Treated Like a Dog

TREATED LIKE A DOG

(Updated. See NEW paragraph below).

This is going to be a mishmash of stuff that’s been sitting on the backburner or just stuff I’ve been thinking about. Little of it profound, but to me at times interesting.

First, a must-read at Truth-Out from Tom’s Dispatch. Despite the title, it’s as much or more about the Bush administration and the neconservatives. It’s like the apocryphal scene in Nixon where RMN goes for a walk by himself to the Lincoln Memorial and tries to explain how the most powerful man in the world is powerless to stop the war machine. It even goes on to mention how they turned checks on executive power into an excuse to do any damn thing they wanted and how that is increasing—not incrementally—but more like a snowball turned into an avalanche. Democracy is either dying or already dead. That’s it.

Next, it would be easy to poke fun at genius comic writer Grant Morrison. He said two things in particular in a recent Playboy interview that have the comic scene tittering. First, that Batman is inherently a gay story (largely due to the presence of Robin). Even though the character is clearly straight, the subtext is not, is I think his point.

(Kinda off-topic, but I recommend his book We3).

What I found funny about the comment was that my initial reaction to Frank Miller’s Batman and Robin (a short-lived series that got cancelled, though they didn’t actually say that it was cancelled when the issues stopped coming) was that that version of Batman was so over-the-top macho that he just had to be gay. There was no way someone oozing that much testosterone could possibly relate to the opposite sex in any meaningful way. There was even a promotional poster with Batman in the batcave where Alfred could be seen standing behind him between his legs like a penis.

(Again, I admire Miller’s willingness to go so much further with things, even when I disagree with his premise or message. Same with 300… the more macho the Spartans behaved, the more gay they seemed to be to me.)

But that’s just the comic geek talking. The other thing that Morrison said that perhaps more closely relates has been laid at Alan Moore’s feet to an extent, or at least it brings up some of the same questions that Watchmen did with regards to power. Morrison said, more or less, that people becoming gods may be the answer to avoiding a future dystopia. That superheroes—in real life—may be a check on corporate and government power.

On the face of it, it sounds like that philosophy/religion that the author of The Last Temptation of Christ was pushing: we are all becoming gods.

I of course reject that. But then there’s transhumanism. Evolution.

In other words, the idea that becoming something more than human might mean that people could adapt to things like mind control and other forms of brainhacking, being duped, etc., be able to resist it. The problem, of course, is that it typically takes a very long time for nature to make such changes and then it only does so if it is necessary. But then, our ability to tinker with our nature must also be part of evolution. A robot that can make improvements to itself might be able to survive a faster changing environment.

Though, I would look to Watchmen for the answer to that as well: for every Nite Owl II there is a Comedian. Some will still side against their fellow humans/transhumans and serve the new pharaohs, our corporate masters.

So, it’s not a solution, probably more like yet another arms race, like predator and prey developing newer techniques to catch and evade each other, only much faster because it’s taking a shortcut through the laboratory instead of over generations.

Then I switch over to the obvious, the talk of the town: the student protests, lead by CLASSE and their chosen leader Gabriel Nadeau-Dubois. It’s the same sort of story: devaluing of education because providing such to many people is less profitable in the short-term (but self-defeating in the long, which is why it’s so dangerous). The US equivalent is the attempt by the GOP to double the interest rates on student loans. I expect they will pull that off any day now. It’s a handout to the banks and a slap in the face of anyone who wants to improve their lot.

(NEW: An interesting sidenote: today’s paper mentioned how a black-masked woman broke a window and was chased—not by Montreal PD—but by the protesters. The police even thanked them for the assist. This woman was an agent provocateur, her purpose to turn public opinion against the students. You know, create a false narrative. Similar thing lead to the shooting at Kent State, where a single shot from a Federal agent of some sort started the panicked shootings that lead to the student deaths).

But see, folks, the game is fixed. That’s the point. That is both why I have been hammering these particular issues (collectively I refer to as brainhacking) and why I believe I am being targeted. It’s fixed. The idea that anyone could lead an effective movement against this stuff without dealing with it somehow directly is a pipe dream. It works. Martin Luther King, Jr. would not stand a chance today. Most of the people who have been affected directly, who would be the ones to band together are either very confused as to the nature of what it was that happened to them or are—I don’t want to say hopelessly, but that may be the case—insane, or both.

Finally, mere moments about fifteen minutes after posting the article link at top on Facebook and Twitter, ‘Gabe’ called. He apologized for the barrage of insults and finally answered my question about clinics in Canada complete with what it will cost. Amazing, no? I mean, it’s practically magical! (See title of previous post).

Another scrap for the dog so it doesn’t appear that they just wish he would crawl off some place and die. Poisoned four f***ing times in a month. Two or three f***ing ailments at the same goddam time (yes, on top of the upper respiratory there is now a head cold and pink eye, though the latter two may be the same thing I suppose). You call that some form of mercy? Is it just more coverup, or more opportunity for continuing torture because that is what psychos enjoy doing?

At any rate, it’s clear, and I mean f***ing crystal: everyone in this goddam situation thinks it’s best for them if I’m as miserable as possible. I cannot quite figure out why that is. Just so I’ll write stuff like this?

Selfish as s***, aren’t they?

Progress, None Magical

PROGRESS, NONE MAGICAL

So. Montreal.

Popped into the offices of advocat Stein & Stein Inc. today to see if I could set up a meeting. Got a business card and was told to give a call to the attorney on it.

First, I sent him an email summary of where things stand. Explained that I chose to contact them due to this article (originally published on October 17, 2004 in the London Sunday Times, behind a paywall here). Explained in the simplest terms what had occurred (from being a witness and test subject in 1989 and 1990, to the harassment and worse from 2009 up to today). Also explained how and why this is possible, from Ike’s warning to the formation of the secret police AKA “Top Secret America”, how it is actually far too large to justify its existence and it therefore creating problems on the one hand in order to sort of solve them on the other.

Then I immediately followed up with a phone call. Don’t think I’ve ever had anyone so desirous to get off of the phone with me that quiickly. At least not in decades.

But that is sort of what I expected. It’s a long haul from 2004 to 2012. I’m quite certain that CIA and DOD put the fear of god into those people for daring to say through their actions that the work that the first president of the World Psychiatric Association, Ewan Cameron, conducted should in any way be considered illegal or unethical. No, connecting electrodes to a nineteen year old honors student, reducing her to sucking her thumb should somehow be considered a feather in Uncle Sam’s cap.

As should these other illegal activities, such as torture, extraordinary rendition, the persecution of many whistleblowers, assassination of experts in various fields that they find sensitive, etc. Before the nuclear scientists in Iran were killed, there were several Western WMD experts and people like Chris Hatcher, which I covered earlier this month.

And then there’s immense funding from DOD and CIA to universities all over looking for better ways to control minds, influence behavior and decision making, and, of course, better ways to kill, sometimes in nearly untraceable ways.

I stopped there. It was all-in-all a pretty good email.

But then there’s also the attempts to control Hollywood, both from the control of writing in screenplays (as reported by Truthout and I linked to here) to “bad luck” such as Clooney’s on the set of Syriana and perhaps what lead to Wesley Snipes stopping paying his taxes during the Bush administration, and even assassination, such as in the cases of Heath Ledger, David Carradine, and Ronni Chasen. This is for war economy propaganda.

So, while connecting with Stein & Stein may have failed, I still have my vacation photos of Cameron’s/CIA’s 1950s HQ and subsequent improvements:

Allan Memorial Insitute at McGill University Sign

Front Entrance – Old Building

Side of building on left and Hospital On right

Original building on left, newer wing center and right

Newer wing continued

Ambulance entrance

Ambulance entrance sign

Newer wing connects to Royal Victoria Hospital

Side of Royal Victoria Hospital

Front of Royal Victoria Hospital

Entrance to Royal Victoria Hospital

The horse’s mouth

Other side of Royal Victoria Hospital (taken about the time I think the facial recognition software did its job)

Rear view, Royal Victoria on left, Allan Memorial center

While I did not get run off, there was that hilariousness when a delivery truck parked at the loading dock did a big circle around the building and parked itself where I was standing at the front about to shoot some re-takes. Not as close as that truck in Brooklyn, but nevertheless intruding on personal space.

Additional photos:

Statue, “The Eye,” at the Montreal Museum of Fine Art

And, the other night while heading toward the Beaudry stop on the Metro (that is the one with the highest concentration of gay bars) I saw a human on the train that is just about as close to looking like the dude in this Brom painting as is humanly possible (with an even more beautiful face…reminiscent of some young Conan stuff I’ve seen). He was even hanging onto the pole in a manner similar to in the pic. One would think I would close with something in French after seeing that beautiful creature, but all I can come up with for some reason is Je me souviens.

Progress, None Magical

PROGRESS, NONE MAGICAL

So. Montreal.

Popped into the offices of advocat Stein & Stein Inc. today to see if I could set up a meeting. Got a business card and was told to give a call to the attorney on it.

First, I sent him an email summary of where things stand. Explained that I chose to contact them due to this article (originally published on October 17, 2004 in the London Sunday Times, behind a paywall here). Explained in the simplest terms what had occurred (from being a witness and test subject in 1989 and 1990, to the harassment and worse from 2009 up to today). Also explained how and why this is possible, from Ike’s warning to the formation of the secret police AKA “Top Secret America”, how it is actually far too large to justify its existence and it therefore creating problems on the one hand in order to sort of solve them on the other.

Then I immediately followed up with a phone call. Don’t think I’ve ever had anyone so desirous to get off of the phone with me that quiickly. At least not in decades.

But that is sort of what I expected. It’s a long haul from 2004 to 2012. I’m quite certain that CIA and DOD put the fear of god into those people for daring to say through their actions that the work that the first president of the World Psychiatric Association, Ewan Cameron, conducted should in any way be considered illegal or unethical. No, connecting electrodes to a nineteen year old honors student, reducing her to sucking her thumb should somehow be considered a feather in Uncle Sam’s cap.

As should these other illegal activities, such as torture, extraordinary rendition, the persecution of many whistleblowers, assassination of experts in various fields that they find sensitive, etc. Before the nuclear scientists in Iran were killed, there were several Western WMD experts and people like Chris Hatcher, which I covered earlier this month.

And then there’s immense funding from DOD and CIA to universities all over looking for better ways to control minds, influence behavior and decision making, and, of course, better ways to kill, sometimes in nearly untraceable ways.

I stopped there. It was all-in-all a pretty good email.

But then there’s also the attempts to control Hollywood, both from the control of writing in screenplays (as reported by Truthout and I linked to here) to “bad luck” such as Clooney’s on the set of Syriana and perhaps what lead to Wesley Snipes stopping paying his taxes during the Bush administration, and even assassination, such as in the cases of Heath Ledger, David Carradine, and Ronni Chasen. This is for war economy propaganda.

So, while connecting with Stein & Stein may have failed, I still have my vacation photos of Cameron’s/CIA’s 1950s HQ and subsequent improvements:

Allan Memorial Insitute at McGill University Sign

Front Entrance – Old Building

Side of building on left and Hospital On right

Original building on left, newer wing center and right

Newer wing continued

Ambulance entrance

Ambulance entrance sign

Newer wing connects to Royal Victoria Hospital

Side of Royal Victoria Hospital

Front of Royal Victoria Hospital

Entrance to Royal Victoria Hospital

The horse’s mouth

Other side of Royal Victoria Hospital (taken about the time I think the facial recognition software did its job)

Rear view, Royal Victoria on left, Allan Memorial center

While I did not get run off, there was that hilariousness when a delivery truck parked at the loading dock did a big circle around the building and parked itself where I was standing at the front about to shoot some re-takes. Not as close as that truck in Brooklyn, but nevertheless intruding on personal space.

Additional photos:

Statue, “The Eye,” at the Montreal Museum of Fine Art

And, the other night while heading toward the Beaudry stop on the Metro (that is the one with the highest concentration of gay bars) I saw a human on the train that is just about as close to looking like the dude in this Brom painting as is humanly possible (with an even more beautiful face…reminiscent of some young Conan stuff I’ve seen). He was even hanging onto the pole in a manner similar to in the pic. One would think I would close with something in French after seeing that beautiful creature, but all I can come up with for some reason is Je me souviens.

Anatomy of a Broken System

ANATOMY OF A BROKEN SYSTEM

This is a mostly off-topic post. It’s a reflection on one of those things that probably many of us run into but never realize quite what it was that happened.

This was my third jury duty in New York City. This time, as opposed to the other two which were criminal cases, it was a civil suit. Civil trials of this sort are divided into two portions: fault and award (not sure if those are the terms they used, but that’s the idea: first, who is at fault?, if both parties, what % do you assign to each; then second, how much money is due and that number gets multiplied by the percentage that the defendant was found at fault).

This was a minor car accident. The defendant was a young man who had since moved to California and worked for a music company. His car had apparently sideswiped another car, driven by a woman in her thirties on a bridge. She had claimed she broke her nose as a result of the sideswipe.

We found him at fault because he left the scene and failed to call the police. His excuse was that she had sideswiped him and that he was afraid for his life thinking it was a crazy person and went home. The fact that he said that and still did not call the police was a problem for his version. He was in college at the time. Perhaps he had been drinking and was more concerned about that. It would be obvious why he might not want to bring that up in court. By the way, I think this was ten years after the accident that it made its way into court. She was now in her forties, he about thirty.

I note in passing, as I noted in passing to the other jurors who thought nothing of it, it was probably not only the woman’s nose that has seen the scalpel. She gave Dolly Parton a run for her money on breast size. She had had work done, no question.

So, we found him 100% responsible (or maybe it was 90/10). Now, at this point I’m thinking, because we did already cover some of the costs, that she’s due about $5,000 maximum. Though I had to agree with the auto repairs, the nose was just too much to buy into off. A sideswipe causing a head-on nose break on a steering wheel? From someone clearly the recipient of plastic surgery (and we were told, had had several other car accidents) it wasn’t going to wash with me.

But that is all only partially relevant to the point. The defendant’s attorney began giving his closing arguments for phase two and, in the middle of them, seemed to give up…got choked up, became crestfallen. I glanced at my fellow jurors and none looked like they were out for blood. Yet he behaved as though it was pointless to go on, we obviously hated his client. It was also very bad acting, and I was trying to figure out what he was trying to do. Didn’t need to at the time because…

They settled during lunch. The plaintiff had been asking for, I was told by her attorney afterwards, “a phone number.” One million plus. They had settled for $95,000 or $100,000 or so. What does that tell you by itself? If you were really due, really out of pocket a million dollars, would you settle for 1/10th?

But what only occurred to me more recently was that the defendant’s attorney was on the take. He purposely left out the facts like her multiple accidents until after phase one was complete. His godawful acting of getting choked up only made sense this way: he was attempting to herd his client into settling. He wasn’t trying to convince the jury of anything, his acting was just for his client and the judge.

So instead of the $5,000 she was due, she got $95,000.

His attorney also quickly ushered him away rather than have him talk to the jury. Typically, attorneys like to talk to jurors to see what they could do better next time. I’d have been curious as well had I been the defendant just how much would the jury have thought that she was due. Being afraid of a seven figure number made him settle for the five or six one. His attorney played him and dragged him out to prevent him figuring out the scam.

The first point is, I guess, don’t hire a cheap defense attorney in a civil case. The other side can and will buy him.

The second is, how easy it is to excuse, miss, ignore and rationalize away rampant corruption even when it’s right in front of your face (or wherever). Maybe this is on topic after all.

False Alarms

FALSE ALARMS

This is the place where after passing it last night and taking a look at the dejeuner menu, decided I would definitely have breakfast this morning.

Here is what greeted me for breakfast as I made my way to the place.

I mention this because I recall, right around the time of Squidgate, that some British author who lives in North America complained either on his blog or Twitter that at least twice (might have been three times) he found himself standing outside in the middle of the night because someone pulled the fire alarm at the hotels in which he stayed while traveling abroad. I think he also had public events the next day. Nothing like sleep deprivation to make those pleasurable, I’m sure.

In this case today I didn’t really figure out exactly which building it was that brought four fire trucks and the local FD supervisor to my breakfast block. The fourth truck passed me/pulled up just as I was about reaching the door of the place. It was obvious, however, that there was no actual fire. Did hear an alarm (or was it two?) but it echoed so much it was tough identifying the source building.

Just sayin’.

Chapter 47 – Don’t Deem It’s Over

“Don’t Deem It’s Over”

Now – Liberty Island, New York

The pair of improvised undertakers finished the bottle attempting to quash that uneasy feeling in their gut with the cheap booze. They talked about what they’d do with the money, knowing that it really wasn’t enough to achieve the dreams they had as kids.

“Y’know… Father McLoone says it’s all over. This is the end times and such…”

“He’s been sayin’ that since we was altar boys, Mike.”

“Yeah, but now. The economy. The wars. The terrorisms. It’s different now. Sometimes I wonder…”

Mike’s face turned white and was frozen. His gaze was over Rich’s shoulder. Rich knew he was looking at the grave they had just filled with dirt without turning around. A shiver ran down his spine. He turned slowly.

A hand, covered with dirt, had popped up and was moving. The ground was writhing as if alive.

“F*** dis!”

Rich dropped the bottle and they ran for their boat and only looked back to make sure that the thing that rose from the dead was not pursuing them on the water. Could the dead swim? Father McLoone had never said that they could recall.

It looked as though it tried. It couldn’t speak but made weird croaking sounds and drool ran from it’s mouth. They didn’t look back again once they saw it standing in silhouette as the water’s edge.

“Frickin’ zombies, man!”

The docked and ran to the nearest church. The attending father noticed their whiskey breath when they pantedly related to him that the dead were rising. The priest seemed nonplussed. However, he was considerably more sympathetic to their claims once they plopped their combined $20,000 into the donation box. Ten Hail Marys and they’d be fine, he said.

*****

Mere moments ago – Liberty Island, New York

When Braden woke up, his chest hurt. He vaguely recalled the feeling of being struck by lightning repeatedly.

Eli had killed him. He had exposed Braden to the deadly virus now circling the entire planet like a noose around a traitor’s neck. He’d dropped dead. He was certain if it. He was not, as some people had once believed about Phoebus decades ago, invulnerable.

And yet he was now awake and confined in a small dark space. A box just large enough to hold his large frame with little wiggle room.

“Ahhhhh!”

A light came on right in front of his face. Actually two. One for each eye. There were video goggles built into the…coffin?

“What the hey?”

“Good morning, Braden Nelson. Welcome back.”

There was sound as well, in stereo. It was a female voice, but like one of those you hear on the TV that meant it was a computer, an artificial intelligence. It sounded pleasant and yet utterly insensitive to his current claustrophobia. The face he saw in 3D was pleasant…attractive even, but also professional in a sexy librarian kind of way.

“Computer…what happened?”

“You were clinically dead. You have been revived though repeated defibrilation and pressurized circulation of your blood. This unit had to increase the power in order to restart your heart. It very nearly drained my batteries altogether.”

“But the virus?”

“Not just the virus. An experimental vaccine. Unfortunately, the virus ceases body functions before the antibodies can react. It acts quickly and is quite potent in even very small quantities. The vaccine took effect once your blood distributed the vaccine properly.”

“Experimental…? And if you hadn’t been able to revive me?”

“This unit doubles as a coffin.”

“Where’s Eli?”

The librarian disappeared from his sight. The googles lit up with a greenish hue. It showed what happened after Braden died. He saw Maya looking just the way she had last time he saw her alive. She knocked Eli out after he emerged from his hiding place.

“Well, I’ll be…”

Then he saw… It had to be Roarke, older and bald…checking to make sure Braden was dead.

“Crap! Where are they?”

“Checking satelite…”

The screen lit up again. Google earth showed the location of Liberty Island. It then zoomed out and to the southeast. It pinpointed a location in the Atlantic. Then it zoomed in: Grenada.

“How far is that?”

“2,112 miles.”

“Two thousand miles?”

“2,112.”

“How long to swim that?”

“For you, two and one-half days, approximately, depending on weather.”

“I need to get out of here. Any ideas?”

“Push!”

There was a hissing sound at the pneumatic seal released. He pushed up on the lid and dirt poured into the coffin, covering him from head to foot. He started to spit what had gotten into his mouth but realized it would have nowhere to go but his face.

He thought he heard some screaming as he dug himself out. There was a boat just pulling away. He tried to knock some of the mud off. He tried to shout but his mouth was full of dirt. He spat and choked trying to get it out but merely choked and tried to breathe. By the time he shouted ‘stop’ they were too far away.

“Dadburnit. Not fast enough.”

He was wishing he could fly, which of course, he could not. It’d be a short plane ride but a very long swim. What had Eli expected? He’d have left him some way… Or did he forget that? He couldn’t have known where Roarke was hiding… Maybe didn’t even know it was Roarke at all. He was supposed to be dead. Dammit, he expected whoever it was to be local!

The sound of the chopper was barely audible given that it was in stealth mode. In fact, it was practically upon Braden when he noticed it. The loudspeaker at somewhere near the front bottom of the chopper blared.

“So. How did it go?”

Mendoza.

“Get down here! No time!”

After he climbed aboard, before Mendoza could even debrief him, the radio blared with orders. Mendoza was to take Nelson to Fort Detrick for debriefing. “Top priority”, “immediately.”

“It’s Roarke, Mendoza. We don’t have time for this. Gotta get to Grenada.”

“Sorry. Orders.”

“You know I won’t allow it. You really want more damage to taxpayer property?”

“Roarke’s protected. The guy pulls a lot of weight in the both the US and British governments…they love the guy, and therefore he is off limits.

“No way they’ll let you near him. Especially being associated with Schneider, whom they believe a world class terrorist and the most dangerous man in the world at this point.”

“So that’s it? We’re screwed.”

“Base, this is Mendoza. On our way.”

The reply came, understood. Mendoza fiddled with a control, then drew his a knife and slid it in under a small screwed-in panel. There was no smoke, no sound, but the lights went out on one smallish display.

“One more thing, base. The chopper is having some GPS difficulties. May need to swing south and approach from there to avoid commercial traffic. Over.”

Base acknowledged. Just hurry, was the main point.

Mendoza gazed over the top of his sunglasses at Braden, “You didn’t see that.”

“See what? The damage to taxpayer property? Wear and tear, I’m sure of it! But how will we get there without GPS?”

“Been there before. But you didn’t hear that.”

“Hear what?”

The chopper spun south and a bit to the east. Mendoza brought it up a bit and they sped toward the little island.

“Just pray they don’t send planes to intercept once they realize we are swinging way south. They will shoot us down.”

“I thought this thing was stealthy!”

Mendoza just smiled grimly and pushed the throttle forward. They flew.

—–

©2011 Christopher C. Knall

And One More Thing

Though I covered this briefly previously on this blog, it bears repeating: I have no criminal record. Not only have I never been charged with a crime, I’ve never been booked for nor even arrested for one.

And yet I was once asked about a trespassing arrest or charge (wasn’t entirely clear) by one law enforcement official in Minneapolis Secret Service. How was that possible?

That is poison pen. Creating a false past for someone so that they appear to be a perp when law enforcement pulls them up on their databases. Not unlike that odd behavior from that NYPD detective who thought I was an animal abuser or similar in Brooklyn.

One speeding ticket from the 1980s. That’s it. (And some parking tickets. A lot actually, funny story…)