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Friday, February 22, 2013



nutrition for my soul

Thursday, February 21, 2013

self worth Teal

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Immune Response

In my herb class we discussed the role of white blood cells and the immune system. There are three types of cells. One alerts the others of a problem, the other seeks out and destroys the problem. The last stops the process because it is complete. Interesting. I seem to have the nature of the one that alerts. I am sick of being politically correct and keeping my mouth shut. 'Don't focus on the problem' yes, but do identify it so you can step onto another level with it.


I am sure that Teal is well able to defend herself (as is Cheyenne)........ inspiration.

got me out of the spin.

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

The Root

A Call to Herbs David Hoffmann

This would be a nice format for Cheyenne
Ponder =>no beginning no end can we think past the boundaries and bring forth solutions?

I just discovered Teal and its like she was already talking thru Cheyenne She is beautiful. wow she hits it. Explains well. this video helped me today. I was pissed

Monday, February 18, 2013

Playing on this planet

Playing is better than slashing each other up. So Cheyenne is finding her way up the river towards a mythical valley. I can't help it. That is where she wants to go. so on the story goes. I figure it is practice any way. The mercenaries are tracking the seven-and have kill ammo and in expansive ineptness they escape and oddly survive. Will she make it? will they make it? There are multiple characters to juggle.

on this planet thank God

Sunday, February 17, 2013

Assange Interview

Apt Rant

In Search of the Lost Chord= Moody Blues

this is a true story... me talking....
My dad died thirty five years ago today. I was eleven. In Seattle there was an express lane gate set up like a guillotine. I learned a couple years ago, the gate was manually switched to come down on my father's car. Collapsing on his head. My mom sued, successfully. One time someone shot at dad when he was in the kitchen. He was a graduate from the Navel Academy but had ulcers so bad that many of my memories of him are him in pain. He almost died in Maynard Hospital a couple years before he died, He had gotten staff infection from a procedure to fix his Ulcers. He stayed in the hospital for the summer. My brother's and I couldn't visit we could only wave to him from the grounds of the Hospital. The night that he almost died my Grandfather, Les Kramer of Olympia Washington insisted that a practitioner of Christian Science come to the hospital or he was leaving the Church.
My brother Brian died from a truck flipping on him (on Vashon Island) a year and a half after my dad was killed. He was eleven and a half. My puberty was infused with death.
There were many assassinations during my childhood also. Kennedy's, king, Malcolm X and a wave of others. They still assassinate at will. They operate on all levels to control the masses into submission.

My Grandpa Les died February 16rh (yesterday) thirty years ago. Both of my Grandma's died in the eighties within twenty four hours of each other December fifteenth. One in Olympia and one in Seattle. Oddly synchronized and natural. My father was an Elk. My Grandpa Les, a Mason. My Grandmother, a daughter of the Eastern Star.

This is one of the Albums that I had in High School.

and another......


In the Court of the Crimson king

The rusted chains of prison moons
Are shattered by the sun.
I walk a road, horizons change
The tournament's begun.
The purple piper plays his tune,
The choir softly sing;
Three lullabies in an ancient tongue,
For the court of the crimson king.

The keeper of the city keys
Put shutters on the dreams.
I wait outside the pilgrim's door
With insufficient schemes.
The black queen chants
the funeral march,
The cracked brass bells will ring;
To summon back the fire witch
To the court of the crimson king.

The gardener plants an evergreen
Whilst trampling on a flower.
I chase the wind of a prism ship
To taste the sweet and sour.
The pattern juggler lifts his hand;
The orchestra begin.
As slowly turns the grinding wheel
In the court of the crimson king.

On soft grey mornings widows cry,
The wise men share a joke;
I run to grasp divining signs
To satisfy the hoax.
The yellow jester does not play
But gently pulls the strings
And smiles as the puppets dance
In the court of the crimson king.

It is not a battle with guns that we fight. It is our hearts, minds and souls that we need to claim

todays class writing Feb. twenty third thirteen


Peter had been following her for three days. He was coming to admire her ability to hide her trail. She was heading back toward town. Why would anyone go back? He had three weeks to get her back to Boss Man. Boss Man worked for Charles Waco. Waco was the regional Chief. His staff called him King. Charles Waco liked to be called King . Eavesdropping - he was all about eavesdropping -he heard the reference of “King” when one of his boys was talking about him. All of them called him “King” and every time, he’d smile and straighten a bit. Yes, this was his destiny.
Peter’s head held a picture of her scowling, data about her background. A Doctor’s opinion, describing her as psychotic and possibly dangerous. What he saw was a six foot one Amazon . His height. He liked tall women. He was getting close. She kept turning towards him. She’d look his way. One time he saw her salute with her middle finger. He had a scope on her. It was way to far for her to see him set in the bushes so that the sun wouldn’t give him away. He didn’t believe some of the intel. It appeared to be exaggeration. Once captured he wasn’t supposed to talk with her except out of need. “Just bring her back alive, , don’t let her go”. He would get a bounty of the Mansion on the Hill if he brought her back alive. That was motivation.
The mansion had one hundred acres with a river running through. Pasture, all fenced, a barn and a stable. A field of Alfalfa. His dream. As he was nearing her, he had the thought that that mansion was probably offered to all the chumps working for Waco.
He found an out crop of stones by the river. The Deschutes. He decided to stash his gear and change out of his camo. Tucked his shirt in and put on a baseball cap. Glad they had let him have longer hair, now. He was going for his Presbyterian Church look. Glasses? He found them and put them on, though they were non-prescription. His eyes were the best in his unit. He always had bragged about them. Teasing his peers.
Yep, He was ready. He looked around for the anchors to aid his memory to find the gear on hisway back through. The tree hanging off the cliff across the rapids was upside down. Alive. Teetering over the cliff like a hallucination was a gnarled and twisted fir tree. He thought he better find something else to remember. That tree wouldn’t hang there for long. The rock that jutted out next to the cliff looked like a wizard. That was it. Rapids, curve in river towards wizard with hanging tree cliff. He didn’t need a nmonic to remember the image. He needed to start to tally the turns they were making. He looked up and she was on the move again. He had given her a surveillance break when she was bathing. He had younger sisters. He figured he owed her some respect. It looked to him like her mission was to cut down every wire fence that she saw. The only gear she seemed to carry was a down coat, a rope and the two foot rebar clip. Maybe that’s why they wanted her? She walked the back roads close to the river and would hide if she heard any vehicles. On a bridge on a straight calm part of the river she stood. She raised her arms and he could see she was saying something. Then she turned towards him and waited.
He took a deep breath. He thought of his acting class “ok”. He acted like he was surprised to see her. He started waving his hands. “Hey,” “Wait Up”
“Oh God” she thought. She wasn’t even moving she thought.
He stumbled to the ground, on purpose, to be the dweeb he was pretending to be.
“Oh goody, its you.” She said in a monotone whisper. He thought, “She is crazy.” because she acted like she knew him. From the ground, he looked up to see a women, majestic, in a golden hue. Long legs. Jeans with a hole at the knee. Not tight. Tight enough to see her hips in a curve like a belly dancer that he loved to watch. She looked like she felt like putting her boot on his neck. Scowling like in the picture of her. Not happy to see him. She didn’t offer to help him up. She started to walk away. He decided to play her slow. He had another eighteen days to get her in. Once back to the dangling tree he could walkie talkie a helicopter in to pick her up. There was a nice clearing around the bend of the river.
Maybe she would need some warmth tonight he thought. Hypnotized by her stride he thought about that honey vinegar thing that his mom repeated almost daily to him in his teens. Why get her more angry by cuffing her to soon? Her green eyes. She looked like Arwyn of the Elves.. Her top lip... Oops, he had to stop seeing her that way. He hit his leg really hard, to get him out of his throbbing reverie. She looked at him and shook her head. She sighed in disgust. He thought he heard her swear like she was mumbling to someone else. Yep. Crazy.
The familiar sound of a woosh drumming of a helicopter flying low over a tree, she dove under the river brush. He could hear her breath slow. He took off his cap and acted like a tourist waving with it. No salute. Though he knew that they were checking up with him. Cheyenne started to run after the helicopter passed . She later said to him, “Usually they would land if they saw a wanderer?” “
Shucks, he tried to slouch. “They must have had somewhere to go. Mam”
“What is wrong with you? I am not a mam. Shit”
He had stumbled again this time, not on purpose.

Charles S. Waco looked at his mustache and thought he needed a trim.
Soon his prize would be granted him. He had three people after her with the same goal , if one of them could bring her in alive, they ,whoever it was , would get the Mansion. He kind of alluded that others might be in on it but didn’t outright say. He said that there would be help and they would keep an eye out for him. Waco talked individually to each. This he said on a DVD which they were to erase and destroy after listening, then give it back to my driver. Each man got a DVD. Three hours a part from each other. Waco liked sports. He knew that the kindest man was at a handicap. Peter kirchaoski was the kindest. He wanted to test his theory. He was sure the kind guy would lose. He would have bet Stuart, if Stuart was alive. Each man was told that he was the top and the only one that he was certain would find her and protect her… She was a daughter of a friend. Which she was. That too was part of his plan…He actually had asked her father permission to marry her if polygamy was legal. Her father said he would be honored if he would allow him a job doing nothing all day. ? A bribe of sorts. A sale of sorts. So at sixteen, after the second boy that she had liked had mysteriously moved away without saying good bye. Her father and mother would bring her to the Lake House that he owned. They would take their boat across the bay to dinners occationally insisting that she join them. He had hidden cameras every where and coveted the footage of her looking into the mirror straight at the camera.
He regretted not sending his crew together now. He realized he had given them too much time. Seven days. Way to much time. What if they figure they can take some spoils from her? He gasped at the thought. He forgot about her purity. He had to keep it in tack. She had been chosen when she was nine. He had seen her one day crossing the street a regal long legged nymph, she captured his heart, his soul, he couldn’t help it. She made him lust for her. She was a siren calling him. It wasn’t his fault and in the bible after all. They all had many women, their daughters, he thought of his. She would be in their steed they were ready to f fledge into the world of outer sociability. They needed to be free from his privileged and secret desires.
He had kept an eye on her. Even to the point of having a maid be a snoop in Cheyenne’s childhood home on the lake. Cameras placed in every room. Two in her bathroom. Her parents didn’t know.

Saturday, February 16, 2013

wind blows
They had the chance to give us back the old fashioned, the way it was intended, filibuster and didn't. Making it obvious that the Democrats are in league with the Republicans. They preserved gridlock, . The administration pretends that it is attempting bipartisanship, when really it is so that it won't be obvious they are willing to bring our country down so they can get campaign contributions and plush jobs after they perform their feats for the ubberrich. I think that Sandy Hook was the eye opening event for me. I see Obama in a far different darkness than I want to believe. I don't want to let go of hope for him but for now that strand has been pulled from me. I stand in disbelief of everything media today.

Came upon a Butcher by Leonard Cohen

from now on every time I use the terminology about synchronization to the Divine I attribute it to Mr. John Trudell. He pointed out the obvious. Keep us out of synchronization to the divine.

Money money money money

For the Love of Money

We are taught to bow to money. To give our lives to and for Money. Our nation, created the Federal Reserve against the wisdom of It's founders. The Federal Reserve is not a part of our government. It is privatization at its worst. They control us because we are under their trance. 'Money makes the world go round', we are told. It doesn't. We need to envision a world where money is not the highest order of things. We can only do this with our hearts and souls activated and alive. That is what Jesus talked about. His teachings are ignored and perverted to fit the twisted power mongers lust.

King James Bible (Cambridge Ed.)
For the love of money is the root of all evil: which while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows.

Joshua 7:21 When I saw in the plunder a beautiful robe from Babylonia, two hundred shekels of silver and a wedge of gold weighing fifty shekels, I coveted them and took them. They are hidden in the ground inside my tent, with the silver underneath."Psalm 62:10 Do not trust in extortion or take pride in stolen goods; though your riches increase, do not set your heart on them.Proverbs 15:27 A greedy man brings trouble to his family, but he who hates bribes will live.Ecclesiastes 2:19 And who knows whether he will be a wise man or a fool? Yet he will have control over all the work into which I have poured my effort and skill under the sun. This too is meaningless.Matthew 6:19 "Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal.Matthew 13:22 The one who received the seed that fell among the thorns is the man who hears the word, but the worries of this life and the deceitfulness of wealth choke it, making it unfruitful.

Drones America Style

Oh what a lovely world and then silently overhead flies a spy craft, small, only three feet wide, gobbling data about you and me. I ask, isn't that a problem? We need to keep our guns so we can shoot the motherfuckers down, is what I say. They are manless balless dark little things. Some will have weapons but we are not supposed to know or worry about that because it will save money.,0,5214252.story
Damn you DARPA

Friday, February 15, 2013


Cheyenne's Epiphany
Assignment on Earth I realized today that my 'audience' has always been
aimed towards the High degrees of the Order.Its core.
How it once protected the old ways from Empire when Empire was destroying all essence of the natural synchronization of being a free human being. Empire burned and buried, many times. I have my roots in Empire.
I learned.

I remember lifetimes like remembering a distant fragrance. A fragment of the past. I realize now, that we can also go forward in memories, which is a crazy thought to play with. In this, by not playing with thoughts, we get boxed in and programmable. The etching in fear is on our DNA patterning. I realize now that light is information and a balm.

The betrayal was that Empire took over the Order. Dah, that's what Empire does.

I peer into the abyss naturally. War is a lie. Therefore it aligns with 'The Lie'. Lucifer is not light, It is an imitation and theft of light. It creates no light. It sucks light.

AWAY Darkness and secrets AWAY

Cut off from the light, one would argue, intentionally, the Luciferians then have to suck life from their fellow man and all lifein order to be true to Lucifer having no internal light is ever thirsty to extinguish light from others. That is the task of Lucifer or should I say, was the task of Lucifer.
It appears now that we must offer Lucifer what it needs most. A connection back to the Light.
This I find revolting, however, I have no choice but to consider it.

Thursday, February 14, 2013


In 1979 that war took a terrible personal toll on John Trudell, in the form of an almost unspeakable tragedy that changed his life forever. While incarcerated in the Springfield Federal Prison Hospital in Springfield, Missouri in January of 1978, Trudell had been warned to watch what he was saying, or better yet, "to not say it at all." On February 11, 1979 Trudell led a march to the FBI headquarters in Washington D.C. He delivered an address on the FBI's war against Indians, and burned an American flag that he felt had been desecrated by racist and class injustice. Approximately 12 hours later in the early morning hours, a fire "of suspicious origin" burned down Trudell's home on the Shoshone Paiute reservation in Nevada, killing his wife Tina, their three children, and Tina's mother. The Bureau of Indian Affairs officially declared the fire an "accident" and the FBI declined an investigation. But Trudell flatly states, "It was murder. They were murdered as an act of war."

Cheyenne tells a bit about herself-

I‘ve always been a Rainbow Girl- no one taught me- I just am.
Mr. Albert Pike has haunted me.
He has been over my shoulder like a dark swarm. My nemesis.
A serpent I would hold in higher regard. He has taken what is beautiful and sacred,
polluted it by his relationship with Lucifer. Lucifer who is his lord, not mine.

So I stand with my sword strapped to my back.
My arrows at ready to pierce his insipid murmurings.
His alignment rules this world today.
The world as a stage, is his sacrificial alter. War, murder, all blood
Sacrifice for power. The repetition. Over and over we are told that this
Is the way it is and always will be so why strive to find peace?
These repetitions mankind dutifully absorbs. ….

Our future sings=
Happy Valentines day to all those who have hemorrhaged from the knife, machined gun, bombs, lies, land mines, man made Earth Quakes, man made poverty, caused by the dead hand of those who sickly think that they are better than the heroic ranks of humanity.

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Truth is not built on a Lie---

Truth is not built on lies.
Justice is not blind nor is it heartless.
This is not a black and white world
It is a world full of colors some that we can not see

Humans are not meant to slaughter each other.
You say 'It is written' Cane and Abel
That is the lower realm of survival
It stands no more.
Ribwort is not a weed

The Eagle Flies

There is so much room to play
in our minds we can pretend to know the solution
and low it is there.
The Submarine Cheyenne's tale

Target the 'Left Coast' Into the harbors, silently. Dark. But for one man a city was saved. I hoped there were a few-good men- I mean. The neocon's have been drooling to knock out San Fransisco for many many years. What movie? What book did it appear in? The sacrifice of children had been made. They had been checking off the checklist. They were in big. I could tell, in my bones, I could feel them. My curse. Their own eminent deaths had made them more savage and desperate to show their power. I can feel their cravings. Like Vampires they are eternal until we
can see what they are. A good story. Humanity has always liked a good story. Arg.

There is no honor in these wars. They are preventable. The mock neutron bomb, HAARP mobile stations, A question that no one dare ask- are some of the subs US drones?

I always had an eye on the world and could feel the absurdity of war. It is not inevitable. Turn the bombs and warriors into acts of kindness and compassion. Lift the heart. War no longer holds honor. War is murder.

For so long they have been trying to trick us into Iran they got Syria now. I can see them drool as the countdown has begun.

I wrote to the Mayor sounding crazy. I just love this city. I don't want to see it the way my dream saw it last night. Dragging dead bodies into pick up stations. Jobs doing this. Everything looked stable. It is neutron bomb or a deadly gas. The people are dead. The treasure is preserved.



Said again

The sacrifice of One Who Laughs
Spiraled into a captured mind
Humans not trusting
The captured ones changed Reverence into fear.

Now we all have been captured. We pace with our minds like the great snow leopard paces long after being released from a small cage.

Our minds are caged around the prevailing winds of thoughts, our training to submit. Our training to run from pain and hold our breaths. Sacrificing the One Who Laughs.

Glorification of War
War stinks
kills animals, Ecosystems, and people in torturous ways
leaving depleted uranium in its path
We whine and pretend that 911 was caused by a foreign force.
Propaganda reigns and re writes history

Monday, February 11, 2013

Isaac in a valley


Third Person

Hsndmaidens and wives, many
is the image but only Sarah had the blood. Isaac means He laughs or he who laughs.
Funny how that is the child Isaac chose to sacrifice or was god playing a trick on Abraham?


Sunday, February 10, 2013

Lacking in tension?

anathemas plural of a·nath·e·ma (Noun)
1 Something or someone that one vehemently dislikes.
2 A formal curse by a pope or a council of the Church, excommunicating a person or denouncing a doctrine.
The game of life continues for the moment
Even without request, we build three hundred thousand tanks. The military didn't ask for them, so why are they being built and who ordered it? That's all I'm' asking. The congress did. Who was the whisperer who requested these tanks?... my guess ... neocon billionaires who have decided to bust up this country into five different regions. COG Regions that they would rule. That is a story, I will stick to it until I think differently by some facts being exposed. Who did the whisperers bidding by introducing the requisition for all those tanks? Are those tanks slotted to be used against us, in the USA, now that posse comitatus has been suspended? Why the fields full of coffins? I mean come on boys how stupid are you that you think that you will be safe because you are one of them?
That's all I ask. Won't be to hard to find. If we take the time to search.

We are now the reporters because the media is paid for by pharma and the military industrial system. We forget to see it so if the grids go down because of 'solar flares' some of the systems will be lost because they dare not back up. How will they hide it>? easy as pie.
short spree
omg "The tanks are in every street because madmen rule...if only you saw. the game you play? Repenting in action. shall I write to you my wicked friend? or turn my back to you?"

Neutron bombs and lots of soldiers to clean a city up makes it mighty handy for a take over.
China ruling our military? its a question for a story. another one....They are like jokes, the kind that aren't funny but pack a punch...Serin Gas in the persistent contrails only the beauty of serin gas is you can't see it. Ha Ha Ha. Not.

Like the circle swept with the compasses, you are to be true. In the scales of justice you are to weigh the facts and the law alone, nor place in either scale personal friendship or personal dislike, neither fear nor favor: and when reformation is no longer to be hoped for, you are to smite relentlessly with the sword of justice.

John Stuart Mills

John Stuart Mills
That the only purpose for which power can be rightfully exercised over any member of a civilized community, against his will, is to prevent harm to others. His own good, either physical or moral, is not a sufficient warrant . . . Over himself, over his body and mind, the individual is sovereign.

con·so·ci·ate (kn-ssh-t)
tr. & intr.v. con·so·ci·at·ed, con·so·ci·at·ing, con·so·ci·ates
To bring or come into friendly or cooperative association.

Marcus Aurelius.


Marcus Aurelius.

• If thou art pained by any external thing, it is not this that disturbs thee, but thy own judgment about it. And it is in thy power to wipe out this judgment now. (VIII. 47, trans. George Long)
• A cucumber is bitter. Throw it away. There are briars in the road. Turn aside from them. This is enough. Do not add, "And why were such things made in the world?" (VIII. 50, trans. George Long)
• Soon you'll be ashes or bones. A mere name at most—and even that is just a sound, an echo. The things we want in life are empty, stale, trivial. (V. 33, trans. Gregory Hays)
• Never regard something as doing you good if it makes you betray a trust or lose your sense of shame or makes you show hatred, suspicion, ill-will or hypocrisy or a desire for things best done behind closed doors. (III. 7, trans. Gregory Hays)
• Not to feel exasperated or defeated or despondent because your days aren't packed with wise and moral actions. But to get back up when you fail, to celebrate behaving like a human—however imperfectly—and fully embrace the pursuit you've embarked on. (V. 9, trans. Gregory Hays)
• Let opinion be taken away, and no man will think himself wronged. If no man shall think himself wronged, then is there no more any such thing as wrong. (IV. 7, trans. Méric Casaubon)
• (...) As for others whose lives are not so ordered, he reminds himself constantly of the characters they exhibit daily and nightly at home and abroad , and of the sort of society they frequent; and the approval of such men, who do not even stand well in their own eyes has no value for him. (III. 4, trans. Maxwell Staniforth)
• Shame on the soul, to falter on the road of life while the body still perseveres. (VI. 29, trans. Maxwell Staniforth)
• Take away your opinion, and there is taken away the complaint, [...] Take away the complaint, [...] and the hurt is gone (IV. 7, trans. George Long)
• Whatever happens to you has been waiting to happen since the beginning of time. The twining strands of fate wove both of them together: your own existence and the things that happen to you. (V. 8, trans. Gregory Hays)
• Do not act as if thou wert going to live ten thousand years. Death hangs over thee. While thou livest, while it is in thy power, be good. (IV. 17, trans. George Long)
• Words that everyone once used are now obsolete, and so are the men whose names were once on everyone's lips: Camillus, Caeso, Volesus, Dentatus, and to a lesser degree Scipio and Cato, and yes, even Augustus, Hadrian, and Antoninus are less spoken of now than they were in their own days. For all things fade away, become the stuff of legend, and are soon buried in oblivion. Mind you, this is true only for those who blazed once like bright stars in the firmament, but for the rest, as soon as a few clods of earth cover their corpses, they are 'out of sight, out of mind.' In the end, what would you gain from everlasting remembrance? Absolutely nothing. So what is left worth living for? This alone: justice in thought, goodness in action, speech that cannot deceive, and a disposition glad of whatever comes, welcoming it as necessary, as familiar, as flowing from the same source and fountain as yourself. (IV. 33, trans. Scot and David Hicks)

Saturday, February 9, 2013


cor·us·cate (kôr-skt, kr-)
intr.v. cor·us·cat·ed, cor·us·cat·ing, cor·us·cates
1. To give forth flashes of light; sparkle and glitter: diamonds coruscating in the candlelight.
2. To exhibit sparkling virtuosity: a flutist whose music coruscated throughout the concert hall.

coruscate [ˈkɒrəˌskeɪt]
(intr) to emit flashes of light; sparkle
[from Latin coruscāre to flash, vibrate]

Friday, February 8, 2013

the bottom line

As the seven of them were bushwacking through the woods...

To speed up the journey the three strong traded the task of carrying Sermon. Jenny had just put Sermon down and felt like wandering a bit, getting some distance from the gang. Jordy was carrying Sermon and chattering away to Sermon, he thought Sermon could fix things. So did Jenny. She felt so good, bright and strong when she carried him.
Gordon turned as Jenny was straying off the way that they had agreed upon-
"Fall in line Soldier"
Probably no one in Jenny's life had ever seen her angry let alone spit flying angry.
She picked up a stick, a log to some and she ran at Gordon who, stood ready for a licken'.
"I am not and will never be a soldier. Soldiers kill when they are told to kill. That, I will never be."

She sprinted ahead. Catching her breath, whispered, "Warrior, Yes. Soldier, No."

Above scene is dedicated to Albert PIke who took the mystic truth, beauty, and defiled it, who is followed and revered to this day.

a quote from Pike who wove beautiful writings, sacred writings and wove, in a masonlike style his own worped and mangeled interpretations into it. he ..

....I feel like Pike and I have fought forever. So much rage at a once friend betrayed. is how it feels/.

Plato and the other great Sages of Antiquity still reign as the Kings of Philosophy, and have dominion over the human intellect. The great Statesmen of the Past still preside in the Councils of Nations. Burke still

p. 314

lingers in the House of Commons; and Berryer's sonorous tones will long ring in the Legislative Chambers of France. The influences of Webster and Calhoun, conflicting, rent asunder the American States, and the doctrine of each is the law and the oracle speaking from the Holy of Holies for his own State and all consociated with it: a faith preached and proclaimed by each at the cannon's mouth and consecrated by rivers of blood.

Thursday, February 7, 2013

to evolve out of our messes we need to know :quantum jazz

An hour after the search, they began to breath a little deeper and whisper to each other. Strangers crammed into a closet and covered with old fashioned skis, sleeping bags, back packs all old, not the new light weight back packs, heavy and fortunately uninviting to the newly deputized militia who conducted the search. They were most likely looking for treasure. Looting as payment for their servitude.
"We can't fight them, you know."
he nodded. They had to move. they didn't know if it was night or day or how long they had drifted in this small small space. They had to move or someone would smell them. She closed her eyes. "We have got to tune into the village." If she could see him she would have seen him shake his head and roll his eyes. It felt like a nod to her. He didn't understand a word she just said. "Tune in?" They heard a crash and caught their breath and became statues, eyes squeezed shut, unconsciously holding each others hands in a clench. No one had to say shhh. they both knew. Sillness and prayer, she thought.
He reverted to his training as a Navy Seal. He knew how to hide and when to move.

"Sammy" A child's voice, more clangs. A dog? Cheyanne moved first. With no thought. She pushed at the top and started to crawl over the toppling pile. She saw no choice. He had been taught to assess first. He tried to pull her back but didn't want to scare her off.

Tuesday, February 5, 2013

Call Me Crazy

This is an archive of questions and information that we all should allow ourselves to think about and ponder.
On first veiwing, I would start at two hours on this one.... which starts with Ron Paul heralding a warning and then segues guya to our dear Attorney General of the United States of America, Eric Holder. And ya gotta ask: "What is he doing?" and "What has he been sent to do?" I am starting to see the devilish subservience in both Obama and Eric Holder but (I slash) I still carry a glimmer for both of them to align with a different force. This nation has slipped and we the people hang by a glimmer of stardust. that is my conclusion to spending my yesterday with Operation Longevity. , BaByE

Monday, February 4, 2013

LIBOR Scandel Dark night media

I wanna say OMG and we snore away. WE HAVEN'T HEARD MUCH ABOUT LIBOR


tricks of the trade

why is it important? because I guarantee that trying to take people's gun will cause a violent revolution, which like the planet in star trek that kept growing with every lazer blast, the dead hand's reach (corporate fascism) will grow and be more deadly. The arms companies want war. Civil war. War is HELL>
No thanks.

Saturday, February 2, 2013


I am back chewing on Sandy Hook

I watched Glenn Beck seeming so ironic.
Then this guy talking about the evidence/ 'Damned right' as my grandpa would say.

What is with his hat. He looks so Arab.

Here is my current theory....Sandy Hook was a training session. Staggering. Impossible? I just think they like the lie to be in our faces. Magic. Yes. Black Magic.

Friday, February 1, 2013

Dragons flying

cold pulse
slide or slight of hand? captor of mind, heart and soul
taught not to breath

dragon teaches breath

we do not want the violence because the violence wins with violence its their dream we are its captors
we dream the dream we dream the dream we dream the dream

my dragon does sing
sharing its warmth

Money is pretend we dream the dream we dream the dream we dream the dream

someone said that but is a sword that cuts a thought in half? who said that? Probably trudell.

paper work

fifteen years of not doing paper work
she looks at the boxes in various corners of the house and basement.
some were outside in the storage shed that collapsed
she stopped doing paperwork when she left
She never did file the divorce papers, so she's still married

fifteen years must mean something?
Now when she looks at the piles and boxes
she wants to crawl back to bed and sleep
She thinks, does she want to go another year
in apathetic denial of the accumulation of debris, emotional as well as physical debris?
can she take another moment of being stagnant and swamped?
her bed calls