Sirens Waling

The red pill revolution is all about refusing to honor agreements we did not participate in originating, negotiating, or finalizing. Most red pill folk object to statutory law, and regulatory and administrative law and procedure, ordinances, and the like. Common law is real law, organically forged over eons by parties vying against parties (or the state) in proper tribunals before fair juries. The rest is pretty much hogwash. What matters is tried-and-true tradition, in law and in every other aspect of society, but with a twist—a new bugaloo, which constitutes something very special.

 

Ready-made narratives known as news, current events, conventional history are suspect at the very least. The truth is almost never to be found there. Harland Gasder knew it. He knew the world was one, immense scam. Oh there were many well-intentioned folks among the unwitting scam-masters, deluded one way or another. It often left him feeling adrift, lonesome for an acknowledging colleague or two. Occasionally he would find a refuge. But it would not last long. Things do indeed fall apart. 

In the arena of “news” and “current events,” nothing can be accepted as fact anymore because now, in the 21^st Century, as never before, anything and anybody can be digitally manipulated and re-mastered to serve anyone’s purposes. (This includes the sources of reliable sources—and their sources too.)

                  

Moreover, there is no infallible filter that can separate fact from fiction; even one’s own discernment can easily be on shaky ground. Relying, as it does, on accumulated lessons and experiences of the past, one’s discernment too is likely defective, or alterable, or biased in at least some subtle way.

 

In the final analysis, it is best to rely entirely on your gut instincts, your intuition. Still, apprehending what that is and learning how to detect that in oneself is no easy task; it’s nothing short of being in communication with one’s soul. But…can’t the soul be tricked as well?

 

One’s soul is only as pure as one’s self, is it not? And there is no use traversing the inner states: the etheric, astral, subtle, non-dual…what-have-you. All may already be lost in a jumbled jungle of disarrayed logic, of arational irrationality, scientizmickly bio-engineered claptrap of the highest order long ago inserted into the inner recesses of our being by ETs. (But more on that later…)

 

WE MUST NOT GET PESSIMISTIC, NOR BE NEGATIVE!

 

There is hope: can’t we “approximate”? We might take an educated guess that our soul, if we can tune-into it, would not fool us because it cannot be fooled. But, if our souls can be fooled, then if we know that such might be the case we can forever keep our facts, our reality, in a state of suspended animation; always remaining “subject to change, revision.” Yet isn’t such a position actually known as the disease of “liberalism”: a world in which there are no fixed constants; that is forever in flux and subject to interminable “change for the better”?

Harland Gasder was writing himself into a corner again. Was he caught in some spiritual materialist cul de sac—or maybe a dead-end materialist spiritualism? He didn’t know. He hoped neither. He could only relapse into deeper ripples in the tissues of his mind, having once heard tell of this.

 

Was he committing the sin of worshipping false gods by simply seeking answers, secret knowledge from the netherworlds of the occult? Just what is the occult anyway? Isn’t that just what is hidden from view, from established belief, known knowledge, tried-and-true tradition and accepted wisdom? And was he a blasphemer to think that he can connect to the “god within”; that, just as with the Sufi mystic, Hallaj, he could announce his godhood—that he is God—but that he might somehow be punished? Weren’t the enforcers of authority in religion and spiritual matters by now so derelict anyway that he could get away with proclaiming himself God and his heretically esoteric findings as ultimate Truth?

 

On the web, that grey land where alt-folks chased so many rabbits down endless holes, Harland sensed that it was his destiny to create endless disturbances. He was not pro or con much of anything; no ideology had captured him; none had ensnared his mind. His greatest achievement was to remain aloof from all norms of (and even theories that differed from) the controlled Establishment and controlled anti-Establishment, collectively called “the System.” And out-of-control rebels were not of much interest to Harland because they usually had bad manners and were poor grammarians—or they were just barking up some tree or other that disinterested him. The anonymous patriots of the so-called 2^nd American Revolution had more character and they were way more right. Still, Harland held certain reservations he couldn’t quite articulate.

 

He had initially been excited in 1999 when that film The Matrix came out. To choose the “red pill” meant choosing to exit from the Matrix, evil, and to begin on a journey of learning the truth about one’s enslavement. But before long, everyone (in alt-circles at least) started using the term “red pill” to describe their new sensibilities, their belief systems (that had already supplanted what religion used to be for a generation or two before). It got old quickly. It was similar to the notion that anyone can become enlightened; like becoming a painter by using paint-by-numbers canvasses.

 

Being “red pilled” would surely soon become the rage. Besides being the alternative to the standard blue pill and its uniparty of “progressives” vs. “conservatives” it was gradually evolving into the Third Way, the alt-norm to the World Order. By so being, by-and-by it would get absorbed by both sides of the established System; it was already camp and cool, wacky and way-out. It might heat-up the socio-cultural thermostat until the Western hip barometer busted wide open. But this signified… nothing, really; being “red pilled” had no backing, no wealth and power behind it to make it “real,” i.e., merchantable, “bankable.” As such, it was too unreal for your run-of-the-mill red-piller to hang onto for very long. As Harland judged it, the red pill gang would eventually slide back into their old-used-to-be lethargic ways, essentially only re-arranging themselves—as with the subsidence of mud, silt and debris that gets tossed around by an unruly Mississippi River, changing the landscape and, at a minimum, unhinging those with vested property holdings thereabouts.

 

It was a cynical view—not necessarily negative or pessimistic; or was it?—maybe just realistic? (Oh, the real—too problematic a concept. Forget it.)

 

Again, Harland had to stand back and take a deep breath. Obviously he would never become a spiritual master of any sort; but he never much liked those types anyway. He couldn’t cotton to them. He’d never been in a secret society and never wanted to be; he wasn’t a joiner, period. He’d never been in intelligence, security, or government service and he found corporate types revolting. Those who had ventured in those directions, and then became red-pilled, well such folks were suspect, period. In Harland’s book there was Holy Scripture, the American founding documents, and the world’s great literature, music and art, period. His heart could always forgive, but forgetting was another matter altogether. And he had a fine memory, though it was not so good that he could be an artful liar. 

 

His research had uncovered the “whale” quite some time ago, but in the guise of Eustace Mullins quotes and background. It was a serendipitous find. For some idiot reason he had never deleted the tail of the link to discover the main page. Recently he had, however.

 

Stumbling as ever toward unlocking new vistas of understanding his discovery was a comfort to him, especially when he made the mammoth site more personal, more accessible by going here first: http://whale.to/b/whale_history.html  Autobiography had always held the magical essence-of-being that the turgid prose of paradigmatic discourse effaced. (This one was the creation of John Scudamore.) As Harland Gasder perused the long page he’d click onto the hyperlinks that were generously sprinkled within. And to his delight he found the most delicious, sometimes frightening, isles of the beautiful. It was a respite from the continual parsing of information from newsy websites that had been coughing and sputtering and plaguing his mind for too long.

 

Alas—Harland found the Motherload: a place of wonder that filled him with Holy Ghost-like optimism. He jammed his Hurst shifter into gear, revved his etheric muscle car up to 5 Gs, and dumped it; splendor-filled were the days ahead as he distended and railed his way onward through the reeds in a re-told tale of brave Ulysses.

New friends were made. Had he found "his people"? Don and Carol Croft, with their orgonite holy hand grenades and zappers looked to be like the cloud-busting friends (among others) one could never hope to find. Still, they inhabited this treasure-trove nether-region. [To Be Continued...] 

The So-Called "Dark Ages"

Harland has been reading The Lives of the Saints. Each morning he reads about the life of a saint whose feast day is assigned to that particular day on the liturgical calendar. Many of these saints lived before 1000 A.D., in the so-called Middle Ages, medieval times.

These earlier A.D. centuries have also been dubbed “The Dark Ages.” It would appear, however, that enough information was available from these early times so as to make the careful deliberations necessary to canonize these early saints. This got him to wondering: was there a lot more history available from the Middle Ages than we are led to believe—and if so, what's the reason to keep the facts about the history of this time-frame from the People? In other words, is there a more ominous reason that these centuries have come to be called the “Dark” Ages? If so, can we shine some light thereon?

 

Harland turned to Curtius for some help:

 

Ernst Robert Curtius, European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages (ELLMA), trans. fr. German by Willard R. Trask (1953) (Princeton University Press, Princeton, New Jersey, Bollingen Series XXXVI (1983, 1990)) 

________________________

 

The extracts below are from The Medieval Bases of Western Thought, in the Appendix of that same ELLMA, pp. 587-598 (1990), which originally was a lecture delivered on July 3, 1949 at the Goethe Bicentennial Convocation, at Aspen, Colorado, and was added by the author to the English translation of his book. 

***

 

His first finds are as follows:

 

“If I were to sum up in two words what I believe is the essential message of medieval thought, I would say: It is the spirit in which it restated tradition: and this spirit is Faith and Joy.” (Emphasis added) 598

 

“The bases of Western thought are classical antiquity and Christianity. The function of the Middle Ages was to receive that deposit, to transmit it, and adapt it. Its most precious legacy, to my mind, is the spirit which it created while performing this task. Edward Kennard Rand has left us a beautiful book entitled The Founders of the Middle Ages. These founders were St. Jerome, St. Ambrose, St. Augustine, and a few others. They belong to the fourth and fifth century of our era. They represent the last stage of Greco-Roman antiquity. And this last stage coincides with the first stage of Christianity. The lesson of the Middle Ages is reverent reception and faithful transmission of a precious deposit…The nineteenth century produced a type of writer who championed revolutionary ideas and revolutionary poetry. That is a feature which betrays an age of disintegration, to use the formula of Toynbee. It may amount to what he called ‘a refusal of mimesis.’ But the equilibrium of culture will be preserved only if those disrupting forces are balanced by new ways of stating and adapting the legacy which has been entrusted to us by the past.” (Emphasis added) 597

 

“Goethe has not been succeeded by another universal genius. He had a very clear consciousness of belonging to [the cultural tradition that preceded the great economic change known as the Industrial Revolution]. He pointed to Homer, to Plato, to Aristotle, and to the Bible as its foundations…He is the last link of that golden chain. Yet he is not too remote from us. We can still grasp that link.” 589

 

“[Poetry] is below reason just as theology is above reason.” (Emphasis added) 593

 

“If philosophy is able to explain history, it ought also to explain poetry. For poetry is one of the most powerful manifestations of mankind. It is present in all ages and civilizations. It has a far wider appeal than science. One of the great features of Aristotle is that he found room for poetry in his philosophical survey. We are bound to acknowledge that, even if we feel that his account of poetry is limited by the fact that he knew nothing but Greek poetry. But has any other leading philosophy handled that problem? I am not aware of it. The rebirth of Aristotelianism which led to scholasticism neglected the Poetics.” (Emphasis added) 593

***

 

Harland could further empathize with Curtius, especially when he wrote:

I felt like the schoolboy who wrote in his copybook: ‘The Middle Ages is what comes between antiquity and posterity.’ There is too much loose thinking, I believe, about the traditional period-divisions. They will have to be revised. 589

These are tantalizing clues that the so-called "Dark Ages" very well may be covering up a lot of light, wisdom and truth. These years may have been a golden age of mankind during which powerful and sacred human beings walked the Earth transforming it into a nascent City of God. And maybe it was the “better known” second millennium, from the Renaissance on, that saw that same City of God systematically dismantled. It’s an interesting hypothesis.

 

As he has previously threatened, Harland will delve deeply into ELLMA, this magisterial work of Curtius. As he proceeds he will report further findings. 

Harland of the Winter

It was March. The drabness of winter droned on. The sky stayed gray, the air cold, the grass a yellow-brown. The extended weather report looked grim. His body ached for lack of muscle movement, exercise, freedom. He longed for the embrace of a balmy warmth. But that didn’t seem to be in the cards, not for a while at least.

 

The government mess also droned on. The cure was at hand, always at hand. Saboteurs were everywhere, groaning and whining and making us feel heavy with their fantasy drivel. He longed for a lull in the snivel-bag lolly jargon, but that too would have to wait.

 

A prayer, uttered in low tones, went out; a bow to the unseen power that is the ever-present origin. A body, too Earth-laden to feel the subtle energies, stayed in its ethereal presence; yearning, hoping. Faith remained hitched to interiority. The optimistic aura, imbued with a golden hue, arranged itself like a coif, secured by a wimple. A plaintive mew ascended, descended, as a tincture of grace might do.

 

And the morning light had not yet manifested. This was the hour, the monk’s hour, of less brainwave interference and chatter to impede the spirit. It was the morning that re-calibrated the mind, complementing a restive sleep recharge. In waves of devotion, alpha-delta-gamma-theta; curative frequencies came to the rescue.

 

Harland had barely recovered from yesterday’s ennui. Yet here he was, back at it again. The battle raged daily. The bottle sat down on the floor by the corner of his desk, a snort to be had in case of snake bite. It didn’t phase him in the least to think that the unseen war would be fought yet again. His battleground was his private study, wherein he laid the snares and hooked riders from their horses before they could joust. It was a game, but it was serious too.

 

Harland mused, How mysterious are the Middle Ages. They’re called the “Dark Ages.” And yet, he thought, there was lots of good stuff happening then, wasn’t there? Harland made a note to investigate further. Wouldn’t it just be like the usual hijinks of the System to cover up the most fertile phase of our Western past? Yes, I will have to look into the so-called “Dark Ages”; the Roundtable of King Arthur and all that.

 

It was complete, for now; his early rumination. The trap was set to snare the unwary forest gremlins and human soul-forms that wanted to know, who need more info-wisdom. And he, perhaps the least worthy among them.

 

Harland looked at the time. The cycle of time came in micro-bursts and made daily routine what it was. Still, the greater story lay in the macro-bigland cycles of time, covered up but there none-the-less.

 

The poet-warrior’s duty is to make everything known; to unwrap it all like a birthday or Christmas present—such thoughts scuttered about. It was a gift and as gladly given as received.

 

He scratched his head and gave it a rest. There would be more to say, more to tell…and there was time, at least for now, to tease it all apart. 

  

[NOTE: This post was copied and the remaining six parts of the story were moved and reposted to Wyman Wicket's domain at jsuss.blogspot.com]   



Venting My Political Spleen

To be keyed-in to current events at this critical juncture of American history is to be a systemic part of a living drama. It’s exciting. It’s electric. I refer to the salvaging of our nation from the Communist-dog traitors who had sold us out and are still among us, steadily working to destabilize America. But not for long! Work is being done now, in real time, to restore the Republic. You can be a witness to history if you know where to look and listen. Also, by doing so you can (and should!) be participating in the 2^nd American Revolution.

 

President Donald Trump is the lynchpin and the spark plug. He is leading the charge. He is the resilient task-master who is taking names and methodically rounding up those who have sought to ruin America. The disgraceful coup against him and his administration has now been trumped by an unstoppable counter-coup, which is presently in full gear. Essential to Trump’s forces are the immense technical skill and intelligence ability that is being applied via a patriotic core within the United States military. The hammer is about to fall.

 

Within weeks the round-up of prominent traitor-criminals will begin. Gitmo prison will be the destination for these scum. And, as all hell breaks loose in a civil war-type atmosphere, those FEMA camps will come in handy as holding pens for the great, rioting brainwashed masses who don’t know any better. This is the cleansing of the Deep State and Shadow Government that has been long awaited. It is long overdue.

 

Watch, as the state-wide and urban treason bastions are soon-to-be dismantled. Jerry Brown won’t know what hit him. This slime is the face of Communism, as is McCain, Schiff, Pelosi, Schumer on the federal level—all of them punk-arses and the very lowest of the low. Their lackies: Brennan, Clapper, Mueller, Comey, Rosenstein, et al., will soon meet their maker in the form of the iron fist of justice. The term “ratfink” comes to mind, but does not even begin to describe these low-life slugs. The military tribunals are ready to send them to the gallows and to  penitentiaries where they belong.

 

Among the sources here provided you can parse the truth and have a ringside seat in the 2^nd American Revolution. It is nothing short of “killing the deep state,” the title of Jerome Corsi’s book just now being released. Get informed and do what you are able to do for the cause of Liberty. We are ridding ourselves of the parasitic, pedophilic, Luciferian infestation that has been fostered by Daddy Bush, Bush Jr., the Clinton crime family, and the CIA Obama impostor president, Barry Parks, aka Barry Sotero. It’s pay-back time. (Oh, and forget Bernie Sanders, that Socialist lay-about do-nothing chump.)

 

Go to https://aim4truth.org/ for in-depth analysis of the actors and their grave misdeeds, and to get a daily briefing on the state of the nation. Speaking of which, get the lowdown on false flags and much more by going to: http://stateofthenation2012.com/  For a quicky take on the day’s news (that is updated often) go to http://yournewswire.com/  Another reliable news source is https://www.sgtreport.com/  And if you get bored, try this site on for size: http://beforeitsnews.com/  There you will get news of the weird that can be a bit “out there” but which provides some tantalizing clues and detours along the road of inquiry. As usual, use your discretion and discernment. And speaking of being out in the ozone of truth seeking, we must remember to include Benjamin Fulford and his 10-minute “machine reports.” Here’s a recent one from him: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7bQAzosp0ok

 

We are in an information war. If you can stand his grating, gravelly voice, then go to InfoWars for a good rant. Listen here to Steve Pieczenik, a true and noble patriot. I’d include Greg Hunter and Lionel too, not to mention the ragtag bunch found here: https://theconservativetreehouse.com/

 

Finally, for some very insightful red pilled articles tune in to A.L. Whitney at https://anticorruptionsociety.com/

 

These are the best of the best as far as I have been able to discover. There is more, much more, but these are my recommendations of the moment. Happy hunting! And remember…

 

Open your eyes, your ears. The storm is upon us. But no one will spoon-feed you. You must have enough initiative to do it for yourself. Do it! And focus in on this stuff. Use your critical thinking cap. Discern the facts, use logic and intuition. Sort out the good “white hats” from those despicable “black hats.” Time’s a’wastin’.

 

Do your homework and take part by doing whatever you can to wake up fellow citizens and help them to understand the facts of their own conditioning, their blindness to the gutting of freedom, to Liberty, to one Nation under God. My “job” is to write and distribute and to help others to self-initiate their own political and spiritual salvation. What is your strength? What can you do to be counted on as one of us anonymous patriots?

 

Figure it out and take action, NOW! Our time is here. The signs are clear.          



Lives of the Saints

 Feast Day of St. John of God

 

Who among us has read The Lives of the Saints? I hadn’t. But I recently began reading it daily. Each day is assigned a particular Saint. And at the end of each reading is a “Reflection.”

 

It was written by Fr. Alban Butler (1710-1773), an English Roman Catholic priest. Its original title was The Lives of the Fathers, Martyrs and Other Principal Saints and was published in four volumes between 1756–1759. It is a popular and compendious reproduction of the Acta Sanctorum (“Acts of the Saints”), itself a mammoth, 68-volume encyclopedic set that examines the lives of the Christian saints according to each saint’s feast day on the liturgical calendar.

 

Each "volume" of Fr. Butler’s grand opus was thick and unwieldy, containing three months of the liturgical calendar's Saints' lives. I understand that Butler’s original Vol. I also had a copperplate engraving with figures of the Roman devices of torture used, and a 2-page explanation of their use. There is an 1847 edition published in twelve volumes that may be the best and most complete version. Eventually Fr. Butler’s work was condensed and abridged into one volume. The one I have was published in 1955 by Benziger Bros.

 

To the modern mind reading about the lives of the Saints, particularly the martyrs, is a strange experience. Their unimaginable deprivations and sufferings were joyfully accepted—hooks pierced into their sides, thrown into boiling cauldrons of oil, given over to ravenous wild animals, and all manner of abominable tortures. Purity of body and mind, viz., chastity, was of supreme importance, as was the adherence to all the strictures of their Christian Faith. They were certainly more attuned to their souls than to their bodies—amazingly so.

 

When I read these accounts I am transported to another realm: a place that is far, far away from this profane world. It impresses upon me how the world has likely always been a sad, wonderfully wicked place. And I ponder these lives, given up for some greater salvific vision; exemplars of some great mystery that cannot easily be fathomed by our common, heedless selves.

 

It also recalls to mind how, as an early reader, I was drawn to biographies and autobiographies. We learn from the example of others, from others’ lives. Whose lives could be more worthy than those lives of the Saints? (And I wonder how many unknown Saints there have been and that also live among us today.)

 

Only one thing bothers me: considering the corruption that has invaded and subverted the Church of Rome by way of certain "anti-Popes," especially over the past 500 years, how many of those who have been canonized as Saints might actually be charlatans? For example, "anti-Pope" Francis has just paved the way for canonization of "anti-Pope" Paul VI. This is no small cause for concern; one's discernment is always required.

 

In any event, I heartily recommend The Lives of the Saints. Examine each sacred hagiography as a mirror to look at your own life. After all, that is precisely why each life is followed by a "Reflection."

 

 

 

Unwitting Manchurain Candidates, Part 2

Manipulation comes in assorted flavors and degrees. At the lower end of the spectrum is the propaganda machine of the mainstream media and its fake news. Our educational institutions, infiltrated long ago, play an important role by perpetuating leftist views and reinforcing the complicit media's false narratives. One may wonder about the nature of this “infiltration” of media and universities. Today, it goes by various monikers: globalism, transnationalism, Agenda 21, the New World Order. Surprise!—it’s Communism. Lo and behold, when I was just a high schooler I unwittingly became a Communist sympathizer, i.e., without ever even knowing it.

 

Just take another peek at the film, Woodstock and take note: the “Woodstock nation” was being born in 1969. I remember, when we returned to school in September after the “Summer of Love,” we were treated to a homecoming that lauded the new hippie culture as marking a turning point in our socio-cultural development. (And this was a Jesuit prep school just blocks away from the Capitol dome.) We, as impressionable kids, were being led down the path of our own perdition and we embraced it like we were going on holiday.

 

This is where I found myself back in the ‘60s and early ‘70s when I was scratching my head as to what Communism was and why us hippies were labeled as such. By sporting long hair, not being clean shaven, and wearing countercultural garb (e.g., bellbottom pants, beads, and just weird, non-conformist stuff) I was making a statement to society. The statement was that I was a counterculture devotee who believed in the mantra of peace, love and…leftist ideology—and people at that time branded such kids as “Communists.” Yes, folks were not so conditioned then to hold back from saying what they think and thank goodness, because what they thought and said to me made me think (even if it would take about a half century to sink in. Ha!).

 

In any event, I had become an unwitting Communist agent, a passive model of a Manchurian Candidate. That is, unbeknownst to me I had embraced the party line; while not really advocating Communism I was simply identifying myself as being “not of the body politic.” And, as did so many others like me, I would spout off left-leaning sentiments and stances, attempting to resist and counter “the System” by being “anti-Establishment.” I was a “cultural Marxist” and didn’t even know it.

 

JFK was a brief shining light who saw the evil, the dangers of secret societies, and was sacrificed on their Freemasonic altar when he tried to stand up to this Luciferian cabal. The trouble was and still is that the whole System is rigged; there’s a controlled Establishment and a controlled opposition anti-Establishment. But I must digress…

 

The System in the ‘60s and ‘70s was far from perfect. We saw through the falsity of being regimented to do the bidding of a corpocracy (a word that had not yet entered the lexicon) and to a great degree we had just grievances. But we were always being steered in inane directions. It was Communism, directly out of the playbook of Saul Alinksy’s Rules for Radicals. Even if you had never heard of Saul Alinksy (and I hadn’t) you were a pawn in his playbook—a playbook that has come down to us directly from the Bolsheviks. Fascinating, right?  

 

And this period in history had been preceded by the 1950s and the McCarthy era, wherein hearings were held by Senator Joseph McCarthy in a sort of last gasp effort to weed out the communist infiltration. This of course was undermined and used to great affect by Communists who portrayed (both witting and unwitting) Communist sympathizers as victims. Arthur Miller’s play and subsequent film, The Crucible, sort of sums up that emotional free-for-all fiasco. The bottom line here was that the supposed lesson of the McCarthy era should be brought back and put into sharp focus: leave us Communists alone or you’ll have to endure payback, in spades (sayeth the Shadow Government as instructed by the Deep State).

   

Next on the spectrum of social conditioning is an active program: MK-Ultra, a mind control regime that was developed by the CIA. This was a ratcheting up of control to present pre-planned dramas that came to be known as “black operation false flags.” These dramas are meant to instill fear and loathing in order to then guide the populace into adopting whatever is proposed as an antidote: a simple mindset (e.g., gun control now!), a new confiscatory law or regulation—in essence a further diminution of liberty to counter the contrived threat.

 

As I understand the MK-Ultra process, a person is targeted, medicated, brainwashed, and then “set free” as a sleeper agent until triggered by some picture or word command. (In The Manchurian Candidate, it was the queen of hearts playing card that was the trigger.) The purpose is to create a robotic automaton who will do the bidding of its controller-handler. The programed person may be called upon to assassinate someone or to simply be a patsy by being directed to a certain location at a specific time. A professional hit team can always do the actual dirty work. But a mind-controlled patsy is needed as the cover story to further the pre-planned narrative once the psy-op is complete.

 

MK-Ultra used certain psycho-active drugs, gang stalking, and various forms of brainwashing techniques to condition its subjects. The program would advance over time to include new technologies, such as micro-wave and low frequency transmissions aimed into the brain to provide the conditioning suggestions. I am certainly no expert, and one should go research MK-Ultra to find out the exact details. But suffice it to say, this was a sort of one-on-one conditioning project that still goes on today, if I’m not mistaken. (Just look at the Florida high school shooting in "Parkland" for example—hey, wasn't that the name of the Dallas hospital to which JFK was taken after he was shot?)

 

“Twilight language”—hidden meanings and synchromystic connections via onomatology (study of names) and toponymy (study of place names)—entrances and enraptures. It transports our society far away from its moral, ethical and spiritual underpinnings. It triggers emotions to overcome rationality, producing a kind of hypnotic, lynch-mob reaction.

 

So Manchurian Candidates can be produced by “soft” or by “hard” methods. In either case, the Communist agenda is being furthered. The populace is being led down the lane toward despotism, tyrannical control, a fascist dictatorship of the mind. And its agent provocateurs are produced as if on an assembly line.

 

But wait. There’s more.

 

At some point, when society was sufficiently softened up, the psy-op controllers transitioned to a more full spectrum domination phase. Instead of using so many resources concentrating on individuals, why not have psychiatrists in every state across the nation write prescriptions for young people, even kids, that will produce a whole nation of conditioned zombie-like Manchurian Candidates? That is, once they are prescribed psycho-active drugs they can be placed en masse into a sort of mass, hypnagogic state, instead of using, e.g., a playing card like the queen of hearts, why not use the media and their very own hand-held devices to trigger them? A signal can be sent much more pervasively and efficiently to trigger the great unwashed, foolish, brainwashed masses to spew invective, curse and swear, demonstrate, and just go bonkers for the cameras. And the effect will be magnified by the compliant media. The mirror effect will transfix all lemmings all the more.

 

Next, conduct polls of the lemmings and broadcast these “false positives.” And the entire society will be guided into the cattle pens, the FEMA camps of the mind by a Congress that dutifully follows public opinion. Good Lord, stop this runaway train!               

             

And so we come full circle. We’ve started with this fellow who was minding his own business but got swept away by wanting to become like the Beatles and the Rolling Stones, et al. With this yearning came a full slate of subliminal goodies that transformed me. I became a hippy, a relatively harmless and unwitting Manchurian Candidate—one of millions across the country.

 

Others, similarly situated, were subjected to ever more screen-gazing, and like me were being inducted into the ideological maze of Communist control. Certain unlucky ones would further be chosen as MK-Ultra candidates, to perform pre-scripted deeds or to go to pre-determined locations at pre-selected times. Various poor-dope Manchurian Candidates populate this Hall of Fame, among them: Lee Harvey Oswald, Sirhan Sirhan, Stephen Craig Paddock, Omar Mateen, Adam Lanza, Seung-Hui Cho, Aaron Alexis, Maj. Nidal Malik Hasan, Nikolas Cruz, et al.

 

Moreover, now we are witnessing a huge segment of our American population that has become unhinged. These Manchurian Candidates, most unwitting (but with some real agent provocateurs among them funded by Soros-affiliated type non-profits) have now been given the spotlight by complicit media, Hollywood, Silicon Valley lefties and all of the leftist web and blog sites. And a rogue CIA stands behind all of this, pushing buttons and making it all happen. It’s too bad JFK didn’t bust them up into a thousand pieces.

 

I hear that the CIA has just been departmentalized into the NSA. By coming under the direct control of our military perhaps they will finally be corralled into their proper role. We shall see. In the meantime, we all suffer from oppressive over-soul control by those Communist dogs who seek to impose their sick, demented will over our individual sovereign selves.

 

I pray that my niece, who recently played a lead role in a high school production of The Crucible might understand that she is also playing an unwitting part. (Notice: high schools still are indoctrinating kids into a leftist mindset—when will it stop?) My siblings found the play to be “emotional and intense.” That’s not surprising. Such a comment, based on a reaction that is intensely plucking the emotions, is the hallmark of successful conditioning. I doubt any of them considered the back relief drama or substance of the play, i.e., the ideological foundations that it was promoting. Could it be… Communism by the back door? Satan? 

 

In any event, God bless us, one and all! Throw away your TVs, behold a new consciousness, open your eyes, your ears, think critically, listen to your heart, your conscience, and don’t continue to be used by powers unseen, unknown, and yet all too familiar!

Unwitting Manchurian Candidates, Part 1

 

Once upon a time I was a hippie. And as a hippie lad, making my way through high school in the late ‘60s and early ‘70s, I remember hearing people calling me and others like me “Communist pinkos.” I also recall thinking how ridiculous that sounded—to think that I was some kind of Soviet or Red Chinese agent seemed like the most absurd and unlikely thing imaginable. Mostly I just wanted to be left alone to go my own subcultural way. There were many like me, adrift in Kumbaya-land with our rebel music and assorted self-abnegation rites of liberation from squaresville.

 

Yes, we smoked pot and dabbled with other mind-altering substances. We rationalized that if the ding-bat adults around us were getting rip-roaring drunk on booze, we had a right to choose our own ways of coping too. And what was it we were trying to cope with? Mostly it was the horror and guilt of Vietnam. But it was a lot more than that too. We sensed the wrongness of things around us. We felt assaulted by a cold mindlessness that was stupid and abrasive, unhip and uncool. The altruistic among us felt the world needed more love and that we should actively try to get better at understanding each other; those oriented more to unrestrained self-indulgence just got high a lot and felt they were owed a better world. In fact, getting high, self-medicating ourselves, was about all we could do; when straight society seemed so stacked against us our best defense seemed to be to numb ourselves with something, anything, to ease the pain of our separation and alienation. In fact, that’s exactly what we were—an alien-nation-within-a-nation.

 

Again, to be called a “Communist” was so bizarre. Imagining that Communists came over here (or that home-grown, American Communists were among us) in order to agitate and steer us kids in a Communist direction seemed absolutely ludicrous. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

 

Just before starting high school, when I was 13-years old I wanted to work at River Bowl, the bowling alley behind our house. The owner was a Mr. Rodock, but we called him “Lumphead” because he had a very visible cyst on his bald head. He gave me a job application. I brought it home and was filling it out in the kitchen when I came across this question: Are you now or have you ever been a member of the Communist Party? It seemed like a really weird question. I recall asking my father about it. He laughed it off and made fun of it, as I recall, which only added fuel to my general befuddlement about the whole “Communist thing.” It seemed like that was another world somewhere far away; some stupid ideological craze that appealed to, e.g., the “VietCong.”

 

I got the job in the bowling alley and was assigned to clean each of the 50 pin-setting machines. Right after I finished cleaning the last machine, the owner told me he couldn’t keep me on because I was too young. (I looked older than I really was.) Maybe Mr. Rodock didn’t notice my age on the app—or maybe he just wanted the machines cleaned quickly and cheaply. Who knows?

 

Well, I quickly sought out another part-time job. (Of course I was now wise to the System.) There was a 7-11 further down River Road. 7-11s are franchise operations. In those days it was owned and run by the Southland Corporation located somewhere in Texas. Ice slush drinks called Slurpees were all the rage back then and unlimited free Slurpees were an employee perk. This time, when I applied to work at the local 7-11, I gave them my older brother’s name and social security number. The boss immediately handed me a price stamper and set me to work.

 

It was 1967. The boss, or franchise owner, was one Bill Herrmann: a salt-of-the-earth comedian. He had been a sergeant in the army who, I came to learn later, had been booted out for “psychological reasons.” Bill knew how to manage men and ran a tight ship. He was a master at humorous chit-chat and he had a loyal following of early morning regulars who stopped in for coffee on their way to work in D.C. They would stand around for a while so they could listen to his daily feed. It was all just good ol’ boy talk and joking around—a chummy sort of bonding talk they lobbed. But I remember feeling that it had a strange internal logic to it; there was a good-natured sensibility that emanated from pontificator Bill Herrmann and his amused sychophants. And I, too, was an admirer. He was Jonathan Winters with a tinge of Rodney Dangerfield. I loved him.

 

As the name “7-11” implies, the store opened for business at 7 AM. On the weekends, in the  mornings, once things got squared away and before many customers came in, he would counsel me in his down-home way. He would ask me questions, essentially about how I viewed the world around me—about Vietnam, women, etc., always probing. And then he’d offer unsolicited advice, sociological in nature, and hard-won from his own unvarnished life. His comebacks were priceless. Bill had what seemed like a bottomless grab-bag of sayings, phrases and jokes. Still, on the semi-serious side, he really was a keen observer of the human condition.

 

I remember one morning in particular he went on for quite some time saying how war was just all about jobs and corporate profits, and that Vietnam was nothing but a huge, distracting jobs program run by politicians for the ultimate benefit of businessmen. I had never heard anything like that before, at home or anywhere else. Bill’s no-nonsense political sensibility sent my mind reeling more than once. He helped me to see things in a simpler and very real way, instead of the sugar-coated, media-popular viewpoints that were presented as hopelessly complicated and irreconcilable. He was a homespun philosopher getting through middle age and the radically changed liberal society as best he could. And he poked fun at my leanings toward this new counter-culture that was slowly but surely claiming me.

 

And so, I would go on through high school as a socio-cultural hipster mug who, none-the-less, meant well; a superficial philosopher hippie king who embraced old ‘50s cars, and a hedonistic lifestyle that revolved around being cool and trying to get laid. I never thought that I was a Communist—never; and I never thought that my progressive views that accepted “liberation movements,” birth control and abortion, ultra-tolerant moral relativism, etc., were anything unnatural or evil.

 

At least I knew what it was to work. I always liked to work. And, as described above, I would experience countervailing notions to my family’s own “progressivism” by being out in the workforce.

 

On my mother’s side, my grandfather grew up as a farm boy, but studied engineering and then went out and made something of himself as a business entrepreneur. He and my grandmother were frugal. They scrimped and saved and eventually my grandfather was able to retire at 55. His main occupation from then on was carefully watching his investments in the stock market while continuing to live a frugal life. Both grandparents were simple and sensible folks. The lessons my grandfather learned along the way made him a life-long, conservative Republican. He was also a practicing Catholic.

 

A favorite aunt, my mother’s sister, was also imbued with strong conservative and Catholic convictions. Aunt Janet was another force that helped me question the whole liberal shooting gallery that most young people in society were buying into whole hog.

 

Thus, I had some strong traditionalist influences along the rocky road of misadventure upon which I had already set my sights.

 

As I groped my way up the ladder of education and work experience, I never heard of the “community organizer” (i.e., Communist) Saul Alinksy. But the counter-culture taught me to admire “revolutionaries” such as Che Guevara and Abbie Hoffman, Martin Luther King, Jr., and Eldridge Cleaver. Even brainwashed Patty Hearst exuded a sort of romantic rebel aura. These, and of course our beloved rock musicians and certain Hollywood and TV actors, were supposed to be and were our new heroes.

 

But I never, ever wanted to be a Communist. To me, anyone identifying as a Communist was an idiot embracing a failed system. Of course, I was quick to critique my own Western capitalistic model as defective too, but not irredeemably so as with Communism, which was antithetical to liberty from the get-go. No, capitalism was humanity’s natural economic inclination and should be fostered and protected, if need be, by regulation. Individuals had the unalienable right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness; to property. That was firmly engrained in my mind then and remains so today.

 

Even so, for years to come there remained an unresolved, on-the-fence attitude toward conservatism and tradition. My psyche seemed to be a jumbled composite of all sorts of stuff. For over 50 years I remained “progressively”-oriented overall with just a healthy dash of skepticism. Never one to embrace extremes, it seemed more prudent to stay in a limbo-like, middle-of-the-road socio-cultural and political state of mind. Slowly, however, I began to notice how I was being manipulated.

 

Since the ‘60s I had been at least dimly aware of the covert activities of our own intelligence agencies, especially the CIA. Like many others, by the ‘70s I too began hearing about its nefarious mind-control programs, never quite making the connection it had with the System, particularly the media. In those days I was still a TV watcher. But as I weaned myself away from TV my mind began to heal itself. I soon began to question everything that I had been taught to believe about the world and reality—except for the nature of Communism, that is. The trouble was, I only knew the kind of overt Communism that’s shown on TV and in the movies, and was much less sensitized to its more subtle aspects (often referred to as “cultural Marxism”). But I was waking up. Good Lord, was I waking up…(to be continued)