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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, October 3, 2011

Why Can’t Liberals Just Get Along

We "The Conservative People of America" absolutely can’t imagine how, for you bleeding hearts, Barack Obama represents anything different from W. Bush’s fiscal debacle. Obama’s wildly flung pitch, high to the inside, on hope, change and unity clearly beaned most of you Liberals. Awe hell, just look at the mess you people have gotten "Simple Americans" into now. Obviously, financial corporations and their bottom line haven't given a hoot about people's  lives or family. You should have known that it was all about profits and our corporate image, not people—especially Homo Sapiens. Since when have the privileged, especially Wall Street's elite, ever wanted to share anyway? Therefore, how can you boneheads who believed this charlatan be anything but either idiots or Liberals.

Throughout America’s precious history, our slick drifters (err grifters) have always been able to sell you po' folk that hope, change and unity was possible, and yes you could. I mean, look! We've already placated Hispanics. Now corporate America is teaching them all about "American Me". Previously we've had to compensate Indians who claimed they’d been screwed for whats now our land. Africans have always been into their shakedown game of trying to stick their grubby, gnarly to-the-core hands into our truly, tried and traditional coat pockets. Hell, they should all be happy America kidnapped their ancestors from Africa.
Aren't they all better off? Well then, that about does it! We The C. P. of A. could cares less if this slick dude in America’s White House even has a birth certificate!

But really, how many of you po' folk care when it comes down to a nominal sacrifice? I mean, who are you to think anyone we've placed into positions of power would even consider employing your lazy asses? Again, who do you think you are? First off, most of you are still way too simply broken to deserve a tax break or dividend. And secondly, when will you all realize that "for you" politics and economic privilege will always just be a spectator sport? Finally, for many of us not on the extremist end of the continuum, we wonder why you just can’t get along. I mean, come on now! Can’t America be united again?

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 Nobel 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.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Give Chance a Piece

To Children of the street at Fifth and Bell,
We say deadly weapons are handy,
A reliable piece fits swell.

We're freaks who are broken and bound,
grafted together by circumstances,
Our minds not sound.

Riding your terror-train from hell,
Wandering lost and broken souls,
Our turmoil will dwell.

Searching through trashcans in your town,
Our broken lives forever gone,
Tons of pain are going down.



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 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!

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

“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 a hill, dream like a child, and watch the butterflies with their rush of tiny faces fly by nature’s carousel of characters 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. Ah 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. “Now that you identities have destroyed the American dream, your logos 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 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”; 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!





Monday, September 12, 2011

The Collective Power of Radical Crowds

What’s with this slick-toed, soft-shoe shuffler President and his stimulus spending/ middle class tax cut plan? The meager spending is dashing any hope of boosting consumer confidence and semblance for purposeful employment of the disenfranchised scattered throughout America’s red, white and blue. What voter knew Obama would surround himself with Israelites (e.g., Emanuel, Axelrod, Geithner, Bernanke, Summers) who used lobbyists to pimp the bailout of America’s financial markets to Congressional Democrats and Republicans. These are just two reasons this ten-toothed-grinning double-talker in The White House continues to piss-off Radical Americans like me.

In addition to a poverty-driven middle-class and corruption in America’s financial markets, for us Radicals, political criminality throws fuel on our rage. These State crimes by America’s elite corporate plutocracy were mostly hidden before advent of the blogosphere. Who wonders about the rant, dominated by fanatical, fruitcake Tea Partiers on one end of the spectrum and boneheaded, utopian led Liberals on the other? Why isn’t anyone asking, “Where’s the f’n beef from these politicians that should be protecting us”? You Tea Partiers and Liberals remind me of the whiners in soup lines during The Great Depression—what boneheads you all are!


Today if Radicals had our serious numbers of yesteryear, we would never tolerate this from a Congress we knew to be corrupt. We’d be breaking bones and busting heads as we did over ninety years ago—there’d be some severe ass-kicking going down! This f’n country would be at a standstill and the stinkpot politicians know it. This is why “our dangerous kind” has to be kept to a minimum or eliminated from time-to-time. For hell sakes, company goons have beat, stuck, and shot us since the Radical Labor marches of Woodrow Wilson’s Administration. This is because corporate plutocrats have bought both Republicans and Democrats; and therefore, both parties are bad for “People”.


All Radical’s demand now is this; first, put the money, you slime-balls stole in tax breaks, back into America’s treasury you f’n plutocratic thugs”! Also, give American workers collective acquisition of resources (contrasted with your private ownership). Pay us for the services and goods we produce (value added) and bring to market. We want collective power—whether we are a street sweeper, skilled laborer, or working professional.  Collective organization through cooperation, not competition, isn't unfriendly to capitalism. Resources (labor and technology) will still move in the direction of products and services in demand and away from those products and services not demanded. Therefore, this free market for resources is evidence capitalism would still exist with collective organization. Every bonehead knows no Democrat or Liberal politician would dare argue for collective organization of labor to his or her plutocratic handlers; regardless, we’re not giving in one more damn inch to your wage slavery.

So how are Radicals going to cut Capitalism’s noose from around our necks? Americans are conditioned to believe spontaneous demonstrations are violent; so even soft-core, shakdowns scare the piss out of them. The only important thing to remember is Pigs really love riots—especially looting! It’s much easier to single “the slugs” (as they call us) out. Then they can yank our greasy hair, beat us about our puny, skinny-ridden bodies and if they deem necessary, grab their gun and blast us in our emaciated guts. After all, we are the abused ones. Because our collective unity petrifies these extremist Pigs, real and meaningful change, for Radicals, will come non-violently through “Power of the Crowd”. There are f’n good reasons why Gandhi, King Jr., and Lennon scared the crap out of plutocrats, corrupt politicians and their Pigs. Peacefully, these three Radicals organized crowds of people to march. This disoriented hegemony and oppression, both of which are tyrants to liberty.

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 big-time Church members.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 comers 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. It was their deprecation that 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 genuine; why would it be more fun to switch dress, Bea Jenowin?

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, I 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 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 the dangerous type, you stopped at traffic lights spraying-wipe-spraying your caustic piss all over their bike. 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.
Come to with bud stuck all
over your forearms
and glycerin based pot 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.

Just another Circle Jerk lookin' for a loner roun' town, to smoke bark in a circle as the sun went down. I was never able to remember too 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 life 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 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. You've all heard what was said; "Higbee the Hacker" gave the order to fire dressed-up Indian with his 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"!