covert psychological control operations to cause subjects to be diagnosed with ill mental health. National Security Agency Signals Intelligence Electronic Brain Link Technology NSA SigInt can remotely detect, identify and monitor a person’s bioelectric fields. The NSA’s Signals Intelligence has the proprietary ability to remotely and non-invasively monitor information in the human brain by digitally decoding the evoked potentials in the 30-50 hz,.5 milliwatt electro-magnetic emissions from the brain. Neuronal activity in the brain creates a shifting electrical pattern that has a shifting magnetic flux. This magnetic flux puts out a constant 30-50 hz, .5 milliwatt electromagnetic (EMF) wave.



Issuu converts static files into: digital portfolios, online yearbooks, online catalogs, digital photo albums and more. Sign up and create your flipbook.