This is incredibly sad. People don't even know what to be mad at. The activists in this video blame capitalism. Others blame socialism. What we're looking at is not a direct result of either economic system; it's fascism, corporatism, totalitarianism, despotism.
If you don't want to get stepped on, then stop feeding the Leviathan! Do something - anything - to show you're not OK with the emerging new world order.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Angel and the Cave
By Cliff Jones
My granddad told me this story when I was about your age, Angel. And now I'm passing it on to you. I'm not sure if I can get all the details right, but the real core of it - the bones - that's burned into my brain pretty good. That's what you have to remember too: just enough to get the point, not so much that you miss it.
A very long time ago, there was a hunter who used to roam the woods not far from here. He always worked alone, and he wasn't much for socializing, but everybody in town loved him because he brought home more meat than anybody else and never hesitated to share it. The key here is that no one ever had to earn what the hunter gave them. It was strict charity. And not even the sort of charity that arises from guilt or pity either. The guy just knew bringing home the meat was his job, and he did it.
Listen to me on this, Angel. If you can get a really clear, sharp feeling in your gut that you're doing your job, that you're doing exactly what you were made for, you don't need any more reward than that. Just to be alive and full of purpose is more than most people ever have these days. Don't throw it away just to help somebody else do their job. Money's not worth it. Anyhow, back to my story.
So this hunter needs a name, right? When my granddad was first telling me this story, he tried to get away with just saying "the hunter" over and over like there weren't any other hunters around. But I bugged him about that until he finally said, "OK, Jim, you want a name? The hunter's name was Jim." I never actually believed that the hunter and me just by coincidence had the same name. It was just to show me that this guy, he could be anybody. So, Angel, you want a name? The hunter's name was Angel.
One day, this guy Angel was out on a hunt. He'd already been out for two solid days with no luck, but he was on the trail of a really big old bear, the kind that could eat you up and still have room for seconds. Angel had a lot invested in this hunt because the payoff for sneaking up on a bear that size in the middle of its hibernation could be enormous. This was the dead of winter, you see. Hunting's not so easy in the winter, but it's about the only time you can hope to bag a full-size bear. At least back then it was. Bears were bigger, and weapons were simpler. And of course everything was much colder then too, which made it pretty much impossible to fish.
I'd like you to imagine what life was like for Angel's town in the dead of winter. People spent most of the day just huddled up in their burrows trying to keep warm hoping supplies would hold out. Normally, these people were busy farming or making things like clothes and blankets and such. But for about four months out of the year, the ground was too frozen to work, and all the furs were occupied trying to keep everybody from freezing to death. As you can imagine, the days could get pretty monotonous. That's why stories and music were so important to these people. If you want to keep warm, you've got to keep your heart beating, and if you want your heart to beat, you've got to feel something. If you were to walk past Angel's town in the winter, you wouldn't see much - just about everything was underground - but you'd feel the earth under your feet pulsing with energy and emotion. Now that was some real music, I bet. Just playing for the sound of it, that's all.
As everybody was dancing and yelling and banging their drums and wailing their flutes back in town, Angel was approaching a cave. The cave. He could feel it. At this point, as he always did, Angel made a conscious effort to separate himself from his body and let the ambient calm of his surroundings soak through him bit by bit. He felt like a very skilled ghost manipulating an empty body so that you'd swear it was really alive. Each step he took had an unreal gracefulness to it, like the movements of a marionette.
Slowly, steadily, Angel's hand drew his weapon from the sheath that hung across his back. It resembled a machete but with a very jagged back edge. Those large teeth had torn the guts out of too many animals to count. But always to fill the guts of Angel's family and friends, so the whole process - brutal and disgusting as it may be - had a sort of righteousness to it. Before entering the mouth of the cave, Angel's eyes fixed on a spot where he could hide while waiting for the bear to bleed out. If you ever go up against a bear, locating this safe spot in advance is absolutely critical. It's much better to have the bear run off and die somewhere you can't find it than to hang around something that big, that tough, and that terrified. No use in the both of you dying, is there?
I'll spare you the gory details and just tell you Angel won the fight that day. As always, it was a combination of luck, skill, and - let's be honest - fighting dirty that gave our hero the victory. Just so you don't get the wrong idea, let me point out that Angel took no pleasure in killing the bear. Quite the opposite. Here's a bit of grandfatherly wisdom for you: There's nothing better in this world than food. And nothing worse than violence. More often than not, the two go hand in hand. It's a shame, but that's just how it is.
After following the long, red trail in the snow to the still-warm former bear, Angel unfolded his sled and rolled the hefty corpse onto it, which was no easy task. And let me tell you, dragging that thing all the way back home - well, let me just say this: The only way to get through something like that is if you're fueled by pure love. It's like childbirth. A truly selfish person could never get through it. Luckily, we're not so selfish as most people think. The species would be doomed if we were.
So anyhow, Angel dragged this thing all the way back to town. As he was approaching, he saw heads popping up out of their burrows - first just a couple, and eventually several dozen. Everybody in town had to make sure it was really him and then tell a couple more people nearby before running out to greet him. Angel, the town hero! This was a ritual that the hunter enjoyed thoroughly - though he never let on of course.
Among the last to see Angel's kill was his great-uncle, the oldest man in town. He was one of the few that didn't run out to join the celebration currently making its way through the snow but instead just stayed put and waited. This was partly because he was a very dignified and well-respected elder but mostly because he was just too darn old to be running around and carrying on like that. I'll tell you, when those people got to celebrating, it was something to see. And to hear! But when Angel finally made his way to the center of town,where the elder was waiting, everybody got quiet real quick.
It was this elder's job to inspect the kill and determine if it was fit to eat. This was basically just a formality, but you can bet everybody was deadly serious about it. The elder did his usual rounds. He hobbled around to check the wound running down the bear's back to make sure it was clean. He pushed on the big, shaggy belly to make sure it wasn't swollen from some kind of health problem. Finally, he crouched down in front of the animal's face and pried open one of its eyes.
That's when the elder went pale, his jaw fell a little, and he seemed to stop breathing. It looked like he'd been struck dead right then and there. After a few seconds of this, the old man stumbled backwards and sat down in the snow. Several of the onlookers tried to help him up thinking he was having health problems, but before they even got to him, he rose to his feet and proclaimed, "This animal is not food!"
Everyone was shocked. And pretty confused as well. Of course a bear's food! And the best kind of food, too. Nobody knew just what the old man was getting at, but they were all obliged to trust him, even if he did seem to be losing his grip lately. "We must return this creature to its home immediately," he continued after a moment. "Do I have any volunteers for the job?"
None of the men - because the elder was really only addressing the men - raised his hand for a good 30 seconds or so. But as soon as the first hand went up, others started to follow, culminating eventually in every able-bodied man in town standing there with his hand up. See, that's how a crowd operates. Only the first two or three men actually had to be willing to go. Any more than that would be excessive on such a journey, and everybody knew it. The lazy guys, and also the cowards, they waited to raise their hands until enough real volunteers were already available. Watch out for people like that, Angel. It's much better to be alone than mixed up with a crowd that'll desert you as soon as they feel like it.
Now this Angel in the story, he was no fool. He could see all these volunteers were really only in it to impress the women. If any of these guys ran into trouble out in the wild, they'd just run back to Angel, and then he'd be in trouble with them. "I'll go alone." The hunter spoke directly to his uncle but just loud enough for most of the crowd to hear. "This is my kill, so it's my responsibility."
The elder had obviously expected this response. He stepped toward Angel without the least hesitation, looked him straight in the face, and said, "You tried to kill the wrong bear. This one can't be killed. Bring it back where you found it, and for God's sake treat it with respect!" Angel wasn’t fully convinced, but he decided to humor the old man and take his words as gospel.
If dragging that bear to town was an act of love, then dragging it back was a display of immeasurable devotion, both to his uncle and to the way of life he represented. Aside from the elders, whose time would soon pass, Angel was the most respected man in town. If any sort of dissonance was perceived between the generations, their society would begin to crumble, slowly but surely. As far as I'm concerned, that's not always a bad thing, but to Angel, this eventuality was something he feared more than dying, more than death.
Angel decided then and there that this bear was special. Several times along the way, he tried to use snow to clean some of the dried blood out of the bear's once-white fur, but the air was far too cold for this to work. When he finally reached the cave, it was the middle of the night, and he was dead tired. He'd done it. He'd spent an entire day dragging a perfectly good load of bear meat all the way to town and then back to where he'd found it, all because a superstitious old man thought the thing was still alive. Maybe putting the oldest person in town in charge wasn't the best idea, eh?
As Angel sat in the snow munching on pemmican, he gradually accepted the fact that he'd have to make camp out there for the night. In the almost nonexistent moonlight, exhausted from all that hard labor, he was not looking forward to digging in and setting up a shelter, though he knew that was the smartest option. His frustration with the day's events soon gave way to desperation, which led him into the cave.
Angel was well acquainted with both darkness and silence, but this cave had such an oversupply of both that he found his heart beating much faster than it should have been. Who knows what wild beasts called this cavern home? Somehow, despite this unexpected panic, he began to notice consciousness slipping from his body. As Angel slowly made his way to the floor of the cave, his surroundings seemed to shift and distort as if they were living things restlessly trying to find a comfortable position so that they might sleep as well.
Inside his dream, Angel noticed that not only had his surroundings transformed, but his clothes and body were now very different as well. Everything had a delicate, sterile feel to it, even his own skin. Angel's thoughts on this transformation never had time to solidify into anything memorable, though. In a few moments, he had forgotten he was dreaming. His memories of a small town dug into the frozen earth, an unreasonable elder convinced of the impossible, the bloody corpse of an enormous white bear resting in the snow outside its cave - all these things quietly transformed into memories more suited to the environment inside his dream. Even the language he spoke was now different.
**********
That's when I first started to grasp the true meaning of my grandfather's story. There was something in his eye trying to tell me who Angel the hunter really was - who I really was - but before I could react to it, there was a very official sounding knock at the door. It made me jump just a little, but then I felt silly for imagining a connection between the story and real life. True, I was pretty young at the time, but not that young. The really bizarre thing was that my grandfather didn't react to the knock at all. He just stared at me with a knowing smile as if there were no reason to continue the story, as if everything were going according to his master plan.
"So... should I get that?" I asked after some hesitation. It really was strange to get a knock at the front door so late, creepy story or no.
All my grandpa did was nod and smile.
I summoned all my courage, pushed aside silly superstitions, and put my eye to the peephole. I couldn't make out very much with our porch light burnt out, but judging by his silhouette, our visitor seemed to be a very large man dressed entirely in white. This knowledge did very little to relieve my apprehension. "What do you want?" I shouted, trying to sound as menacing as I could.
"I'm a friend of Jim's," was the man's reply. I looked back at my grandpa hoping for some sort of explanation, but all I got was a look that seemed to say, Well, what are you keeping a friend of your old granddad's waiting for? I gave in and opened the door to the intimidating figure. The man stepped right inside and immediately found a seat in my grandpa's big black recliner. I found it a little odd at the time that my grandfather had moved to the couch, apparently to make way for this stranger, but I wasn't about to question it.
Sitting there, slumped in that cushy black easy chair, this man looked even more bizarre than I'd imagined from his silhouette. Judging by his white hair, he must have been about my grandfather's age, but his face looked many years younger. I would have thought he was an albino were it not for his unusually dark eyes. He wore a completely white suit accented somewhat unsettlingly by a pair of dark brown loafers and a burgundy necktie.
"The name's Elliot," he said. "You must be Angel. Me and your grandpa go way back." I had no idea why, but I didn't believe him. Maybe it was the way he stared so intently into the eyes of whoever he was addressing. Normal people glance around a little while they talk. Unbroken eye contact is just... weird.
Elliot proceeded to make small talk with me for what seemed like hours. He would ask a simple question, I'd answer, and then before I could even think of excusing myself to go to bed or just trying to steer the conversation in another direction, he'd ask another question, each one calling for a bit more detail than the last. By the time we finished our somewhat one-sided chat, all I could do was stumble off to bed. I still can't remember if my grandfather participated in that conversation at all or if he was silent the entire time. Very odd in retrospect.
That night, I dreamed I was the hunter from my grandfather's story. I crawled out of the cave to find the morning sun beaming down onto the body of a dead bear - but not the bear I had killed. This new bear was much smaller and its fur was brown. Someone had stolen the white one and attached this impostor to my sled while I was sleeping! Fine by me, I thought. My people needed food, and this new bear appeared to be a fresh kill, so it would do. I don't remember much else about that dream. I figure I dragged the brown bear to town and everybody was happy.
The next morning I woke up a little late, having forgotten to set my alarm the night before. As I hurriedly got my things together for school, I remembered that spooky character Elliot from the night before and wondered if he had really even been there at all. I saw no evidence of a visitor, and my grandpa was still asleep, so I couldn't ask about him about it. The black chair still retained a very deep impression in its seat, one my grandfather could never have made.
Putting the matter out of my head for the moment, I rushed out the door and almost tripped over a fat, white cat curled up in the middle of our front porch. I'd never seen the cat before, but it was wearing a clean-looking red collar, so I assumed it belonged to one of our neighbors. Even though I was running late and the school bus might very well pass me by if I were delayed even for a moment, I reached down to pet the cat behind the ears as I passed. This wasn't a particularly smart thing to do. Instantly, the thing was transformed from a sleepy house pet into a snarling, hissing ball of claws and teeth. After a brutal attack that lasted only a few seconds, the cat - now stained with a smear or two of my blood - shot me a short, piercing glare and bolted off my porch into the woods across the street.
Needless to say, my hopes of catching the school bus and having a normal day were dashed. I ran into my grandpa's room screaming and dripping blood everywhere. I guess my first instinct was to spread the misery around a little, hoping to dilute it. My grandfather frantically cleaned my wounds and rushed me off to the hospital for a rabies shot. His morning wasn't much better than mine, I suppose.
By coincidence (though not such an astounding coincidence if you consider the size of our town back then), a girl from my class at school was in the waiting room when I arrived. Her name was Beth, and I'd had a crush on her ever since the school year had started a few months earlier. We exchanged an awkward nod as I took a seat opposite her and her mother. I tried to wave, but my hand was covered in bandages and blood, so it looked like I was just trying to show it off. This made Beth smile, but her mom looked like she was going to be sick.
We couldn't really talk in the waiting room, but I felt a change between us already. It was like we shared a secret. You know that giddy feeling you get when you're hiding or pretending to be asleep so that you can surprise somebody when the time is just right? I was full of that, and I could tell Beth was too.
I should've been treated fairly quickly and sent right home, but I was experiencing some nausea and a slight fever, so the doctor was worried I might actually have rabies. They had to keep me there a few days under observation. As it turns out, those few days happened to be some of the most important (and surprisingly enjoyable) days of my life up to that point. This was due almost entirely to Beth.
**********
As he approached the town once more, this time with a much less impressive kill, Angel was surprised and gratified to find everyone quite as excited as they'd been the day before, if not more so. No one had expected him to return with another bear, at least not so quickly. The cooks had been busy boiling several large pots of beans, and now an expression of bewildered embarrassment spread across their faces. They should never have doubted this boy who was surely the greatest hunter ever to grace their town.
Sensing their unease, Angel shouted, "Since we have beans as well as meat, let's combine them and feast as if it were the longest day of the year!" At this, all the onlookers cheered and scattered to make sure everyone heard the news. That night was to be an impromptu festival celebrating Angel's near-miraculous victory over two adult bears in just two days!
It was also the night that the great hunter first retained a memory of a dream he felt he'd had at least once before, a dream so comforting and yet so alien that it wasn't easily dismissed as the mere wanderings of a dormant mind. This was no fantasy. It was something else entirely.
The room was white. To be sure, there were other colors, but the white was so unnaturally pure that it seemed to bleach the rest into obscurity. Each wall was perfectly flat, from floor to ceiling as well as from side to side. To accommodate this bizarre design, there were several seams at which one wall would meet another at a sharp angle. Scattered throughout the room were groupings of very small, very simple drawings, which didn't look like much of anything but somehow dictated the thoughts of anyone who stared at them for more than a moment.
All this was upsetting to Angel, but not nearly as much as one might think. He felt he'd been in this room before - as recently as the previous night, in fact. But before he could recall exactly where he was, or even who he was, a familiar form appeared in the doorway and timidly knocked on its frame.
"Hi," the girl said with a tense brow and nervous smile. "I brought some cards 'cause I thought you might be bored."
"Oh, cool! Thanks!" Angel responded, trying to let out just a bit more excitement than would be expected of a boy in his situation, but not enough to scare the girl away.
Beth's grin widened in reaction to that extra bit of excitement. It was the right amount. "I also have your homework assignments and some notes on what we did in class today," she continued.
The two locked eyes, and for a moment, their minds embraced. "Let's start with the cards."
My granddad told me this story when I was about your age, Angel. And now I'm passing it on to you. I'm not sure if I can get all the details right, but the real core of it - the bones - that's burned into my brain pretty good. That's what you have to remember too: just enough to get the point, not so much that you miss it.
A very long time ago, there was a hunter who used to roam the woods not far from here. He always worked alone, and he wasn't much for socializing, but everybody in town loved him because he brought home more meat than anybody else and never hesitated to share it. The key here is that no one ever had to earn what the hunter gave them. It was strict charity. And not even the sort of charity that arises from guilt or pity either. The guy just knew bringing home the meat was his job, and he did it.
Listen to me on this, Angel. If you can get a really clear, sharp feeling in your gut that you're doing your job, that you're doing exactly what you were made for, you don't need any more reward than that. Just to be alive and full of purpose is more than most people ever have these days. Don't throw it away just to help somebody else do their job. Money's not worth it. Anyhow, back to my story.
So this hunter needs a name, right? When my granddad was first telling me this story, he tried to get away with just saying "the hunter" over and over like there weren't any other hunters around. But I bugged him about that until he finally said, "OK, Jim, you want a name? The hunter's name was Jim." I never actually believed that the hunter and me just by coincidence had the same name. It was just to show me that this guy, he could be anybody. So, Angel, you want a name? The hunter's name was Angel.
One day, this guy Angel was out on a hunt. He'd already been out for two solid days with no luck, but he was on the trail of a really big old bear, the kind that could eat you up and still have room for seconds. Angel had a lot invested in this hunt because the payoff for sneaking up on a bear that size in the middle of its hibernation could be enormous. This was the dead of winter, you see. Hunting's not so easy in the winter, but it's about the only time you can hope to bag a full-size bear. At least back then it was. Bears were bigger, and weapons were simpler. And of course everything was much colder then too, which made it pretty much impossible to fish.
I'd like you to imagine what life was like for Angel's town in the dead of winter. People spent most of the day just huddled up in their burrows trying to keep warm hoping supplies would hold out. Normally, these people were busy farming or making things like clothes and blankets and such. But for about four months out of the year, the ground was too frozen to work, and all the furs were occupied trying to keep everybody from freezing to death. As you can imagine, the days could get pretty monotonous. That's why stories and music were so important to these people. If you want to keep warm, you've got to keep your heart beating, and if you want your heart to beat, you've got to feel something. If you were to walk past Angel's town in the winter, you wouldn't see much - just about everything was underground - but you'd feel the earth under your feet pulsing with energy and emotion. Now that was some real music, I bet. Just playing for the sound of it, that's all.
As everybody was dancing and yelling and banging their drums and wailing their flutes back in town, Angel was approaching a cave. The cave. He could feel it. At this point, as he always did, Angel made a conscious effort to separate himself from his body and let the ambient calm of his surroundings soak through him bit by bit. He felt like a very skilled ghost manipulating an empty body so that you'd swear it was really alive. Each step he took had an unreal gracefulness to it, like the movements of a marionette.
Slowly, steadily, Angel's hand drew his weapon from the sheath that hung across his back. It resembled a machete but with a very jagged back edge. Those large teeth had torn the guts out of too many animals to count. But always to fill the guts of Angel's family and friends, so the whole process - brutal and disgusting as it may be - had a sort of righteousness to it. Before entering the mouth of the cave, Angel's eyes fixed on a spot where he could hide while waiting for the bear to bleed out. If you ever go up against a bear, locating this safe spot in advance is absolutely critical. It's much better to have the bear run off and die somewhere you can't find it than to hang around something that big, that tough, and that terrified. No use in the both of you dying, is there?
I'll spare you the gory details and just tell you Angel won the fight that day. As always, it was a combination of luck, skill, and - let's be honest - fighting dirty that gave our hero the victory. Just so you don't get the wrong idea, let me point out that Angel took no pleasure in killing the bear. Quite the opposite. Here's a bit of grandfatherly wisdom for you: There's nothing better in this world than food. And nothing worse than violence. More often than not, the two go hand in hand. It's a shame, but that's just how it is.
After following the long, red trail in the snow to the still-warm former bear, Angel unfolded his sled and rolled the hefty corpse onto it, which was no easy task. And let me tell you, dragging that thing all the way back home - well, let me just say this: The only way to get through something like that is if you're fueled by pure love. It's like childbirth. A truly selfish person could never get through it. Luckily, we're not so selfish as most people think. The species would be doomed if we were.
So anyhow, Angel dragged this thing all the way back to town. As he was approaching, he saw heads popping up out of their burrows - first just a couple, and eventually several dozen. Everybody in town had to make sure it was really him and then tell a couple more people nearby before running out to greet him. Angel, the town hero! This was a ritual that the hunter enjoyed thoroughly - though he never let on of course.
Among the last to see Angel's kill was his great-uncle, the oldest man in town. He was one of the few that didn't run out to join the celebration currently making its way through the snow but instead just stayed put and waited. This was partly because he was a very dignified and well-respected elder but mostly because he was just too darn old to be running around and carrying on like that. I'll tell you, when those people got to celebrating, it was something to see. And to hear! But when Angel finally made his way to the center of town,where the elder was waiting, everybody got quiet real quick.
It was this elder's job to inspect the kill and determine if it was fit to eat. This was basically just a formality, but you can bet everybody was deadly serious about it. The elder did his usual rounds. He hobbled around to check the wound running down the bear's back to make sure it was clean. He pushed on the big, shaggy belly to make sure it wasn't swollen from some kind of health problem. Finally, he crouched down in front of the animal's face and pried open one of its eyes.
That's when the elder went pale, his jaw fell a little, and he seemed to stop breathing. It looked like he'd been struck dead right then and there. After a few seconds of this, the old man stumbled backwards and sat down in the snow. Several of the onlookers tried to help him up thinking he was having health problems, but before they even got to him, he rose to his feet and proclaimed, "This animal is not food!"
Everyone was shocked. And pretty confused as well. Of course a bear's food! And the best kind of food, too. Nobody knew just what the old man was getting at, but they were all obliged to trust him, even if he did seem to be losing his grip lately. "We must return this creature to its home immediately," he continued after a moment. "Do I have any volunteers for the job?"
None of the men - because the elder was really only addressing the men - raised his hand for a good 30 seconds or so. But as soon as the first hand went up, others started to follow, culminating eventually in every able-bodied man in town standing there with his hand up. See, that's how a crowd operates. Only the first two or three men actually had to be willing to go. Any more than that would be excessive on such a journey, and everybody knew it. The lazy guys, and also the cowards, they waited to raise their hands until enough real volunteers were already available. Watch out for people like that, Angel. It's much better to be alone than mixed up with a crowd that'll desert you as soon as they feel like it.
Now this Angel in the story, he was no fool. He could see all these volunteers were really only in it to impress the women. If any of these guys ran into trouble out in the wild, they'd just run back to Angel, and then he'd be in trouble with them. "I'll go alone." The hunter spoke directly to his uncle but just loud enough for most of the crowd to hear. "This is my kill, so it's my responsibility."
The elder had obviously expected this response. He stepped toward Angel without the least hesitation, looked him straight in the face, and said, "You tried to kill the wrong bear. This one can't be killed. Bring it back where you found it, and for God's sake treat it with respect!" Angel wasn’t fully convinced, but he decided to humor the old man and take his words as gospel.
If dragging that bear to town was an act of love, then dragging it back was a display of immeasurable devotion, both to his uncle and to the way of life he represented. Aside from the elders, whose time would soon pass, Angel was the most respected man in town. If any sort of dissonance was perceived between the generations, their society would begin to crumble, slowly but surely. As far as I'm concerned, that's not always a bad thing, but to Angel, this eventuality was something he feared more than dying, more than death.
Angel decided then and there that this bear was special. Several times along the way, he tried to use snow to clean some of the dried blood out of the bear's once-white fur, but the air was far too cold for this to work. When he finally reached the cave, it was the middle of the night, and he was dead tired. He'd done it. He'd spent an entire day dragging a perfectly good load of bear meat all the way to town and then back to where he'd found it, all because a superstitious old man thought the thing was still alive. Maybe putting the oldest person in town in charge wasn't the best idea, eh?
As Angel sat in the snow munching on pemmican, he gradually accepted the fact that he'd have to make camp out there for the night. In the almost nonexistent moonlight, exhausted from all that hard labor, he was not looking forward to digging in and setting up a shelter, though he knew that was the smartest option. His frustration with the day's events soon gave way to desperation, which led him into the cave.
Angel was well acquainted with both darkness and silence, but this cave had such an oversupply of both that he found his heart beating much faster than it should have been. Who knows what wild beasts called this cavern home? Somehow, despite this unexpected panic, he began to notice consciousness slipping from his body. As Angel slowly made his way to the floor of the cave, his surroundings seemed to shift and distort as if they were living things restlessly trying to find a comfortable position so that they might sleep as well.
Inside his dream, Angel noticed that not only had his surroundings transformed, but his clothes and body were now very different as well. Everything had a delicate, sterile feel to it, even his own skin. Angel's thoughts on this transformation never had time to solidify into anything memorable, though. In a few moments, he had forgotten he was dreaming. His memories of a small town dug into the frozen earth, an unreasonable elder convinced of the impossible, the bloody corpse of an enormous white bear resting in the snow outside its cave - all these things quietly transformed into memories more suited to the environment inside his dream. Even the language he spoke was now different.
**********
That's when I first started to grasp the true meaning of my grandfather's story. There was something in his eye trying to tell me who Angel the hunter really was - who I really was - but before I could react to it, there was a very official sounding knock at the door. It made me jump just a little, but then I felt silly for imagining a connection between the story and real life. True, I was pretty young at the time, but not that young. The really bizarre thing was that my grandfather didn't react to the knock at all. He just stared at me with a knowing smile as if there were no reason to continue the story, as if everything were going according to his master plan.
"So... should I get that?" I asked after some hesitation. It really was strange to get a knock at the front door so late, creepy story or no.
All my grandpa did was nod and smile.
I summoned all my courage, pushed aside silly superstitions, and put my eye to the peephole. I couldn't make out very much with our porch light burnt out, but judging by his silhouette, our visitor seemed to be a very large man dressed entirely in white. This knowledge did very little to relieve my apprehension. "What do you want?" I shouted, trying to sound as menacing as I could.
"I'm a friend of Jim's," was the man's reply. I looked back at my grandpa hoping for some sort of explanation, but all I got was a look that seemed to say, Well, what are you keeping a friend of your old granddad's waiting for? I gave in and opened the door to the intimidating figure. The man stepped right inside and immediately found a seat in my grandpa's big black recliner. I found it a little odd at the time that my grandfather had moved to the couch, apparently to make way for this stranger, but I wasn't about to question it.
Sitting there, slumped in that cushy black easy chair, this man looked even more bizarre than I'd imagined from his silhouette. Judging by his white hair, he must have been about my grandfather's age, but his face looked many years younger. I would have thought he was an albino were it not for his unusually dark eyes. He wore a completely white suit accented somewhat unsettlingly by a pair of dark brown loafers and a burgundy necktie.
"The name's Elliot," he said. "You must be Angel. Me and your grandpa go way back." I had no idea why, but I didn't believe him. Maybe it was the way he stared so intently into the eyes of whoever he was addressing. Normal people glance around a little while they talk. Unbroken eye contact is just... weird.
Elliot proceeded to make small talk with me for what seemed like hours. He would ask a simple question, I'd answer, and then before I could even think of excusing myself to go to bed or just trying to steer the conversation in another direction, he'd ask another question, each one calling for a bit more detail than the last. By the time we finished our somewhat one-sided chat, all I could do was stumble off to bed. I still can't remember if my grandfather participated in that conversation at all or if he was silent the entire time. Very odd in retrospect.
That night, I dreamed I was the hunter from my grandfather's story. I crawled out of the cave to find the morning sun beaming down onto the body of a dead bear - but not the bear I had killed. This new bear was much smaller and its fur was brown. Someone had stolen the white one and attached this impostor to my sled while I was sleeping! Fine by me, I thought. My people needed food, and this new bear appeared to be a fresh kill, so it would do. I don't remember much else about that dream. I figure I dragged the brown bear to town and everybody was happy.
The next morning I woke up a little late, having forgotten to set my alarm the night before. As I hurriedly got my things together for school, I remembered that spooky character Elliot from the night before and wondered if he had really even been there at all. I saw no evidence of a visitor, and my grandpa was still asleep, so I couldn't ask about him about it. The black chair still retained a very deep impression in its seat, one my grandfather could never have made.
Putting the matter out of my head for the moment, I rushed out the door and almost tripped over a fat, white cat curled up in the middle of our front porch. I'd never seen the cat before, but it was wearing a clean-looking red collar, so I assumed it belonged to one of our neighbors. Even though I was running late and the school bus might very well pass me by if I were delayed even for a moment, I reached down to pet the cat behind the ears as I passed. This wasn't a particularly smart thing to do. Instantly, the thing was transformed from a sleepy house pet into a snarling, hissing ball of claws and teeth. After a brutal attack that lasted only a few seconds, the cat - now stained with a smear or two of my blood - shot me a short, piercing glare and bolted off my porch into the woods across the street.
Needless to say, my hopes of catching the school bus and having a normal day were dashed. I ran into my grandpa's room screaming and dripping blood everywhere. I guess my first instinct was to spread the misery around a little, hoping to dilute it. My grandfather frantically cleaned my wounds and rushed me off to the hospital for a rabies shot. His morning wasn't much better than mine, I suppose.
By coincidence (though not such an astounding coincidence if you consider the size of our town back then), a girl from my class at school was in the waiting room when I arrived. Her name was Beth, and I'd had a crush on her ever since the school year had started a few months earlier. We exchanged an awkward nod as I took a seat opposite her and her mother. I tried to wave, but my hand was covered in bandages and blood, so it looked like I was just trying to show it off. This made Beth smile, but her mom looked like she was going to be sick.
We couldn't really talk in the waiting room, but I felt a change between us already. It was like we shared a secret. You know that giddy feeling you get when you're hiding or pretending to be asleep so that you can surprise somebody when the time is just right? I was full of that, and I could tell Beth was too.
I should've been treated fairly quickly and sent right home, but I was experiencing some nausea and a slight fever, so the doctor was worried I might actually have rabies. They had to keep me there a few days under observation. As it turns out, those few days happened to be some of the most important (and surprisingly enjoyable) days of my life up to that point. This was due almost entirely to Beth.
**********
As he approached the town once more, this time with a much less impressive kill, Angel was surprised and gratified to find everyone quite as excited as they'd been the day before, if not more so. No one had expected him to return with another bear, at least not so quickly. The cooks had been busy boiling several large pots of beans, and now an expression of bewildered embarrassment spread across their faces. They should never have doubted this boy who was surely the greatest hunter ever to grace their town.
Sensing their unease, Angel shouted, "Since we have beans as well as meat, let's combine them and feast as if it were the longest day of the year!" At this, all the onlookers cheered and scattered to make sure everyone heard the news. That night was to be an impromptu festival celebrating Angel's near-miraculous victory over two adult bears in just two days!
It was also the night that the great hunter first retained a memory of a dream he felt he'd had at least once before, a dream so comforting and yet so alien that it wasn't easily dismissed as the mere wanderings of a dormant mind. This was no fantasy. It was something else entirely.
The room was white. To be sure, there were other colors, but the white was so unnaturally pure that it seemed to bleach the rest into obscurity. Each wall was perfectly flat, from floor to ceiling as well as from side to side. To accommodate this bizarre design, there were several seams at which one wall would meet another at a sharp angle. Scattered throughout the room were groupings of very small, very simple drawings, which didn't look like much of anything but somehow dictated the thoughts of anyone who stared at them for more than a moment.
All this was upsetting to Angel, but not nearly as much as one might think. He felt he'd been in this room before - as recently as the previous night, in fact. But before he could recall exactly where he was, or even who he was, a familiar form appeared in the doorway and timidly knocked on its frame.
"Hi," the girl said with a tense brow and nervous smile. "I brought some cards 'cause I thought you might be bored."
"Oh, cool! Thanks!" Angel responded, trying to let out just a bit more excitement than would be expected of a boy in his situation, but not enough to scare the girl away.
Beth's grin widened in reaction to that extra bit of excitement. It was the right amount. "I also have your homework assignments and some notes on what we did in class today," she continued.
The two locked eyes, and for a moment, their minds embraced. "Let's start with the cards."
Friday, September 18, 2009
Effective Tips to Avoid the Flu
This of course applies to the H1N1 swine flu as well as more mundane varieties. It's not my personal advice but that of Dr. Vinay Goyal and Pat Powell, which I recently received through email.- Frequent hand-washing. (This is well highlighted in all official communications.)
- "Hands-off-the-face" approach. Resist all temptations to touch any part of face (unless you want to eat, bathe, or slap).
- Gargle twice a day with warm salt water. H1N1 takes 2-3 days after initial infection in the throat/ nasal cavity to proliferate and show characteristic symptoms. Simple gargling prevents proliferation. Don't underestimate this simple, inexpensive and powerful preventative method!
- Similar to 3 above, clean your nostrils at least once every day with warm salt water. Not everybody may be good at Jala Neti or Sutra Neti (very good Yoga asanas to clean nasal cavities), but blowing the nose hard once a day and swabbing both nostrils with cotton buds dipped in warm salt water is very effective in bringing down viral population.
- Drink as much of warm liquids as you can. Drinking warm liquids has the same effect as gargling, but in the reverse direction. They wash off proliferating viruses from the throat into the stomach where they cannot survive, proliferate or do any harm.
- Boost your natural immunity with foods that are rich in Vitamin C (citrus, strawberries, tomatoes, etc.). If you use a vitamin C supplement, make sure that it also has zinc to boost absorption.
You don't need the shot. You know how quick they rushed it into production? Do you really want to be one of the guinea pigs in this global experiment? It's not even that it might be harmful; it's known to be harmful. The powers that be just want you to avoid staying home from work at all costs. If you get the flu, stay home, get some sleep, drink a lot of hot tea, and take some aspirin now and then!
Monday, August 31, 2009
Article: Locked Up for Saying 9/11 was an Inside Job
This is how a fascist system can pretend not to be fascist. You don't just throw people in jail when they haven't committed a crime. But if you say that you have to be crazy to criticize your government or the bankers or the new world order, then they can lock you up for being crazy. That's even worse than jail because they put you on drugs to make sure you won't be a bother ever again. This gal is lucky!
Held In A Psychiatric Ward & Called "Delusional" For Saying 9/11 Was An Inside Job
By Clare Swinney, Member of Scholars For 9/11 Truth & Justice
I was wrongly diagnosed as delusional by the psychiatric staff of Ward 7 at Northland Base Hospital in Whangarei and held against my will for 11 days in mid-2006, because I maintained the attacks of 9/11 were orchestrated by criminal elements inside the US Administration.
A definition of delusional: relating to, based on, or affected by delusions. A delusion: a false belief strongly held in spite of invalidating evidence, especially as a symptom of mental illness.
In light of the definition, one of the most astounding aspects to the ordeal was that when I met with the chief psychiatrist, Dr Carlos Zubaran for two formal mental health assessments, I held Issue 3 of Uncensored, which is shown in the picture above, and asked him to look at information related to the 9/11 attacks. This magazine contained an article I'd written entitled: Why Does TVNZ Lie To Us About 9/11?, which cited evidence that proved the official fable was a lie - yet reminiscent of the fabled vampires afraid of the light of day, he refused to even cast his eyes over it, during both of the so-called "assessments."
(more at Web of Evidence...)
Update: Don't believe what you see on TV. It's not paranoid to question the official story of 9/11. It's not even weird.
Held In A Psychiatric Ward & Called "Delusional" For Saying 9/11 Was An Inside Job
By Clare Swinney, Member of Scholars For 9/11 Truth & Justice
I was wrongly diagnosed as delusional by the psychiatric staff of Ward 7 at Northland Base Hospital in Whangarei and held against my will for 11 days in mid-2006, because I maintained the attacks of 9/11 were orchestrated by criminal elements inside the US Administration.A definition of delusional: relating to, based on, or affected by delusions. A delusion: a false belief strongly held in spite of invalidating evidence, especially as a symptom of mental illness.
In light of the definition, one of the most astounding aspects to the ordeal was that when I met with the chief psychiatrist, Dr Carlos Zubaran for two formal mental health assessments, I held Issue 3 of Uncensored, which is shown in the picture above, and asked him to look at information related to the 9/11 attacks. This magazine contained an article I'd written entitled: Why Does TVNZ Lie To Us About 9/11?, which cited evidence that proved the official fable was a lie - yet reminiscent of the fabled vampires afraid of the light of day, he refused to even cast his eyes over it, during both of the so-called "assessments."
(more at Web of Evidence...)
Update: Don't believe what you see on TV. It's not paranoid to question the official story of 9/11. It's not even weird.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
God Bless You, Mr. Jones
Thank God somebody's paying attention. The next wave of vaccines are coming soon. You owe it to yourself and your family to hear this side of the story.
I also maintain a blog on autism called "The Autism Spectrum". It's overlapping with this one more and more all the time. The mainstream explanation for the recent explosion in autism rates is better diagnosis. That's it. To the average mainstream sheep, this means what we have is an explosion of whiners with no real problems, just a diagnosis of autism. That's why you'll see celebrities like Denis Leary and Michael Savage say things like, "Don’t act like a moron," and "Don’t sit there crying and screaming, idiot." Say that to me, and I'll pity your ignorance. Say that to my brother, and I'll punch you in the face.
Here are the major articles mentioned in the video:
See how it's all coming together? There's a literal war going on right now with casualties every day. You'd better make sure you're on the right side.
I also maintain a blog on autism called "The Autism Spectrum". It's overlapping with this one more and more all the time. The mainstream explanation for the recent explosion in autism rates is better diagnosis. That's it. To the average mainstream sheep, this means what we have is an explosion of whiners with no real problems, just a diagnosis of autism. That's why you'll see celebrities like Denis Leary and Michael Savage say things like, "Don’t act like a moron," and "Don’t sit there crying and screaming, idiot." Say that to me, and I'll pity your ignorance. Say that to my brother, and I'll punch you in the face.
Here are the major articles mentioned in the video:
- Swine flu jab link to killer nerve disease: Leaked letter reveals concern of neurologists over 25 deaths in America
- Swine flu vaccine warning to neurologists
- Healthy food obsession sparks rise in new eating disorder
See how it's all coming together? There's a literal war going on right now with casualties every day. You'd better make sure you're on the right side.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Brownshirts
The people are getting riled up. Looks like trouble for the powers that be.
You know, early Nazi Germany had its wingnuts opposed to "progress" as well. They were called the White Rose. Too bad they didn't have the Internet, just a bunch of leaflets. They still made a difference.
You know, early Nazi Germany had its wingnuts opposed to "progress" as well. They were called the White Rose. Too bad they didn't have the Internet, just a bunch of leaflets. They still made a difference.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Science Czar Wants You Sterile
You know that feeling when you're planning to do something creative (write a story, build a website, or what have you) and then you see somebody else already did pretty much exactly what you were wanting to do? It's kind of like, What's the point, now?
John Holdren, Obama's new Science Czar (Director of the White House Office of Science and Technology Policy, Assistant to the President for Science and Technology, and Co-Chair of the President's Council of Advisors on Science and Technology) has done a pretty good job of describing the sort of totalitarian dystopia I've had as a worry in the back of my mind for a while now. What's the point of writing a 1984-style warning story if the people in power are already making serious proposals to implement the changes you're warning against? He even uses the term "coercive fertility control". That's perfect!
It's hard to keep up these days.
John Holdren, Obama's Science Czar, says: Forced abortions and mass sterilization needed to save the planet
Book he authored in 1977 advocates for extreme totalitarian measures to control the population
Forced abortions. Mass sterilization. A "Planetary Regime" with the power of life and death over American citizens.
The tyrannical fantasies of a madman? Or merely the opinions of the person now in control of science policy in the United States? Or both?
These ideas (among many other equally horrifying recommendations) were put forth by John Holdren, whom Barack Obama has recently appointed Director of the White House Office of Science and Technology Policy, Assistant to the President for Science and Technology, and Co-Chair of the President's Council of Advisors on Science and Technology - informally known as the United States' Science Czar. In a book Holdren co-authored in 1977, the man now firmly in control of science policy in this country wrote that:
(more at ZombieTime.com...)
John Holdren, Obama's new Science Czar (Director of the White House Office of Science and Technology Policy, Assistant to the President for Science and Technology, and Co-Chair of the President's Council of Advisors on Science and Technology) has done a pretty good job of describing the sort of totalitarian dystopia I've had as a worry in the back of my mind for a while now. What's the point of writing a 1984-style warning story if the people in power are already making serious proposals to implement the changes you're warning against? He even uses the term "coercive fertility control". That's perfect!
It's hard to keep up these days.
John Holdren, Obama's Science Czar, says: Forced abortions and mass sterilization needed to save the planetBook he authored in 1977 advocates for extreme totalitarian measures to control the population
Forced abortions. Mass sterilization. A "Planetary Regime" with the power of life and death over American citizens.
The tyrannical fantasies of a madman? Or merely the opinions of the person now in control of science policy in the United States? Or both?
These ideas (among many other equally horrifying recommendations) were put forth by John Holdren, whom Barack Obama has recently appointed Director of the White House Office of Science and Technology Policy, Assistant to the President for Science and Technology, and Co-Chair of the President's Council of Advisors on Science and Technology - informally known as the United States' Science Czar. In a book Holdren co-authored in 1977, the man now firmly in control of science policy in this country wrote that:
- Women could be forced to abort their pregnancies, whether they wanted to or not;
- The population at large could be sterilized by infertility drugs intentionally put into the nation's drinking water or in food;
- Single mothers and teen mothers should have their babies seized from them against their will and given away to other couples to raise;
- People who "contribute to social deterioration" (i.e. undesirables) "can be required by law to exercise reproductive responsibility" - in other words, be compelled to have abortions or be sterilized.
- A transnational "Planetary Regime" should assume control of the global economy and also dictate the most intimate details of Americans' lives - using an armed international police force.
(more at ZombieTime.com...)
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Article: Obama's Healthcare Horror
This is refreshing. A liberal democrat who really sees what's going on! Why is it that pretty much the only people complaining while Bush was president were liberals, and just about the only people complaining now are conservatives? As Ms. Paglia puts it, "Both major parties have become a rats' nest of hypocrisy and incompetence." Exactly! Vote Libertarian! And if you happen to notice somebody outside the party like Ron Paul, who supports small government, fiscal conservatism, and personal freedom (a former Libertarian, by the way), vote for them too!
Obama's healthcare horror
Heads should roll - beginning with Nancy Pelosi's!
By Camille Paglia
Buyer's remorse? Not me. At the North American summit in Guadalajara this week, President Obama resumed the role he is best at - representing the U.S. with dignity and authority abroad. This is why I, for one, voted for Obama and continue to support him. The damage done to U.S. prestige by the feckless, buffoonish George W. Bush will take years to repair. Obama has barely begun the crucial mission that he was elected to do.
Having said that, I must confess my dismay bordering on horror at the amateurism of the White House apparatus for domestic policy. When will heads start to roll? I was glad to see the White House counsel booted, as well as Michelle Obama's chief of staff, and hope it's a harbinger of things to come. Except for that wily fox, David Axelrod, who could charm gold threads out of moonbeams, Obama seems to be surrounded by juvenile tinhorns, bumbling mediocrities and crass bully boys.
Case in point: the administration's grotesque mishandling of healthcare reform, one of the most vital issues facing the nation. Ever since Hillary Clinton's megalomaniacal annihilation of our last best chance at reform in 1993 (all of which was suppressed by the mainstream media when she was running for president), Democrats have been longing for that happy day when this issue would once again be front and center.
But who would have thought that the sober, deliberative Barack Obama would have nothing to propose but vague and slippery promises - or that he would so easily cede the leadership clout of the executive branch to a chaotic, rapacious, solipsistic Congress? House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, whom I used to admire for her smooth aplomb under pressure, has clearly gone off the deep end with her bizarre rants about legitimate town-hall protests by American citizens. She is doing grievous damage to the party and should immediately step down.
(more at Salon.com...)
Obama's healthcare horror
Heads should roll - beginning with Nancy Pelosi's!
By Camille Paglia
Buyer's remorse? Not me. At the North American summit in Guadalajara this week, President Obama resumed the role he is best at - representing the U.S. with dignity and authority abroad. This is why I, for one, voted for Obama and continue to support him. The damage done to U.S. prestige by the feckless, buffoonish George W. Bush will take years to repair. Obama has barely begun the crucial mission that he was elected to do.
Having said that, I must confess my dismay bordering on horror at the amateurism of the White House apparatus for domestic policy. When will heads start to roll? I was glad to see the White House counsel booted, as well as Michelle Obama's chief of staff, and hope it's a harbinger of things to come. Except for that wily fox, David Axelrod, who could charm gold threads out of moonbeams, Obama seems to be surrounded by juvenile tinhorns, bumbling mediocrities and crass bully boys.
Case in point: the administration's grotesque mishandling of healthcare reform, one of the most vital issues facing the nation. Ever since Hillary Clinton's megalomaniacal annihilation of our last best chance at reform in 1993 (all of which was suppressed by the mainstream media when she was running for president), Democrats have been longing for that happy day when this issue would once again be front and center.
But who would have thought that the sober, deliberative Barack Obama would have nothing to propose but vague and slippery promises - or that he would so easily cede the leadership clout of the executive branch to a chaotic, rapacious, solipsistic Congress? House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, whom I used to admire for her smooth aplomb under pressure, has clearly gone off the deep end with her bizarre rants about legitimate town-hall protests by American citizens. She is doing grievous damage to the party and should immediately step down.
(more at Salon.com...)
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Yep, I'm a Truther.
A few more nails in the coffin of that crazy "three planes with Muslim hijackers" theory. Say what you will about the twin towers, but no plane ever hit the Pentagon or Building 7 of the World Trade Center. That's obvious.
If you didn't see my post on how the twin towers most certainly weren't brought down by burning jet fuel but by nano-thermite, check it out.
If you didn't see my post on how the twin towers most certainly weren't brought down by burning jet fuel but by nano-thermite, check it out.
Friday, August 7, 2009
How to Stay Drug-Free in a Fake Pandemic
Things seem to be moving along swiftly according to plan. Too bad the plan was hatched by madmen bent on global enslavement.
Schools Set To Become Mass Swine Flu Vaccination Clinics
"Highly likely" that large scale operations will be implemented in US and UK
Steve Watson, Infowars.net
Schools in both the US and the UK are set to serve as mass vaccination sites in the Autumn as government officials on both sides of the Atlantic consider plans that could see a push to inoculate every child in both countries against swine flu.
In the US, Federal officials representing Health and Human Services, the Department of Education and the Department of Homeland Security have briefed twelve heads of education associations, unions and child care providers on plans to implement mass vaccination in schools.
New York State United Teachers president Dick Iannuzzi, who was present at the briefing, told USA Today that it is "highly likely" that schools will be used for student vaccinations.
"That would be the optimum place to have that happen," he said, noting that there was "consensus in the room" about the wisdom of using schools as vaccination sites.
Federal officials put "a much stronger emphasis - stronger than I've heard in years" - on encouraging school districts and local health departments to open schools as immunization centers, said Amy Garcia, executive director of the National Association of School Nurses.
Meanwhile, government ministers in the UK are considering plans to place vaccination posts in every school in the country in what would amount to the biggest mass immunisation in 45 years.
(more at InfoWars.net...)
You know these vaccines are coming very soon, and you probably realize that, when the time comes, they won't be optional. But even if you trust your government and think you'll keep your basic human rights even in a time of "emergency", you can still do something right now to ensure you're never forced to take unsafe injections against your will.
There's a petition going around online right now called "A Universal Declaration of Resistance to Mandatory Vaccinations". Here's the opening paragraph:
So here's what I'm thinking. You know all those FEMA camps that have been going up around the country since the Bush administration? (At least that's when I first heard about them.) When they finally start being used, it'll be as "quarantine centers". If the quarantine is just for the H1N1 swine flu (or something like it), this doesn't sound too bad really, provided detainees receive proper medical care - namely fever reducers like good old-fashioned aspirin.
Of course, being held against your will for an indefinite length of time isn't good, but what I'm really worried about is that it would be an embarrassment if none of the people who refused vaccines and got locked up for it got sick and died. I think the goons running the show will make sure most of the disloyal conspiracy nuts who get sent to these concentration camps die there, one way or another. I certainly hope that's not the case. (If it is, I'll probably be dead pretty soon.) All I'm saying is keep your eyes open.
A few more links if you're interested:
Schools Set To Become Mass Swine Flu Vaccination Clinics
"Highly likely" that large scale operations will be implemented in US and UK
Steve Watson, Infowars.net
Schools in both the US and the UK are set to serve as mass vaccination sites in the Autumn as government officials on both sides of the Atlantic consider plans that could see a push to inoculate every child in both countries against swine flu.
In the US, Federal officials representing Health and Human Services, the Department of Education and the Department of Homeland Security have briefed twelve heads of education associations, unions and child care providers on plans to implement mass vaccination in schools.
New York State United Teachers president Dick Iannuzzi, who was present at the briefing, told USA Today that it is "highly likely" that schools will be used for student vaccinations.
"That would be the optimum place to have that happen," he said, noting that there was "consensus in the room" about the wisdom of using schools as vaccination sites.
Federal officials put "a much stronger emphasis - stronger than I've heard in years" - on encouraging school districts and local health departments to open schools as immunization centers, said Amy Garcia, executive director of the National Association of School Nurses.
Meanwhile, government ministers in the UK are considering plans to place vaccination posts in every school in the country in what would amount to the biggest mass immunisation in 45 years.
(more at InfoWars.net...)
You know these vaccines are coming very soon, and you probably realize that, when the time comes, they won't be optional. But even if you trust your government and think you'll keep your basic human rights even in a time of "emergency", you can still do something right now to ensure you're never forced to take unsafe injections against your will.There's a petition going around online right now called "A Universal Declaration of Resistance to Mandatory Vaccinations". Here's the opening paragraph:
We the undersigned, as Freemen & Freewomen, do not recognize the authority of The World Health Organization (WHO) to mandate general forced vaccinations. Our bodies are sovereign territory and subject to our exclusive self-determination. Any attempted violation of this trust must be construed as a breach of said basic right. We are thus holding our elected Governments accountable in this defense with an issuance of notice: a preemptive Class Action Lawsuit to be served in the event our inalienable rights to choose are forsaken.
So here's what I'm thinking. You know all those FEMA camps that have been going up around the country since the Bush administration? (At least that's when I first heard about them.) When they finally start being used, it'll be as "quarantine centers". If the quarantine is just for the H1N1 swine flu (or something like it), this doesn't sound too bad really, provided detainees receive proper medical care - namely fever reducers like good old-fashioned aspirin.
Of course, being held against your will for an indefinite length of time isn't good, but what I'm really worried about is that it would be an embarrassment if none of the people who refused vaccines and got locked up for it got sick and died. I think the goons running the show will make sure most of the disloyal conspiracy nuts who get sent to these concentration camps die there, one way or another. I certainly hope that's not the case. (If it is, I'll probably be dead pretty soon.) All I'm saying is keep your eyes open.
A few more links if you're interested:
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