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Monday, September 15, 2014

The Bum On A Bridge

I saw the bum on a bridge or' Truckee rapid
ice-tattered battered freezin' below thirty.
This veteran horror-able story isn't vapid
but painful lessons learned down and dirty.

Where’s shelter mister to stretch and lay.
I'm hungry cold and tired of searching
in protest conscientious anarchy's way
for a better world caring and nurturing.

Shelters are cheap suits the vagrant declared
they give false hope with no opportune time anew.
As white light glares human nature's never cared
will those suff''rin' know where you come from too?

Therefore if you're searchin' for a warmer season
follow observation and drop the deductive reason!

Proximity's Oasis

If you're ready and want to see
I will tell you how.

Cause seeing straight is so unreal and hard
You'll want children to sing and drums at play.

Everyone will laugh at fantasy occurring
In nature’s back yard. 

Reality has left here today if visions
Seem like dreams that now feel real.

Within towering green elm
See the butterflies with bright eyes smiling.

As they flutter around a colossus carousel
Can you see them now?

Monarchs painted preternatural colors golden honey
And nature's creation oil.

Playing once post chrysalis when spring arrives
With her dampened soil.

Thousand millions flying through proximity's oasis
While everyone counted the myriad of their traces.
Brought into golden gate's subconscious spaces
Drums rolled we danced to songs of pretty faces.

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Beyond the American Ethic of Religious Tolerance

Arza Evans’ Keystone of Mormonism points to evidence contained in the Book of Mormon to expose Joseph Smith’s fiction—from wooden submarines to wrong DNA. Mr. Evans, who is an ex-communicated Mormon missionary and Professor of Economics, was a victim of his talent to critically think about scriptures he’d studied and proselytized about all his life. It was during research to increase his testimony that he “turned down his Mormon filter” and began discovering damning information. His work is a reference tool that exposes Mormonism’s abominable crimes committed throughout the 19th and 20th century which included murder, rape, and extortion.

All people who are alone with knowledge of Mormonism’s fraud and separated from their families, now have objective evidence, citation after citation. Therefore, in the words of Mormon leaders, themselves: contained in Church History (7 volumes), The Journal of Discourses (26 volumes) and Comprehensive History (6 volumes); historians have established as "fact" the criminal behavior (for centuries now) of key individuals within "The Church". Arza Evans’ Keystone of Mormonism is a digest for people who know they’re being abused and have lost, or are scared of losing, their families. The collated evidence is damning at least and obviously criminal in most cases.

Keystone of Mormonism uncovers and reveals a secret society with its nineteenth century rituals that are still practiced today. This book is a tool for discovering Mormon history from their historical perspective. Christians will be appalled when they compare Smith’s doctrine with Christianity’s New Testament and note Smith’s hostility toward the teachings of Jesus Christ in His gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke. In a separate chapter, Arza points to passages that expose Smith and Young not only charlatans, but also sexual hyenas deliberately tearing apart the emotions and lives of numerous women who were faithful followers.

If my father would have had access to the information in Arza Evans’ Keystone of Mormonism when I molested in Cedar City, Utah in the fall of 1967, or could have compared what was happening to me with the information about the Mountain Meadows Massacre and the atrocities committed by Mormons since the early 19th century; we would have known the behavior I manifested wasn't my fault. The bottom line is he thought his oldest child was mentally ill, dangerous and crazy. He didn't know his child was being molested. My family might have survived this assault and later suicide of my father (he shot himself through the heart at a gun club in Las Vegas) had they known about The Church of JESUS CHRIST of Latter-day Saints. My Catholic father and his family was “Held Hostage” and destroyed because of the abuse of Mormonism in Cedar City, Utah.

Monday, September 26, 2011

Collective Organizations in Cooperative Markets

The philosophy of Classical Liberalism was established in the early 19th century following the political and economic collapse of aristocracy and monarchy. Its ethic was a step away from the tyranny of telling people whether their destiny was Noble or Serf toward individual responsibility for the outcome of one's life. It spoke to laissez faire or government hands off—no spending of public monies for economic purposes. It was also heavy on self-reliance, and it defined politicians today who call themselves Libertarians.

Social Liberals, on the other hand, have bastardized the philosophy of Classical Liberalism. They've created government spending programs designed to socially engineer a compassionate society—universal caregiver for all—with government and capitalism as institutional companions. Therefore, these “bastard” values and beliefs (an ideology) contradict Classical Liberalism and are outside the parameters of this early 19th Century philosophy.

Contrast Classical Liberalism with Capitalism and you’ll see that both philosophies stress individual responsibility while people compete with each other to seek their own selfish desires (individualism). Both also assume everybody is better off (the invisible hand) that resources (labor, technology, tools of production) move toward products and services demanded and away from those products or services not demanded, evidence of a free market environment. Therefore, both models of Classical Liberalism and Capitalism omit collective organization and cooperation as values and beliefs that people can work for a common purpose—even though collective cooperation also is compatible with the allocation of resources in free markets.

Look, it’s all about opportunity not equality. Equality is a red herring—a stinky fish designed by bastard Liberals to distract Americans from ownership opportunity for our effort. Capitalists, in their insatiable pursuit of individualism, make Conservatives bad for large portions of America's population too. All Americans are asking for is the ability to choose between two options: whether to continue producing for individuals and competitively (Capitalism) or whether to cooperate (collectivism). Through Collective Cooperation, ideas to create opportunity can be communicated through business plans to lenders and entrepreneurs who will act on an idea's feasibility. As Collective Cooperation grows, government will be pushed out of America's economic environment. Choice will allow people who depend on a government dole an alternate pathway to break free.

Collective Cooperation is a Libertarian effort to rejuvenate America's free market by eliminating government. It represents a crisis of choice: Either individualistic competition or collective cooperation in the production of goods and services. It will give Americans the option for collective ownership for their ability, education and honest work at any position within an industry, trade or profession. It also motivates people to produce for greater paychecks and educate themselves for better pay for the position they hold within their collective enterprise.

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Terror’s Psalms, “The Awareness”: A Religious Thriller Exposing Corporate's True Nature

I saw the bum on a bridge or' Truckee rapid
ice-tattered battered freezin' below thirty.
This veteran's horror story isn't vapid
but a painful lesson learned down and dirty.

Hey shelter's nice to stretch out and lay
for those cold-tired of searching
conscientious anarchy's way
for better worlds one's more nurturing.

Shelters are cheap suits the vagrant declared
false hope with no opportune time anew.
White light glares human nature never cared
will those suff''rin' know where you come from too?

Therefore if you're searchin' for warmer seasons
follow observation and drop deductive reasons!

Hurrah! In rushed the grunts. “He’s back with us again came the sneers. Your problem is quite the spectacle to see Mr. Kraft. We're here to remove it and get you out of our way. So now, let’s hear more about your measly complaints on why you believe you're being held up today”.

“Well let me see", I slobbered. "Judging by the sadistic look of your shadow’s identity, to hype me again with tradition designed to quill my sedition”?

“That logo you refer to belongs with The Great Corporate Seals, but never have you minded, and by the way Mr. Kraft, neither do you obey! Again, that’s why you've been held up today” Tubs burped—its dank, dark, retched,stench-ridden identity seething with some powerful f'ing contempt above and all around me.

Exposing myself, I then glared at my inquisitors with life’s cold look I’d been conditioned to muster for intense circumstances just like this. “You're never going to get these values out of me. I will never be silenced when speaking about life's pain which makes existence so sad. It's like you're trying to do an inside jab (err, job) on me”. Then, swaggering with clinical pride and arrogance symbolism, another identity; shielded of course by its logo, joked about the futility of attempting to yank these two spooks—its word not mine—out.

“We've tried, the logos cried, but we still can’t get the freedom and liberty's thoughts out of him! It seems like they've always grown to be nurtured from the inside of these damned jerks”. I grimaced in pain as they tried yanking them from within me by squeezing my hands tightly into fists and gnashing my teeth. Of course, by this time I’d also curled up onto a pancake-looking, flea ridden, soggy-rotten, stinking-to-the-max, floor mattress into a potato-bug-looking ball.

Suddenly the logo’s serpents on its caduceus were staring at me from behind Tubs. As they slithered onto me and up between my legs, one bit down on my "you know what". That's right, oh yes it did! It put a death grip on me with its fangs and wouldn't let go. It's head rose and body coiled. As it kept yanking and I kept screaming, it still couldn't remove freedom and liberty's precious values from within me.

“What the hell does the PhD on your logo stand for, post-hole digger”? I yelled as johnny was imploding—how insane!

“Behave yourself and don’t protest Andy. You’re the unlucky one, because our door has always been open for you to pass through. You could have crossed through anytime, but you and your few chose not to. Therefore, our door is forever closed to all of you.We know who you all are, what you do, and whom you see. Anytime we may pay any of you a visit, so just shut up; because, that’s what your concern should be”.

Being careful not to get a fang—you know, jabbed into me; I rolled over on my side and extended my left arm out in front of me with my right arm underneath. I then reached down to my side and grabbed a bulging bag of urine, boosted myself up on an elbow, and lobbed a forward piss (err, a pass) onto their ghosts. One laughed that it had, had me in good fangs, but the other started hissing, "I could care less. I can't think of anything good Andy Kraft's brought into our life"!

Dizzy and light headed from obvious-to-only-me stress: I began to observe Tubs more carefully. Its logo was attempting to portray compassion while secretly its shadow’s identity was creating vast disasters with caustic strength—terribly awesome, although just plain nasty and not so colorful. But, I knew what the logo’s symbolism was really up to and trying to hide.

“Hey, you know what”? I cried in anger when Slick’s eye gazed at me through its dirty, rust-haloed, greasy light. What horror-able tragedy against nature are you going to spew up next? The deception of your identity's logo is going to be exposed. I intend to tell everyone too. So, screw you!

“Watch your language; you've been warned about colorful speech before. “That’s one of the reasons we've held you up”, Tubs spit up with a gnarly squeal.

“Vivid speech has always been protected speech! You’re legislative abominations designed to call yourselves people. What unconstitutional thugs you are put me in a predicament like this. And just look at that slime all over you. Who in hell do you think the Homo sapiens in here are anyway? That's right Bozos, just me! Look here, you dim wits! I’m the one who should have freedom and liberty. Humans should have the say; therefore, Homo sapiens, not fictions, should have their way".

“It’s you who has conformance issues Mr. Kraft”; Tubs spewed again in rage as my measly, small insignificant world shook all around me.

“The issue here is opportunity—not equality or entitlement. Homo sapiens won’t be placated. You’re tactics destroy competition. How much money have you stolen from the producers; how many entrepreneurs and wage earners have you frustrated who once were dedicated, and how many products and services have you cheaply replicated”?

“That’s why you’re the person of interest. Good government has contracted us to restrain you or take you out so to speak. We’re here to assure them you’ll remain silent and obey. You know that saying for slowpokes! It’s the good old-fashioned way”.

“That’s right, because I don’t like frolicking with lost and dead souls! You’re the cold-blooded identities who compromise liberty and justice in every way. Only while asleep or medicated can Americans dream while the rest of nature screams. We once lead the world; now, that’s all we can say”.

“Bravo, Mr. Kraft; we can see that your speech is decorated. It appeals to warm hearts, virtuous, free and honorable souls, working together as harmony goes. But these values don’t concern us; our ethic won’t be reconciled. Your conscientious values and beliefs of what’s good, bad, right, or wrong have nothing to do with our global philosophy. So why not just corporate; we'll make some adjustments till…”

Then, before my eyes, another shadow’s identity swarmed up around me and metamorphosed into the logo of a red woodpecker’s sexy smile and ivory beak. But as I looked deeper into it, why was there no face?

“Everything you’ll do has been predetermined, can't you see. Therefore, you have no control over your freedom or liberty. We’ll even hold you responsible for what you turn out to be”! Electra chirped.

“I've seen the shadow of your identity before. You’re the woodpecker who chisels roads through trees killing America’s wildlife. You attack what is natural and supposedly free. You’re a fake and not what you pretend to be”; I was yelling at what seemed, again only to little me, to be the stare of its right eyelid as it shut then clicked back open again retorting, you betcha!

“That’s enough Mr. Kraft”; Tubs oozed in from behind. We've got the zeitgeist sucker; it’s our Spirit of the Times"!

“Not to worry Sludge, You know I’m no sage. But know the first chance I get, I’m exposing your treachery to everyone; it’s Conscientious Anarchy’s rage”.

“You’re not going anywhere, Andy”; Woodsy now adorned by its identity's protective logo, chirped again. “ You've been pulled out of the rank and file because of the severe fevers produced by your speech. You create delusions of freedom and liberty that cause our Homo sapiens to long for goals they can never reach. Unless you allow us to purge your plethora of the pleasant life, we’ll bust your sack of crap and alienate you from our compliant culture and society—the little people you’ll then be unable to teach”.

“Oh please let me go, so I can sit on that hill and dream like a child, watching butterflies, with their rush of tiny faces, fly by nature’s carousel of colors again”.

Proximity’s Oasis
If you're ready and want to see
I will tell you how.

Cause seeing straight is so unreal and hard
You'll want children to sing and drums at play.

Everyone will laugh at fantasy occurring
In nature’s back yard. 

Reality has left here today if visions
Seem like dreams that now feel real.

Within towering green elm
See the butterflies with bright eyes smiling.

As they flutter around a colossus carousel
Can you see them now?

Monarchs painted preternatural colors golden honey
And nature's creation oil.

Playing once post chrysalis when spring arrives
With her dampened soil.

Thousand millions flying through proximity's oasis
While everyone counted the myriad of their traces.
Brought into golden gate's subconscious spaces
Drums rolled we danced to songs of pretty faces.

“It's all slick spit too Waldo"! Tubs snorted with a gaseous spew. "You can cut the metaphysical contempt. Awe hell, just look at this Emerson ruse. It’s been flying out of every orifice of your nature-loving soul. This happiness and joy propaganda effuses out of you louder than farts out of Old Dusty on his way to our glue factory. Certainly you've noticed our success at indoctrinating our faithful to laugh at your rants. We've branded your kind as unpatriotic and told our true believers you’re a Christian infidel. And buster, Praise the Lord! Of course you should know Americans absolutely love the emotional enthusiasm  of our crowds—Conscientious Anarchist”!

“You impetuous shadowy identities! Now I see your admission for what it is: a sick commentary for Christ’s sake! Your charlatans feign hope on people who are brokenhearted and in despair. You seduce these hard working, religious people to believe you'll help and protect them—that you care. But they are exploited geese that your mega abominations grease. Behind their backs you laugh at their faith and joke about gullibility. You've even gone global now and call yourself A Peacemaker; but in reality you’re The Antichrist—a destroyer, taker, and human faker. How many police actions throughout the world are you going to create for dividends and profit? How many of the world’s souls are you going to obliterate"?

Even if Tubs O’Sludge denied this, Woodsy knew I was on to its scheme. These abominations had to shut me up; because the affect-cause-affect of their deception and plundering throughout the world would be a slow and agonizing pain. Eventually, as liberty disappeared, freedom for artisans and loyal wage earners would be the first to go. Hmm! But let’s see if I understand this now? So losing our ambition and self-actualization will push societies toward a stronger world order? Is this the crap Homo sapiens have been fed? Like a cog in the mechanism of the Goliath, all their soul would long for is to be dead. I was in contempt, and didn't want to live this life make or break. Why support fakes if their dissonance only brings loneliness, anger, and fear even if for my little-own sake.

For what is the hope of the hypocrite, though
He hath gained, when God taketh away his soul?

Will God hear his cry when trouble cometh
Upon him?

Will he delight himself in the almighty? Will
He always call upon God?

I will teach you by the hand of God: that
Which is the Almighty I will not conceal.
                                                         Job27: 8-11

How horrible can dreams be when you’re held up? But now, I awoke with thoughts and insights on how to channel anxiety and fear. Exaltation was gleaming from my entire soul. Were the phantom identities right? Is this why conforming isn't an option if I really want to experience Life of Simple Pleasures?

After days of intense spiritual indoctrination by competing logos, a little privacy was great. As I squatted, huddled tight in a closet Tubs had confined me to for swearing at and slandering an aggressive, proselytizing logo; I began to ponder what kind of non-stop zealous spanking I was going to receive next.

What felt like trash strewn underneath and all around me was almost getting comfortable on the cold, dark, dank, wet and sticky cement floor. Cramping, I fumbled around for a while and retrieved a small, little, green book. Squinting, I could barely read it in the sparse light. As I did a thumb through, it rang clear because its arguments were so neat and tidy. There were lines written in verse, that resembled lyrics of song, and others written as parables. Although, while digesting the information contemplating a decision, I began to get light-headed and dizzy thinking I’d witnessed another vision.

Maybe it was a coincidence on one hand or the shill of an identity’s logo screaming on the other. But, could this Little Book hold the key to the happiness dream? Should I try to let the identities hear me carrying on? I didn't understand much about this brainwashing stuff I was being compelled to endure; that was for sure. But anyway, I started yelling verse from The Little Book’s song.

“You’re not convincing me or any of the other identities Andy. Until you’re more meek and humble”, Tubs spewed from behind the door, “we’re going to continue holding you up. We may even produce a stress disorder or other mental illness in your life. We could expose you to America’s toxic environment for a long time without even allowing you to get connected. The society we've created has been adjusted from the just plain dumb on down, and our adjustment on morality is almost completed too; so our identity's logos can get away with just about anything they do”!

“What are all the threats for”? I screamed through the bolted door. Whom else are you going to ream? “Now that you identities have stolen the American dream, you want to inject society with piety and zeal treatments so you can rejuvenate a culture who doesn't scream.”

“You’re required to endure these treatments, Andy. We won’t release you because our diagnosis regarding your bad brain waves has already been made”.

“Oh so now I see! Your identities have rendered me a person of interest; because, they've determined I have passions and tact that do in fact conflict with the many unconstitutional laws against Homo sapiens you want to enact”.

“Critical thinking is very destructive to our environment Andy. It’s what’s gotten you into trouble; because, observation and induction confound our passionate and illogical deductions. We’re saying this because deep down, the conflict between your bad brain waves and conformance to a Life of Simple Pleasures is only in your sub-conscience mind”.

Suddenly, I began to feel another reverie coming on as I started mumbling in anger and fumbling through The Little Book’s pages.

In the beginning was the Word, and the
Word was with God, and the Word was God.

The same was in the beginning with God.

All Things were made by Him: and without
Him was not any thing made that was made.

In Him was life: and the life was the light of men.
                                                       John 1: 1-4

When I came to, Tubs was all over me force-feeding liquid down my nostrils with a bucket-like syringe. Looking around the room, I noticed its nasty goons had gone on a spree and taken me on a “Teleological Transport” during my spiritual glee. But where could this dungeon of dog-dung, brown walls and hard, cement floors be? I began to become suspicious of The Great Corporate Seals. Was this why I was experiencing these strange fits of religious piousness and zeal?
“What are the capsules for?” I sneered as Tubs O’ Sludge pasted two between my gnashing teeth with its thumb; “Any side effects”? I gulped for air as I was trying to spit them back at it.

“They have a psychotropic effect and together with our indoctrination, they’ll make you feel happy to be abused” the slime belched while pinching my windpipe and jamming pressure into my stomach.

As I was chocking for air, I began to black out. The thoughts and ideas that were flashing through my mind struck me as sort of contradictory. For one thing, I was sure the identities thought I was a pagan nihilist. But underneath it all, I’d started to experience a revival of traditional thought. Because, as my legs and arms were kicking and flailing in the air, I felt like I had the zeal and vitality of a true believer with no concern for secular values or its beliefs. I felt no worry, anger, or stress about the logo’s deceit or the identity’s tyranny. I’d been released, and it was time for me to save the world from cultural relativism—The Beast! I even began to see visions of what power I could attain while causing progressive secularists so much pain and disdain.

“Everything will be all right Mr. Kraft”, Tubs popped to a boil releasing its index finger and thumb from my throat. As I wheezed to catch my breath, a saturated sponge was quickly applied over my mouth and nose. All of a sudden, choking for air again, I began to experience this child-like curiosity for the uncertainty my torturers were producing. How was I going to propagate their dogma while I was being held up? I never stressed about this predicament though. Instead, as I was about to blackout again, I found myself focusing on a Psalm I’d been trying to memorize in The Little Book. The verse now came to mind as Tubs proceeded to intensify my torture, and following along, we both began to sing:

Hear me when I call, O God of my right-
eousness: thou hast enlarged me when I was
in distress; have mercy upon me, and hear
my prayer.
                                                   Psalms 4:1

“When you follow The Lamb, dogma will guide you. Therefore; you’ll do anything and everything you’re told do, and you’ll say exactly what we tell you to say”!

"How long are people going to continue to buy this stale joke? Or, are you telling us truth is on the Lamb? Who could ever fall for this scam? 

"Again, just do as we say and follow The Lamb. His plan will be revealed someday; the lamb will lead the way"!

"How will I know what to do? Why does piety, dogma, and zeal require me to follow ewe"?


When the stench of Tubs revived me from rapture, I had an urge to urinate (err, fixate) on The Little Book, but more water treatments followed. Still lying face up on the gurney, Tubs sloshed, tilting the gurney backward at a forty-five degree angle.

“You’re not digesting zeal fast enough from The Little Book”, Woodsy again chirped in from behind. A lever was released and my body slid down, head first, into a pool of water. "Confess", the identities shouted. “Yell hallelujah, and then, I've been saved. Religious dogma and piety always trump critical thinking the logos laughed. Our zealot pundits will absolutely rave”.

As I started pissing my pants, I now began to see bloodshot, red writing underneath my eyelids.

How think ye? If a man have a hundred sheep, and
one of them be gone astray, doth he not leave the
ninety and nine and goeth into the mountains, and
seeketh that which is gone astray?

And if so be that he find it, verily I say unto You, he
rejoiceth more of that sheep, than of the Ninety and
nine which went not astray

Even so it is not the will of your Father Which is in
heaven, that one of these little ones should perish.
                                                  Matthew 18:12-14

Saliva and snot was pouring out of me as Woody’s identity slid my body back out of the pool of water. Were these the words He spoke in Matthew, Mark, and Luke, Is He The Lamb? Gurgling again, I up-chucked more puke.

“I’m a painter”; I again choked catching my breath. “My pictures show people how and why they’re being abused”.

“You’re a Conscientious Anarchist”! Woodsy chirped. “You get your passion from deists like Jefferson, and what a troublemaker he is—that f'ing Paine. Confess and tell us now; you know you’re going to lose. Who else is your damned muse”?

“She’s a beautiful lady and my loving muse”; I continued to cough up snot and spit. “Her name is Liberty, and she delivers justice—freedom’s news”.

“I knew it", Woodsy hacked! "You’re the one who enjoys throwing hot embers throughout the straw of our compliant society to get your draw. You’re too hard to tame; and you claim, America will never be the same! But either you’ll accept religious dogma, absent affect-cause-affect, or our logos will dose you with religious piety again and again; and buster, nobody will have the courage and morality to ever object”!

The piety and zeal treatments did continue—even with Tubs heaping on extra servings before every force-fed meal. Overtime, I finally began to succumb. With all the passion and romance of my newly acquired zeal, I could now be cross-trained to proselytize faith in The Great Corporate Seals. All the while, I could chant the logo’s passionate rant instead of examining its identities deduced motivation (err, reason). Slowly, gosh darn; not damn, I began to get comfortable settling into the Life of Simple Pleasures’ scam even if I did have to tow the line and follow that flea-bitten, nag—The Lamb!

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

The Witch’s Hammer: A Short-Story Fiction of Tall Tail (err Tale) "NC-17"

You’re the one who said Mormons are all children of abuse, so what's the f'ing use! This is why Menlo Park Veterans Hospital would like you to talk straight—about Dixie, that small school at the southern end of the state you spoke of attending round nineteen seventy-eight. Speak to us again about the notorious professor, that was once a missionary, who dared to challenge values and beliefs, zeal and as you said, the hate! You say he had access to Mormon Temple archives in Salt Lake, wrote a study guide entitled, “Was Jesus Christ a Capitalist”and lectured Econ. Aren't self-reliance and free agency sacred cows for Mormonism’s true believers—from Deacon? And, oh yes, about that other book contrasting and comparing economic philosophies with Mormonism. You quipped that he put a snag in what you called “Their Zion Curtain”. This guy sounds like a real "Son of a Bishop", that’s for certain! You seem have a conflict of conscience with Mormons; is this the reason you've come to us hurtin’?

Well it’s only because, as they do, the Mormon church was damning this professor—and among his family too. They were damning him methodically, and nobody knew. For years, he’d followed their trail of clues that revealed what Mormonism had done to faithful and their families—the f'ing screws! They've always screwed Mormons they deemed to be "Jack”. Oh well, I mean a sense of morality and justice is what they lack. That’s my alibi for performing tricks while delivering anarchy’s news—the licks!

Be straight with us now and don’t tinker, when you say this professor’s information was previously hidden from historians or even one critical thinker. So, Church leaders could no longer hide his sources—Mormonism's Comprehensive History and Journal of Discourses? You say these were books of chronicled evidence, events with dates, began before and continued after Joseph Smith’s claim of revelation, possession of an ancient history on golden plates. Therefore, according to you, this professor was exposing Joseph Smith Jr. and crew's historical use of fear, deception, secrecy and murder. You say this professor exposed pathological and criminal behavior not of Mormons in general, but crimes committed by Joseph Smith Junior, Brigham Young and any big-time Church member; that small people couldn't or refused to see and/or remember. Therefore, you believe this intellectual displayed courage when he spoke about what he’d found in his research and ended up paying a high price for his integrity? Obviously these circumstances, or cause you speak of, have produced in you an effect.

I had to separate from myself to escape these demons. I’d had the most horrible dreams. Being a small boy, I was sent to this vicious, no-account, little, barnyard site. While there, I received treatments beneath acidic, yellow light. With everyone taunting and laughing overhead, it was such a f'ing horrible sight while being held down so tight. So hey mister, where’s my type supposed to troll? God’s already taken his ultimate toll. Now it's my turn to swallow every one of his comer's whole. And when are all these horrible dreams going to end? Why was I chosen to be the one—my family’s prodigal son? Can’t we sing like we were young children again?

So Krishna wasn't a tag used for fun or to flirt. It provoked cowboys to rip the buttons down your shirt. Therefore, Krishna was a queue for beatings, degradation and humiliation constructed for the twerp. You say they held you down, urinating on your head and face, for their goodness’ sake?

It was this problem with Mormon molestation; laying their hands and plans all over me. So I had to dissolve myself. Deprecation preceded my psyche’s disintegration. I couldn't measure up to their standard. I had tried to make things better; but I was still wearing their Scarlet Letter.

And about our diagnosis of neurosis? If you sought another life to feel unique; why would it be more fun to switch dress, Bea Jenowin? Aren't you just really a freak?

When I look out my window,
Many sights to see.
And when I look in my window,
So many different people to be
That it's strange, so strange.
                                    D. Leitch

And what were the Beatle Boots under the dress all about? Oh, we get it! You were the fairy cross-dressed for mercy—right? Then you changed, and turned-about, to perform tricks. Looking for clarity, a cause to cook, you hit the street soliciting johns and begging for charity. Now it's all about yer fagot, sorry-ass without a clue, sucking young dicks with your hair tinted blue. We see you also no longer fix, but get up early every morning for your methadone mix.

But for these Mormons, it sounds like it was no big deal. You're the one who chose to appeal! And what's the story about tracking down boys to squirt them, missionaries proselytizing too, with urine from a bottle while skipping up Santa Monica boulevard—full throttle. In front of their Temple, looking like one of the dangerous types, you stopped at every traffic light spraying-wipe-spraying your caustic piss all over their bikes. You even threatened, while demanding cash,  to squirt young ladies on their ass. You'd squirt them all over their dress, you beast—yes, we mean you—for giving you one, single, little, tiny penny less. You called it "The Hollywood Hustle". But what was up with all your excitement, and why were you so giddy? You’d been living in a shelter in Culver City.

The Savage Effect

Paint your mind and run wildly naked
without tights in figure eights.
When you come to with bud stuck all
over your forearms and glycerin based
jamin-jelly smeared all over and misplaced,
you’ll still be cookin' too,
canna-butter laced.

I pulled my “Savage Effect” by mirroring the molester’s perversion back at their precious little ones. They were just looking for a little "Pre-Mission", so to say. A face-to-waist prayer session, instead of a lay, which I could give them any time of day. For two years they'd be straight; before they could get any on our kind of date. Listen here sweethearts! Nothing tickles my tall, tight, little ass more than revenge.

I was just another Circle Jerk among fallen leaves, standin' under the tall trees. I was never able to remember much—all that  lysergic acid and always off the cuff. But you all know, I've dropped enough of Owsley Stanley's stuff. I constantly recall all the hell; because, I can still see Satan pulling detail.

Look, Mormons were telling me Africans had the curse of Cain, were inferior and were wimps before they were ever born. In previous life they said with scorn. I couldn't imagine why their demons would do this to me at fifteen—why my childhood was being torn.

So later in your life, how could this institutionalized racism and cover-up of crimes not affect your military career and cause you strife? You worked for a Civil Engineering Squadron? Ah, here it is! Air Force 57150, an airport firefighter in West Germany living your moment of time on America’s dime. Would it be safe for us to assume that working with African Americans, Airman of a different race and creed, was your first taste of affirmative action?  And everyone depended on each other for their lives? What satisfaction!

Did you hear the one about the ghost, colored honey, with a horn one hundred-ten years before my sanity was torn? Who took the damned loot from um? Paiutes had no use for the money! Why would Mormon faithful stiff Brother Brigham?

I didn't know why these Mormons were beating my skinny ass. These fellows were the great-great grandsons of participants past, a 1857 massacre at Mountain Meadows in mass. How could molesters so lame, have no damn shame? I hadn't yet dreamed that scene: the men, women and small children old enough to talk left to coyotes and crow. For two years, 120 people’s remains were scattered—never buried—about the prairie in the sun, rain, wind, and snow. His ancestors were Puritan, and his roots went to the Malleus Maleficarum—The Hammer for a Colony in New England—you know, to use as justice for intelligent bitches they deemed to be witches.

Was he the one who wore a cowboy hat like the bushwhackers you talked about in 1857 at the site? Was he one of them standing above you in that acidic, yellow light; for only a few to see, weren't they the ones who ripped your soul and sexuality from puberty?

He was a Governor and favorite son of a family Crest's core, reaching back hundreds of years with a Coat of Arms nobody could ignore. So haven't you heard what was said; "Higbee the Hacker" gave the order to fire dressed-up Indian with face painted red. Together they heckled that I was different an outsider from another State. They were the great-great grandchildren—ghosts of Major John Higbee and Isaac Chauncey Haight. I had worn beads the first day at school—"Modernity"—fresh for them to hate. Krishna! Krishna! Krishna! Their goons taunted in a sharp staccato first as they spit, then rolled it from their throat and wouldn't quit. But if anyone here really even cares to know, it's that life is only sort of like a wheel; the further one changes the easier it is for them to "ho"!

Monday, August 15, 2011

White Horse Prophecy Incorporated

In 1843, Joseph Smith Jr. got desperate when The United States Congress, or anyone else in Washington DC, wouldn't provide cover from retaliation against Mormons by United States citizens. In short, as far as Smith was concerned,The Constitution had failed to protect his followers. This is because self-proclaimed “Saints” had already been expelled at gunpoint from Missouri in 1838. I mean, how would you feel if some crazy, zealot was convinced Independence was in territory proclaimed by Joseph Smith Jr. to be The Garden of Eden? Illinois’ citizens, whom Mormons had also deceived, extorted, and politically threatened, were looking to expel them too. Now how was Smith’s con going to survive the scrutiny of his “critically thinking” followers?

This reality in American history convinced Joseph Smith Jr. that The United States Constitution represented nothing but Federalist power—supreme law with teeth. It was also way too powerful for him to thwart in his desire to create church and state—for no one but his Saints’ sake! Like Presidents’ James Monroe, Patrick Henry and Thomas Jefferson before him, Smith was anti-federalist. And similar to past anti-federalist Presidents, Smith feared centralized political power could evolve into monarchy. And finally, most of all, he wanted protection for Mormons and his future State of Deseret.
For a short-term solution to his problem, Smith concocted a political ruse to placate his flock for the short-term. With a declaration to Mormonism’s faithful, Smith pronounced they were the only “Real Americans” and therefore the legitimate heirs of The Pilgrims and The Founding Fathers. Turning to The Holy Bible for passion and metaphor, Smith conjured up The White Horse Prophesy . Smith lifted his inspiration from the New Testament’s Book of Revelation (Rev. 6:1&2). In one last ditch effort to gain ultimate political power of the United States Presidency, while destroying printing presses and running from President Polk’s warrant for murder and treason; his life ended in a bloody show-down in June of 1844 at Carthage Jail in Nauvoo, Illinois.

After Joseph Smith’s murder by an enraged mob, all Mormons had been driven at gunpoint from Missouri and now they were forced from Illinois territory. Most left their land and much of their property behind before temporarily settling at Winter Quarters, Nebraska. This preceded the Old Testament symbolism of an exodus by Brigham Young (a practicing Freemason) and his new flock of Saints across the Great Plains of America. Mormons ultimately settled at The Great Salt Lake in 1847.

In 1855, again looking to thwart sanctions from The United States government and unite the passion of faithful Mormons, Brigham Young resurrected Smith’s White Horse symbolism stating; “When the Constitution of the United States hangs, as it were upon a single thread, they will have to call for the Mormon Elders to save it from utter destruction; and they will step forth and do it.” This was followed by The Mountain Meadows Massacre and Young's Confrontation with The U.S. Government. The Utah Mormon War—May 1857 until July 1858—produced no battles but mainly non-Mormon civilian deaths.

Fast-forward, nearly one-hundred years and over a dozen reminders of The Prophesy by church leaders, to the Presidential Election of 1952 for the next bold attempt to provoke turmoil using Smith’s White Horse Prophesy. Everyone familiar with Mormonism’s crimes against humanity throughout the 19th Century had passed away. The set-up for carrying out a political power-grab now was to create grass-root Mormon support for Dwight D. Eisenhower. And for political payback, President Eisenhower responded by appointing Ezra Taft Benson as his Secretary of Agriculture.

Following the lead of both Houses of Congress: Senator Joseph McCarthy’s Permanent Sub-committee on Investigations, and The House Un-American Activities Committee, E.T. Benson, a vicious opponent of Liberalism, stoked the pot of Mormon fervor throwing accusations of communist membership against political leaders. Convinced by Robert W. Walsh Jr., founder of the John Birch Society (JBS) that President Eisenhower was being influenced by communists; E.T. Benson sent correspondence, he marked personal and confidential, to Director of the FBI, J. Edgar Hoover. Benson wrote that he believed President Eisenhower was a Communist. One fact that pissed-off E.T. Benson was that President Eisenhower no longer trusted his extremist viewpoints. Benson’s anti-communist rhetoric was designed to create a communism scandal directed at a Decorated United States President, and then spin this turmoil into conservative political power directed at Mormonism’s voting electorate. Does this type of behavior sound familiar looking at it in hindsight—now, over sixty years later?

Ezra Taft Benson’s invocation of Smith’s White Horse Prophesy to promote an ant-communist message was later telecast using David O. Mckay’s white suit and hair as symbolism. Like every other eight-year old Mormon boy, I was compelled to suck this stuff up, in male exclusive meetings, after I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints priesthood. I was on a fast track to Mormon indoctrination in the beach city of Torrance, California while “desk diving” for nuclear drills. It was now the early sixties. I saw Mormonism’s Hocus-pocus, the “us against them” prank up close. But hell, this wasn't all about me, like I could have bolted anytime? All you Saints know the f’n drill: "We’re the only true church all others are inferior at best and eternally damned at worst". My mother, a Mormon with a missionary’s zeal, attended John Birch Society meetings during this period. A copy of The Naked Communist, by W. Cleon Skousen along with other (JBS) material sat on the living room table of our home next to her Ray Charles records—some f'n cause, affect, cause for childhood neurosis; or what? And there again was David O. McKay in his white suit and white hair—all the symbolism needed for another political Mormonism power grab.