Wednesday, August 31, 2011

What Now America?

We Americans are feeling the wrenching disorientation wrought of change. Change is upon us. At the age of 77, born at the end of the depression, having lived through three wars, I have been fortunate to have had the best that America had to offer in this great experiment in democracy.
The white man, through being much more vigorous and aggressive because of having his blood origin in the cold climes of northern Europe, dominated the planet for generations. His blood has thinned and he, like the Romans before him, has weakened morally and spiritually. He now hasn’t the will to maintain dominance. Rome was sacked because Rome simply had rotted from within and their indolent senate died in their seats. Greece and Rome lasted hundreds of years. The great civilizations of the east in China, simply continued, ponderous with people, and are becoming the survivors because of sheer dominance in numbers.

We have come to this teetering point less than 300 years since our valiant overthrow of the yoke of English tyranny. Those men who signed the Declaration of Independence risked everything. Without the intercession of the French we would have lost, and they were involved to weaken England, their dire enemy. Immediately thereafter they had their own revolution which changed everything there.

We are in a crisis we cannot conceive as real, for we are living in a surreal world of false economy, having elected enemies of our own basic philosophy as leaders. It seems that we are just holding our collective breaths, for that last precious bit of air, before we all drown. We are like bewildered children---lost---without direction, trying to find a real voice, a real leader who can fight through the tangled thicket of laws and political commitment to the light of day, who has the moral strength to confront and win back our self respect and future that seems to be dissolving before our very eyes. He or she is there, somewhere.

Is this really happening? It is like dream, a creepy dream. We see all the assorted pieces of the jigsaw puzzle, and separately they don't make sense--the trillions, the bail outs, the corrupt cronies, George Soros et al, immigration, Muslim incursion, the "the where the hell did he come from President," and they are not so ignorable, but ignored like a very unpleasant smell. Put them together and it all comes crystal clear. There is a reeking stench that violates all sense of goodness and propriety. It was all planned. In politics, like Wall Street, it is all planned. Nothing is coincidental.

We are beset in every direction because of a sold out leadership—puppets of those who would have America become at one with the rest of the world—under their control. A planned invasion of Mexicans from the south, illegally crossing our borders, taking jobs of working Americans for pennies a day, getting governmental benefits paid by taxes of working Americans, reproducing children who under the law of “jus soli" are American citizens, all to become voters who will support a regime willing to bankrupt our country to support them for their votes. Minorities within who do the same. A rabid, alien, Muslim culture integrating itself within with a declared intention to destroy America. A Muslim president, mysteriously placed into office out of nowhere (now clearly a pawn of people like George Soros---whose record of destroying nations is clear) whose skin color and professed philosophy galvanizes and coalesces all those who want something for nothing into a tighter voting block than ever; whose philosophy of tax the rich (productive) and give to the non productive fits the very scheme that has destroyed Greece, Rome and every other strong civilization.

Destroy the US from within by bankruptcy, and thus goes the rest of the planet into turmoil. America has become the planetary power, and though it is clear there has been anything but peace during her reign (wars are created by those who benefit and those controlling the money benefit—the bankers primarily) she has held out her hand of freedom for those who wish to come and play by our rules until the Mexican invasion.

Who will win? What will become of America? Will America, Canada and Mexico become one? Europe will dissolve into one and Asia into one, creating three great interplanetary powers, all led by someone. Some hidden leader, (tyrant of incredible power) or maybe not so hidden. There is no place to hide even now. Google has a picture of your house, a whole profile on everyone on the planet. You can be located by satellite at any time. Implanted chips will be the final end of man’s independence, will and freedom.

He tried, but is now an anemic, frail mockery of our forefathers and their will for a free America. How can we keep our integrity, our personal freedom, our ability to choose direction and life? It has disappeared during my short span on this small, but beautiful, planet. History shows great societies have always greedily destroyed themselves by the immorality of the dominant species. Over and over. The mysterious standing stones in the deserts and jungles profess to his huge ability to create, and his ability to destroy, and to his inevitable demise.

I am a dedicated Scientologist. I know we are spiritual beings, having meat bodies with limited lives we use for transport and communication. We are basically good, beautiful, immortal, creative beings. But we are stupid. We were put here because we were geniuses (stupid ones), miscreants, psychopaths, artists, and political dissidents. We didn’t fit and had to be disposed of. Dropped here, given amnesia implants (we really can remember but it is too painful to remember), and we spend our days trying to figure out what the hell is going on---developing philosophies, religions, to explain it. Never one that really explains, just requires leaps of faith.

We have tools to recover our basic abilities, our basic happiness, without any need for “faith in” or belief beyond knowing this is the way once it becomes clear. It became clear to me instantly once I saw the truth of it. Some take longer. No matter, the truth is there to be had by anyone, anywhere, of any faith, color, or religious conviction.

Thus we are attacked by those who wish to keep mankind in the dark, unenlightened as to man’s own spiritual power and ability. We are growing and have a huge hill to climb against those who wish to destroy us and control minds through drugs, fear or political estrangement. (Psychiatrists and drug companies—financed by those who eventually benefit from mental enslavement.) Those with low confront of evil will snort and say this is rubbish. Believe me, there is evil, and it is not “the devil.” There are a fraction (2%) of the population who are so terrified of others, who have learned how to look and act like others and have disappeared in the fabric of society, they will destroy everything around them. They are hard to spot, but everything around them is in a turmoil. Those they influence look crazy. They are usually the last ones you will spot. They are cowards, who use your power, for they have none. They are thus dangerous. We elect them to office, chairmen of boards, or they sit by the fire knitting while their family is in chaos. You need to learn to spot them. We have the means to do this.

We can win, but we must stand tall and do more than sit on our asses knowing we are the only way out of this prison planet. I solicit, and even dare, any man or woman who professes to be searching for answers to honestly take a look. Open your mind and see. Go to the source. There is much disinformation abroad. See for yourself. Think for yourself. You can help save us all by first finding the road out. It is this one. I know of no other on this planet.

Monday, August 22, 2011

Me and Ray Bradbury

I attended a talk by Ray Bradbury at LSU in the late nineties. Knowing he would be swamped afterwards, I ran backstage before anyone got to him and had some pictures made with him, including this one.

His family moved to Hollywood when he was around ten years old, and he started selling postcards and maps to homes of the stars. He spotted W.C. Fields standing on the corner waiting for a ride, so he asked him for his autograph. Fields scratched his name on the little piece of paper, held it for a moment before giving it to Bradbury, then scowled over his cigar and said, “There you go, you little sonofabitch.” From the way he described it, I know he thinks about it often. It’s like a stuck picture that he muses over—for it is funny as hell to me. His telling of it leaves me with a picture of an irascible old sonofabitch himself who somehow became a star and gave Bradbury an indelible impression of this as a highlight event.

I have used this as an example in giving talks on Affinity, Reality and Communication, and how we must take responsibility for our communication because of the everlasting results of what we say and do.

The following is today’s offering by The Writer’s Almanac, by Garrison Keillor, of The Prairie Home Companion.

It's the birthday of science fiction writer Ray Bradbury (books by this author), born in Waukegan, Illinois (1920). He's the author of many books of science fiction, including The Martian Chronicles (1950) and Fahrenheit 451 (1953). One of his ancestors, Mary Bradbury, was burned as a witch in Salem, Massachusetts, and he said he got from her his anxiety about fearmongering and thought control. He said, "Science fiction is a wonderful hammer; I intend to use it when and if necessary, to bark a few shins or knock a few heads, in order to make people leave people alone." He told Paris Review, "I prefer to see myself as the Janus, the two-faced god who is half Pollyanna and half Cassandra, warning of the future and perhaps living too much in the past — a combination of both." He didn't go to college, because the family couldn't afford it, but he did go to libraries ... at least three times a week for 10 years. He wrote Fahrenheit 451 on a rented typewriter in the basement of UCLA's Powell Library.

As a boy, he read Edgar Allan Poe and The Wizard of Oz. And when he was 12, a traveling carnival came to town, and he met a magician named Mr. Electrico, who believed young Ray was the reincarnation of a friend who had died in his arms in World War I. Later, at the show, Mr. Electrico touched people in the front row with his electrically charged sword, making their hair stand on end. "When he came to me, he touched me on the brow, and on the nose, and on the chin, and he said to me, in a whisper, 'Live forever.' And I decided to."

Sunday, August 21, 2011

Sick and Dying "R" US

My Dear Friends:

Dr. Tom Smith, one of those old time "real" healers, was our family doctor. He was always saying "you are what you eat." He went no further than that, but would have if we would have asked him what he meant. This was in the fifties, before GMO and adulteration of our food supply by pesticides, herbicides, growth enzymes in our meats, etc.

I called this blog "sick and dying R US," because that is what we Americans are.

I decided to learn about enzymes today, and watched this clear explanation of enzymes and how absolutely essential that we know about them and how they affect health.

In a nutshell, enzymes are chemical elements in foods that make what we eat useable by the body. They also can be used to make foods, such as cheese, wines, beers, and even to process such as curing leather and are the catalysts that nature supplies to transform substances into useable substances.

They are vital to every aspect of health, and account for ability to ward off heart attacks, cancer, ulcers, immunity problems, and most diseases and body problems. By the time a person reaches 70, the body produces 1/3 of the necessary enzymes needed to properly use foods we eat--add this to the additives for storage, color and increased production and we have a problem. Orange juice, with the container saying pure juice, not from concentrate. This juice has been stored in huge containers, with all oxygen removed, with fructose and sugar added. Each 8 oz glass contains the equivalent of 8 teaspoons of sugar. More than a coke. You are in trouble if you think you are helping the health of your kids by giving them other than fresh squeezed orange juice. These food additives for shelf life, taste and color account for the obesity in the US. Go to a cafeteria, Chinese all you can eat, Walmart, or wherever, and try not to ignore the disgusting Americans who can barely move, who simply know no better.

I went to Europe with my son Tom in 2003---I was shocked at the difference between the bodies of the Europeans and Americans--The Italians and French were trim, graceful and athletic compared to the wallowing obesity of most American tourists. Some English and German were also fat, but nothing like Americans.

At my age, I am concerned about feeling good, feeling energetic and pain free. I assure you the mid seventies have pain, stiffness, and digestive and other problems unless there is exercise and proper food.

Where do you get enzymes? Raw vegetables. Juice them, just eat them, or cop out and buy supplements. I am going to start using my juicer. It is a little more complex doing this, and cleaning it after, but I am going to keep it out on my counter and use it to make a two day supply. I want to feel good, still be hard and stay hard, in every way. Crawling out of bed in pain every morning before I walk the stiffness in my back off only gets worse with time, and I can imagine how it must be for those fatties who look like they have live animals in their clothes as they walk, and struggle to get up from sitting positions. It is enzymes, fructose, exercise (don't need much) and additives.

Watch these videos (the first one and the one on orange juice) and get smart.

I have to thank Mercola for keeping us informed. Why don't they have a required course in school beginning in lower grades with this subject, making it simple, with videos like this. The problem with most of these "instructional" courses, are they are too complex, giving misunderstoods, not going basic enough. This could easily handle America's stupidity.


Thursday, August 18, 2011

Memories of 9/11 by an American

Memories of 9/11 by an American

I was at home, staying away from the office, getting needed time and space to work on an upcoming jury trial, when my wife came into my office saying “the world trade center has been attacked.”

I had to shake the woolies out of my head and shift gears, for I was deep in the facts of the case, and had no clue what she was talking about. I carried my materials with me and sat down in my LazyBoy in front of the TV in the bedroom. One of the twin towers was smoking about two thirds of the way up, and the announcer frantically chattered about a plane running into the building.

I thought it was novel that an airliner had gone off course and hit the building. My legal mind immediately thought of the damage lawsuits of the people on the plane and those injured in the building---and the claim the building owner had against the airline.

There was lots of talk, but no knowledge of anything about what really happened. I continued concentrating on my case, interrupted from time to time by the announcer giving updates, with the picture of the buildings continued on the screen. At the time, there were no available photos of the plane approaching and striking the building. That came later.

Then another plane hit the other building. That got my attention, and I am sure it was then that those who should know about such things sat up in red alert. This was no accident!

I had most of my attention from then on riveted on the TV, watching the two fantastic buildings with ugly smoking wounds in their sides, trying to visualize what was happening there. This was not commonplace news!

There before my eyes, building number one seemed to shrink downward for a moment, then, in seconds, it simply folded in on itself and collapsed in a smoking heap. I felt something hit me in my gut. I couldn’t breathe for a moment. It was a physical shock within me. I had no idea what had happened, except that thousands were dying, all at once, and there was a simultaneous cry of the dying in that instant that hit me like a blow. It hit me spiritually, but it felt like a physical thing.

We are all connected whether we know it or not; our de-evolution makes us think we are lonely islands, but beneath we are joined. Not since Nagasaki or Hiroshima have so many humans lost their lives all at once. I felt an immense rush of surprise, fear then sadness coming from that crashing building. One person dying is one thing. Thousands dying at the same instant, not having a clue what is happening, is another. It was a cry of despair that could and should have been heard around the world.

Later, after the second building fell, when I felt the same thing, I realized what it was. I recalled Obi-Wan-Kinobe in the Star Wars movie, when the peaceful planet Alderaan was totally destroyed by the Death Star. He doubled over in intense pain, sensing the death of millions all at once---saying there was a disturbance in the force, instantly knowing that the planet was no more and all the beings on it were dead.

If I had not been totally convinced of the fact that there is a connexity in the brotherhood of man, of man the spirit, then this was ultimate proof. Many others felt it too, and had no name for it, and it generated fear and anger rather than understanding of the nature of the loss. It generated anger in me too, a gripping futile anguish of the descent of man into an abyss of despair.

Then there was a coalescing of the human spirit like I have never seen in my lifetime. Americans came together as one. Flags sprang up everywhere. There were marches. TV spectaculars with celebrities singing patriotic songs. I remember a stage filled with celebrities singing America The Beautiful, with Willie Nelson right in the front with his laconic nasal twang---and I could see America shining through, rising from the ashes, being one. I actually cried, and cry again in the memory of that coming together, which we should and can do even now.

We are approaching the anniversary of that horror. Again we should stand tall, we should come together and link our living spirits with a dedication to be one as Americans and know who and what we are. We are free yet. We can pull ourselves out of the despair that was born of this event. We sensed vulnerability for the first time as a nation. For at no time since the revolution have we had incursion on our shores of a foreign power, and in this case a totally foreign philosophy.

Once again I want to feel that surge of pride and power that I felt ten years ago when we came together and sang America The Beautiful. And this time I feel we can, and should, on the brink of a chance to change back to American values that we have lost during these past ten years, bow our necks and say “enough.” I am an American.

When I was in high school I had an after dinner speech that I won first prize two years in a row in speech tournaments called “I am Proud To Be An American.” I spoke with six different dialects and impersonated six singers---Vaughn Monroe, Billy Ekstine, The Ink Spots, Bing Crosby, Frankie Laine. I told how precious being an American was through the voices of those new immigrants. That was a time when being an American was a given. It was expected. We were all thoroughbred Americans in 1952. Over the past fifty years we have become something else, something that welfare and political expediency and political correctness have eroded our ability to speak, our pride and our patriotism. We must now rise again and hold our heads up as Americans with a grim determination not to lose our precious gift of freedom.

The polling booth is our weapon. Lock and load: Ready, aim, vote!

As an author I write about winners, American winners. Two stand tall, get in your face, make it go right, kickass American winners are Jack Chandler, of Dawn’s Revenge, and Riggs McCall, in Command Influence, heroes in two of my novels which will be available immediately in my website Read two chapters from each book free now. Plan to buy and read these books. They will make you proud you are an American.

Monday, August 15, 2011

It's All About Winning

It’s All About Winning

Ed Connelly lurched and stumbled along the marble hallway, grimacing at the effort of walking and holding the heavy books in his twisted and gnarled hands. He fell into a chair in my freshman law school class, his tongue between his lips, fumbled with his notebook and finally got it opened, then gripping a ballpoint pen in his fist made big jagged marks on the page for his notes. The whole class watched his struggles.
He looked up, his eyes shining at his recent victory at being able to make it from the parking lot, up the stairs, and down the long hall to the classroom. He was positively merry! My heart melted.

Ed was born with severe cerebral palsy, as bad a case as I have seen and still be independently mobile. You couldn’t watch him eat. Every move he made was headed in the wrong direction until he forced his rebellious body to somehow finally get the spoon somewhere near his mouth, or to stop one foot from ramming into the other as he fought his way along.

He smiled and laughed in a choking sort of way when he was not trying to rein his willful body into behaving. He barreled along life using what he had to work with, and made it very well.
He finished law school and set up his own private practice in 1960, and the last time I saw him was in the late eighties. He was still practicing, and seemed as happy as anybody else. Ed is a prince among men.

It’s all about winning.

Jim Girard, a fraternity brother, and one the most handsome men I have ever seen, had no use of his legs. They were literally rags. His upper body was Herculean, and he could walk on his hands faster than I could run. He overcame, married, has children and is and doing well.
Stephen F Hawkin, total body paralysis; President John F. Kennedy excruciating pain every day; Franklin D Roosevelt, crippled; Michael J Fox, Lou Gerig’s disease; Christopher Reeve, quadriplegic. None gave up. How many more could I list?
It’s all about winning.

William Ernest Henley was in the hospital for over a year in horrendous agony, having his leg removed from tuberculosis of the bone. He suffered all of his life in grievous pain, yet he wrote Invictus while he was in the hospital:


Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

What is the difference between these men and others?

They deal with it. They ride over it. They know they are not their bodies and that they are spiritual beings. They have something to do and a reason to do it and will not let anything stand in their way.

There is a winner in each of us.

It’s all about winning. It is not about not losing. There is a huge difference.

Jack Chandler, in Dawn’s Revenge; Riggs McCall, in Command Influence; and Nimrod Woodbine, in Nimrod’s Peril, are faced with challenges that would cow most men. But they are winners and refuse to give up, realizing that win or lose, the only way out is the way through. To read about these three winners, check in at my website, and read two free chapters each, and enjoy my site.