It’s Not Just Cats

“Cheney had the right idea.” That’s what some will be saying one day, as opposed to the all-too-common Hitler maxim. Who wants to kill grandma now?

EPA Being Sued Over Illegal Human Testing

Since at least 2004 and up through the Obama administration, the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) has been secretly testing highly toxic/lethal air pollutants on unhealthy human study subjects for the sole purpose of finding out what harm would be caused by the exposures. In no case, were the human study subjects fully informed of the dangers posed by the experimentation, nor were they intended to benefit from the experimentation.

2004: Same year they built the secret police army.

This is the US Government’s solution to overpopulation. As someone who spent some portion of 2011 calling constituents in Michigan in order to remind their two Democrat US senators to vote to keep the EPA funded to protect the Great Lakes from pollution and invasive species, I have no doubt that this was and is not a partisan issue, not much. There’s what they say and there’s what they do.

While overpopulation and resources are clearly things that need to be dealt with, I cannot help thinking that the real motives are those with money not wanting to have to support the poor and middle class through economic problems of their making and another new market to be exploited, as the other assassination training posts I’ve put on this blog, that of reducing population to “protect” America.

(Anyway, it’s easy to talk about logically when you no longer have a dog in the fight. Wonder if that was the intent.)

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A Couple New Chapters

Infernis chapters one and two.

Finders, Weepers and Just Losers {Updated}

Recently ran across this little gem {old US News article gone, wayback link: https://web.archive.org/web/
20091224133708/http://www.
usnews.com/usnews/news/articles/931227/
archive_016338.htm
} that serves so many good purposes that I will probably miss a few. This is regarding the so-called Finders case. Essentially, local police in Florida caught a couple of men with several children ages 2 to 7 who did not belong to them. They traced part of the trail back and got some help from Customs. The kids had been told they were being taken to a school for smart kids in Mexico. By the time the Florida cops and Customs got knee deep into the investigation, they were told by DC police to butt out, that FBI had likewise been told to butt out, that it was “a CIA internal matter.”

Investigation closed by DCPD

One additional note, the investigators found “evidence” of Satan worship materials. (See the FOIA document here).

One of the more fun aspects of the article, how they admit that they have one (just one!) tenuous connection to the CIA and then, later in the article point out that there are two more:

The only connection, according to the CIA: A firm that provided computer training to CIA officers also employed several members of the Finders.

None of this fazes Pettie. He says the CIA’s interest in the Finders may stem from the fact that his late wife once worked for the agency and that his son worked for a CIA proprietary firm, Air America.

I posted on this subject at least twice before, but that was in the midst of some pretty heavy remote torture and most likely still some effects of substances unknown or electronic devices that effect the brain in such a way as to emulate the effects of some drug or other. What I refer to as having one’s brain “pinged.”

What was really happening? In order to understand that, you have to understand a few other things first.

The Royal House of Saud, the monarchy in Saudi Arabia, is made up of (this is a 90s or early 00s number) 1,700 members. Collectively, they own everything in the country. If a Saudi citizen builds a business, he had better hope he has the protection of the right member, that he does not become too successful, or, that somehow he manages to stay under the radar of predatory members of the house. They can and will just come take the business. The man will still, of course, retain whatever debt he had, but the Saudi Prince who descended on him will take the profits and, most likely, run it in the ground while squeezing as much money from it as he can. (If you want to understand part of the anger in that part of the world, the part that doesn’t directly have to do with the US, there you go).

As you might imagine, there’s going to be some competition among members of the house. Backstabbing.

And there are going to be deals made. Arranged marriages, sometimes among relatives.

Between the environment and inbreeding, not to mention the absolute power and the immense wealth that oil has brought, you are going to get some very depraved and disturbed individuals. Some will be pedophiles, some sociopaths, some both.

And so that, ladies and gents, is where the good ol’ USA, that shining beacon of freedom and goodness, sent kids in order to maintain the favor of a social structure that is the antithesis of what we claim to stand for. Showering the Saudis with gifts, protection, and taking the blame (they systematically teach in schools there that the US is the cause of the average Saudi’s problems) all go into maintaining the close relationship that, for example, is leading to us going to war with Iran (though there are other reasons for that as well, some having to do with Neocon philosophy, some to do with rampant, unbridled war profiteering which now includes as I’ve said many times intelligence and security as well as those things we always thought of as defense). There have also at times been reports or adult slaves (the occasional model gets invited and doesn’t get to leave when she wants, gets raped, and then given enough hush money and, one can just imagine as if one were right there, vague death threats from that piece-of-s*** agency that should have gone the way of the FBN back in the 70s. And so the most horrifying thing your average conservative WASP can imagine this side of re-enacting Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, that is “filthy Muslims raping our white women”, never reaches his ears).

But this was not a one-time deal. No. This was just the time they got caught and as is typical, nothing was done except to change how it was done. That’s right. I’m saying this went on for decades. It would not at all surprise me if it is still going on.

Right. Back to the Satan-worship stuff. This is what is known as a red herring. They leave that around, mix it up, throw out some more rumors, and, voila!, a few or several years later, a conspiracy theory is born. It also tends to scare the investigators and throw them off-track. Religious purposes as opposed to more obvious and powerful financial ones.

This conspiracy theory is that all US politicians are pedophiles (apparently it’s a prereq) and that that is where the kids were going. Really, there’s a whole slew of books dedicated to this preposterous idea. And you can imagine why they chose it, why they developed it the way they did. If all of them are involved, then there’s no sense in trying to bring it to their attention. And, obviously, it would tend to undermine the credibility of anyone who proposed something that ridiculous.

But in reality, blaming the CIA for it also only goes so far. This was about keeping gasoline under $5 a gallon. And is that really so different than sending our troops off, some to die, for the same reason? How many five years olds are worth that? How many people would turn a blind eye to it just over that alone? How many do?

This is capitalism as its worst. It’s not that some other system would manage to avoid this or similar “egg breakage”, but rather that there just isn’t anything to oppose these kinds of decisions.

It’s no different than Eric Holder making the claim that America will be better off sweeping the entire torture situation under the rug. Of course, that just means it will happen again. As long as it isn’t on his watch, who cares? So much for change.

And, really, I wouldn’t so much mind any of it if they didn’t at the same time pretend that this is a nation of laws. It isn’t. If they didn’t pretend they were doing anything to help the average citizen. They aren’t, not really. If they didn’t pretend they gave a damn about the truth. They don’t. If they didn’t pretend to have some kind of hotline to Heaven when they daily destroy and kill their so-called brethren, also supposedly loved by the same God they daily lay some claim to, it might be tolerable. If they had, in truth, the slightest f***ing dirt-clod of the moral high ground, it might be tolerable.

If they didn’t pretend that they haven’t already given up, decided to leave it all for someone else to clean up, just like their predecessors… At least we’d all know where we stand.

22 April 2014 update:

US News archive link at top is dead. See article at this mirror copy:

sott.net/article/242819-Through-a-Glass-Very-Darkly-Pedophile-Networks-and-the-CIA

Also note this Vahey person:

Before teaching in Nicaragua, Dunlap says he taught in London, England; Caracas, Venezuela; Jakarta, Indonesia; Dhahran, Saudi Arabia; Athens, Greece; Ahwaz and Tehran, Iran; Madrid, Spain, and Beirut, Lebanon.

Dunlap says records show he taught at the Saudi Aramco School in Saudi Arabia from 1980-1992. Saudi Aramco has a division located in the Houston area and Dunlap says children from Texas may have attended that school while their parents worked in Saudi Arabia.

Dead CIA asset?

Vahey killed himself in Luverne, Minnesota, on March 21, two days after a federal court judge in Houston approved a search warrant for a thumb drive Vahey owned that allegedly contained images depicting child sexual assault. It’s unclear why Vahey was in Minnesota.

Ah, yes, Minnesota. Spook retirement capital.

There’s a timeline of where he taught. FBI is looking for help IDing victims.

That is until it becomes an “internal CIA matter.” Again.

Click2Houston, “Houston FBI: One of worst child sex abuse cases ever,” Jace Larson , 22 April 2014:

click2houston.com/houston-fbi-one-of-worst-child-sex-abuse-cases-ever/2559818

Your Government at Work

PETA Bizarre Nazi-Like Animal Experiments on Cats at UW Madison

Funded by the US government, of course. Not for the faint of heart.

Recent Events Part 1

Here’s the timeline:

20 July 2012 – James Eagan Holmes, son of Robert Holmes, an accomplished statistician who is credited with discovering the LIBOR scandal, opens fire in an Aurora, Colorado movie theater during a showing of the third Batman film of the most recent trilogy. The senior Holmes was reportedly set to testify before Congress on the issue but has not made an appearance since the shooting incident.

21 July 2012 until 1 September 2012 – I post several times regarding my thoughts on the incident seeing as it is quite obvious to me how driving a person to such an act it possible without ever having to actually have them in custody to do what was once referred to as “brainwashing.” The use of synthetic telepathy, substances unknown, social engineering, and other tricks of the intelligence trade have made the idea a game-changer.

21 August 2012 – I attended a local gathering. My purpose in going is strictly networking. I am looking for work and this sounded like the best place to make some connections to do so. I am surprised to find a fellow who, simply be appearance seems like someone I might have some interest in romantically speaking. This is further enhanced by talking to him and finding out that he likes music, science, science fiction and horror movies and books. Really, the first person I’ve met since Heath with whom I would seriously consider anything longterm. That’s a year. He also likes to read (a big plus). His name is James. We become further acquainted and I find out his last name. Obvious, isn’t it? I did not bring up the item at top. He did, and expressed frustration at having the same first and last name.

As I recall, The Greatest American Hero tv show renamed their title character because of the similarity to the shooter of Ronald Reagan and others. That I suppose I would, without further clues, put down to coincidence (it was after all only a similar last name).

And normally, I wouldn’t bother with something like this. As one of the longtime TIs says, just ignore it, call it synchronicity and be done with it. She has a point. It is not something to be afraid of, not something to get upset over in and of itself.

But I prefer to get it documented. What does it mean? Difficult to say. Primary goal is always undermining credibility, so I’d go there and point out that when things happen that would seem to undermine your credibility, and they happen often enough, there’s at least one other hand in it.

There are many, many other examples around this. Several other former people from the New Jersey Shakespeare Festival coming out of the woodwork just as the Squidgate nonsense began, for example.

Maybe it’s just another example of what is possible. Maybe I’m the unpaid marketing associate for Murder, Inc. or whatever these people call themselves (or maybe it’s just Booz Allen Hamilton or Palantir, Lockheed-Martin, Raytheon or one of their contractees reminding me that they can still do as they damn well please. You know, 9-11 changed everything).

Or it’s just that sense of humor I’ve come to refer to as “evil clowns” having a laugh.

There is more, but you’re going to have to wait for it.

(Note: I’ve unstuck the three featured posts and added links to them to the About page. This brings the most recent stuff back to the top of the blog).

BLACK BOOT DIARIES – Squidgate Trial Part 8

The Spielberg ending, multiple quotes (all done from memory and therefore perhaps slightly inaccurate):

“I. Am. Coming. Home.”

“What a wicked thing to do…”

“No way around that, eh?”

“Because you don’t really need me…”

“…is eternal vigilance.”

“You got no time for the messenger. Don’t want to hear about some thing that you don’t understand. You got no fear of the underdog.”

“They didn’t get everything they wanted.”

“There’s a battle ahead. Many battles are lost.”

“On the eighth tentacle…”

—–

(Author’s note. This is the reason I suppose writers try to get further in before making a portion of a work public. I am writing these just before posting them. I just realized that this was not really the end. I wish I could have made it work that way, but it wasn’t and isn’t and therefore I couldn’t. Apologies to those who expected one).

This is where I have to step back again a few months. I’ve covered some of this in bits and pieces, but not as a thread unto itself. And, by rights, it has no business being in this post. Kind of. It has little to do with what actually happened at the restaurant where we spent some time after the sentencing hearing. But it is what was going on inside my head up to and after. It certainly doesn’t go hand-in-hand with the good news.

To set this part off, I’m putting in the dash-lines to bracket it.

—–

The euphoria and the “dependence on someone else” portions. As I’ve noted often, these are items 11 and 12 of a 1955 draft MKULTRA memorandum that escaped the destruction order as a result of being misfiled or similar. Rather conspicuous that it could be found so easily once I looked for it, but the sheer brazenness of these people does not quite take off the table who might be responsible even though it too easily points in that direction. It’s a mess, a multi-layered onion soup with several red herrings stewing it it, as the world of cloak and dagger often is. And what are those brown lumpy things floating in there?

The euphoria had been an on and off again thing from some time in the Fall of 2007 (just after meeting Jonathan Rhys-Meyers in a restaurant, mere days before his episode in an airport and losing his mother) that lasted until May of 2008 or so. This was followed by a slump, a sort of depression that lasted all Summer until the euphoria returned in October 2008. During the high period, I drafted, wrote, modified and worked on The Wisp. During the down period, I read, beginning with Blindsight, handed to me by my friend Stu who picked it up on the recommendation of a Barnes & Noble employee.

The cyclic nature of the longterm mood swings would seem to point to a malady, the name of which I’ve forgotten, but that is a sort of seasonal manic-depression. That is not what it was, I assure you. While I cannot dispute that manic-depression is a real disorder the cause of which is likely overwhelmingly not often the intentional doing of some group of spooks engaging in mischief, I can also point to item 5 of that same 1955 memo, that of mimicking the symptoms of known diseases for harassment purposes. And, though I have yet to compile a comprehensive list of the maladies they have tried to convince me I had at one point or other, it is preposterous that any one human being could have so many of them; and I am not a hypochondriac by any stretch of the imagination.

Back to the timeline, this second round of euphoria lasted until around May of 2009. By that time, I had written the first issue of the We Were the Freedom Federation comic. As I’ve noted, some changes were made and they were the idea of my artist, Ben. I approved them. But, for example, having NSA agent Mendoza alter TV programming was Ben’s idea. I don’t think either of us thought that sort of thing actually happened except maybe in very limited, extreme circumstances. Now, of course, I think it is the norm. Supporting perpetual war and transforming America into a nation of xenophobic sociopaths is hard work, but someone has to keep the military industrial complex monkey-on-back fed.

And of course, 2009 was when the s really hit the f. Same sort of Summer phase, except this time the mania or euphoria did not return in October or November. I had WWTFF issue one printed by September and started distributing in October.

Then came the incident involving Amy Goodman of Democracy Now with the Canadian border guards in November ’09 and exactly two weeks later the incident on the Blue Water Bridge involving Peter Watts in December.

I’d say is was about the 19th of December when the euphoria returned and was so much more intense, it just felt like I was in love with the world. Got that? 12/19/2009 (or 2009/12/19 if you prefer). The “love” feeling.

Then it became attached to someone after January 3, 2010. When I asked myself how I could possibly have been in love with someone I’d never met, my brain somehow came up with justifications and explanations. I had, it seems, seen him before and noticed him unconsciously. And of course this feeling was so intense, so far off the scale, so much more than I ever felt for Jesus, my mother or anyone else (in fact it felt like put all the love I ever felt for anyone and combine it and it would still fall short) that there had to be a reason for it.

And the third excuse… He and I were somehow psychically linked. I could feel what he was feeling and vice versa, I had been tricked into thinking. Because I didn’t and still don’t believe in naturally occurring ESP, I decided that whoever was running the show was linking this nameless person and I together using some wireless electronic means. I had, in Minneapolis, spent some time remotely with him. I had sort of been lead to believe. Just a variation on synthetic telepathy.

Of course it wasn’t until some time in early February that I realized I had any feelings for this person at all. Even then, not knowing if they were reciprocal, expecting it would pass, being loyal to my partner, I tried very hard to fix the current relationship. A dinner at Le P’tit Parisienne (note the spelling of P’tit. Can you imagine what fun they had with that mixing the letters up?), a restaurant that opened mere blocks away after the incident on the bridge, was disappointing to say the least and I suspected then that, at least until the trial was over, the longterm relationship was going to be on the rocks.

But there was the security blanket of this other guy…almost religious, isn’t it? Perhaps conspicuously so. He had reminded me of a friend I had had a crush on in ’99 and 2000. We were inseparable for a time (though people got so tired of Julien and I having so much fun they tried frequently to do just that, often unsuccessfully). That had passed. Julien was straight. So possibly was this guy and I still very much loved Jim.

So, when the verdict was in, I was still thinking of this person whom I referred to as “No One” (partly because I didn’t want him targeted, just like the Spoon song said; partly because a single small punctuation mark transformed the meaning of the name completely; and then there were the final words of a Chris Isaac song I couldn’t get out of my head). He couldn’t be there and did not know the verdict. Caitlyn’s dad I think it was, handed me a court document that listed Peter’s background info as we left the courthouse. It was devoid of offspring in that section. I don’t entirely understand what was happening on the Canadian end of things, why I’d been given it, except my inability to contain the intense feelings manifested itself in some crazy emails to Peter.

But I could “feel” this guy’s worry (I thought). It wasn’t until a few minutes after David Nickle went and posted about the sentencing that that feeling of worry or dread dissipated and I relaxed enough to enjoy the outcome of the sentencing hearing. It was, it seemed to me, the main reason David had posted it, to tell this special someone the outcome.

I’m going to skip ahead now, past the lunch and beer (paid for by Doug) for the moment.

They had me convinced that whatshisname was coming to Minneapolis. It just had to be. I waited quasi-patiently. Nothing. I got frustrated. Homelessness was just around the corner. Harassment continued. The desperation to resolve the problem (convinced by brainhacking that it was whatshisname’s mother–don’t ask me how…it’s remote brainwashing combined with whatever drugs they pumped me with) I made that crazy trip across a bridge under construction. That lead to more crazy emails to Peter. Those emails lead to the events detailed in the three-part post on this blog entitled “You Bury Me.”

In June 2010, I started hearing Smith’s voice occasionally saying, “He’s not coming.”

This was when the democratic party I guess decided to try to turn me into their version of James O’Keefe III. It also coincided with the clear message that the longterm relationship was over, kaput, dead.

Is it really difficult to understand how much I would hate a group of people who would prefer to exploit my pain for their own political purposes? What is it, exactly then, that is supposed to separate that party from the other one? I go by what people do over what they say. Slavery and driving someone to insanity (or taking advantage of someone else doing it) says to me that they are no better in practice. Hence my vote this November for Jill Stein. I’m sick of the bulls***.

But Smith’s voice was combined with the sudden cut off of my “psychic link” with No One. And I had written part or all of Learning to Fly. One scene involved a character “letting go” and falling to his death, or so he assumed. (Note how that, similar to the robbery of the local comic store in Brooklyn in October 2009, affects the First Amendment. “We didn’t actually prevent you from using free speech, we just punish you every time you use it.” Though, side note, I think denial of service attacks and their ilk are just that).

And I had received a “forced” image, a daydream?, nightmare? *, of No One jumping off of the tall apartment building in Brooklyn, the one where I had come to think he might have lived in.

So, cut off from him emotionally, “He’s not coming”, and an image of him jumping. This implied he was dead. They were careful not to come out and say “He’s dead.” I don’t know if that omission was for some obscure legal reason or to leave open the possibility of using him as a manipulation tool in the future. Probably both.

That was where it was all going. One s***ty choice or another: Suicide. Some act of violence (possibly ending in being dead if not in prison). Complete insanity. Slavery (or commit a crime so they can blackmail me into same–I’m told this is how the intel community generally keeps discipline. I can believe it).

What a country!

—–

But enough ranting about that. This was a time to celebrate, if only to the degree that Squidgate wasn’t likely to get worse.

I met the juror who had written the judge on Peter’s behalf and her husband. I wound up going over to their home afterwards and spending the night and getting a lift to the morning train that got me moving back toward Minneapolis.

After David’s post, I relaxed considerably. There was an odd moment when everyone at the table had their beers except Peter. I went to the bar to check on it, and yeah, despite knowing nothing of the Manual linked to on the right, was looking for any mischief. I gather this was just another of those sort of harassing moments. It’s the kind of thing that happens all the time to TIs, designed to worry and raise stress levels.

I told Doug that I had never seen an attorney fight that hard for a client and wondered if the “water works” weren’t going to start there for a moment.

There was also a funny question from Peter while discussing porcupine quill craftwork with Donna, the juror.

“Now, what would make a dog go after a porcupine?”

“To see what it tastes like, and so that the cats can watch and know what not to do,” was my off-the-cuff reply.

Now, of course, I might have a different answer, depending on whether or not we were literally talking about dogs.

I took a few photos of the occasion. Really, I just wanted to remember it. It was then that I noticed Madeline taking my photo as I took hers and the rest of the folks there. Like I said, a woman after my own heart. Cautious, caring, concerned. I worried less about Peter because I knew she was there. I was therefore happy to hand her her sunglasses when she nearly walked out without them.

I asked Caitlyn’s dad (who teaches or taught classical theater) if he thought this was Much Ado About Nothing or All’s Well That Ends Well. He said he thought more had gone on but, I think, wasn’t sure from here on. I would discover in April that the police persecution of the juror and her family, Peter believed, had to do with Beaudry and DHS. Obviously, I disagree, but then my experiences are different from what the Canadians went through, at least most of them.

It was when we parted that I wondered, vaguely, again, if this was far from being over. Watts did a very obvious strange goodbye. I wondered if he weren’t trying to protect me from whoever might be watching.

But of course it wasn’t goodbye. I made it to Toronto this past April, two years after the events above.

And I had planned to do so in October 2011 instead but got delayed. And the reason for that, well, I was working on a bucket list. I just couldn’t go self-immolate (as they had–I assure you it is true–convinced me to do in August ’11) without clearing things up with Peter first.

But of course I was tricking my own brain. They had, on that day in August, given me the worst psychological “beating” I could recall and ended the session with, “There will be worse days than this.” I had been peppered with reasons for doing so one after the other, more than a dozen. Combined with the remote torture, the idea stuck for ten days or so. I used the October deadline to buy time to talk myself out of it. Yes, sometimes I even trick myself. (It’s true, “I don’t like to lose.”)

Funny though, I don’t recall those reasons they gave any more.

Yes, people. This is not only possible, it’s happening right now. Truly. Welcome to the 21st Century. Are we going to smarten up and meet the challenge of a new dark age ** or live as slaves for the foreseeable future?

There was, as they drove away back to Canada, a feeling of satisfaction. I’m not sure why that is. Maybe it’s because for once I’m not being forced to think about it.

—–

* People, if you read about a major scientific breakthrough in a mainstream media source, it is highly likely that someone else has already done this secretly on humans. We aren’t next. It’s already been done and is being done.

** I was thinking about this yesterday. It’s not so much a new “Dark Age” as too much “light.” Too much information can be as debilitating as none at all. Maybe the “Dazzle Ages” is a better name for it.

BLACK BOOT DIARIES – Squidgate Trial Part 7

“I’ve never known anything my entire life. All I can ever do is go with the odds.”

—–

Continued…

First a pointer back to this. Madison was something of a pariah at times. Though small and frail, he was a good speaker and a masterful debater. He was also incredibly politically savvy…you know, something of a trickster who sometimes opposed bills he secretly supported just to get his opponents to vote for it and other variations on that theme.

Alexander Hamilton, interesting that he died from a gunshot wound from his duel with Aaron Burr…is that ironic or right in line with the first duty of society being justice? I suppose honor is part of that.

In my view, Hamilton, like all of the founders, had many flaws. But he also had his limits. In his view, Burr and his friends were going to destroy the Union and he and whether out of love of the system they had created or simply not wanting to see it disappear–again, my view–he set an appointment at the place where his son had been killed four years previous. Not before visiting Jefferson and Madison on some unknown topic…

As noted, the judge had the Hamilton quote on the wall in the back of the room, facing him, basically in the center aisle:

“I think the first duty of society is justice.”
–Alexander Hamilton

Like I said a few posts back, I’m telling some of this out of chronological order. I also forgot an odd thing Peter, Doug and I discussed but it’s already elsewhere on this blog (“Astigmartyr” was the title I think).

I had always thought of Peter as a “Mr.” Watts for as long as I had read his books. Suddenly one morning in August 2009, I awoke thinking of him as “Dr. Watts.” Had the voice-to-skull inadvertently used the correct title while I had been using the wrong one? As you might know if you read Pete’s blog, the use of “doctor” was contested and disallowed by Adair by the request of defense. He was to be addressed as “Mr. Watts” at all times during the trial.

My letter to Gov. Granholm after the trial. Been looking for it to no avail. Not a big deal because I recall the gist of main content. I familiarized her with the situation, the docket number, etc. Then…

Peter Watts is a writer in the vein of Jules Verne. Verne had based many of his stories around reading scientific journals, chatting with scientists, and so forth. His stories include the first appearances of fax machines, submarines, and automobiles in fiction, to name a few. Watts works similarly.

So the fact that he is a writer got me thinking about alternative punishment. Watts could write a short story about a giant squid attacking the Blue Water Bridge. The squid would, of course, be driven off by four or five heroic members of the Border Patrol. You’ll probably want to set a minimum number of words so he can adequately describe the heroics. We can title it, “20,000 Feet from the Courthouse.”

I have not had the opportunity to discuss this with Peter. He may in fact prefer prison. Also, not being an attorney, I’m not at all clear if this would fall under cruel and unusual punishment.

Respectfully…

I never heard back. I hope the goal was clear.

As posted previously, I either took a train and then a plane or vice versa. Minneapolis to Chicago to Detroit, and then because it was 3 am or so, a cab from Detroit to Port Huron. On the train I considered trying my hand at a Starfish screenplay, but also wondered if there already was one registered some place. I also found myself succumbing to the euphoria and the prospect of a happy reunion that never came.

Once again the amazing trip planner that I am, I did not have hotel reservations. Arriving at 4 or 5 in the morning, I just had the cabbie take me to the same hotel, hoping against hope it had not been shut down as the Health Department indicated it would be.

It was open. New management, I think.

The next morning I headed over to Come Sail Away cafe for breakfast. I had had the idea for four or five short stories. Most or all of the ones I wrote that morning are on this blog and the writing blog. The music playing as I was doing most of this was oddly right off of my playlist that had expanded dramatically since March. Once the fourth song in a row came on from it, I said, “Come on!” aloud and headed toward the courthouse.

The guards remembered me. The mood at Come Sail Away and the courthouse was not as chipper as the previous month’s visit. Don’t know why that was, but it made me nervous.

I sat in the hallway and saw not just the four Canadians I had met before but also Madeline Ashby and horror author David Nickle, as well as seven others who had made the trip. Watts had brought along a dozen friends.

I think it was Caitlyn (who is a fantasy writer, i should have mentioned before) who said, “See? He’s here.”

Apparently Pete had some doubts about my presence. As I recall I put the sunglasses on just before they made the corner as lane attempt at levity.

“You are looking well-rested,” I said to Pete. This was that same thing I talked about before. Everything so brightly lit, people seemed to be wearing makeup. Could it be the desire to wear the sunglasses also came from whatever drug I had been slipped or whatever electronic pinging had been done to my brain? Dilation?

David, Caitlyn and I spoke for a moment. We all felt some dread.

“Feels like a hospital,” I said.

“A cancer ward,” Caitlyn rejoined.

“Don’t give it power,” or something similar, David punctuated.

We went in when it was time. The Canadian contingent sat on the left side, facing the bench behind Doug and Peter at the defense table. They started to make room for me, but instead I took a chair in the back center. Without realizing it, I was sitting directly under the Hamilton quote.

There were lots of other people as well. The young court clerk, I’ve forgotten his name, sat near me. The mysterious man with the cane sat near him.

Behrendt and Beaudry entered. I waved a friendly hello to Beaudry who instinctually waved and smiled back and then flipped immediately into being angry.

Backing up a bit…there had been some activity on Watts’ blog. I had assumed, for example, that “Ralph Cramden” was Andrew. Especially when I replied as “Archie’s Bunker.” But I don’t really know that that it the case.

What seemed fairly clear is, while I was trying to “prevent an outbreak” at the end of the trial in March, Mr./Dr. Watts was “driving the monkey to the airport.” While i can’t blame him, I gather that all the sympathy that Beaudry had come to have for Peter at the end of the trial had died the death of a thousand cuts during their internet feud.

But that didn’t explain precisely why he was angry with me…

Could it be, wracked with guilt after the guilty verdict, that Beaudry and Dupuis went to the judge and asked for leniency? And then, a few days later, when the feud got going, recanted the recanting?

In any case, it was from that point on a visually impartial Beaudry that I saw. It seemed to me that Behrendt was sitting there to help him through it, to help him take himself out of the equation.

The defense presented it’s arguments for no jail time. There had been a letter from a juror asking for leniency. Neither Adair nor Doug had ever seen that before.

Doug made his case and became emotional himself. It was noted that those people had come all this way in support.

Adair made some interesting but strange comments. He said at one point, “There comes a time when you reach an age where those things your parents told you are true.”

I gathered that was for Beaudry.

Doug gave his recommendation of time served.

Adair said, “I’ve spent a great deal of time trying to figure out exactly who Peter Watts is. I mean, is he arrogant? What is he?”

Then he said he was inclined to agree with Doug. He would not have to spend any more time in jail.

And then, as Beaudry and Behrendt turned and rose together to leave, Adair made it clear, “Justice is what I say it is.”

Then he pointed at the quote.

“And I have that quote by that…sort of…n’er-do-well James Madison back there on my wall…”

Pointing at the quote, or at me?

The clerk looked at me and laughed, “The quote’s not Madison.”

“Yes, I know,” I replied rather perplexed and dryly. “It’s Hamilton. Also something of a n’er-do-well!”

Adair continued, “Of course, I have nothing in front of me except for the documents related to this case!”

A little known fact suddenly popped into my head. Judges are in fact under no compunction whatsoever to tell the truth. I mean, he isn’t under oath, is he?

He was clearly looking at something taped right in front of him. I think it was later on the way to a beer and lunch–on Doug!–with the Canadians and this odd juror who had written on his behalf that I figured it out. (See what I mean about slow?) They had, at a minimum, given Adair my letter to the local paper, if not the one to Granholm as well. The letter to the paper (with apologies to Ambassador Joe Wilson for bastardizing the title of his famous op-ed):

WHAT I FOUND IN PORT HURON

Background: My name is Chris Knall and I currently live in Brooklyn, NY. I visited Port Huron from Sunday March 14th until Friday March 19th. I was there to attend the trial of Canadian science fiction writer Peter Watts. I am a fan of Peter’s and we never met in person nor spoke on the phone prior to speaking on Tuesday March 16th. We did correspond by email for years, usually because I found an article somewhere on the internet I thought he might enjoy (and find inspiring enough to finish his fifth novel). When I heard the news of Peter’s problems on Friday December 12, 2009 via a news article, I started trying to figure out what happened and created a website to try to help increase awareness of the situation and get people to contribute to his defense fund.

Truth be told, before I ever made it to Port Huron, I expected to find a town full of nice people. Surprisingly, I found a town full of exceedingly nice people. I’ve never felt more at home, whether it was the Brass Rail (that Nick is quite a character) or the wonderful cafe Come Sail Away, where the help goes way beyond the call of duty even for strangers. (Note: I promised to plug Sage House, a bed and breakfast I did not in March and may not in April get to try, but I’m sure it would be an improvement over my stay at a motel that was probably shut down by the health department this week according to the inspector I ran into on Thursday or Friday the week of the trial).

Apart from the people already mentioned above, on Sunday evening I met a couple of gentlemen who are, in my view, the salt of the earth. One was a black man in his mid-thirties who chauffeured his white sixty year old friend around for dinner and drinks because his older friend has epilepsy and cannot drive himself. The former told me that Emmett Smith is apparently 1/8th Irish (with St. Patty’s Day around the corner, it was relevant). The latter is a goalie coach and shared some great advice for hockey players (anyone else doing anything): the three P’s he called it: position, posture and poise. Position is being in the right place at the right time. Posture is being physically ready for whatever comes once you’re there. Poise was a bit more difficult to understand, but is essentially coolness under pressure. If that isn’t a life lesson, I don’t know what is.

Next, I must mention the Honorable James P. Adair, the judge in the trial. What Peter says on his blog is absolutely correct: he was so incredibly fair and kept things light enough that they didn’t become overly contentious. In fact, I have only two minor complaints about His Honor. First, I rented a very nice red (with a tinge of orange) Eclipse for my trip. I spent several days driving around and thought to myself, “Wow, this is the nicest ride in town.” However, on my way out of the courthouse, I spotted a more beautiful red Mustang convertible. As they passed, I overheard Andrew Beaudry telling his coworkers that that was Judge Adair’s car. Apparently, I am not above a little jealousy.

Second, though I did get just a little choked up over what His Honor refers to as his “patriotic speech”, in which he points out that the United States of America is a great melting pot, I could not help but notice he only has one of the founding fathers (or as historian author Joseph Connolly [sic; should have been Joseph Ellis] refers to them, founding brothers) quote hanging on the wall of the courtroom, that of Alexander Hamilton. Perhaps something from Jefferson or even the more moderate Franklin would make a nice addition. (Insert humble smiley face here).

I really hesitate to write this final part because I think he neither wants nor needs to read this, but here it is. Sergeant Beaudry would have made a great Batman. He has the voice, the look, and one assumes from various testimony, the physical ability. I suspected before I ever saw him in person that Batman or The Dark Knight was one of his nicknames amongst his peers. Nothing I saw or heard in or out of court leaves me to think otherwise now.

Which of course leads us to the question of what is a hero? In my opinion a hero is not a person but a moment in time when any person does the right thing regardless of the cost. Sometimes it seems to me, the more someone has to lose, the less likely they are to do that.

Anyway, thanks to Port Huron for being such a wonderful place to visit. It was like where I went to high school but without the negative stuff which I will not go into here. Hope to see you again in April, but as His Honor said, sometimes stuff happens. We’ll see.

Chris Knall
Brooklyn, New York
March 24, 2010

And perhaps the one to Monaghan December 23, 2009:

PS: Wouldn’t it be fun to show a scientist the true meaning of Christmas?

I’m glad I had the presence of mind to change “atheist” to “scientist.” While that should not matter, I knew nothing about Monaghan whatsoever and it could have been a bad move.

Yes, that, no jail time, was good news. But something was still bothering me.

To be continued…

—–

Note: just a few days ago, Adair retiring. See the 5th paragraph from the bottom of the article:

A James Madison quote in the back of Adair’s courtroom points to that.

What the…?