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Showing posts with label Dexter (MI). Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dexter (MI). Show all posts

Monday, March 30, 2020

Coronavirus Missives from the Philippines, USA, France, Lebanon and Germany

As published at Unz Review, TruthSeeker and LewRockwell, 3/31/20:





In Singapore, you can be jailed for half a year for failing to keep “social distance.” The same offense in New York will only get you fined for up to $500, although an 86-year-old woman has just been killed when she got too close to someone at a Brooklyn hospital. Out of masks, Tennessee doctors strap diapers on their faces.

On March 29th, 2020, 756 Italians died from the coronavirus, and that’s considered encouraging news, believe it or not, since 919 lost their lives on the 27th. Half of the world is in lockdown, and should this drag on, riots will certainly break out, since billions can’t just stay indoors as their food runs out, if it hasn’t already.

Here in Busan, people still mingle, talk and laugh, but schools remain closed, and the baseball season won’t start until April, if that. There are no more international flights from here. Two weeks ago, I could still fly to Saipan or Vladivostok, which is so close, but Russia has just sealed its borders, as has China.

There are ferries to Japan, so maybe that’s how I’ll get out, but why go anywhere? I’m just a subway ride away from God Pizza, Sincere Beer for You, Happiness in Pharmacy and a café that reminds me that “coffee brings to every person the feeling of luxury and nobility. It is the common man’s gold.” What more do I want?

At my guesthouse, I’ve met a Brazilian and a Pole who are also stuck, but contentedly so, for they think that it’s much saner and safer here than just about anywhere else. In the evening, some guests shoot pool in the basement, while others slurp cups of instant noodles. If they can afford a few wons, there are many cheap eats nearby, plus the slightly more expensive Samarkand, an excellent Uzbek restaurant.

Wanting to hear what it’s like elsewhere, I emailed some friends a few basic questions. How has this crisis changed your life, if at all? What is the situation like in your city and/or country? What are you most worried about regarding this crisis, the disease itself, its effect on the economy or your government’s handling of it? How long do you think this crisis will last? Will there be any permanent effects? What do you think your city and country will be like a year from now?

Below is the first batch of responses:


Graham Reinders, a 78-year-old Canadian, living in Dumaguete City, Philippines


I hate it when my wife is correct. Two weeks ago she went out and bought a year’s supply of rice and raided the Supermarket. Luckily we had enough toilet paper to start with, but I have a year’s supply of everything else. I gave her hell, saying two weeks max and it would all be over.

Over the last two weeks the powers-that-be have been telling many places to shut down or restrict services. The local Mall only has “essential” stores open. The Department Store only has the grocery division open. McDonald’s is closed. A lot of restaurants are closed.

Three days ago some of us hired a big van, packed a large picnic and were off to a Beach Resort which had assured us they would be open. Half-way there a check-point stopped us. Temperatures taken. Off we went again. Damn! the resort had just received orders they were to close. A most expensive return home.

Two days ago the Governor and a few mayors decided that only one permit per family would be issued, so only that person is allowed to leave the house. To me, that sounds like too much hard work so it will always be “coming.” My wife will go this afternoon to see if this is actually happening.

Our Post Office has been closed for two weeks. The Civil Servants never waste a good crisis. I am sure the teachers have their legs up, hoping the crisis will go on forever. My two darling little girls are a damn nuisance sitting at home with me all day. I am no “Home schooler.”

This is a relatively poor country and there are many many people who just try to earn enough to get through the day and feed their family. They will be seriously hurt, not many compensations in this system. I like this President but I think it is wrong to follow the American Model. The Dutch Model for me is the most intelligent. This present model will hurt the locals badly. I have no doubt that China will come in and make things whole again. We can no longer rely on the US.

I am very close to 80 years old so if this “Pandemic” is for real I am in front of the line to go and visit my ancestors. Try as I might I cannot take Covid19 seriously. If one took the Media Hype away, and did not have the Social Media waiting to pounce on any tardy action by the politicians, nobody would even know there was a crisis. Social Media has changed the world forever. Their power has been shown to control politics.

I was around in the 1940’s. Only in 1955 did Salk create the vaccine for Polio. Every year some people got paralyzed, some people died. That is what viruses do. Luckily, in our country we took personal responsibility and were not scape-goating everybody all the time.

I do not believe the parallels the Media is trying to draw with the 1918 H1N1 are valid. With H3N2+H1N1 in 2018, about a million Americans were hospitalized and about 80,000 died. The CDC said it raged above “regular epidemic” level for 16 -19 weeks. The H2N2 in 1957 killed around 120,000 Americans.

We took these in stride. I believe Covid19 without the hype is not worse than those. At worst add another percent or two for this year’s Covid19 and get on with life instead of destroying a whole way of life. The Dutch seem to understand this. This crisis will last as long as the Media can get headlines.

Capitalism is Human Nature, a mixture of greed and Self Interest. Many of the weaker links will be washed out. The strong and talented will soon build either a modified system or a new system. Within a year all the essential businesses will have patched the holes and then we just have to wait and see if the damage will cause a systemic change.

I think this “prevention Model” has tipped an unstable system into the unknown.


Rudy List, a 77-year-old retired math professor, living in Dexter, Michigan

I pretty much live alone, and have been doing so for several years, so apart from going out to buy groceries or going to the post office, the changes in the way I live are fairly minor.

All nearby places where people might ordinarily interact, restaurants and bars, for example, have been seriously restricted from following traditional operating procedures. Bars are closed. Entering restaurants is prohibited, but drive through (e.g. think McDonald’s) and carry out are allowed. In this context carry out means that one somehow attracts the attention of employees who will bring your order to the entrance. I would have no way of placing an order except in a drive through outfit, because I have no phone.

I haven’t encountered any traffic check points.

The disease itself does not appear to be a serious threat (See, for example, https://www.wodarg.com/ where we read “Die Zahl der Atemwegsinfektionen normalisiert sich jetzt - wie in den Vorjahren ohne Lockdown. Der Test Misst auch in Italien oder im Altenheim keine Todesursachen. Der Test zeigt lediglich, dass die Kranken Kontakt mit einer der vielen Varianten von SARS-Viren hatten.”).

Its overall impact, however, will be enormous and probably devastating to the economy and social system. More than likely this is another in a sequence of contrived events (9/11, Boston marathon, Sandy Hook…) all generated to increase global control through fear. Significant aspects of control include, for example:

Total digitization of currency (cashless economy)
Militarization of police
Restriction of travel
Total surveillance

These are all currently underway or developing.

The crisis is meant to last forever, but without altering its effects (again, see https://www.wodarg.com/ ) its social impact will eventually subside. Fear, however, has been generated, so for a while mere reference to COVID-19, or whatever it's currently called, will suffice.

I don’t think the US is going to recover from this very fast. The controllers (Zionist Occupied Government) have their claws well dug in. So I expect conditions in the US a year from now to be similar to the present, if not worse.

Further developments might well lead to outbreaks of more serious illness, including death; in order to deflect attention from the underlying agenda, from time to time it’s necessary to document claims with genuine results.


Steve Church, a 72-year-old retired English teacher, living in Paris

The lockdown has me crawling the walls. It’s made me irritable, lethargic. While we live in Paris, by this time of the year I’m usually at my wife’s place in Burgundy in a hamlet of about 50 people only an hour away by TGV. I say « usually » because last summer we sold the place and now our only escape valve is her mother’s summer place in the Lot, a six hour, relatively expensive Inter-Cities train ride down to Cahors, then a taxi to Catus. But her mother, who’s ninety-one and still lives independently and who needs, especially during these lock down days, my wife to visit two to three times a week for food, company, and constant explanations on how to use her computer, cell phone, and TV, is afraid it will be too cold down there, and refuses to budge. It’s really exasperating as there is a huge terrace, a garden across the street, and the place is centrally heated!

Paris is pretty much locked down, but for some of the more « disadvantaged » neighbourhoods which are more or less ignored by the cops. In order to go outside (for an hour) we have to print out the government permission slip (or hand write it), check one of the seven choices we have, note the time and date, our address, and sign it. I went out for groceries the other day and decided to walk over to the Louis Philippe bridge for a bit of sun. As I was sitting on a bench, some cops came by and asked to see my permission slip. They said they were fining me 135 euros for not walking. I said that I didn’t have them, and that my walk over was my exercise and I was just getting a bit of sun and was going to do the shopping on my way home. Long pause. He returned my permission slip and told me to do my shopping and get my sun from my window. Knowing that further discussion would be futile and maybe involve them taking me to jail, I wished them a good day, grabbed my shopping bag, and skedaddled, relieved but fuming nonetheless. It was kind of humiliating. And disgusting to be staring into the face of a police state. I’ve read comments here and there saying that France is ready to explode, but I’m not convinced. They’ve become too Americanised, too passive. I don’t know if the Gilets Jaunes movement has generated enough dissatisfaction in the general populace to constitute a kind of lightning rod for a country-wide insurrection, which is what we really need. I say « we » because I live here now, have my ten year residence card. But I’m an old guy now, approaching 73 with a couple of vertebrae pretty much destroyed due to a mysterious bacteriological infection a few years back, and have a difficult time even walking. On the other hand, there exists here and there a certain solidarity. Musicians of all kinds play music from their balconies or gardens, some restaurants are providing meals for health care workers. The idea of « local » in the food chain supply has become more prévalent. Whether stuff like this actually translates into real change is yet to be seen.

This « disease » is just the flu. Maybe more virulent, maybe more contagious, and affects mostly old folks with other health problems (see this) but given the mass disinformation put out by the government and their media lackies, most everyone has been terrorised into obedience, which is scary. Personally, I’m not too worried about getting sick. Or at least becoming sick enough to have to be hospitalised, even though I now have a seasonal minor cold. As in the States, big business will get the majority of financial support. The people? Fuck ‘em. The French government, if you can call this assemblage of career politicians and new wannabes (« Jupiterian » Macron being a prime example of the latter) a government, has either been totally overwhelmed and confused by recent events (basic incompetence) or is entirely complicit in the instauration of a cynical, uncaring police state (corruption). It’s probably a combination of the two.

The duration of this « crisis » probably dépends on a lot of different stuff. How long everyone will put up with this prison-like atmosphere? I know it’s going to very difficult be able to last til the end of April. Every day is a psychological nightmare. I think we’ve been moving in this fascist direction since the end of WW II (probably long before, ie Smedley Butler, or earlier), with the corporate screws being continually tightened. The media here are megaphoning a rise in Macron’s popularity, but I don’t believe that for a moment. I was standing in line at the bakery the other day and struck up a conversation with an older couple, standing at the appropriate distance, just behind me. We agreed it’s all BS. Dangerous BS, but BS just the same. On the other hand, the young woman at the smoke shop got all pissed off when I told her I didn’t believe in all this virus panic. Go figure. France has been a semi police state since the Charlie Hebdo Attack and this is just another turn of the screw.

I have no idea what it will be like a year from now. They might let us out of our cages sometime this Spring, which would be nice of them. But, having gotten away with this lock down, I reckon they won’t hesitate to do it again, for some cockamamie reason. I’m very pessimistic. And really pissed off.


Chuck Orloski, a 68-year-old out-of-work school bus driver, living in Scranton, PA

The “crisis” has changed my typically clean life. Nonetheless, my routine life including school bus driving job, is consistently crazy, bearable. Am unemployed now, and later will sign-up for U.C. benefits. As I write, many neighbors, a couple friends, are even more crazy for fear of dying from COV-19. Irony, hundreds of Project Housing-based kids are outside daily, and doing what they normally do, “play.”

Scranton residents are practiced at getting multifold “crisis” laid upon them. Homeowners fear endless taxes and politician roberry. Many take extraordinary measures to stay healthy and distance themselves from their “authorities.” Couples drink Yuengling on porches, they anticipate the mailman & delivery of Mnuchin’s money, with love.

The US government has practice weaponizing threats. As always, the privileged few will figure out how to benefit by scaring the shit out of the dumb goyim, and welcome Trump as their personal “Savior.”

(Sigh) Is all a matter of timing and Zionist plan-implementation, and dark fulfillment. The Corono “crisis” will last until the novel fear diminishes, and an unforgiving US political economic reset is underway. And then, whoever is President, shall return to doing the vital business of regime change in Iran and Syria.

We are permanently fucked, and “The End of America” is outside my door.

In Scranton, many people are terrific, decent, faithful, down to earth, fun, & are suffocated “Points of Light.” Lots are cursed with having a conscience, and such subset suffers most for the “sins” that are commited from upon High, and naturally, viral shit aplenty “trickles down”... on you and me.

Done with this, I spoke with my buddy, Bill Hopkins Jr., on cellies, and following is a crazy thing which happened to Hoppy, a couple hour's ago.

Hoppy’s pickup truck has electrical problem, will not start. As Hop does almost zero cooking inside his Lutherwood Senior High Rise 4th Floor apartment, he called Domino’s for an X-tra large pizza delivery, with toppings.

He went to main floor terrace until delivery, by a guy named Joe. Hop gave Joe a fin, said, “Thanks and God bless you for your service!”

Hop placed the pizza tray, and given his prostrate removal problems, he entered Men’s Room, and upon exit, the pizza was gone. Became furious and cursed the “thief” who, given the facility’s “No Visitor” policy, was a fellow hungry resident.

Later, in room and calmed down, Hoppy called Domino’s, explained the theft, and emphasized, “I am hungry!”

Domino’s did the right American Thing! Another tray of pizza on way to Hoppy, and all he had to pay was a service charge, $5.00.


‘Taxi’ from the blog, Plato’s Guns: a self-exiled American expat living in south Lebanon


Being an American expat living in the south of Lebanon, the spread of COVID-19 has not really affected me and my lifestyle at all.

For almost a decade now, self-exiled from southern California, I have lived here in the Levant with a handful of rescue dogs and a housekeeper, on a farmhouse that sits atop a remote hill between two small villages. Lived a semi-reclusive life where my only contact with the natives is out of necessity and not out of sociable impulse. Sure, I’m friendly to everyone I encounter, but for the most part, I do not have the habit of exchanging phone numbers with anyone, nor do I accept invites for coffee, dinner or wedding celebrations. In other words, I do not socialize out of choice, therefore, neither self-quarantine nor social distancing has affected me at all. Plus, due to my following a Macrobiotic diet for the past fifteen years, my immune system is super high and intact, to the point where I have not suffered a single day of illness, not even a single cold for the past fifteen years. This means that I am not experiencing any psychological fear of contracting the COVID-19 virus.

Because I grow my own seasonal organic vegetables and fruit trees, my normal habit is to shop for non-perishable household items only once per month. This includes buying cleaning materials, grains, pulses and tea—also a giant bag of onions plus garlic and ginger for the month: essential edible items that I don’t grow in my veggie patch. This means that even before COVID-19, I had minimal direct contact with commercial outlets and shops anyway—having also abandoned the hyper consumerist in me back on the shores of Los Angeles. Two days ago, I did my monthly pantry shopping and the only difference in my behavior this month was that I carried a small bottle of rubbing alcohol in my pocket, which I used to spray my hands and monies with in the shop in front of the cashier. I did this mostly for the benefit of the shopkeeper’s psychology, as indeed I did the same when I went to the gas station to fill up my jeep. I already live in super cleanliness in any case, and I’ve for years now been using rubbing alcohol throughout the day: my hands going from dog-patting to keyboard tapping have always needed a germ-killing drizzle in between.

Moreover, here at my south Lebanon farmhouse, I have trained my Philippines housekeeper to cook Macrobiotic dishes, foods that she too eats daily, rendering her immune system by now fairly high. I can’t even remember the last time she got sick—and she used to get sick all the time when she first started working for me some five years ago. But she is a sociable animal who travels to the city of Beirut every week on her day off to meet with friends etc, and for the past three weeks, she has not been able to do this due to COVID-19. She is feeling the social distancing by far more than I am, though this is made less painful for her as she is an avid social media user. I continue with my unchanged regular routine during COVID-19: solo daily hikes with my dogs on one of the many remote hills around here, plus writing on my personal blog about Pax Americana and its geopolitics in the middle and far east.

Simply, I live off the grid in a foreign country; I live a healthy and simple life: untouched directly by the highs and lows of the world and humanity, though, of course, I remain emotionally and deeply affected by ongoing political injustices and warfare.

Lebanon itself has been experiencing a government-imposed lockdown on its seaports, airports and borders for the past three weeks, so as to contain the entry of COVID-19 from the outside. Several days ago, the government extended this condition to the 12th April, as more cases of infection around the world have been reported this week. Even though the government has imposed a militarized nighttime curfew on the whole nation, it is estimated that some 98% of Lebanese natives and residents are adhering to daytime self-quarantine of their own volition anyway.

This past autumn, Lebanon was experiencing a severe economic and political crisis. Fortunately, it was resolved just before the outbreak of COVID-19 with the appointment of Hassan Diab as Prime Minister. Mr. Diab’s government has demonstrated ongoing and focused vigilance in fighting COVID-19, despite Lebanon’s acute financial problems. It has taken appropriate measures that place the safety of citizens and residents above all else: a principled position, indeed. Compare the COVID-19 stats between the verging-on-bankruptcy Lebanon to that of its direct neighbor and declared enemy, Israel: a nation with a robust economy that also receives billions in annual aid from the USA and Germany. Lebanon’s latest stats register 391 confirmed cases of infection and 7 deaths, while Israel is charting at 3,035 infected with some 12 dead. The Israeli military has also been hit by COVID-19, with some 45 Israeli soldiers infected and another 4,156 under strict quarantine. It appears that Diab was quicker than Netanyahu to implement preventative measures against COVID-19 and this has indeed made all the difference. Clearly, COVID-19 is testing the compassions and competencies of governments the world over, and already we’re seeing with our own eyes how ‘developing’ nations are providing more protection for their people than most ‘first’ nations.

The world is not the same anymore. Till a successful vaccine is found, which according to the WHO will take some 18 months, world citizens will continue to experience fear and even hysteria over this biological and deadly mystery. Notable here is how most world governments are exploiting their people’s fears to further their own power grabs and personal financial gain, as indeed is clearly happening in the USA.

Without having to go into a litany of complaints about how poorly the Trump administration is handling the pandemic, a list I’m sure readers are well aware of, I would like to state that I thank my lucky stars I live outside of the US during the COVID-19 spread. Sadly, the US is fast becoming the global ground zero for COVID-19, with infections surpassing even that of blighted Iran. The $2 Trillion COVID-19 rescue package that congress passed this week, largely and mainly helps unscrupulous corporations, leaving mere crumbs for COVID-unemployed citizens, small businesses and our healthcare system. This does not bode well for the future socio-political stability and physical health of our nation.

I expect a paradigm shift in American citizens’ political thinking, where voters will now start demanding that their own hard-earned tax dollars are spent, first and foremost, on their own individual health, and not on bailing out billionaire corporations and paying for endless warfare in the Middle East. And we will soon enough discover if our presidential candidates genuinely care more about the physical welfare of the nation’s citizenry, or more for the DC lobbyists they personally benefit from. The presidential elections in November will be COVID-centric above all else. This means the current American healthcare system will be under the severest of ideological scrutiny, and I estimate that voters will side with the candidate who will provide them with the best healthcare deal, regardless of which side of the aisle they stand on.

After all, voters looking for a safer and healthier future will need much governmental assurance that they will indeed be protected, come the spread of another mysterious biological virus in the winter of 2021, and thereafter.

In the meantime, it is the introverts who will survive COVID and inherit the earth.


Erik, a 49-year-old former Manager of a Business Unit in Frankfurt, living in Offenbach, Germany

This crisis has not affected me much. I spent most of my time indoors before and do so now. It is harder to get a job (which I’m currently trying to do) and also toilet paper.

As for my town, it’s rather relaxed here. In Frankfurt, the big city nearby, most people walk around with masks and gloves. Here, it is the other way round. The authorities have put up the same rules as in most places (stay indoors, keep your social distance, wear masks and gloves and so on).

Thomas Schäfer, Minister of Finance in Hesse, recently commited suicide, supposedly while staring into the abyss of the finances of the Federal State of Hesse. While our finances were far from “okay” before Corona, Schäfer may have done what Friedrich Nietzsche warned about: If you stare long enough into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you. Whatever he saw, it surely wasn’t a pretty sight...

I am not worried about the virus (if it exists at all), rather about the handling of the situation by the authorities. Our economy is shut down, approximately tens of thousands of small businesses may go bankrupt, the government will have to spend hundreds of billions of Euros to help the economy come back to life. Also, our civil rights are taken away in response to the virus: Already you will be fined a few hundred Euros if you don’t behave the way you are told and the government has already declared that it will fight fake news more actively, look into our social media, use smartphones to detect or scan infected people and so on, all to fight the disease.

I think the pandemic may fizzle out in May or June, maybe comes back in autumn for one or two months, and that should be that. The permanent effects to me are much more severe in the political realm: We will be accustomed to giving up our freedom in order to gain security—to me a very dangerous path. Also I imagine we will have a further concentration of wealth in the hands of the few: If it’s true what Martin Armstrong wrote, the so called BIG Money was exiting the markets just before the crash and is standing now on the sidelines, waiting to buy the companies and businesses, which might go belly up the next months.

A bit like in the GDR, when it collapsed in 1990. Back then the West German companies bought and closed almost all the East German companies. Rumor has it that not all were really bankrupt but were made to go bankrupt. Guess we’ll see something similar on a grander scale. As well as more inflation, leading eventually to hyperinflation, accompanied by civil unrest, a violent police state and the impoverishment of large chunks of the society.

A year from now, my town and country will be worse off. More in fear and anxiety and more dependent on this ever growing nanny state, who in the end turns us all into a sort of slaves. Until it breaks down completely, which we should see in our lifetimes.




.

Monday, March 6, 2017

Postcard from the End of America: Dexter, Michigan

As published at Unz Review and Intrepid Report, 3/6/17:






And so I was back in my friend’s house in this most tranquil, on the surface, country town. Outside was a young cherry tree with three bowling balls at its base, one for each dog buried beneath. A roofer’s ashes had also been scattered over its branches, but nothing remained of the short-lived man. Before my 74-year-old friend, Rudy, reclaimed the house, the roofer lived here.

A drunken fall off a friend’s deck during a July 4th party made the roofer miss a year of work, and got him hooked on painkillers. A second fall from a roof finished the always groggy man. He was but 33.

Behind Rudy’s house was a tiny trailer formerly occupied by a lonely fellow who collected rocks and pebbles. Sworn off alcohol decades ago, he only smoked weed. After living peacefully there for years, the nearly invisible 52-year-old had to move out when a neighbor decided to rat that the trailer had no plumbing, and thus illegal. Now, the rural hermit showed up just once a week to feed his old cat, the trailer’s only resident.

Down the road was a 72-year-old farmer who wouldn’t retire because farming was what he loved best. When a thresher shattered his left leg recently, the old man calmly drove himself to the hospital, and was back to cultivating within a month. He had spent nearly his entire life within a 20 mile radius, with just one trip to Chicago. Ann Arbor was alien enough, with Detroit, another planet. Each long day over, he could barely pay attention to Fox News. He voted Trump.

On the way in, we drove past a homemade sign, “BUILD BRIDGES NOT WALLS.” Other than that, I saw no other political statements during my five-day stay in Dexter.

Rudy’s three children were grown and gone, so the house was mostly empty. I had the entire second floor to myself. Each dawn, I looked out at the paling window to see a grain silo and a red barn. It was good to be away from so much concrete and so many bricks, and to wake up to utter silence. In the corner of my shower homesteaded a spider, and there was also a lady bug on the wall. Winking at me, she smiled.

Rudy’s marriage had been troubled for more than decade, his health was crashing and, each day, he could hear less. Serenely, Rudy spoke often of suicide, so I shouted, “Before you do that, Rudy, come visit me in Philadelphia! I’ll show you around! We’ll have a good time! Then you can commit suicide! You can even do it in Philadelphia if you want!”

Pondering his dwindling options, Rudy chuckled and shook his head.

If I don’t holler, Rudy can’t hear shit. At Dexter Pub on the town’s thriving and wholesome Main Street, there’s a sign warning against cursing, and last year, I accidentally shouted a few bad words while chatting with Rudy.

The obscene is saved for the men’s room, where there’s a poster of a blonde, bikinied babe, “Perfect Woman… Perfect Attitude.” Among the sayings of this ideal woman:

"That was a great fart! Do another one!"
"I've decided to stop wearing clothes around the house."
"Your mother is way better than mine."
"Shall I drop you and your friends off at the lap dancing club?"
"Why would I need more than three pairs of shoes?"
"Pubic hair! I hate those tight curls, I'm clean shaven."
"I signed up for yoga so that I can get my ankles behind my head just for you."
"God... If I don't blow you soon, I swear I'm going to explode!"
"Listen, I make enough money for the both of us. Why don't you retire forty years early?"
"Let's subscribe to Hustler."
"Honey... our new neighbor's daughter is sunbathing again, come see."
"Say, let's go down to the mall so you can check out women's asses."
"Oh come on, not the damn mall again. Let's go to that new strip joint."

Though Dexter Pub was a very soothing place to enjoy pints of Two Hearted, Rudy declined to go there with me on this visit. “I’ve seen what the humans do. I don’t care anymore.”

“It’s all futile!” I piled on.

“You’re right.”

“I’m already tired, Rudy! And I’m only 53!”

Our degraded culture and politics disgust Rudy. Jewish power and Israel make him retch. When Rudy was young, chemtrails didn’t seed the sky.

Even the educated could barely write, Rudy rued, “I know a lawyer who writes ‘u,’ the letter, instead of ‘you.’ Soon, we’ll have a post-literate society!”

Unable to read or write, we will still have to obey innumerable rules. At a supermarket, the cashier asked near-death, stooping Rudy for his ID as he bought beer. “It’s the rule,” she lamented.

“They’re getting so intrusive.”

“I know.”

“And prayers aren’t going to help.”

“I agree.”

“Maybe a gun will!”

“I’m with you.”

They both laughed.

Back in the car, Rudy added, “Not only do they care what you do, but pretty soon, they will tell you what to do, and observe that you’re not doing it. It’s that bad.”

Dexter Township is 97.5% white, while adjacent Dexter City is 92.7% vanilla. Together, they have just over 10,000 souls. During the first decade of the 21st century, Dexter City grew 73.9%, and one can assume that its whiteness is a prime attraction for newcomers. With no violent crimes, graffiti or loud music from passing cars, the only civic discomfort seems to be the longish wait at the Dairy Queen on summer evenings.

In the middle of town is a handsome, four-sided clock on an iron post, standing on a well-tended flower bed, and on the side of the Riverview Café is painted, white on indigo, “GOD BLESS AMERICA.”

Dexter High School’s mascot is the Dreadnought, and its most famous alumnus in recent years is Mark Koernke, a militia leader. Son of a sheriff’s deputy, Koernke joined the Army Reserve then worked as a janitor at the University of Michigan for 15 years. In the early 90’s, he started to broadcast on shortwave radio, gained a following, then achieved national prominence when he was mistakenly identified as the mastermind behind the Oklahoma City bombing in 1995.

Now broadcasting over the internet five times a day, five days a week, each Koernke show opens with a Thelen Paulk poem solemnly intoned, with slight variations, over ominous drum beats. It’s a state of the union and indictment of our government:

I had a dream the other night that, well, I didn’t understand.
A figure walking through the mist, with flintlock in his hand.
His clothes were torn and dirty, as he stood there by my bed,
He took off his three-cornered hat, and speaking low to me, he said:

“We fought a revolution, to secure our liberty.
We wrote the Constitution, as a shield from tyranny.
For future generations, this legacy we gave,
In this, the land of the free and home of the brave.

“The freedoms we secured for you, we hoped you’d always keep.
But tyrants labored endlessly, while your parents were asleep.
Your freedoms gone, your courage lost, you’re no more than a slave,
In this, the land of the free and home of the brave.

“You buy permits to travel, and permits to own a gun,
Permits to start a business, or to build a place for one.
On land that you believe you own, you pay a yearly rent,
Although you have no voice in saying how the money’s spent.

“Your children must attend a school that doesn’t educate,
And your Christian values can’t be taught, according to the state.
You read about the current news, in a regulated press,
And you pay a tax you do not owe, to please the I.R.S.

“Your money is no longer made of silver nor of gold.
You trade your wealth for paper, so your life can be controlled.
You pay for crimes that make our nation turn from God in shame.
You’ve taken Satan’s number. You’ve traded in your name.

“You’ve given government control to those who do you harm,
So they can burn down churches, and cease the family farm,
And keep our country deep in debt, put men of God in jail,
Harass your fellow countrymen, while corrupted courts prevail.

“Your public servants don't uphold the solemn oaths they've sworn,
And your daughters visit doctors so their children won’t be born.
Your leaders send artillery and guns to foreign shores,
And send your sons to slaughter, fighting other people’s wars.

“Can you regain the freedom for which we fought and died?
Or don’t you have the courage or the faith to stand with pride?
And are there no more values for which you’ll fight to save?
Or do you wish your children to live in fear and be a slave?

“O sons of the republic, arise! Take a stand!
Defend the Constitution, the supreme law of the land!
Preserve our great republic and each God-given right,
And pray to God to keep the torch of freedom burning bright!"

As I awoke he vanished, in the mist from which he came.
His words were true. We are not free, but we have ourselves to blame!
For even now as tyrants trample each God-given right,
We only watch and tremble, too afraid to stand and fight.

If he stood by your bedside, in a dream while you were asleep,
And wondered what remains of the freedoms he fought to keep,
What would be your answer, if he called out from the grave?
Is this still the land of the free and the home of the brave?

God bless you, and God bless this republic!

Though nearly everyone avoids poetry like bad breath, this poem has gained currency among many Americans who are convinced their government has been hijacked by entrenched criminals, with the only solution an armed revolution. Koernke and his listeners believe they’re languishing on occupied land.

Whereas the militia is only concerned with the defense of home and hearth, the professional military, as wielded by Washington, is an instrument for global crimes and, soon enough, also for domestic assault and control, so hammers Koernke, “It’s not the militia that ran Abu Ghraib. It’s not the militia that ran the rendition operations all over the world to torture people by cutting on their private body parts, or disemboweling them, or using electricity on them, or drowning them. That’s all government and regular military.”

The day before I landed in Dexter, I was in Manhattan as a guest on Chris Hedges’ Russia Today show, On Contact. Among the points I made was that nationalism or nativism will enjoy a resurgence in both the US and Europe, for people need to have control over the constitution of their nations and cities.

The control freaks in DC won’t allow this to happen, however, so this is how it’s going to go down, according to Mark Koernke:

Everyone knew the conflict was at hand, and the open battle for the republic was about to begin. The dagger war has been raging for many, many years, with victories and defeats on both sides. Some had thought that Waco would be the boiling point, but it had not gone as any had foreseen. The 90’s had its skirmishes, and the militias had performed well but restrained themselves in the hope that some other solution would present itself. It had not. With each passing day, the pressure continued to build. The globalist agenda had been based upon lies, and the people knew it. Some were still trying to formulate a peaceful solution, but the system had its own plan, and treachery was the centerpiece of that plan. With the first play drawn, and blood spilt, there would be no turning back. In a time of its own choosing, in a place no one expected, the dance of swords would begin.

[…]

The bat faggots, combined with whatever Homeland Security bottom feeders, mostly mercenaries, are going to pick somebody […] to use as an example. That action is going to be a face off, and it’s gonna actually, you know, initially be casualties for those who are surprised. It’s going to happen that way. They’re going to get caught off guard a little bit, but not much, because everybody can sense it, feel it, taste it, touch it. What’s going to happen is people are going to call on others, and there’s a lot of people who are going to mobilize. The other side is going to do the same thing. They have all their technology, but, trust me, we’re pulling out all the stops […] At some point, there’s going to be a column of goofs in black uniforms, idiots, mostly pea brains… In fact, 99.9% pea brains in their spiffy, little black uniforms, with all their spiffy, little alphabet letters on them, and that column [will meet] a column of militia, mechanized, or light mechanized, and armed up, already cocked, locked and ready to rock and roll. The bottom feeders in the black uniforms will be screaming their profanities, and they’ll be screaming and screaming and screaming, and the other side won’t be screaming a whole lot. Somebody’s going to pull the trigger, and it’s gonna be one hell of a popcorn exchange. From a distance, it’s going to sound like somebody opened up the popcorn pan from hell.

Sounds like a national suicide or, rather, the climax to the ongoing national suicide.

Until that fireworks, there are plenty of little suicides, all over. As I mellowed in Dexter Pub, a text reached me from Philly. Jason, a 38-year-old acquaintance, had just died after a week-long drug binge. The accompanied video showed him on the floor of his brother’s house. “Just look at him,” the brother spat, “laying there next to the cat litter! Just a moment ago, he was fixing himself something to eat, too. Now, he’s passed out and even peed on himself! See that yellow stuff? That’s piss that I will have to clean up!” Likely high himself, the brother didn’t realize his rudderless sibling was already dead.

A young woman said to me recently, “I want to shoot myself in the face, but have enough consciousness left to arrange my teeth and chunks of my flesh,” so the need to give even the messiest order to one’s predicament is constant, for anything that’s captured is partially redeemed and dignified, while what’s unarticulated is forever lost. In a country driven into the ditch, some compose.






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Sunday, March 5, 2017

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Perfect Woman Perfect Attitude poster at Dexter Pub--Dexter








Stall inside men's room at Dexter Pub.

"Are you sure you've had enough to drink?"
"Shouldn't you be down at the bar with your buddies?"
"That was a great fart! Do another one!"
"I've decided to stop wearing clothes around the house."
"You're so sexy when you're hungover."
"Now don't you lift a finger. You need to relax before your friends come round."
"Your mother is way better than mine."
"Shall I drop you and your friends off at the lap dancing club?"
"Why would I need more than three pairs of shoes?"
"No, that's OK. You use the phone. I'll chat to my friends when I see them."
"I only need one small suitcase. We're only going away for a week."
"No, mindless celebrity gossip doesn't interest me."
"Pubic hair! I hate those tight curls, I'm clean shaven."
"I signed up for yoga so that I can get my ankles behind my head just for you."
"I'm so glad you changed the channel in the middle of that tedious hospital drama I was watching."
"God... If I don't blow you soon, I swear I'm going to explode!"
"Listen, I make enough money for the both of us. Why don't you retire forty years early?"
"Let's subscribe to Hustler."
"No, no. I'll take the car to have the oil changed."
"I love it when you play football on Sundays. I just wish you had time to play on Saturday too."
"Honey... our new neighbor's daughter is sunbathing again, come see."
"Say, let's go down to the mall so you can check out women's asses."
"I'd rather watch football and drink beer with you than go shopping."
"Do me a favour. Forget the stupid Valentine's Day thing and buy new sneakers."
"I understand fully... our anniversary comes every year and you go out with the guys. It shows you're loyal."
"Oh come on, not the damn mall again. Let's go to that new strip joint."
"What's a soap opera?"
"You need your sleep, silly. Now stop getting up for the night feedings."
"I'll be out painting the house."



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GOD BLESS AMERICA on Dexter Riverview Cafe--Dexter










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Three bowling balls for three dead dogs--Dexter








Three bowling balls for three dead dogs, buried beneath the cherry tree.



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Monday, August 15, 2016

Obscured American: Rudy the Retired Math Professor

As published at CounterCurrents, Unz Review and Intrepid Report, 8/15/16:




Rudy List



Though each life is rich, some are staggeringly so. Over four days in July, I had a series of conversations with Rudy List at his house in Dexter, Michigan. A 74-year-old retired math professor, Rudy introduced me to Hua Luogeng, Zitang Zhang and Terence Tao. In return, I told him about Otto Dix, Cindy Sherman, Honey Boo Boo and Jerry Springer. It was certainly not fair trade.

In Rudy’s kitchen, an aging, sick dove cooed. Across the road, field corn grew. No sounds of cars, crickets or cicadas wafted through the open windows, only late summer weather. Darkness came. As we talked for hours, Rudy’s Hong Kong-born wife pretty much left us alone. A realtor, she had enough on her mind.

How can you tell if a mathematician is extroverted? As he’s talking to you, he’ll look at your shoes instead of his shoes!

My father started out plastering houses, but he was not a very big man, so when he was 30, he decided he wouldn’t last as a plasterer, the work was just so heavy. He became a machinist.

My father worked at Bay City Power Shovels for 25 years until the company fell apart. He spent a couple of years unemployed, then got hired by a place that made molds for casting.

When my mother got engaged to my father, she said, “I don’t want an engagement ring. I want a house,” so they built a house. I’ve lived in many houses and several countries, but this house we had in Bay City will always be home.

In elementary school, I learnt of Pythagoras' Theorem. I was so fascinated by it that I drew a chalk drawing of its diagram on the basement wall of this house. It was still there 40 years later, in 1994.

Neither one of my parents went to a university. My mother never even went to high school. Her parents were illiterate. My mother was so poor growing up, she often ate bread with lard. She had 11 brothers and sisters.

From the age of 16, my mother was a hairdresser. She ultimately started her own business and had a very loyal following. I think her customers came for the conversations as much as anything else. My mother very forcefully supported her political views.

My father’s first language was German. He didn’t learn English until he went to school. When I was a child, we would all go to my grandparents’ house at Christmas to sing carols in German and eat traditional German food. My mother also spoke some German.

When I was about six or seven, I remember my grandmother cautioning my grandfather that he should speak English outside the house. It was two or three years after the war, and there was a lot of sentiment, still, against the Germans.

When I was in 5th or 6th grade, I wanted to learn how to read and write German. Since I went to a German Lutheran school, all the teachers knew German. A couple of other kids and I asked Mr. Ring if he would teach German to us after school. Mr. Ring was overjoyed.

I went home and told my mom, “We’re going to learn German in school.”

“Das ist gut!”

Within three weeks, a petition went around that said, “This is America. We speak English,” so our German lessons were shut down.

I got my master’s in mathematics from the University of Michigan, then my PhD from the University of Birmingham, where I also taught. I spent 19 years in England altogether. I also taught for a year in Iraq.

Before I started at the University of Mosul, I went to Iran to see a British friend, John. Shortly before I arrived, John’s wife was raped by an Iranian employee, a guy who came by each day to clean up.

The Iranians take things like that very seriously. They locked the rapist in a small cage that was just tall enough for him to stand in, and they didn’t give him food or water. His family came by to feed him, of course, but he was kept in the sun as it got up to 120 degrees. Only John could spare him.

His family went to John’s house each day to plead, but John would just spit at them. After several days in the hot sun, the man died. I didn’t like anything about that situation. I wouldn’t have let the guy die.

John is a complex person. Working in the oil industry, he was in Peru and on the Red Sea with a bunch of American rednecks. He got to know them pretty well. One night, they showed home movies of themselves hunting Indians. They killed the indigenous people, and had movies of themselves doing it.

The guy sitting here showing the movie is the guy in the movie, shooting the person.

I said, “So John, what did you do?!”

He said, “I didn’t do anything. We were on an oil platform, in the middle of the Red Sea.”

This is the sort of shit we don’t know about. You’ll never read it anywhere, but John had all kinds of stories. It’s almost like a government cover-up. You just don’t say anything.

Leaving Iran, I hitchhiked from Ahvaz to the Iraqi border. After I showed my papers at the Iranian checkpoint, I walked across the no man’s land separating Iran from Iraq. There were machine guns on either side trained on each other. It was the loneliest two hundred yards I’ve ever walked. Either side could have shot me and blamed it on the other.

The guy on the Iraqi side stamped my passport, then went back to fingering his worry beads. There were two taxis nearby, I don’t know why, because there were no travelers. A driver approached and quoted a price, but it was way too high, so I kept walking. I didn’t know how to bargain. Basra was only 15 miles away, but it was 105, and in the desert. After I had walked about 50 yards, the driver ran after me and gave me a fairer price. He even bought me lunch.

The Basra bus station was just a big, unpaved lot with various sorts of vehicles. Some of them looked like school buses here, but they’re all beat up, and they carried anything, including goats and chickens. After half an hour or so, I found one that was going to Baghdad. I also learned the words for “this” and “that” in the process.

The first thing that happens when you get on a bus is they offer you water. They know you need water. Everybody needs water.

They had this big cistern, right near the front of the bus, with a big dipper. The driver offered me water, so I drank it then sat down. While waiting, I watched others board. After drinking, each said “shukran,” so, belatedly, I said “shukran” to the driver.

I got along fine in Iraq. There was never any problem, except for one time. I was walking down the street, smoking, and this guy just started yelling. He pointed at me and looked really angry, so I thought, Oh, he wants a cigarette!

I took out my pack and offered him one, but this only made him angrier. He yanked the cigarette from my mouth, threw it on the ground then stomped on it. That’s when I realized, It’s Ramadan! You’re not supposed to smoke during Ramadan.

It remains the most memorable year of my life. I learnt more in Iraq than anywhere else. It was just a fascinating place, with very old things everywhere. I saw so much that has been destroyed.

Living among Muslims, I knew it wasn’t a good idea to say you didn’t believe in God. The first time someone asked me about my religion, I said I don’t believe in God, I don’t think there is a God. This made them very upset. They were frightened. Like, how can that be? No, no!

Some of my students asked what religion I was? They asked if I believed in the Messiah? I just said, “Yeah, that’s what I believe.”

I lived with an American in an apartment we rented from a goldsmith. My roommate, Alan, also taught at the university. He was a writer of some sort. I can’t remember what the occasion was, but Alan went to Iran for a week, and when he came back, I found him lying on my bed.

Alan always slept stark naked, so there he was, stark naked, on my cot. He said, “Oh, you’ve got to help me.”

Alan had stitches in his face, arms, chest and back, all over. I said, “What happened to you?”

He said, “While I was over there, I had a nightmare. I saw two men in my room, and they were going to attack me, so I jumped through the window.”

Alan was on the second floor. After he landed, he just started running, all bloody and naked. He had no idea where he was.

When the cops came, they couldn’t understand Alan, so they made him jog alongside them, all bloody and naked, back to the police station. They didn’t want to get blood in their car.

At the station, there was someone who understood English, so they took Alan to the hospital, finally. There, they put all these stitches on him, but without anesthesia.

A month later, I heard this terrible rampage coming from his room. I jumped out of bed.

“What’s going on?”

“There are two men in my room!”

I switched on the light, looked around. Alan had knocked over his table. A bottle of ink had splashed all over. His bed was upside down. His books were everywhere.

I didn’t like this situation very much, so I moved, and that’s when I met this Iraqi family. The government was building these cement houses that looked like bunkers, and people from the villages were paid to watch the construction sites. They lived in these tents.

There was an old woman and her two children, Fatih and Aziza, and there was Najma, Aziza’s six-year-old daughter. Najma means “star” in Arabic.

I started to talk to them a bit, then I started to eat dinner with them.

Kids, they’ll repeat a word as many times as you want, so I taught Najma English, and I learnt Arabic from her.

One day, I asked Aziza, “Where do you get your food?”

“Ah, the people around, they have leftovers, so they give them to us.”

By this time, I was speaking Arabic fairly well. You know how to learn a language. Just learn the nouns, nouns, nouns. The connectors will come. They’ll tell you when you’re using them wrong.

I told Aziza, “Look, how about this, I’ll buy you the food, you cook it, and we all eat it together?”

I became Abu Lahm, The Father of Meat. I’d go with Aziza, or sometimes just Najma, to the market, and we’d say, “We want this, and we want that.” Quite often there was a shortage of things, but we always came back with something to eat.

Once, I went with Najma to get some kebabs, and as we were talking to the kebab seller, some guy came up and said to Najma, “Who is this? What is he doing with you?”

She said, “He’s my uncle.”

I felt slightly threatened, because it could have gone the wrong way. I did make a note, not to go to town alone with Najma ever again.

I noticed Aziza’s eyes were slightly bulging, so I looked at her throat, and it was bulging, so I thought, Goiter!

Iraq had a national health service, and it was totally free, so we went to the hospital. It’s nothing like a hospital here. People were sitting on the floor, and some of them were even cooking. It might not have been very hygienic but, Jesus, it was sure comfortable in terms of social interactions. They all got to know each other. We can learn from this.

We went into this office where there was a doctor sitting behind a desk, looking important. He spoke to me in English, “What are you here for?”

“I think she’s got goiter.”

“What is she to you?”

“She’s my friend.”

“She’s an ignorant peasant.”

“Well, she’s my friend!”

When I was in university, I lived in a co-op, and we had people from all over the world. Indians, Arabs, Chinese, Africans. I loved it, I absolutely loved it. One of the guys, Afif, was a Palestinian from Lebanon. He told me how Arabs interact. He said, “Every Arab thinks of himself as an independent country! If he yells, you shouldn’t worry, but when an Arab gets really quiet, that’s when you should worry.

In the doctor’s office, I raised my voice a bit, so the guy raised his voice. I pounded my fist on the table and said, “I think she has goiter! She needs treatment! She needs to be looked at!”

He looked at me, “OK,” then he said, “We don’t have enough blood. If we’re going to work on her, we need somebody to contribute a pint of blood.”

So I gave a pint that day. I had never done this before. Watching this thing fill up, I thought, Jesus, I hope they remember to pull out the needle!

Done, I walked out. Aziza asked me, “Did you do it?” I said, “Yeah.” There were all these people milling about, conversing. Aziza announced to everybody at the top of her voice, “He gave blood for me! He gave blood for me!” They all looked and clapped. Whoaaah! I became an instant hero!

There was a solar eclipse that year and Aziza got really, really scared. She had no idea what was going on. I tried to explain what was happening, but Aziza wasn’t having any of it. She had no idea there were planets. Aziza knew there was the sun, and it came up each morning. She was back before Copernicus’ time.

After the sun came back out, Aziza started smiling again after a while.

I had friends up and down the scale. I knew a guy who worked at the Iraqi Atomic Energy Commission. I had met Imad Khadduri in Ann Arbor. When I taught at the University of Birmingham, Imad was there for his PhD in nuclear engineering. For his last six months there, he stayed at my house. Imad is retired now. He has a website that keeps tracks of what’s going on in Palestine.

In Baghdad, I stayed at Imad’s dad’s house and, later, after he got married, at his house.

Arabs give things away. I actually found out I had to be careful, because if I said something was nice, they would offer it to me. It’s really true.

I asked my old landlord to help me buy a coat. He said, “OK, I’ll take you,” so we went out, and he pulled his gate down halfway. He had a bunch of gold in there.

As he walked off, I said, “What about that? It’s open.”

“Oh, no worries, the others will watch it for me.”

Around Christmas of 1974, I visited Lebanon with my friend, Stanley Hoo. Beirut was absolutely beautiful then. We stayed with a friend of ours in Sabra, one of those places that was destroyed in one of those wars in the 80’s. Shatila Massacre, I know exactly where that is.

Once, as we were walking from central Beirut back to Sabra, Stan said to me, “We’re being followed.”

I looked back and there were these two young guys, maybe 18, 19, and they were just walking behind us. They got closer and closer, then they got right up to us and said, “Where are you going?”

We showed them the address. They said, “Follow us.”

They took us down this little street. Stan said to me, “I don’t think this is going to work out too well.”

They took us into this garage. There was a jeep with a heavy caliber machine gun on the back of it. They opened a door to this office. There was a guy sitting behind a desk, and a guy standing by the wall with a machine gun. There was just one light bulb hanging from the ceiling.

They said, “We would like to ask you some questions.”

“OK.”

“First, where are your passports?”

We show them our passports. Stan’s Chinese. He was carrying an American passport.

“Where are you coming from?”

“England.”

They interrogated us for a while. We explained that we were visiting our friend, Mohammad. Finally, I said, “Please, call this number. Call him up, and he’ll explain.”

The guy finally did that. I said to Stan, “Should we just make a run for it?”

“We’d get killed for sure.”

They brought Mohammad to the garage. His wife was actually an assistant to Yasser Arafat and in the PLO. After everything was cleared up, the guy behind the desk said, “I’m sorry we gave you any trouble, but we have to be careful.”

These were your terrorists! That’s not true. They’re not terrorists! They were just trying to defend their land and get their property back. It’s what anybody would do.

I also visited a refugee camp in Tyre. It had been shelled by ships, probably Israeli, but using American weapons. Somewhere around here I have a piece of shrapnel, about that long, that I picked up in Tyre. It killed somebody.

In 1980, I went to Zambia to teach for six month. Three weeks after my arrival, the university shut down because of political turmoil, so I had nothing to do.

What I saw was not all that distinctive from the United States. Lusaka is a big city. You have people driving around, people going to work, people going to medical school, people working in the university. What I saw was not that different than what I saw here.

But I saw, in addition, people who were still living in a traditional lifestyle, out in the bush. They live in these grass huts. They lock their door by putting a branch or a twig across it. They brew beer out there, and it gets pretty strong, and it’s not clear, like the beer here. They don’t filter it. It has a lot of yeast in it.

You see women walking down the road, with a stack that high on their heads, and it doesn’t move. I heard a guy say, “Well, women’s heads are made for carrying things, but men’s shoulders are.” It wasn’t like men’s heads are made for thinking or anything.

I got a bit enamored of a secretary in the mathematics department, so I visited her at her house. The next day, she said, “You should not come again.” She explained that such and such a guy, a Zambian, was after her, so he would cast a spell on me and I would die.

I told my friend, Ben, about this, and he said that if he went to work and saw a dead chicken on his desk, he would just go home.

“Why?”

“Nobody should be expected to work if he finds a dead chicken on his desk.”

So you have primitive people and non-primitive people in Zambia. It’s a funny mix. The people at the university were not primitive in a sense that, at least on a rational plane, they were mostly like me, but the dean of the faculty of science, the first time he ever wore shoes was at his graduation from college.

For the most part, the people at the highest strata were posing as sophisticated Europeans. They had all studied there.

I went to Ben’s house for lunch. There was a huge, empty field across from it. Two kids came in, they were maybe ten. They said there was a dead woman out in the field.

It was raining. We walked out and saw this woman, dead, obviously raped and murdered the night before, and left in the field. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

We took my Land Rover to the police station to give a report. The guy said, “Well, we have no car available to go and look.”

I said, “There has been a murder there. You’re supposed to investigate.”

“Well, you know, we can’t get anybody to go.”

“Give me somebody, and I’ll take him there!”

They found a photographer to come with us. We watched him daintily, daintily tread across the wet ground, so he could take a picture. That’s it. I don’t know how long she lay there.

This astonished me. I didn’t know this kind of thing could happen.

After I had returned to England, Ben wrote to say hi, and he said, “By the way, two months later, I found another dead person.”

Apparently, these women had taken buses from the villages to Lusaka. After they had hired a taxi at the bus station, the driver just raped and murdered them.

By 2001, I was back in Michigan and working for Lockwood Financial, a company I co-founded. On 9/11, I called Paul, a coworker, and he said, “Do you know what’s going on?”

“What’s going on?”

“Go watch a TV.”

I told him I didn’t have a TV, so he said, “Go find one.”

I went to this co-op not far from where I lived. There were about ten guys watching one of the World Trade towers burning. I looked at it. Then the fuckin’ thing collapsed! What the fuck is this?!

Bin Laden, fuckin’ Bin Laden, I wanted to kill Arabs now. What the fuck is going on?! I wanted to go and kill the people who did this.

Later, I heard about the beheading of a guy from Hillsdale, Michigan, not far from here, so I found a YouTube of it. I watched this guy cut the head off, then put it on the man’s back, and I just got sick. I was so overcome by feelings of hate, despair, anxiety, I had to leave the house. How do you process this?

In early 2003, Lockwood Financial had been sold, and I got some money, so I met with a banker. After we talked for a while, we went to lunch. I brought up 9/11 and said some hateful things about the Afghans and Bin Laden, so he said, “You know, three buildings collapsed at the World Trade Center that day.”

I said, “Why don’t I know that?”

He said, “It’s because nobody will say anything. They don’t want you to know.”

At home, I got on the internet and saw Building 7 falling down. I had seen controlled demolitions, and this was controlled demolition. Everybody in the world who sees this will say that it is controlled demolition, so we must do something, but it doesn’t work that way.

I started doing research. In 2005, Loose Change came out. I looked at that and thought, OK, this is going to convince anybody, so I phoned my brother. I said, “Paul, 9/11 was an inside job.”

He’s like, “What?!”

“It’s not what you think it is.”

“I can’t believe that. They wouldn’t do that to their own people.” Standard argument.

“Look, I’m sending you this video. Watch it and make up your own mind.”

Next day Paul called and said, “We’re all fucked.”

There is no way the official story is true. We’re all fucked.

I became obsessed by 9/11. I watched and read everything I could. Everything that has happened since 9/11 appeals to that, and it’s all false.

After I looked at Building 7, I went back and looked at the other two towers, and I thought, Of course, they’re not collapsing! They’re exploding! What’s wrong with me?! Look at that shit flying out!

I’m going to get a bit technical here. Bear with me. During an unassisted gravitational collapse of a structure, the loss of gravitational potential energy is equal to the gain in kinetic energy. After the collapse has finished, all the potential energy the structure had before the collapse has been converted to kinetic energy, and a re-organization of a part of the universe has taken place. The assumption that destruction of the towers was simply a gravitational collapse implies that the totality of the driving force causing the collapse was pointing down. Since a massive amount of debris was thrown in trajectories arcing up and out at up to 70mph, the question arises: What potential energy was the source of that kinetic energy?

In 2010, Architects and Engineers for 9/11 Truth had reached a thousand signatures, so they scheduled a press conference in San Francisco. I flew there to attend it. I wanted to see what would happen when the press get there, what would they do? Well, the press didn’t show up!

I did get to meet Richard Gage and David Ray Griffin.

By 2008, I had discovered Christopher Bollyn. He had written about 9/11 from the beginning, and Bollyn pointed to Israel. I thought, What does Israel have to do with this? I kept denying this for about a year, but what Bollyn was talking about, I was able to verify from many other sources. Bollyn was telling the truth.

I don’t want to be anti-Semitic, I thought. I don’t want to be thought of as anti-Semitic. You go through these stages, you know. Here I am trying to find out the truth, and I’m worried about being anti-Semitic?! It doesn’t make sense! The evidence points there, so that’s where I have to go.

It is the Israelis, with complicit elements in our government, which by that time I realized was run by Jews. I got onto the Zionist project. I thought, It has got to be Israeli intelligence, and American intelligence, together, running this operation. There’s no way around it.

In 2010, I met Henry Herskovitz at a protest against the bombing of Iran. I had read about Henry, the most vilified and hated person in Ann Arbor. Each Saturday for 13 years now, Henry leads a vigil outside the Beth Israel Synagogue. I joined him, and the more I went, the more I realized that what he was doing was very courageous and the right thing to do.

Muslims are bound together by strict obeisance to a religion. This is pretty much the only binding thing, so they really protect that well. They don’t want anything to touch the boundaries. Jews are bound together by identity politics. Henry is no longer a Jew.

Gilad Atzmon has come to Ann Arbor a couple of times. He actually interviewed me in front of the synagogue. He asked me, “Why are you here?” I said, “The rabbi has said that the congregation unanimously supports Israel. I’m opposed to people who support Israel, because I’m against genocide.”

No Jewish organization will call for the dismantling of Israel, so they’re all Zionist organizations.

The Holocaust is the core element in the foundation of Jewish power, of Zionism. Without that, the whole thing collapses. The same with 9/11. Once 9/11 goes, everything goes.

The Jews are unique in the way that they’ve suffered throughout history, there is no other suffering like that, and the Holocaust is the culmination of the suffering of the Jews. We’re still suffering, but you can’t ever erase that. That’s the worst thing that has ever happened in the history of the world, OK? That’s pure evil manifest. You rip that away, and they’re no different than anybody else. Jews have suffered, but so has everybody else.

The British could decode the Enigma machine, so they knew what the Germans were doing. There’s no mention of gas chambers. The Red Cross inspected the concentration camps, and there’s no mention of it. If there’s anything to the official narrative, there must be some documentation about gas chambers in the German archives, but nobody has found anything about it, and there’s nothing in the Russian archives.

Jews declared economic war on Germany, and they were having an effect. The Jews controlled higher education, media and the entertainment industry in Germany in the 30’s. They controlled much of the banking sector. Jews were fighting tooth and nail, economically, with whatever means they could, and Hitler said, “We’ve got to sort out this country, for the Germans,” and Germans supported him. Hitler revived the economy. He started Volkswagen and gave people jobs. Most Germans were elated.

The vigil has become the focal point of my week. I look forward to it. Sometimes people give me the finger. Sometimes they beep the horn and give me a thumb up.

My wife sometimes says, “Ummm, you’re always angry. Why?”

“It’s because of the state of the world. It’s the unconscious people of the world. I don’t understand why they don’t understand anything.”

She says, “Well, you just have to think about something else.”

Everything now is propaganda, even football games, and the intention of it all is to make us afraid. They’ve generated this fear that’s inside everybody, and it’s just there, ready. When they say you should be afraid of this, it hooks onto it, the fear is already there, they don’t have to generate it any more. It’s just incredible.

And the anger, all of the cops are angry now, all the time.

I know a survivalist in northern Michigan. He’s got a degree in chemical engineering. He does consulting one day a week and lives on almost nothing. He said, “People like me are going to take back the country when the revolution comes.”

I said, “You’re not going to do anything. You’ve got a gun, and they have all these huge weapons. They’re trained murderers.”

“They’re not going to shoot their own people.”

“You’re not their people! They’ll shoot at whoever they’re told to. This is what they’ve been trained to do.”

That’s what all the first person shooter video games are about. It’s the training vehicle, and the recruiting vehicle for the guys who go do that, especially the drone operators that sit in these places and kill people with drone rockets. They’ve never been on a battle field, but they’ve played a lot of video games.

I don’t want to fly anywhere in the United States. If I have to go to the West Coast, I’ll drive there. I can’t stand the TSA. I don’t understand why people put up with them. Later this year, I’ll go to England to visit my daughter, so I’ll fly from Toronto.

Australian airports are OK. Hong Kong airport is OK. Leaving Heathrow once, I was pulled aside because they wanted to check my bag. There was a man and a woman. As the lady took things out, I asked her, “What are you looking for?”

“We don’t know.” They both spoke with a non-British accent, so they were immigrants. “We’re just looking for something dangerous.”

“Do you ever find anything?”

“No.”

“Do you know why you’re doing this?” She looked at me, and I said, “It’s because the United States government tells you you have to. They’re setting the rules. It’s because of 9/11, but 9/11 was an inside job.”

She said, “I know.”

They found nothing. We shook hands. As I was trying to figure out where to go next, which gate, a guy who was on his break came over and said, “I want to hear more about this.”

So I told him about Building 7. He didn’t know about it. It was 576 feet tall, with 47 stories, and it fell at about 20 past five in the afternoon. BBC News reported this 23 minutes before it happened. I told him about Architects and Engineers for 9/11 Truth. He was really keen.

Chomsky is a smart guy, but I also think he’s a liar. He’s too smart to really believe what he said about 9/11.

I look up at the sky on a clear day and I see the chemtrails, and I think, Why are they doing that? Then I read about the various false flags, Sandy Hook, Boston Marathon, Orlando, etc., and it becomes clear to me pretty quickly that this is all bullshit.

Three weeks ago, Newsweek put out a special edition on Hitler. On the cover, there’s a picture of Hitler, with the caption, “CAN HIS EVIL LEGACY EVER BE DEFEATED?” Henry bought it. What he was looking for were gas chambers, because that’s the most evil thing in the world that has ever happened, because the most evil thing in history is the gassing of the Jews.

Henry said to me, “Will you read through this for me? I’m not sure I read it carefully enough. I don’t see any mention of gas chambers in there.”

I read it, cover to cover, all 98 pages. There are two pages, each half covered by pictures, about the concentration camps. There is no mention of any gas chamber. At the bottom of the first page, there is something about using “gas trucks” and firearms to kill Jews.

“gas trucks”

Henry said, “What are they doing? I think they’re starting to back away from the myth of the gas chambers.”

If the official narrative was accurate, they would certainly concentrate on that. Henry reckons maybe the revisionists are starting to have an effect. On scientific and historic terms, the argument is finished. The revisionists have won. There were no gas chambers.

Recently in Michigan, it became law that the official version of the Holocaust must be taught in all public schools. The Jews still have this myth going.

The gas chambers are the central part of the official narrative, just like the 19 hijackers are the central part of 9/11. Each of which is false.

Henry thinks we’re going to see a change in emphasis pretty soon. The Jews are going to change the story. They’re going to say, “Nah, nah, we really didn’t mean gas chambers.”

Recently, a woman in her mid-60’s showed up at our vigil, and she had a sign, “GOD BLESS ISRAEL.” In response, we now have a sign, “GOD BLESS AMERICA. DELIVER US FROM ISRAEL.” We’ve also made these bumper stickers, “AMERICA FIRST. NOT ISRAEL.”

A long time ago, I bought into the open border argument. Why should we have boundaries? They’re just political constructs. Gradually, I figured out that people want these boundaries because they’ve developed a social system which works for them.

In 2003, I visited my daughter in Reading, England. I walked around and saw all these Muslims, just sort of taking over. In the 80’s, I was already aware of the Muslim problem. There were lots of Chinese in Reading as well, but they assimilated. They spoke Chinese among each other, but English to everybody else, and the second-generation Chinese were just English. The Muslims tried to remake the social rules, and even the laws, to accommodate them.

The destruction of nationalism is a part of the Zionist program. It’s very subversive. They support diversity, every group just doing its own thing. The Zionist own thing, though, is to take over the world. They’re already dominating a huge chunk of it.







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