home


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I can't tell you.


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putting yer bad day into perspective


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If you can stave off the anxiety attack to get there.


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too woke


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We're there!


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yes, but


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Who's counting?


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i can't tell anymore


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I don't know if the news would be any different if Julian had gotten out years ago... or only a couple of months ago... or if he's in there right now. No matter what, the public face on this tells us everything we need to know about the state of humanity in the West, and it's so very not pretty.


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i remember when i first realized


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I mean REALIZED what had only ever been a concept one couldn't argue with until that moment... about my mental conditioning... about how the ONLY verification for almost anything I only think I know is beyond my ability to find anywhere outside blind trust.

I read something about something to do with 9/11 at TomPaine.CommonSense — which I think is defunct — in, I think, 2003 or maybe 2004, upstairs in the McMansion on my mother's PC. It was such an outrageous claim, whatever it was, that I clicked on the contact button and demanded the author give me sources. The poor guy could only write back and say that he had been a journalist for decades and didn't know another way to convince me he was not making it up.

I'd already been working on my Zen for a decade, but STILL, after all that very pointed at this very problem research I had done, and deep contemplation over the wisdom from the ancients I had been privileged to receive, it wasn't until I received his meek and bewildered response that the light bulb went on.

Every day I ever spent in school. Every minute in the vicinity of a tv or radio. Every newspaper or magazine. Every BOOK. Every conversation. Absolutely every strip of everything that constituted what I know, outside my own direct experience, had either been only taking someone's word for it or what I'd made out of someone's word for it.

I realized my actual knowledge can only originate from my half of the cosmos, the demarcation for it being my skin. Outside my skin, just my little brainpan computer making things out of inputs, but from the equally vast expanse inside my skin HAS TO BE the only source for truth... actuality... fundamentally real stuff.

No other possibility. If it's real, it's RIGHT HERE.

Sure, yeah, my senses can make darn good observations on that. I know if I put my shoes on today. I know if the tree out the window is there or not, but as to the fundamental reality of anything going on in the whole world, I'm not even going to be able to trust fully a live stream of it I'm watching in real time.

Then I think back on the million times the point had been made to me, one way or another, and the other million times I'd figured it out for myself, and how in ALL those millions of times I had not seen all the way into the crux of it... not until that poor journalist got back to morally-outraged me... FIFTEEN YEARS AGO... when I was FIFTY years old!

Even if yer much older than me, stop fucking up, but definitely stop it if you're younger. It's all gone too far, waaaaay too far. The trouble is RIGHT HERE.

The solution is too.


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SO much easier


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To bitch about this than to actually read that 500-page OIG report, innit?


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pave paradise


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Put up a parking lot....


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a toad!


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Only time I was ever quiet about a batrachian discovery was in the middle of the night while camping with friends beside a lake in the Sierra above Tahoe. It was summer and we had not bothered with tents. Long hike up and fire season so only used a little camp stove to warm up some dinner, eat it and crash in our sleeping bags.

I was awakened by a thupping noise... thup... cosmic silence... thup thup... cosmic silence... thup thup thup... thup thup... thup....

It kept on, and so, under a canopy so full of stars it was as bright as a full moon, I sat up to get a good look around me. It was a toad migration. Each about the size of a fist, very fatly and placidly making their way from some toad stronghold to the lake. Hunnerts of 'em. Just lazily thuppin' right over and around us in the high sierra summer dust under a blanket of cosmos. I was ecstatic... but my friends were sleeping, so I squealed with glee into the inner half of the universe.


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now it's waaay past my bedtime


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I could maybe listen in my sleep.


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i fell in


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It's way past my bedtime.


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summer this moment


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And I'm wearing a sleeveless linen tunic and cotton undies... and spazzing out on that drum moment for maybe the hundredth time in all my life... conservatively speaking.


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one of the best ever


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Whether we're talkin' etchings or rock songs.


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it's already part of all the services


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It would only be consolidating what's already in one branch of the military or another, and then, of course, a concerted effort to become The Big Dog in space.


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since the attorney general won't prosecute


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A [former] Secret Service agent filed. This is known as a qui tam case.

And you need to get the link to this pdf to everyone you possibly can if you want a huge swath of serious corruption to be taken out, put down, ended, history, pau, and some semblance of our country back.


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oh darn


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Whatever else will our multifarious agencies work on now?


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guess what


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Plants love carbon dioxide....


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