Category Archives: Intelligence Community

Edge of deadly. Still alive. Thanks mom, NIH-Bethesda

Back from the dead. I’m happy about that. I didn’t know that, for me in my own particular circumstances, a simple over the counter cold-remedy is a poison so powerful that it’s almost impossible not to die after ingesting it. I’ve put those cold-remedies in the garbage. I spent from January 1 after the last Mass for Mary, Mother of God, until now, barely moving amidst an allergic reaction so extremely rare that going to an Emergency Room is likely to raise the mortality threat just for sheer exhaustion of sitting in a waiting room until you die without being seen. Mortality rates are already high enough. I lucked out, beating the stats once again. I spend my life being at death’s door. Of course, I realize this is not about luck, but God’s providence for me. And if you’re wondering why I just didn’t pay attention to indications of counter-indications, it’s because the condition is so rare that listing counter-indications doesn’t seem to be a requirement. As the one GTMO guy told me what my “assignment” was – which was getting to know this statement of a particular counterintel spy – “The first thing you have to know about me is that I would never intentionally commit suicide.” Yep. I make that my own. Of course, that has nothing to do with this. Anyway…

Sure, there’s a prophylactic med to take developed a lifetime ago with my own mom as a guinea-pig at the Naval N.I.H., a med that’s really dirt cheap (especially in Europe and the rest of the world) and kind of works – until it doesn’t – but you’re not supposed to take that more than a few months as it causes liver cancer. She hesitated just a bit and died because of that fear. I’ve been taking it for most of my life (with liver cysts to prove it), and have severely put my liver through the ringer. More drugs have been developed more recently. Pretty expensive though. The best is a reactive drug instead of a prophylactic, and, say, at two doses a day in adverse conditions, it would cost more than USA $4,000,000 a year, enough to make an medical insurance company put a hit out so as to avoid payments to pharmaceutical companies. In my case, I’m guessing I could keep it down to no more than $500,000 a year, probably just $286,000. But, that’s still not within the limits of insurance tolerance is it? No. And instead of simply popping a capsule a day (as with the NIH solution), it involves a chemistry set and needles and sterile conditions and the patience of Job with nerves of steel, as you have to only very slowly inject the horror.

A CIA evaluator guy recently asked me what my evaluation of my mom was. Here’s the deal, she was willing to go through all-out-hell as a guinea-pig at NIH literally in deadly conditions, at the edge of death, for weeks at a time, in great pain, for my sake. I remember the phone calls we would get at home from NIH setting up the sessions out East. Just the phone calls were traumatic. The sessions were monstrous. My mom: a martyr of love for me. What do you think I think of her? Thanks, mom. You’re the best. You guys did good, too, at NIH. The head doctor for this talked to me over the phone back in the day, giving advice which has stood me in good stead all these decades. This was able to be set up because, of course, dad was USMC, which is the history of NIH.

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CIA: How do you evaluate your mother?

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I’ve been putting up posts on dad recently as occasioned by Rep. Mark Meadows and Bev obtaining dad’s list of medals from WWII and the Korean War. Thanks to them again!

Anything about mom has been on the back burner, but definitely simmering. The reason for the CIA Evaluator guy asking about mom isn’t just because I’ve instead been posting a lot about dad, but rather because of something that happened following the message I left with CCS at Main State the other week (Tuesday 18 December 2018).

It was after that message about my “Shadow” that my “Shadow” called me up for a three hour phone call. At one point, beside himself, beyond so very many times saying that he was god-damning me and stating that I should be in hell forever, beyond stating that he wants to kill Jews, my “Shadow” said that my mom was a B****, if once, then a dozen times. She died in the early-mid 1990s. May she rest in peace. The rant of my “Shadow” was truly epic, the kind of thing that would be recounted in a presentation at the International Spy Museum by CIA shrinks trying to figure out what makes spies tick. During this call – which I’m guessing and hoping was recorded by CCS – I always maintained a calm voice and forgave the guy at the end, saying that I hope that he, instead, would make it to heaven. Does that mean I don’t care about what is said about my mom? Am I some kind of monster who is not offended when my mom is offended? Just how is it that I evaluate my mom? Isn’t she worth defending?

Sometimes I’ll be strong with people – certainly not, I confess, as much as Jesus cleansing the Temple – but I can use a calculated manipulation of my speech to bait reactions out of people who are being extremely offensive, but, mind you, as an effort to deescalate whatever untoward situation. Such things are purposely done ad hoc. I can only think of one situation off the top of my head for very many years indeed.

It’s just that I think that it’s better in the vast majority of cases to let people decompensate at least in their speech in lieu – hopefully – for whatever else is going on in their lives lest other things, much worse, take place. Besides, the more people talk, the more you learn what in the world is going on with them.

Anyway, the picture above, taken by some friends of my parents, goes back some thirty years. It’s winter time. Myrtle Beach. Dad’s birthday and mine (we were two days apart). Good times with both mom and dad. Everyone happy. I’m wearing a shirt and sweater they gave me as presents, of course.

As to the CIA Evaluator guy’s question about my evaluation of mom, becoming reflective, I simply said that she was melancholic and liked to read a lot. That’s me baiting him. After all, what kind of question is that about your own mom? Evaluation? That question is, in and of itself, monstrous. Love is much more than mind games of categorization of labels. Just. Wow. Baiting me, he immediately told me a story about a compulsive reader. “Compulsive.” Sigh… Such a baiting word. Why not just say she’s a B**** who has prostituted herself to books? This is my mom we’re talking about.

If you want to know what my mom and I thought of each other, take a look at the picture above. See the two foreheads together? That’s a kind of Vulcan mind-meld with no need for the finger-tip on the face thing for those who don’t have that experience. It’s a matter of the heart, escaping categorizations and dismissive evaluations as cold as ice.

Meanwhile, mom’s free hand on the one shoulder, dad’s free hand on the other shoulder. I’m totally the son of my mom and my dad.

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Main State CCS Handler of “Shadow”? Extortion, death threats.

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My “Shadow”, arms dealer, puppet of his Handler for…?

A week before Christmas, on Tuesday 18 December 2018, I rang up a particular member of CCS (counterintel) in Main State and left a detailed prepared message about a minute long. I made that call about three hours after posting this:

Main State’s démarche. Res ipsa loquitur. My disillusioned naïveté. The darkest of existential peripheries laugh at mercy.

The call was about the perpetual program I had been put on by Main State decades previously. That involved my “Shadow” who had stolen my identity to do “legal” arms transfers to the Sinaloa cartel. I just wanted to discuss some options, still unvoiced, with someone.

As expected, that call wasn’t returned. I had planned on letting that message hang in the air, if you will, for some weeks, and then try again. But then, within hours, it all hit the fan. It’s not that I got a call back. Instead, impossibly coincidental things started happening. Let’s do a timeline:

  • The post linked to above was published on 18 December 2018 at 12:21 PM. That post is about my “Shadow” and my letter from Main State.
  • I call to leave a message at CCS of Main State at I think about 3:30 PM 18 December. This message, without naming my “Shadow”, was all about him, and they could ascertain from the info I provided his identity within minutes.
  • As my “Shadow” latter told me, it was within a few hours that his ex-flame sent a series of texts to him about me, wanting to know everything about me. We had never met and I had never corresponded with her, but she suddenly and with great urgency had to know everything about me. She even said that she and my “Shadow” should get back together again (she having been involved with him it seems since he stole my identity). She said they should buy a house together and move near me so as to get to know everything about me, repeatedly saying that she wanted to snoop around about me. She’s a Federal agent (GS-13 at the high end of that scale). He said that she hadn’t been in contact with him for ten years. But I know in discoverable format that they contacted each other at length in January of 2018.
  • I get a text from my “Shadow” on 18 December at 10:27 PM, baiting me about myself, saying that he hadn’t heard from me in a long time, though that is manifestly and in discoverable format a lie. It seemed dictated, and it surely was, as I find out, by her.
  • I wanted to sleep on this weird text from him, and did so for five hours, finally answering at 3:10 AM, now Wednesday, 19 December, only to comment that his text had interesting timing.
  • Some hours later again, now 10:28 AM on Wednesday, 19 December, my “Shadow” called me so as to ever so politely ask for my mailing address, the only contact info, btw, that I didn’t include in my message to CCS at Main State. But then that call continued with him (alone) getting super worked up for a full 2 hours 54 minutes and 14 seconds, all about my message to CCS at Main State which neither of us brought up but the important points of which we certainly discussed, almost like he was checking boxes about that message along with some other things. He again played the part of David Duke and praised Hitler and said that he himself wanted to kill Jews, he knowing that I’m Jewish though I am also a Catholic priest. The anti-Semitism thing took up most of those three hours. But he worked his death threat into it. We also talked at length about his straw purchasers in Hidalgo del Parral and the arms jamboree along the mountainside along Highway 15 in Sinaloa, about how the Consulate at El Paso went to get him in Mexico, about how many times he had shot both pistols and rifles at me through the years (arms dealers, ironically, are not necessarily good shots). And then the threats of extortion came, at length, in detail, merely needing some stooges to be paid off. It is to laugh if it weren’t so sad. I don’t care about extortion. I care about the 226,000 people slaughtered by the Sinaloa cartel alone. Anyway, throughout this conversation he was rifling through papers to read citations or titles of things in my own life he couldn’t possibly know about. It’s like he had talking points he had to cover given to him by someone else.
  • At 11:18 AM on Thursday, 20 December, I thought I should call the same CCS office of Main State so as to leave an update of what happened so coincidentally after I called the other day. This time the nice lady picked up.
  • While we spoke for the next 11 minutes, my “Shadow” sent me texts at 11:20 and 11:27 AM on Thursday, 20 December, inviting me to do some chainsaw work for him. “Chainsaw work.” Surely for the back yard of his safe-house, right? I didn’t answer. Maybe he wants to talk off the grid. I’ll think about it. I recall the “burn” on his arm (he called it that) which, now that he mentions chainsaws, looks awfully like a chainsaw cut (super deep) that one couldn’t provide to oneself as it just wouldn’t kick back in that way. It would be 90 degrees turned and not under the arm but on top.

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  • The 11:18 AM call to CCS continued, and the nice lady said that it was not good to speak on the phone about all this (no kidding!), and that she would hunt down a name and number for me to call, call me back up to give me that info, which I would then use to get a time and place safe to meet with someone cleared for this. No call back until this day. Again, none of this is affected by any shut-down.
  • At 9:30 PM still on Thursday, 20 December, my “Shadow” changed tactics and offered me monthly “donations.”
  • At 2:43 PM on Friday 21 December, I texted him “No,” that that would look like bribery from him or extortion from me. Just. No.
  • Nothing since, also still nothing from CCS even though the nice lady promised to call back right away.

Originally, all I was requesting is to have a chat about some options for the perpetual program I’ve been put on by Main State (that I knew about in 1992) and into which they further entrenched me with the help of the FBI (in 1996). To date I have not been able to voice those requested options.

What I picked up from this is that he was used for Fast and Furious, still has a handler for that op, and is running scared because of my contacting CCS, even though he is otherwise working on other stuff. It seems he desperately, at this point, wants to fess up with me about what’s gone down and what could happen. Doing something like that in an of itself would be dangerous for him. Again, just look at the cooperation Jason Chaffetz did NOT get from all those he subpoenaed to answer to his oversight committee on Fast and Furious. No one involved, from CCS down, is going to let the cat out of the bag. I know I can’t influence any of that, and my “Shadow” has already discredited himself enough to be thought of as a clown (very clever), but that’s NOT what my simple administrative requests are about. I’m hoping I’ll get that call back from CCS. Wait… wait… wait… sigh…

/// So, I just called CCS at 11:27 AM on December 28, 2018. No answer. So, there we are.

UPDATE: CCS tried to call back but I had shut my phone off for Mass. Tried again at 3:28 PM on December 28 and got through. Again, very friendly. This is involving lots of people, some of whom were taken out by the government shutdown. So, we’ll see what Pelosi has to offer to stop the shutdown.

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MI6, CIA, Fed-funded think-tank, me

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Enter yet another self-proclaimed CIA guy in my life (it seems like a daily affair). He’s urging me to spill my guts on a certain national security issue to – of all people – a certain MI6 guy, whose name is […] [Ooops! That would be an unmasking.] I looked up the MI6 guy some weeks ago by way of his public cover. An unmistakable face you can’t ever forget. It instantly burns itself into one’s front-burner memory.

Just now, YouTube, of course, put in front of me a boring panel discussion of a top-rated Federally funded think-tank physically housed for decades next to the White House. What I found interesting was not the topic, but rather the face of one of the presenters.

For all intents, purposes and plastic surgery reconstructions, the MI6 guy is coincidentally just like the think-tank guy on all levels: same age, same ultra-weird interests, same political persuasion, same moral outlook, same geographic assignments in the world (in this case impossibly difficult), same hair problems, same hair reconstruction fixes, same exact facial features, same plastic surgery failed fixes right through the years and all at the same time [impossible to hide], same neck features[!], same ears, etc., etc., etc., even the same physical gesturing when speaking (just toned down slightly but really hard to hide the subtleties as this belongs to entrenched neuro-behaviors), same type of prolific publishing on the exact same topics, same ol’ same ol’ in the finest detail, with both of them publicly supporting each other’s works and interests (an interesting self-promotion). Goodness gracious! Such coincidences! Oh, there is one difference: one has a contrived accent, the other doesn’t. Regardless of the truth of any lifestyle, any lifestyle accents are really easy (as there is no standard outside of all of them being contrived), and are therefore excellent covers of one’s real accent since, in this politically correct society, no one would question why someone would sound like, you know, like that. Anyway, all “three” of these people would know each other and freely admit that they do.

When I objected to spying on the U.S. through a friendly nation, the original CIA guy didn’t know what to do except to say that he thought it was all legal since I’m just asking a certain question out of interest as a private citizen with answers for all I know based on, you know, kind-of-perhaps-maybe public knowledge. Sorry. You won’t see me going overseas or to D.C. to speak to any such person.

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Steaks in the trash. Too bad, that.

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As soon as I got these steaks on dry ice anonymously in the mail, I put up a note saying that my absolute policy is not to take gifts from intel. I have that policy because it happens, a lot. If something arrives from the ol’ anonymous person, into the trash it goes unless they fess up. In this case, after a grace period, no one has. So, there it goes, into the trash. Here are the pictures starting with them being placed in a trash bag:

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And then into the city trash bin:

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I’m sure I’ll hear about it just as soon as they are thawed out, saying what a fool I am, that those were from so and so friend of mine. Too bad, that. You had your chance to fess up.

“Procedures only work if you follow them every time.”

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Reasons why this priest carries 24/7/365

“Cruelty of El Chapo’s Sinaloa cartel knows no bounds: Beheadings by chainsaw, body parts strewn in the streets” — by Hollie McKay (Fox News)

If you peruse that story you’ll find out that some of it takes place not far from me. In fact, I drove by one of those places just the other day. My identity has criteria having multiple hits regarding that which would bring the ire of the Sinaloa Cartel down upon one’s head, or headless shoulders as the case may be. The Sinaloa Cartel may be directly responsible for as many as 226,000 demonically brutal murders over the years, that is, since the guy who stole my identity (my “Shadow”) kick started el Chapo’s violence by providing guns firstly to straw purchasers and then directly.

The “Shadow” guy gets really upset while he rationalizes how this is all just fine and dandy. Meanwhile, you’ll recall that Main State and the chief investigator for the FBI of the East Africa embassy bombings back in the day provided me with an alternative identity to make me, a citizen in good standing, disappear even while the “Shadow” guy entrenched all the more under my name.

But now it’s heating up and it’s getting a little too close to home. I’d like to visit Main State once again and discuss some options for the perpetual interdepartmental program they put me on. I don’t trust the algorithms of DARPA COMPASS to help me out in any significant manner outside of tiresome harassment.

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CIA Debriefer debrief on – wait for it – “Doh!” How very un-Kryptos

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The CIA Debriefer guy was once hailed as the best debriefer ever at the Pentagon by General […], easily and fruitfully taking a five minute nothing burger and turning it into a three hour gold mine expedition. The Debriefer guy knows all the tricks. For instance, he mentioned my YouTube video history, in order, meaning chronologically, mind you, if I remember correctly, from about a year or two ago, you know, narrowing down on documentaries that I’m guessing he helped to make for the sake of spin, such as on Israeli military and intel victories, such as with Entebbe, or some early work of Pollard, whom The Debriefer guy simply called Jay, repeatedly, as if Jonathan and I were lifelong best buds (with the age difference only being 5 years), and as if there were no other military/intel guys called “Jay” in my parish or anywhere else in the world. Aldrich Ames followed after that. Catching on to what he was doing, I myself then pushed him on whether he participated in any of the disgusting documentaries on Bobby, aka, Robert Philip Hanssen, “worst U.S. spy ever.” As soon as I realized how ludicrous and CYA such CIA spins can be, I clicked away from such ludicrous presentations that merely claim the high moral ground. His first response about Bobby was to trace a line on his own throat, indicating that Bobby had effectively had his head cut off. But when I asked about the documentaries, he was instantly on the defensive, and became frustrated and angry. ;-)

Another trick of The Debriefer guy was to impress me with his own supposed prowess in my own fields, thus going out of his way to show what a gentleman and scholar he is with his theological and philosophical prowess. Since I retain some of the most academic degrees from the most prestigious institutions in the Church as respected by the most prestigious secular universities in the world – and have always at every step retained a certain contempt and cynicism for the same – this attempt of his was laughable, especially since it signaled frustration on his part as I caught him out in foundational argumentation at every step. It was surreal. Ridiculous. Sad. I guess he didn’t know just how silly the whole thing was.

The Debriefer guy was interested in trying to get me frustrated, or enthused, whatever reaction that would – he was thinking – provide him with at least some sort of manifestation of indicators of whatever psychological mindset. Tone of voice, or the raising of an eyebrow, or some such, was, he went out of his way to suggest, most important in such debriefings. Of course, when the person you’re debriefing is baiting you as much as you are baiting him, it all gets a bit abstruse. When I didn’t agree with him on whatever, purposely baiting him by politely insisting on disagreeing, the intensely polite frustration on the part of The Debriefer guy was enough to make one think that one was dealing with a Homer Simpson “Doh!” meltdown.*

Let’s review a few important topics for The CIA Debriefer guy:

1. On “marriage”: Ever since the agency made a big deal of saying they were going to go out of their way to employ the LGBTQ crowd during the Obama administration, there has been a continuous theme through these years among some of my CIA friends about doing up social engineering to make marriage less than marriage, almost as if this were the raison d’être of the agency in the manipulation of governments around the globe. And indeed, it became a major if not entirely primary foreign policy leveraging initiative of the U.S. government, making LGBTQ sex at least as important in discussions as potable water, utilizable utilities, any kind of education, any kind of health, communications, economy and aspects of governmental and national security projects enabling people around the world simply to survive, you know, because LGBTQ sex is that important.

For the CIA, the gold-standard, as it were, of integrity of life is that there is to be adherence to the ideology that anything goes with anything involving sex as long as marriage is no longer considered one man, one woman. Integrity of life for the CIA is all about holding as sacred serial polygamy, gay whatever, etc. So, rejecting marriage as one man and one woman was the lead argument on numerous occasions by The Debriefer guy with me. The Debriefer guy, you have to know, has certain boxes he has to check in his baiting, and if the answer is insufficient, more baiting with more pressure is required. This is the topic about which he’s been most insistent. As usual. Like clockwork.

The foil The Debriefer guy used for this over time was to build up a certain other guy, a Catholic permanent deacon, into a mythic legendary hero, a guy of integrity (that word being used a lot), you know, stalwart steadfastness in the faith, one who suffered for the truth, one of the most generous guys on the face of the earth, his close friend, The Hero guy, whose wife left him for someone else, The Interloper guy. The Debriefer guy said that The Hero guy did the most noble thing ever, what amounts to the be all and end all of proof of absolute integrity: The Hero guy told his wife that he only wanted her to be happy, so, she should to go ahead and shack up with The Interloper guy, giving up on marriage of one man and one woman, following up on polyandry instead. The Hero guy said that he would be most happy when she is most happy, so that she should divorce himself and “marry” The Interloper guy. I wonder if he was Best Man, you know, for the sake of integrity.

When I answered to say that this was not indicative of integrity whether in natural law or any Judeo-Catholic anything, The Debriefer guy merely said that he thought that my statement was something that he sees as an opinion that some may have, affirming me in having an opinion, one opinion, mind you, among many opinions, and not his own opinion. Wow. So, for The Debriefer guy, the eternal truth that the way we are made, male and female in marriage and family as the image of God, is dismissed entirely, completely, absolutely, as mere opinion. For my CIA Debriefer guy, integrity of life is equated with accepting that which is diametrically opposed to the natural law and to that which is Judeo-Catholic, to our redemption by Jesus, the Son of the Living God, who is therefore passé. It is that attitude, that promotes, say, homosexuality as that which is good, which brought about the abuse crisis. Yep. This has got to stop. This all gets pretty dark and violent. For instance:

Call to mind what happened to Miriam Waldu at the time of the gay civil-union referendum in Italy. She was “Front of House” at Santa Marta, the Pope’s residence, one of the most brilliant intel agents ever (which is saying a lot). She was murdered as a shot over the bow, putting pressure on the Church not to intervene with the referendum. Statements made to me later about murder appearing to be suicide come to mind. I find this ongoing continuous insistence on social engineering by the CIA to be significant.

After all, if you destroy the consciences of people and nations, you can control them, easily.

At any rate, The Debriefer guy didn’t get anywhere with redefining marriage with me:

2. On calling idiocy “philosophy”: In Greek, Philosophy means love of wisdom. Forging ahead then, the arrogance of Cartesian non-reality that destroys appreciation of scholastic and indeed all previous philosophical thought, and casts all true love of wisdom aside, was presented by The Debriefer guy instead as the be all and end all of all there is to know about philosophy, so that if you don’t accept the post-plaugues closed-down-universities period of dumbed-downness incarnated in the self-admitted narrow-minded René Descartes you thereby reject all of philosophy… and, you know, he continued, it’s nice is today’s society NOT to be so impolite and naive and unhelpful as to reject something so useful and nice for the common good like philosophy… Well… shhhh…ugar. My non-acceptance of Cogito ergo sum (my CIA guy did not know the Latin… sigh…) brought forward a tinge of anger from him, so that he talked over me, raising his voice, bullying the attitude that I was an idiot for being so unenlightened, all said with super polite super elitist condescension, mind you. Instead, Descartes’ Cogito ergo sum is the arrogant rejection of God, making oneself God, making one absolutely independent from others, from God and neighbor. It gives one a licence to kill, as only oneself is important. Doh!

3. On the equivocation of all arms shipments: So, he moved on to a situation precisely, and in detail, having to do with my “Shadow” who stole my identity so many decades ago so as to do arms shipments to Mexican cartels. The Debriefer guy started the conversation by exclaiming that people are so very stupid and naive and dangerous[!] if they think[!] it is counterproductive to ship arms to foreign regions for assistance in non-defensive[!] situations when there are also present in some way governments which are or are not[!] cooperative with such provisions. One might recall this interrogation:

My “Shadow” is quite identical to the Lord of War, surely not so prolific, but quite the same. To be specific, The Debriefer guy’s idea was that Jason Chaffetz – whom he worked with on this – was right to agree to send stinger missiles to Afghanistan over against the ruling terrorists of the day (the Taliban) on the one hand, but then, on the other hand, was wrong to be so against arms shipments to cartels in Mexico (Fast and Furious) whereby cartels obediently destroy a competing economy to the USA by decimating through the same cartels that country’s police and military and government and politicians and businesses, with the slaughter of the civilian populations now getting into the hundreds of thousands, entire villages being annihilated. Yep. His bullying equivocation for all arms shipments being good went on it seemed forever in fine detail and recalled, as I say, very exactly what my Shadow (the guy who stole my identity) has been up to. He’s not going to get me to agree to all that. Nope. “Doh!”

4. Back to the non-marriage ideology: Summing up, as I think I’ve mentioned elsewhere, he showed me pictures of girly-girls, “models” as he called them, who work with him on spinning stuff for the CIA, such as short movies, documentaries, etc. He said that he wouldn’t show me anything that was, you know, revealing, that he wouldn’t do that, you know, to me. But that says that there is that which is revealing. What he showed me was already that which objectifies women. These are the people he’s always trying to introduce me to, his “intel group.” The idea with the women is, I suppose, that I will be happy to compromise myself with them. And then I would indeed be compromised. You can do a lot with blackmail and extortion. Ain’t gonna happen.

Note to CIA: Real integrity is not to be found in attacking morality, not to be found in rejecting all that is good and holy.

* By the way, I did NOT watch the entire Homer “Doh!” meltdown video. One “Doh!” suffices. Doh! ;-)

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CIA Debriefer guy: the suicide murders – “The Look” vs “He’s cute.”

CIA

It seems that every number of days I have yet another CIA guy come into my life. I should keep a list of those from near, in the parish (like Mr Hudson!), and those far away in so many countries. I give the ones I write about frequently nicknames. Mr Hudson was “The Mechanic,” keeping in order, as he did, the Blackbird, the missiles and Apollo space missions. Another who is the blackest of black ops guys of black sites fame I simply call “The Guy.” There’s also been “The Internet baiter guy.” I myself am called “The Janitor” by a parishioner. A Janitor, mind you, takes out the trash, so to speak, as it were. Not that I’m CIA, and not that I do that, or ever did that, but you get the idea. This time I’ll give this particular guy the nickname: “The Debriefer  guy”, hailed by General […] in the Pentagon as one of the best debriefers he’s ever seen in action. As he says rather gruffly of himself: “I ask a lot of questions.”

The Debriefer guy started a bout of conversation with this volley: “Tell me about especially interesting people in your life.” I thought I would bait him right back, with a true story mind you, but one which surely he did not expect. He’s forever declaring himself to be tough on abuse, which statement, unprovoked, always raises a red flag for me. I think of frauds like Barbara Blaine (died 2017) and how she and her ilk were on the take. I’ll assume that The Debriefer is legit. After all, everyone should be tough on abuse, right? Oh, and he also says that he doesn’t know how he can trust any priest, etc., I guess trying to put me on the defensive. Whatever. We do live in dark times. I am very patient.

With that in mind, bad and evil that I am, I told him of an interesting fellow I met back in early January of 1991, who I only had one conversation with. I said it was the story of a 12 year old boy I met on an empty road in northern Palestine, the West Bank, whatever you want to call it. Just me and him, a “12 year old boy, and me, alone.” Oooo! I’m bad and evil, I know. That’s baiting, I know. But, let’s see what happens. This kid will go on to commit suicide. I am so bad and evil.

Let me preface this with some background of my own life. I’m a survivor-victim of what is surely the biggest child porn operation to date (that’s back in the 1960s-1970s). I’ve written pretty extensively about that. I’ve also written pretty extensively about some suiciders who have come to me throughout my life, many of whom were abused, starting when I was a little kid, through my teenage years, as a seminarian, then as a priest. There are those who were dissuaded, those who went on to kill themselves, of various ages, various religions, various cultures, various nationalities, various unrepeatable circumstances. Some were close friends, some very very very close friends, some classmates, some acquaintances or those I had just met the first time. Recently, a good friend from Georgia suffered his son committing suicide. And then, just the other day, the body is just now going cold, another good friend from N.C. suffered his son committing suicide. How to say it: suicide is very much part of my life. I take all suicide and mentions of suicide super seriously. I’m sensitive to it. But I’ll use discussion of it to bait if I think that’s important. Nothing about suicide is fodder for humor or a cause to be flippant. Ever. [I’ve removed tons of stuff here as this is too long already, with the stuff removed describing all sorts of categories of those I’ve had experience with…]

One category I described in a draft of this post are kids, or teenagers, or young adults, you know, who have vests of bombs strapped to them by their own parents and are told how much money the family will get and how nice heaven will be and what an honor it will be to be a “martyr”. Surreal: this is done with freakish joy. This is child abuse, brain-washing, evil, and not issuing from any religion worthy of the name. Some of it is theatrical, as least for a moment, but “The Look” is already there, even with those pretending to be happy:

suicide bomber land day 2001

And then it becomes all too real. And there’s “The Look.” Always. Airport security and checkpoint guys are trained to look for “The Look”. Can you see it? …

suicide-bomber

Actually, the above kid is scared to death, having been put up to this, not wanting to do it. The rest of the story, if I remember correctly, is that this guy was successfully able to be divested of the bomb-vest he was wearing. Israel is really good at this stuff. But there’s “The Look.” Mind you, “The Look” is anything but “cute.”

The CIA Debriefer guy had been trying to enlist me to spin stuff for the CIA.

  • During a phone call he had me make comments on the Middle-East and various Christian sects.
  • In an email I was urged to make comments on aspects of the Shoah.
  • A text from him instructed me on aspects to be aware of with some political vocabulary when putting a spin on things.

Non-stop, all pretty intense:

  • CIA Debriefer guy: Hey! Father George! Please, co-author books with us!
  • Me: No.
  • CIA Debriefer guy: Hey! Father George! Please, then, consult for us!
  • Me: No.
  • CIA Debriefer guy: Hey! Father George! Please, then, let us debrief you on stuff!
  • Me: No.
  • CIA Debriefer guy: Hey! Father George! Please, then, join our facebook group of CIA spin guys and gals and give opinions on stuff! Who cares if it’s not secure. That’s the point!
  • Me: No.
  • CIA Debriefer guy: Hey! Father George! Please, then, let us make movie shorts about people of interest in your life. I’ll contact my producer right now. (A full hour of explanation of their talents in film making followed, demonstrating this in various ways.)

Terrorist Saeed Hotary - dolphinariumThat’s when he the CIA Debriefer guy asked me about interesting people in my life and when I answered with a baiting story to get a reaction out of him. I told him of the 12 year old boy I had met who had gone on – ten years later – to become one of the worst suicide bombers anywhere, certainly in Israel. I looked up a picture of the suicide bomber of the Dolphinarium, then 22 year old Saeed Hotari and explained that I had a chance meeting with him ten years earlier, when he was already intent on doing the unthinkable. Saeed has got what I call “The Look,” which one has when one is intent on becoming a suicide bomber. “The Look” is from hell, and, as I say, is anything but “cute.” To say “cute” is like having a fetish. I’ve written about Saeed and “The Look” extensively elsewhere and I do think that this incident is important to recount, even in a CIA produced propaganda movie short. See, for instance: Update: My terrorist friend and the terrorist friend of USMC Secretary of Defense James “Mad Dog” Mattis. Apparently, my conversation with Saeed did him some good, delaying him for another ten years until he was again put up to it by Abu Musab al-Zarqawi. And then, with huge pressure from his father and Zarqawi, and pressure having been put on him during all his impressionable years, “The Look” came to fruition. There were 120 wounded, maimed, hurt really badly. And twenty one died, some immediately, some after a few days, mostly newly arrived Russian Jewish girls residing in and around Tel Aviv:

  • Maria Tagiltseva, 14, of Netanya
  • Raisa Nimrovsky, 15, of Netanya
  • Ana Kazachkova, 15, of Holon
  • Katherine Kastaniyada-Talkir, 15, of Ramat Gan
  • Irina Nepomnyashchi, 16, of Bat Yam
  • Mariana Medvedenko, 16, of Tel Aviv
  • Yulia Nelimov, 16, of Tel Aviv
  • Liana Saakyan, 16, of Ramat Gan
  • Marina Berkovizki, 17, of Tel Aviv
  • Simona Rodin, 18, of Holon
  • Aleksei Lupalu, 16, of Ukraine
  • Yelena Nelimov, 18, of Tel Aviv
  • Irena Usdachi, 18, of Holon
  • Ilya Gutman, 19, of Bat Yam
  • Roman Dezanshvili, 21, of Bat Yam
  • Pvt. Diez (Dani) Normanov, 21, of Tel Aviv
  • Ori Shahar, 32, of Ramat Gan
  • Yael-Yulia Sklianik, 15, of Holon – died of her injuries on 2 June 2001
  • Sergei Panchenko, 20, Ukraine – died of his injuries on 2 June 2001
  • Jan Bloom, 25, of Ramat Gan – died of his injuries on 3 June 2001
  • Yevgeniya Dorfman, 15, of Bat Yam – died of her injuries on 19 June 2001

When the CIA Debriefer guy saw the picture of Saeed Hotari, he said: “He’s cute!” with a sing-song voice. Perhaps a deflection for not knowing what to say. But sometimes deflections are inappropriate. Sometimes deflections tell a story. I talked to someone else extremely capable with the psychology of debriefing and as soon as I recounted the “He’s cute!” part his response was to say, “This is exactly the kind of narcissism that needs to stop in America.”

Indeed. I mean… “He’s cute!”… ? I couldn’t believe my ears. So much for seeing “The Look” which is straight out of hell. How can people not see that? How can a CIA Debriefer not see that? “The Look” is NOT “cute.” I guess it helps to be bad and evil like me. I see stuff like “The Look” and understand it for what it is. But really, seriously, so should everyone who does this for a living. But maybe it’s the ol’ counterintel thing, where he’s baiting me baiting him baiting me baiting him… and around and around the vortex swirls.

I then responded to his question about doing movie shorts based on such things with a simple and utterly deadpan response:

  • Me: No.
  • CIA: But I can contact my producer right now, you know, […]. [He slowly introduces me to all names of his group, baiting me to ask about them.
  • Me: No.

Reflection on all this:

  • Perhaps one reader or another might think me to be mean in saying “No.”
  • Perhaps one reader or another might think I’m reading too much into “Cute.” The same thing was said, after all, about Dzhokhar Tsarnaev.
  • Perhaps one reader or another might think me to be unpatriotic in not helping the CIA with such things.
  • Perhaps one reader or another might think that I’m just lazy.

Here’s the deal: I could do all this and do it really well with the deadest of dead pan reality checks. But any interest in me is based not on me, but on the fact that I’m on a perpetual interdepartmental program that cannot be unmasked, not because of me, but because of the guy who stole my identity, the one I call my “Shadow.” But with all files destroyed as part of that program, no one can tell us apart for sure. Is it him or me or both of us or none of us anymore? It also doesn’t help that he looks like me and is the same age. It doesn’t help that Main State protects him in his using my identity. He entrenched under my identity so quickly because of exigent circumstances that he can’t now get out of it. Right now he’s playing the idiot, ensuring that no one thinks he’s the one who would have been capable of doing what he did under my name. But the more I protest that I’m just me, the more it’s thought I’m some sort of agent. No. That’s why I say “No.” I would say yes if this other thing was cleared up. But then, if it were, there would be no more interest in me, would there? No. So, for all this, I just have to say “No.” This CIA guy even asked me what my job title was in the CIA, after me denying such connections with the CIA for the zillionth time. Just. No.

But this CIA guy doesn’t take “No!” for an answer. What to do?

P.S. [And postscripts are always the purpose of anything written, right?] The central point in such conversations comes down to what to do about stuff. I repeat the central point of Pope Benedict’s Regensburg Address, that dialogue must use reason, and then add the response of Islamicists throughout the world, that no dialogue with reason is possible on religious grounds. We say that there is an analogy of reason with God and God’s creatures, so that although God’s ways are above our fallen ways, but that nevertheless, what is truly judged to be just and good by God should also be judged to be just and good by ourselves, His creatures. Islamicists, instead, say that this is not the case, that Allah’s reasoning is simply totally different and contradictory to our reasoning with no analogy between the two, so that what is judged to be just and good by Allah is judged to be unjust and evil by us, though we should, in the opinion of Islamicists, do Allah’s bidding anyway, as in putting children to death as “martyrs” for the cause, with bombs strapped to them. Every time I make that central point that is admitted by all on both sides, it is NOT accepted by The Debriefer guy, but just dismissed, blown off, really, as in “Yawn… interesting” – every time – and said with the most bored to death tone of voice ever, even while immediately then moving on in the conversation. Look, if The Company wants to be up front and have me teach counterintel about religious stuff, I would happy to do so. But all this other F***ery has to stop. When will we get serious. Too many people are dead. Oh. That’s right. That’s the point. More suicide. Which brings me back to the GTMO guys giving me an assignment concerning murder portrayed as suicide. Oh, and didn’t we have an Islamicist a while back as Director of the CIA? Oh, I see.

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My history of taking bribes from intel, or not…

The following is just a starter list that I throw out off the cuff. I’m sure I can add to the list, but this will give you an idea.

I was a bit of a dullard back in the day, the mid-1980s. I was a deacon on my way to Nicaragua to deliver medicines to the Catholic clinics and Mass stipends to be distributed to priests by a religious community of nuns. On the way I sat next to a CIA guy working a cover as a communications guy for State at the local embassy in Managua (he was delivering massive cargo bins acting as his “diplomatic pouch”). This arrangement of being companions on the flight took two days for him to arrange, which delayed the trip. C’est la vie. Anyway, after what seemed like ten million questions on the longest portion of the flight leaving from Miami, he gave me his card and said that if I had any problems I was to request to see only him at the embassy. Usually, CIA are to keep their identities quiet, but conditions in Nicaragua were such that they let that rule be loosened up really a lot, kind of unique in the whole world. At one of the stops on the way, I think San Salvador, he watched over his cargo bins outside the plane, but then quick ran into the “airport.” He came out with an expensive bottle of whiskey, which he gave to me, asking me to give that to Cardinal Obando y Bravo of Managua who he knew I already had an appointment to see. Since it wasn’t for me, I thought this was acceptable. Maybe I am mistaken. Anyway, I was then obliged by the CIA Whiskey guy to see number 2 at the Embassy instead of himself within a period of 72 hours from landing. Sometimes, when they work with the naive, like me, they get what they want anyway.

Years later, over in Italy, the top brass of the anti-mafiosi of the Guardia di Finanza, insisted, strongly, repeatedly, with follow-ups, that I allow myself to be shuttled by police round about Italy, wherever I needed to go. All I had to do was to call the local police station and they would come with a car. Quite the bribe as I was at the time about 100 kms from Rome and local transport was often cancelled, meaning I would have to walk miles up a mountain. However, to his consternation, frustration, anger, I never took advantage of this offer. He was wanting me to spy on the Cardinals up in the apartments on top of San Callisto, which I’ve often called the Vatican’s Pentegon. I was, in fact, up there quite a bit. But the spying? Nope. Ain’t gonna happen. The pressure was put on for quite a number of years, sometimes benevolent pressure, sometimes malicious. Anything malicious I would follow up on right away until the cowardly backed down. That’s always the case.

This was going on about the same time the Italian Ministry of Defense wanted me to spy on some Mafiosi for them in southern Italy. The bribe was their offering me an assignment in a nice parish to be arranged by the liaison between the Ministry of Defense and the Holy See. The bribe came with the price of betraying penitents who came to sacramental Confession. Nope. Ain’t gonna happen. Meanwhile, stories of what happened to priests who didn’t cooperate were coming my way. Interesting, but not having effect.

So many stories flood into memory as I write this, but in an effort not to make this too long, let me just add some mentions of things from right around the world. There are those, particularly in the CIA, who are convinced that I am some sort of agent of said agency. You would think they would have noticed that I’m a priest. Anyway, the items or most extraordinary assignments I’ve been offered from which I could provide, um, information, are myriad. Since it’s not thought that I’m actually a priest (that being some sort of tricky cover, I guess), the bribes have sometimes been more, let’s say, secular in nature. For instance, I recall being shown NON-pornographic pictures of women which pictures nevertheless certainly objectified women also as sex objects. That may entice some 007 guy to go along with whatever so as “get some”, but I’m married to the Church with the wedding vows at the consecrations at Holy Mass. And anyway, also someone who is not a priest should not be interested in objectifying women or in taking advantage of pre-objectified women.

I call to mind a certain bribe that was given by the chief priests and received by the Apostle Judas Iscariot, thirty pieces of silver, the price at which they valued the Son of the Living God.

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Patriots Day مترجم Islamicists bomb Marathon. Inspirational: Boston Strong

I note that this is one of those obvious copyright violations that YouTube has not taken down. There are reasons for this. This version has Arabic subtitles throughout. And while this might be seen as a “microaggression” by the powers that be, some sort of accusation against Islam, this presentation is clearly meant as an encouragement to peace. I rarely watch movies and have only seen a few minutes of this. If you’ve seen it, can you give us a review or comment one way or the other?

There’s a depiction of a woman getting interrogated until the interrogator realizes that any appeal to mercy or truth or goodness or kindness will never have any effect on someone who madly actually believes in sadistic bloodthirsty “Allah”.

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CIA gaying American bishops, cause of abuse crisis. What 2019 Synod can do.

gay flag

Without being registered as a foreign agent, I did a favor for the Holy See by outing a CIA asset assigned there. He belonged to group of military intel officers who had become mercenaries. I know the guy who trained him though didn’t assign him. That was the CIA. He admitted to it. The guy I caught out was confirmed for me by the head of security of the Holy See. Anyway, the asset guy had full access for 40 minutes a day for years to all offices and files in the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, including that of the Prefect, which means he could manipulate one-copy hard-files on, say, candidates for episcopal office right around the world, making weak candidates for enemy countries look especially unacceptable, while making strong candidates look even better (to the end that they cause problems, like the now canonized Karol Józef Wojtyła did) doing the reverse for these United States and friends, so that strong candidates looked especially inappropriate even while the most inappropriate and weak candidates looked especially fit for the office (say, like McCarrick and friends). I know for a fact that this manipulation of files was a “thing” for many years, and not only in the CDF, but also at, say, the Congregation for Bishops and the Congregation for Clergy. But the CDF was the most notorious even while it was headed up by Cardinal Ratzinger. No fault to him for this. Bad actors are afoot and need to be removed from influence. Ratzinger insisted on following every single important case in the world, superhuman of him, but he did it, which also made his files especially sought after.

Of course, in outing that guy (who was forthwith given the boot), I suppose I was committing treason and I’m considered a bad actor against these United States myself. But I don’t expect any public complaint of any kind will be made since this would also involve free exercise of religion (a pesky little amendment in the Constitution of these USA).

So, just to spell this out: if, in America, we get ultra-super-homosexualist candidates they will be apt to rid the faithful in America of any well-formed conscience, of any morality, of any truth. Anything goes with whatever prevailing opinion. Anything the government wants that weak guy will be good with that. No trouble from that guy. Abortion? Big deal! Abortifacients? Nothing to see here, folks! Gay marriage? Awww! Aren’t they cute! Get it?

Oh, and if you’re wondering what this actually has to do with homosexualist stuff, I did see that guy later, all trans-dressed. Yep. The head of security of the Holy See tells me he’s dead now, but… Whatever.

Even if I have lots of friends in the CIA, I’m sure I’ve made one or two in The Company a little upset as well. But maybe they just laugh, thinking nothing can be done. Yet:

Solution for the Synod of Abuse in February:

I think an investigation could actually uncover manipulation of files, comparing, say, what was sent to the Congregations for the Clergy, for Bishops, for the Doctrine of the Faith (also with what’s to be found at the Secretariat of State), that is, in their files across the pond, with what was sent to those dicasteries by the Nunciature of the Holy See in these USA, that is, as is verifiable with files here in these USA. The Synod could order this comparison to be made, say, with the courteous help of the FBI. ;-)

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Abuse and the FBI: code word gaming?

chess board robert van der steeg impossible world

I put up a post the other day about the February 2019 Synod of Abuse (Abuse of Synod), mentioning I’m going to put up a post in a couple of days, the end of November 2018, discussing some preliminary perspectives that hinder proper reasoning. I’ve since been busy in emergency rooms of hospitals and such, but would like to get back to this topic.

I got in a comment on that earlier post which used a code word that I only use over the phone in discussing matters with Father Gordon and Father […Canon Lawyer…]. I didn’t use that code word in that post. But the commenter adeptly used that code word in the manner in which only we three priests would use it. The only way the commenter could use that word the way he did would be for him to be following our telephone and email conversations over quite a space of time. Either that, or he reads minds. Hmmm. I’m wondering if the guy is getting paid off by a certain lavender mafia, meanwhile trying to be perceived as benevolent.

Meanwhile, significantly, the comment came in with an email address created and backed and ultra-super-encrypted by CERN-MIT provided by non-discoverable servers in Switzerland with virtually unhackable messages (even by governments) which are also all set to auto-destruct within two minutes of being viewed. Not a normal mode of communication, also quite costly, pretty much only for nerd-freakoids and off of the official server Feds with special permissions, or…

I checked out the IP address, which I’m sure he wanted me to see – as I don’t see most IPs – and it hits on two major FBI centers, the provenance, actually, of my GTMO visitors some months ago with all their talk about murder made to look like suicide as an assignment for me. All games. Gaming theory. Oh, that’s right. I forgot. DARPA COMPASS.

So, here’s my request to this guy: let’s work together. There’s a couple of things I’d like to do that would help end the whole abuse thing. I sent him a friendly email about that. He’s not come through. We could get a lot more done a lot more quickly in a much more serious effective way if we just skipped all the gaming theory and such.

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Counterintel Vultures vs Crux Kryptos

img_20181106_161114606~2680542546020761479..jpg

The locals call these guys turkey buzzards, which buzz around big as wild turkeys. I just call them vultures. I’ve seen as many as seventy in a “kettle” (as if swirling in a kettle up in the sky) above an active landfill that handles household garbage. But in the midst of the back forest ridges near the hermitage on any day off  I might see just a few on the road, like bandits. They’ve been here at the exact same spot on the gravel one-lane hermitage mountain road near the waterfall for the seven or eight years I’ve been driving this road, never with road kill, just owning the place. They’ll move just off the road for a vehicle that dares approach them. I’ve wondered what they would do if I were walking alone on the road and acted with timidity, skittish, hesitant, backing up a step, and then another. What I don’t have to wonder about is that acting with confidence is 99% of any success in dealing with any would-be adverse encounter, and can pretty much control any outcome. Bravely walk up to these monsters and they’ll run away.

Dealing with the dark side is one thing. Quite another is dealing with human beings who are not perceptive to mind tricks, but are instead wasted on drugs, especially the drug of, say, counterintel, and it is a drug, with all the same effects, unless… And, by the way, we’re all lost to mind games on every level of our lives, unless… unless we have a constant which cuts through all mind games, that which is more powerful than mind games, more powerful than anything we hold dear in this world, including life here. That Constant is the Cross. Love, like Wisdom, cuts through idiocy. The world spins about while the Cross remains a constant.

Solving Kryptos – Part 4 – Coriolis effect – Crux stat dum volvitur orbis

Kryptos 1

Don’t be lost to a palimpsestic faith. Truth is Love is God, ever ancient, ever new, always the same, always full of Life. Our thinking that we can edit Truth, edit Love, edit Life is where all our shattered ways bring darkness. In our stupidity, we think that spreadsheeting analysis of stats based on fallen human nature takes account of all reality and is the key to unlocking mysteries. Pffft. Soooo NOT. When it comes to Truth who is Love who is Life, so that we walk with Truth, with Love, with Life, then it’s no longer an iffy confidence manipulating success 99% of the time, then there is success 100% of the time, with success not being measured in this world, but by being drawn into eternal life.

There’s no greater joy before the angels of heaven than when…

Didn’t expect that, did you?

;-)

 

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CIA offer of invite for assignment to Vatican? Or not. Teenage nostalgia.

just me 04

Always happy to be humint-baited about my teenage years. One of my major faults if not sins (among so many of so many kinds on so many levels) is to be terribly and exaggeratedly and perhaps unhelpfully nostalgic as instigated by anyone who wants to send me down memory lane. Skills in analysis that I began to gain in my teenage years and which have developed more recently are fun to use on those teenage memories.

But why would anyone be interested to humint-bait me about my pre-graduation from high school teenage years? Of a sudden there is more than just a little interest. I have had quite a number of people contact me to tell me about how they’ve been interrogated about me, always with the verbatim question, a spotlight shining brightly on my high school years. Hmm? What could that be about more than forty some years later (now late 2018)? I mean, seriously. Is this an inquisition in the style of the one that was intended to bring down Justice Brett Kavanaugh, something about beer and orgies? Or is it something good natured (a vetting) or even more nefarious? It’s just another one of the many thousands of super weird events of this kind over the decades.

As long time readers will recall, one person it seems representing a number of others weirdly and out of nowhere recently threatened to sue me if I put up the picture at the top of this article, a picture of my own self with my own mom (RIP) and my own dad (RIP) in my own home during my own teenage years. I think I’ve had possession of that picture for something like more than forty years. I’m guessing a copy of that picture was made back in the day when my “Shadow” (the person who stole my identity back then) was trying to pass himself off as me, you know, with me having a clean record, permitting him to travel also internationally without being imprisoned (until he was thrown in maximum security prison in Mexico and then “miraculously” sprung for “no reason”). Perhaps it is thought that the picture proves I’m really me and that I actually existed before any “assignment” by the CIA, the object of the baiting. My Shadow, mind you, is my age and looks like me. Sigh.

Anyway, permit a couple of points to be made before beginning this rather labyrinthine if not serpentine walk down memory lane. As I say, when it comes to nostalgia, I’m perhaps too happy to oblige.

  • Recall, if you would, the one I call my Shadow, who took over my identity in my teenage years (Hey! Maybe that‘s what this is about!), that he continues to be protected in doing so by Main State and the FBI, who went out of their way to let him entrench under my real identity for the sake of his arms transfers to cartels under my name even while they offered me an alternative identity so as to make me disappear from the face of the earth (and therefore no longer be a priest, that is, when I found out about all this after my ordination from Main State) as part of the perpetual interdepartmental program I had already been put on by Main State for many years. Recall that I didn’t take them up on the offer. Anyway, one more thing:
  • I had a mentor in my teenage years, a good friend I speak about below. Well, as I find out only now as I write this post, it seems that he may have been “disappeared.” He’s one of those who, young, in absolutely perfect health, suffered a “heart attack,” which is the usual way for “The Company” to send the message to the world that someone has died and can therefore be forgotten about, but who is still alive and is simply re-tasked somewhere else after a job well done. I was only confronted with this information about his death while writing this post, that is, while researching the humint-baiting of myself about my teenage years since this past April 2018 when I was put on the DARPA-COMPASS program. It wasn’t long after that that the famous phrase was put before me: “The first thing you have to know about me is that I would never intentionally commit suicide.”

spy vs spy

So, let’s start with “The Question” that was humint-baited about me. The first I myself heard “The Question” was while discussing with my filling out untold numbers of forms regarding CIA matters with a certain someone. He posed “The Question” in the midst of that discussion and immediately integral to it, without skipping a beat – the seemingly out-of-the-blue question posed to me and later to many others in various ways but always quite exactly the same, virtually verbatim, concerning just how it is that (1) I got an offer (2) to be invited (3) to be assigned (4) to the Vatican (5) by those about whom we were speaking in quite the intense fashion, obviously, namely, those at “The Company”.

That’s a question which, even if it had anything to do with reality, is not a question for which an answer can be given, not even to an agent, whether of “The Company”, the FBI, or any of our other intelligence, military and law enforcement entities. The answer would have to prefaced with the old aphorism:

“If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you, and in saying that, I’ve already said too much, so I’ll have to kill you even without telling you.”

That’s said just for humor, for all of this is, to me, rather humorous, at least inasmuch as any assignment by the CIA is nothing that I know anything about. But if it were true at all, well… then just recall the scene at the CIA canteen between the then analyst “Maya” and the then Director of the CIA:

Things get compartmentalized and are on a need to know basis such that even the Director is to be shielded from such information. Knowledge can come back to bite you. In my case, a request for unmasking (unwittingly dealing more with my “Shadow” than myself) would not be honored except with an investigation as to why it is that such a request was made for the summaries kept only by the Director or the Secretary of State. So, if the question cannot be asked, why ask that question? Yet, that very specific question has been repeated ad nauseam to me and others who have nothing to do with anything. It’s the involvement of those others that’s a bit weird. And the insistence.

The short answer to the question is this: I may have come to know really a lot of CIA crowd, agents and assets, male and female, young and old, active and retired, supervisors or in the field or otherwise, on whatever levels, across the decades and in so many countries and diverse situations, but I vigorously and categorically deny that I have ever worked as a salaried employee of The Company. In filling out untold numbers of forms over time, its not like I myself used them for the ends intended (but no fraud!); for me they were more like the recreation one might have in creating a counterintelligence product. Sure, I’ve been asked to be a spy, sometimes nicely, sometimes with a bit of extortion, sometimes with caginess, sometimes overtly, sometimes playing on my patriotism, sometimes with threats, by some of the more desperate agents in countries and in situations which afforded access to me but not to them when all was at risk. But I was only a seminarian and then a priest trying to do my best to follow Jesus. I don’t think any of that means I was invited to be assigned, blah blah blah. I think people may be confused about me and my “Shadow.” Whatever.

Mind you, I chuckle, loving this question about being “assigned.” Nostalgia is lovely. And mind you, the repeated yet discretely asked and appropriately timed “Question” does NOT so much regard any assignment or any results as much as how any assignment came about. And that necessarily transports me back into a time previous to any such assignment. The interest right now is not in what I did after any assignment, but what was going on that brought about any assignment. Get the logic?

Considering when I first went to Rome, this would bring me back into the mid-1970s, when I was still in high school, before I really knew much of anything about any seminary anywhere, though I made no big secret of my thinking about becoming a priest.

The question, moreover, isn’t so much about me as about those who were preparing to make any such assignment. “The Question” seeks my own personal assessment, not of me, but of those offering any such an invitation for me to receive any such assignment: How is it that any such an assignment came about? My assessment of any such decision of others… That’s what’s sought with “The Question.”

FBI West Palm Beach FL

As it is, those who are to be assigned early on are, in fact, analyzed right through high school. Lots of “Company” men and women have been recruited out of high school or soon thereafter, not only the lady who found UBL, but also “The Mechanic” of this parish, a friend [USA’s “Mechanic” died: USAF CIA U2 rockets missiles. Catholic. (*Not* FBI)]. After the USAF plucked him out of his junior year in high school, and after he later so aced the FBI exams that they were afraid of him, the CIA – having no fear of a genius – snatched him up. It’s these kind of people that make “The Company” a temptation as a kid. But temptations don’t have to be followed.

Anyway, it’s not that “the Company” and the FBI have always shared information, but I would have been on the radar generally speaking already in high school for any number of reasons. This list of possible hits on a radar for candidates is my way of answering “The Question.” This is just a quick list. I’m sure I could add lots more pertinent things. But this is a start.

So, here’s the longer version of the short answer:

north junior high school

  • As I’ve written about previously at length, years before high school I was an unwitting victim of the kiddy porn industry, that is, a victim in what was surely the biggest porn operation in history, generating a near infinity of pictures, and an unimaginable multitude of professionally produced films. To this day I have not heard anything that has even come near to what happened. That’s saying a lot. My dad, finding out that I had been in the car of the boss-man immediately tried to do something about it. It was a pretty fierce night for him on the phone followed by some pretty fierce anger in the following weeks, not with me, but with the whole situation. This would certainly have been an FBI investigation in which I was named as someone needing protection. Talk about being on the radar though for a weird reason.

cadillac limousine

  • My dad was mayor of the city I grew up in. He was top attorney in the entire region of the state, building the first “sky-scraper” in that region. He was often down in the capital building and knew everyone everywhere, including the national politicians. He was close in with the FBI and often invited me as a youngster to come to meetings with the FBI, introducing me to them and making sure they knew about little me throughout my years in Junior High School, High School, and in the summers of my first half dozen years in the seminary. Talk about being on the radar, this time for a positive reason.

Dads law offices

  • Mine was not a normal high school. I was in a highfalutin filthy liberal Catholic but highly academic prep school attended by students from all over North America and from countries all over the world. And yet, in the midst of the filth and in the midst of the heresy and in the midst of the utter disrespect for the Holy Father and the Magisterium typical of the mid-1970s, amidst the trouncing of Sacred Tradition and Sacred Scripture, in the midst of horrific experimentation with Holy Mass, in the midst of a breakdown in morality by Church leaders, I was stalwart, and became the enemy of the powers that be, getting bullied and put down as naive and unsophisticated and not up to date when, alone, I would stand up for all that is good and holy and ecclesial. I would hunt down the Tridentine Masses, as they were called, in the “catacombs” below the Abbey church. I was made into an example publicly. I totally “blame” my guardian angel for this. I apologize to my guardian angel. Surely he had to work overtime with me. Surely he did more face palms because of me than even he can count. I was perhaps so persnickety about the faith because I realized just how much I was in need of the faith, especially of the confessional. That’s not being persnickety, of course. It’s doing the one thing necessary. How much better could I have done for our Lord if I had only applied myself more to the learning of the faith? How many missed opportunities? None of this was unseen by my special mentor in my Sophomore year (I had transferred into the school from elsewhere). More on my special mentor below. Being on his radar was, I think, being on another radar.

angel face palm

  • Weirdly, my out-of-confines-of-the-high-school were also on the radar of my mentor. So, what was that like? It might be thought I was a freak of sorts, in that I didn’t do the “normal” things. No drugs. No parties. No sex with either sex (though I was on occasion aggressively sought out by both [that assessment not including my girlfriend with whom I would go on long walks, long horseback rides, long car rides on the forest gravel roads, or play tennis with or just sit around and talk with, sometimes speaking about how many kids God might grace us with should we get married). But, notice the negatives: no drugs, no parties, no sex. Considering the negatives, don’t imagine that I was a paragon of virtue, which would have been a positive if it were true. I was surely like everyone else in every way except that perhaps what kept me in line was the stunning untowardness from some few, including one girl my age not from the area who admitted to being sent to me by others in order to make me fall[!]), and, as I say, untowardness from porn producers, from adult stalkers, etc. I’ve already written about my success in surviving such encounters. My non-conformity with the lowest common denominator didn’t go unnoticed. In fact, I impossibly heard about my own whereabouts from others, and my activities, and what my life was like – with much solidarity – though I was flummoxed as to how they could possibly know, and all of this in at least as much detail as I knew myself, and perhaps more. Did they know of my getting shot at on the road I lived on, on so many occasions, some dozens of bullets all told as a kid: shotgun (perhaps a dozen shells; I felt the spray) and rifle (I remember the whizzing sounds of dozens of bullets all told at that time)? I never talked about it. But they sure did make me feel loved. They marveled at my situational awareness even then. That was encouraging. Perhaps this knowledge of my private life helped others to open up to me, that is, those with suicidal ideation, quite a number. The powers that be would thank me for my efforts in these situations, particularly my special mentor. Some situations were pretty dramatic. I remember them well. Just getting nostalgic about this, I call to mind, now, some half dozen people who did not commit suicide after long and sometimes multiple conversations. I recall a couple of failures later in life in Europe and the West Bank. One killed himself so as to escape being used to kill others, a success in its own weird way I guess. Another waited ten more years to become a suicide bomber, at least that much delay, a success in its own weird way I guess. I’ve written of those elsewhere, but those last two were long after high school and so of no consequence here.
buckwheat horse

This could be a clone of my el cheapo horse “Buckwheat”, basically thrown away by his previous owner as being too independent minded for any would-be rider. We were, instead, great friends. Not a donkey, but that’s fine.

  • More of my private life was known. I found great solace in reading the Baltimore Catechism. I basically had the sections of the advanced catechisms on how to go to Confession pretty much memorized. I loved Confession. I went to Confession, a lot. I had a good confessor. Meanwhile, since preparing for Confirmation, I thought reading the Bible was super enthralling. For instance, I spent many weeks, actually, months on end, immersed in a mania of artistically depicting scenes of the Apocalypse with comprehensive exactitude. I showed those to some. Diversely, at school, I was one of the best amateur potters in the region, immediately getting an audience when I sat down at a wheel, even doing on demand performances of “throwing” pots in mere seconds. The school itself gave me truckloads of stuff to help me build my own hermitage so as do some serious reading, writing, drawing. I would get on my fastest of all fast horses known to anyone (which we got really cheap – almost for free – since he was ornery and small) – bareback (he was barrel-backed) mind you – and go chasing around the countryside and forests and hills and dales, around lakes, into lakes, miles and miles and miles. This was sometimes done with those from school, sometimes with my girlfriend, sometimes on my own. Or I would go out on a dirt bike, practicing climbing super steep ridges without letting the engine choke out, also sometimes with others from school. Long rifle sharp shooting (not super successful) from both over super rough terrain, in and through trees and thickets, over fences. Nothing interesting here. But people were interested. Again, and this was kind of weird, they let me know about it. As I say, it seems someone who knew me well wanted others to show me lots of love. They would come up to me in all solidarity, like, once a week like clockwork, one after another within a day or two, until the next week. And then it would all be repeated. I wonder if that was my special mentor doing all that. He carried really a lot of weight with everyone at school. Much appreciated, I guess. More on my rather special mentor below.

euclid school of athens

  • I would also think, a lot. I would spend hours on end, days, forgetting about time, training myself to think while sleeping (this works great and I’ve kept up this practice), trying, at the time, to figure out what are considered impossible mathematical conundrums, and then afterwards, taking a break, going golfing or sailing with a friend in my class to talk about these same mathematical impossibilities (before my junior year in high school) which he, also on his own and without me knowing about it, had been working on in the same exact ways, including purposely dreaming about them at night so as to come up with hypotheses that had to be tested during the day on paper. That was a revelation. I wasn’t alone. But it was only us two. But I guess it was all “normal.” That turned what was a challenge into great fun. Well, that was true until a math prof in junior year gave us an end-of-the-world exam about which he warned us every class for six weeks (class being four times a week), at which he wrote out three super complex equations in the air, not on the board, describing them orally, and we had to figure out what he was doing while he wrote out in the air all the square roots and divisions and letters and multiplications and more letters and rubbish of all sorts with parentheses or not. He did this three times and called on me all three times. I got them all right. He made an example of me publicly. Not sure why. Was it my special mentor at work behind the scenes getting him to do this? They all worked for him. He just about didn’t make it out of the classroom alive as everyone was so angry with him for the reason that I was deathly sick at the time. I was made an example of a lot. Even if that all proved to me that “I could do it”, it all nevertheless turned me off from doing math. But I’m sure that wasn’t the intended result. I was instead much more interested in counterintel, of all things because of my special mentor. Who is he, you ask?

PROMETHEUS

  • My psych exams over a lifetime must have also been pretty wild. I’ve had heaps of zillion-question psych exams since my youngest days back in the 1960s. “These are experimental psych exams”, they said. “I’m in,” I said. “You don’t have to do them,” they said. “I’m in,” I said. Even as a tiny little kid I was quite self-aware and without being able to put a name on it, I was quite into counterintel, suspicious of what what being asked. The first exams were, I think, in fourth grade and sixth grade. I never liked manipulation. I suppose that was seen by the writers of the exam and its earliest reviewers of results. I was forever being put in classes for “gifted students” since I was a little kid. We were “special” as we were always told, so, whatever. ;-) I kept taking versions of these zillion question exams. My special mentor continued giving such exams to us. He simply couldn’t get over what these said about my leadership qualities. He took me on as his special project, wanting to encourage some rather peculiar leadership skill sets, for which I was, impossibly, 11.2 on a 1-10 scale in the most recent set of zillion question exams. My mentor and I would have ferocious in depth conversations in which he would elicit my advice about whatever different sets of circumstances he would put before me, a baiting-training in for counterintel. The scenarios were progressively wildly complex, with, for instance, seemingly innocuous details which came to be of central importance. He was really good at bringing me from one step to the next, quite happy when I learned how to be multiple steps ahead of him, stepping back, able to survey what was going on, turning the tables and putting him under pressure. Ha ha! I loved this kind of challenge, formation, mentoring. These conversations would go on for hours on golf courses, often having us stop dead in the middle of a fairway, or on a green, or sandtrap, explaining, arguing, refining appraisals of perspectives of characters in the scenarios who were, perhaps, not so imaginary, but rather people he had to deal with. He even came out with names once in a while. One scenario was, apparently, deadly, deadly, deadly serious, and he almost quit after we teed off on the first of our 18 hole extravaganza that day. But he got it. Those were heady days. I’m sure I was tempted to outrageous arrogance because of this. But these experiences did bring me into an entirely different universe of dealing with people.

rifle

  • My mentor once wrote about me in a certain famous letter that should I end up in Rome where I would be able to survey fully the state of the Church and the world, in having a choice before me, I would likely be drawn to a life choice that would allow me to put into play other skill sets he saw within me, those being perfect, he thought, for counterintel. As another example of his attitude, he singled me out in front of the entire junior and senior classes (some hundreds of students together), saying that I alone among all of them could resist manipulation, hypnotism, subterfuge (in a word: intel, counterintel), turning the tables. There was just absolutely no way that I could be brought down, he said. Most just took that in. Some congratulated me, but still just took that judgment upon themselves. Some others so very angrily objected to being categorized as being such pushovers that they proved his point with all these others. As I looked around the assembly hall at the reactions of my fellow students, typical of me, I instantaneously thought of this as yet another of his counterintel “products” also for me, and therefore also noticing my own reactions both to him and to the other students. That any footprint of his upon the earth was entirely erased after I graduated is rather distressing. I have offered many prayers for him, many Masses for him. Try to find out if he ever existed, and there’s nothing. I heard a rumor once that perhaps he died. The FBI and Main State would attempt to do that “perhaps” thing with me when I got to be his age (the whole alternative identity thing that I didn’t request). I resisted, in Rome, contrary to what my mentor had predicted. Or is what I did at that time another counterintel “product”, you know, because nothing is as it seems? ;-)

Anyway, to repeat the question:

Just how it is that (1) I got an offer (2) to be invited (3) to be assigned (4) to the Vatican (5) by those about whom we were speaking, obviously, namely, those at “The Company”.

I would have thought that much more interesting would be how anything like any of that would play out over in Rome. That’s for another post, a story over the years full of spies and counterspies and such. Mind you, in this post nothing much was said about me being cover for my “Shadow.” Let’s just say that the more I’ve been involved in whatever way with terrorism and coups and shady people of all sorts on whatever side of things, the easier it is for my “Shadow” to continue to entrench under my name. It is what it is.

Anyway, that’s all kind of the answer to “The Question,” I’m sure creating more questions than answering anything whatsoever. But that’s the murky world of murkiness of the darkest of existential peripheries in which many live their entire lives as if that were somehow normal.

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Filed under Holy See, Intelligence Community, Patriotism, Politics

Fr Byers, the FBI investigated you how many times? We want files! My real ID

cia memorial

High pressure repeated request from [ex-?]CIA guy who’s now […] as cover:

“Father Byers, the FBI investigated you how many times? We want files! Who are you, anyway?”

This has been going on for months. Lots of pressure. I really have to give an answer. I’m forced into it. Interesting question. Baiting. Just to see which investigations I know about, if I know what my ID really is. This is always fun, so let’s set out to have some fun! ;-)

Short answer: Who am I? I’m just a POS. But (now speaking to the [ex-?]CIA guy), you tell me. How many FBI investigations? Lol. A lot! I mean, I don’t know. I guess this FBI investigation thing is getting to be a fad with SCOTUS Justice Brett Kavanaugh having undergone fully seven investigations. Which makes me wonder what I myself wrote in year books when I was a kid… I think it was something like “Most likely to become POTUS” for a friend. Ooooo! A national security issue! For a girl I think I wrote: “Most likely to get accepted to Harvard.” She was a brainiac with math. Anyway, I’m guessing I’ve had more FBI investigations than Justice Kavanaugh. But exactly how many times? Great question. Maybe just one, as in lifelong and continuous. And if I could “view” those “files” that would be great! But whoever heard of the one investigated being in charge of the files about himself in FBI repositories or in those famous “ongoing cases”? I’ve been wanting to see all those all my life. Good luck with that. Share them with me when you have them. I myself want to know what agents knew and when, just how much they let the “small” things go, you know, so as to go after the “big fish”, so that then, when push came to shove, those “big fish” were never taken down, you know, for political reasons. If that’s the case.

Anyway…  It’s an incomplete and therefore inadequate question. Just the FBI? Go ahead and include the CIA (“Dedicatio par aevum” memorial pictured up top) and DEA and BATFE and DHS and ICE and TSA and, most importantly, the Department of State, that is, Main State, and a dozen plus other of our agencies and institutes and groups and such. In fact, include all those groups who were subpoenaed but who refused to answer the questions of Jason Chaffetz’s congressional investigation into Fast and Furious. Jason was ignored even though he was Congressional Chairman of Oversight. So, good luck with that, especially since I’ve been told by Main State that anything related to me has long been destroyed, the normal practice upon being placed into a perpetual interdepartmental program. Go ahead and ask for it? Just know you might be asked, with polygraph, why you’re asking. Could be a career ending move, or send you to prison.

My rap sheet: No felonies. No misdemeanors. Ever. Nothing pending. Nothing ever having been pending. No courts. No settlements. And nothing having been “wiped” from the record. Well… There are some things that may have disappeared from my rap sheet as one sheriff told me when I asked him about it – disappeared things such as being pulled over for not wearing a seat belt when I was constantly starting and stopping to deliver meals to the home-bound for the soup kitchen. The cop admitted later that he ticketed me for purely political reasons. Anyway, that citation was, like, seven years ago. I found out that no one knew enough to grant permission about the statute at the time that permitted no usage of a seat belt in such conditions of constant service deliveries with permission. I can recall other times getting pulled over, like when my sister was teaching me to drive when I was twelve years old and I ran a trick stop sign that was posted inches behind a light pole so that it couldn’t be seen. Other occasions do come to mind. For instance, I remember I was going a little fast – like 5 miles over – in making the 1000+ mile trip to my dying dad’s bedside some decades ago. You get the idea.

A longer than short answer:  I guess it would take an autobiography to even scratch the surface. I’ve had a pretty wild life. There was a time when I’m guessing that for a short while I was a most researched person in these USA. But, what do I know? That’s just a guess judging from the blog stats of hits from named and therefore not much secured servers of pretty much every intelligence HQ in these USA and around the world. You know the drill: USAIC, NNIC, DHS, DOD, DOJ, BATFE, IRS[!], SSA[!], FBI, CIA, Interpol, The Hague[!], etc., in so many centers for each all around, making the stats fly, scrolling quickly off screen, zip zip zip. I should see if I still have some screen shots from years gone by. Probably anomalous interest, right? If these were the named hits, I have to wonder what the blind hits were. It is what it is. At any rate, let me guess about a few incidents which may have instigated Federal research now and again.

  • It’s just now two years since I’ve received my concealed carry handgun permit here in NC, which has (in some cases by far) one of the more stringent series of local, state (SBI) and federal (FBI) background checks in these USA, a fact opening up NC to reciprocity in most states of these USA. North Carolina even adds what amounts to presently illegal (because of duration, many months) checks into mental health. At any rate, no records of that for me.
  • I got my Gold-Star driver licence / “Real ID” a few months ago and had to renew again just now in time for the election (good for another 8 years). This involves some pretty stringent background checks as well on Local, State and Federal levels.
  • I’ve been fingerprinted and checked all over the world, not for any particular reason, but just because I happen to be in terribly dangerous places really a lot with lots of terribly dangerous people, people who have killed really a lot of people, or who are in charge of the militaries of their countries, et al. So, it finally becomes the ol’ “Who are you anyway?” kind of thing. Sigh.

  • I’m just now gathering some dates and info and documentation so as to sign up in the near future for Global-Entry, a jacked up version of TSA pre-check which involves checks even more stringent than for the NC firearms checks. G-E involves checks against criminal and law enforcement indices (Federal, State, Local), customs, immigration, agriculture, and terrorist indices including biometric fingerprint checks and a personal interview (That‘s surely a well experienced interrogator). All the checks are not listed here. It’s a pretty long, exhaustive list. Fun!
  • Just because of past lives, as it were, I’ve recently called in some items related to financial groups and terrorism to, for instance – depending on the subject – Main State, Liberty Crossing Campus, the FBI. You can’t do such things without first being extremely thoroughly vetted by the FBI from multiple locations and on all sorts of levels. Fine. These series of checks pretty much add up to joining any of our institutes or agencies minus the polygraph. Thoroughness cannot be underestimated. Oddly, the guy taking the financial case wanted to know about terrorism. I mean, he asked about it like a half dozen times. Oh, I forgot, terrorism and financial malfeasance often go together. My bad.
  • Of course, Main State and the FBI do not put one on a perpetual interdepartmental program for no reason. Once you’re on, you’re on. That’s it, forever, as the FBI strongly insisted with me, drilling this into me. There’s no way off as there’s nothing remaining after destruction of files in order to base a new decision upon. It’s like the seal of confession. Even if the penitent gives you permission to break the seal you can’t break the seal. Someone could be putting him/her under some sort of coercion to request such a thing against his/her will (regardless of what he/she says). The information doesn’t belong to the priest. It belongs to Jesus. The same here: even if I request to get off the program I cannot do so. It’s beyond unmasking. It’s frustrating. Part of the program is to be “accompanied,” even in a terribly annoyingly obvious way, especially at airports and inside airplanes (as I was forewarned about). In analyzing this, the guy I call “The Guy,” told me that this is meant to send a message to the idiots: If you mess around with this guy you will be stopped. However annoying this can be, it’s also kinda nice. This started decades ago, perhaps when I was a teenager, in the mid-late 1970s. I need to write more about it.
  • More recently, seemingly in April of 2018, this was all jacked up a bit. I had gone to FBI ATLANTA to talk about options for that perpetual interdepartmental program mentioned above. I was delayed for some twenty minutes from approaching the security building, that is, until CTU Virginia showed up. We parked together. He accompanied me twice to the security building (as I forgot my passport and had returned to my car to get it). He delivered a printout and entered while I was told to just go to the window. That printout was given to the agent who looked at it, looked at me, looked at it, looked at me, looked at it, looked at me, set it down, shoved it toward me and said that he has no one presently there who can speak to this. I was able to read the author’s name and the provenance of the printout, DOD DARPA. Good old nerdy DARPA. They created some mathematical complexities using massive amounts of intel that they’ve categorized and turned into that which is actionable in the field for whatever “target” they have on “the list.” That, of course, makes me, again, one of the most highly researched people in the world. Huge amounts of resources are used for such targets. I regret that. I assume that this is, for me, to assist in my being “accompanied” (to use Pope Francis terminology). As I’ve written previously, I once told the guy who stole my identity that I regret the cost of such accompaniment, and he instantly cut me off to say that such costs are entirely negligible in view of the scope of the entire program.
  • I’ve been involved in one way or the other in numerous terrorist incidents, enough to be further investigated through the decades by a number of countries, including the Holy See, Italy, these USA, Australia and, with some intensity at the highest military, intelligence levels, Israel. It is what it is. Try asking for their files on me, you know, like in המוסד. Good luck with that one too. I mean, would they give you something that had nothing to do with the real file? ;-) Either way, when you get those files, share them with me! Baiting for leakers is fun! I might even find out what is held to be my real ID. This quickly disintegrates into rabbit holes of counterintel mind games until, gaslighted, one can’t remember who one is anymore:

Having been trained into counterintelligence as a teenager since the time my identity was stolen, I’ve never done the Jason Bourne thing. I never had to.

In all of this, I apologize to sincere and patriotic agents of all our military and intelligence and law enforcement agencies. I poke fun at myself. I don’t mean to poke fun at you.

Meanwhile, a personal theological note, I’m just a POS. Boring. A nothing. Nobody. In all of this poking fun (the whole “Who are you anyway?” thing) I want to make something perfectly clear: I don’t claim to be better than anyone. I’m no saint. I’m just a POS. Boring. A nothing. Nobody. Haven’t you already noticed? The original sin in which I’ve post-hoc participated, and all my own sin, is all written out in the wounds of the Divine Son of God, now risen from the dead. It’s in Him that we find our identity as redeemed and saved so as to walk in humble thanksgiving in His presence, in His friendship. That’s the ID I want to have. Jesus is the One. He’s the only One.

But you can’t get to know Jesus and know who you are, your “real ID” – Jesus’ love and truth and integrity – until you go to Confession. A lot. With sincerity. I do. That’s who I am: just another POS who goes to Confession. Why? Because I know the following and so should we all:

Psalm 139 For the leader. A psalm of David. Oh LORD, you have probed me, you know me: you know when I sit and stand; you understand my thoughts from afar. My travels and my rest you mark; with all my ways you are familiar. Even before a word is on my tongue, LORD, you know it all. Behind and before you encircle me and rest your hand upon me. Such knowledge is beyond me, far too lofty for me to reach. Where can I hide from your spirit? From your presence, where can I flee? If I ascend to the heavens, you are there; if I lie down in Sheol, you are there too. If I fly with the wings of dawn and alight beyond the sea, Even there your hand will guide me, your right hand hold me fast. If I say, “Surely darkness shall hide me, and night shall be my light” — Darkness is not dark for you, and night shines as the day. Darkness and light are but one. You formed my inmost being; you knit me in my mother’s womb. I praise you, so wonderfully you made me; wonderful are your works! My very self you knew; my bones were not hidden from you, When I was being made in secret, fashioned as in the depths of the earth. Your eyes foresaw my actions; in your book all are written down; my days were shaped, before one came to be. How precious to me are your designs, O God; how vast the sum of them! Were I to count, they would outnumber the sands; to finish, I would need eternity. If only you would destroy the wicked, O God, and the bloodthirsty would depart from me! Deceitfully they invoke your name; your foes swear faithless oaths. Do I not hate, LORD, those who hate you? Those who rise against you, do I not loathe? With fierce hatred I hate them, enemies I count as my own. Probe me, God, know my heart; try me, know my concerns. See if my way is crooked, then lead me in the ancient paths. (nab)

These days people are talking about the FBI going through the files of priests at chanceries. Great! Have at it! Get that trustworthy counterintel guy who did up personnel for the FBI before being the fall guy… what’s his face… oh yeah… Peter Strzok. So, not so great then. So…

These days people are talking about the laity going through the files. Great! Have at it! Hopefully some kind of competence is involved, like law enforcement. But people don’t like police these days. So…

These days people are talking about any and all parishioners going through the files of the priests of their parish. That would be a real hoot. I can hear it now: “Father George chose blue as his favorite color on his million question psych exam instead of yellow even though he’s got off the charts leadership skill sets (which would have to be yellow[!]). So, he’s got to be lying. But why? Meanwhile, I was thinking of Jesus’ good mom, who is depicted with blue because of the meaning of her Jewish name. That might be said to be ideological but it is sincere, and therefore not a lie. And blue is my favorite color anyway.

You want to know about my life? Have at it. But, I say, and so should we all: Jesus Christ, you are my life! Jesus is the One who is forgotten in all of this. Always forgotten. Jesus is not there in faithlessness. Jesus is not there in investigations. Jesus is not there in any solutions proposed at all. But I insist, and so should we all:

Jesus Christ: You are my life!

 

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Filed under Intelligence Community, Law enforcement, Military, Terrorism, המוסד

Deep Kryptic: FBI, Abuse, Confession. Father Byers protects RICO in Penn?

FBI Data Ret

There was a strange hit on the blog to this post: “Mandatory Reporting” of Abuse Confessed in Sacramental Confession. [Read that again!] That seems to have sparked interest in this: Missionaries of Mercy reconfirmed: New list of faculties… [Read that again!] Involved is a group which archives and protects data for – How to say it? – the entire world, as in mirroring the likes the NSA, CIA, FBI, with the latter having a shared address. They figure into the posts above.

I reckon that there are two possible explanations besides just saying that there are a million coincidences and all the stars are happenstance aligning: (1) Someone’s wondering about the ethics of storing digitally recorded sacramental confessions such as those procured by the FBI multiple times not only in prisons but also in bugged confessionals in, for instance, Saint Patrick’s Cathedral in New York City [Yep.]; (2) More likely: someone’s wanting to access those digitally recorded sacramental confessions at least as indicators of who to look at so as to get enough info to get warrants for those they didn’t know were suspect, and at the same time looking at the constitutional issues of free exercise of religion, which such recordings and research would significantly damage.

Again, it’s not that it’s not done. It is. I was personally approached by the Italian Department of Defense to agree to this very thing so that they might accomplish a kind of sting operation in southern Italy against whoever it was they were after back in the day.

Oh. Just another coincidence. The FBI has just now started a RICO investigation in Pennsylvania where our data center is at. Too bad that investigation is just about the influence of homosexualist bullying of teens instead of also about RICO style kickbacks to chanceries from risk retention groups for false accusations. Billions of dollars in that investigation, but it’s not politically correct right now. We’re now at the stage of, analogously, the Mueller investigation insisting on non-existent Russian collusion but finding (and ignoring) all the Democrat and DoJ and FBI crimes. But we’ll get there with that too, right?

The particular data site (of so very many sites globally for the same group) is some hundreds of acres, hundreds of feet below ground, in the middle of absolutely nowhere, one of the most secure places in these USA and, therefore, on earth. They brag about perimeter security, armed guards, metal detection, mantraps, biometric access, CCTV, almost to the point of making a Titanic statement that even God can’t sink this ship. Um…

I
In a solitude of the sea
Deep from human vanity,
And the Pride of Life that planned her, stilly couches she.

II
Steel chambers, late the pyres
Of her salamandrine fires,
Cold currents thrid, and turn to rhythmic tidal lyres.

III
Over the mirrors meant
To glass the opulent
The sea-worm crawls — grotesque, slimed, dumb, indifferent.

IV
Jewels in joy designed
To ravish the sensuous mind
Lie lightless, all their sparkles bleared and black and blind.

V
Dim moon-eyed fishes near
Gaze at the gilded gear
And query: “What does this vaingloriousness down here?” …

VI
Well: while was fashioning
This creature of cleaving wing,
The Immanent Will that stirs and urges everything

VII
Prepared a sinister mate
For her — so gaily great —
A Shape of Ice, for the time far and dissociate.

VIII
And as the smart ship grew
In stature, grace, and hue,
In shadowy silent distance grew the Iceberg too.

IX
Alien they seemed to be;
No mortal eye could see
The intimate welding of their later history,

X
Or sign that they were bent
By paths coincident
On being anon twin halves of one august event,

XI
Till the Spinner of the Years
Said “Now!” And each one hears,
And consummation comes, and jars two hemispheres.

=============================================

Jesus will come to judge the living and the dead and the world by fire, particularly those who mock sacramental confession. I’ll assume that those who archive are wanting to delete out of the system all digitally recorded sacramental confessions. Right? Right?

 

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Filed under Abuse, Confession, Free exercise of religion, Intelligence Community, Law enforcement, Missionaries of Mercy

Coincidences

statcounter stat florida

These visits to the blog (the top one being interesting) came in immediately after I sent an email to a particular person of a particular service of a particular country. Perhaps it comes from a person (same provenance) who has everything to do with that particular intelligence community person of that particular intelligence service of that particular country, that is, regarding a very particular aspect of the URL visited which I know he knows about (because I told him) though it is not directly spoken about at that particular URL. But, whatever, it’s all just a coincidence. It means nothing. In mentioning this to a priest friend, with me rejecting that it meant anything, he said that, no, he doesn’t believe in coincidences, that such a thing is purposed. Hmm…

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FBI report: *Justice* Brett Kavanaugh

fbi fairmont wv criminal justice information systems

Having gone through so much, so very much, for me there is only one question remaining for which I demand an answer, and it is urgent, and I want verification. My end of the world question is this, and I will put money up for whatever the answer is:

“What is the favorite beer of *Justice* Kavanaugh?”

I would like to offer him the all time favorite toast of my own father:’

“May the most that you wish for be the least that you get.”

If you’ve had more than one beer, you might have to think about that, but that’s what makes it a great toast.

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Filed under Intelligence Community, Patriotism, Politics

FBI trying to suss out CIA? vice versa?

FBI West Palm Beach FL

Someone has thrown me into a tizzy in recent times, pushing hard on just how it is that when I was still in high school I was being brought into the CIA so as to be invited to be assigned to the Vatican. Not an everyday question. Hmm. I’ll have to think about that. It’s all shameless humint baiting, of course. I’m always happy to oblige when it comes to nostalgia.

Meanwhile, some people come to mind:

  • Our much loved Headmaster. Upon many zillion question psych exams, and seeing that I came up with 11.2 on a 1 to 10 scale for leadership – the scenarios presented for that, so very many, were sooo subtle – he took me under his wing for special training in leadership. The school had leadership camps for kids, which I never went to, despising them, I guess. But I made up for this by special tutoring. This headmaster taught me, of all things in the last few years of high school, counterintelligence. This training went on for years. Very intense. About eight hours each session. Going step by step, with ever more complexity. So intense did it get that he used real names once in a while, apologizing for this. All exhilarating for me. He wanted to make sure that I could never be duped by anyone for any reason in any way because of seeing through whatever I came across. He was super young for the position he had, in perfect health, but then dropped dead of a “heart attack” shortly after I graduated.
  • A guy I’ll call “The Janitor.” Military. Brilliant weapons guy. He shadowed me everywhere, right around the countryside. He was going to help me build my teenage version of a hermitage but my dad wanted me to build it by my own ingenuity. But the shadowing got to be annoying. I learned how to take evasive action, which is what he wanted, of course. When I asked him about it, sometimes pressing him on this – and many times over the years – he would steadfastly only give me the non-answer that I would see in the future what my future would be, but that this had everything to do with what others were assessing of me. He denied everything I guessed, which left me flummoxed. I’m guessing he’s long dead by now.
  • Peter Paul Strzok II. Just as an aside, I’m guessing that I met another alumnus, a present nemesis, of later counterintelligence / counterterrorism / military / FBI infamy, that is, if he had ever as a youngster come over to my parish school for a “Spanferkel” experience so as to get him recruited while being at one of the many levels of leadership camps we had. We had lots of language schools as well.
  • FBI agents a dime a dozen. From the time I was a little kid, then in Junior High School, then High School, then the first couple of years in the Seminary, my dad, himself very high profile, would invite FBI agents to town all the time for the elite crowd there, and go out of his way to make sure I was there so that he could introduce me to them, making sure that I was on their radar.

Anyway, I’m mulling over the question.

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Filed under Holy See, Intelligence Community, Vatican

Day-off: Getting professionally baited, you know, on purpose. ;-)

baiting

Waiting for boarding time for the trip to Rome, I’m noticing more old drafts that need sprucing up and publishing.

On my “day-off” the other week… month.. I returned the Sig Sauer P226 variant to “The Guy” (a label which can refer to any guy or number of people or group or groups of people in any number of places in any number of countries, right?). He lent his Sig to me to that I could see what a Sig is all about. He’s had it since the mid-1980s. I actually in the end didn’t like the grip, a bit like a revolver, almost the opposite grip-system as is found on a “normal” pistol, at least compared to my Glock 19 Gen4.

This time, our chat wasn’t a mere two or four hours. We went six hours non-stop.

suicide bomber land day 2001

Before I could say anything at all – no, really, nothing – he gave me further lessons in shooting. Non stop talking. Like he was on assignment. Great, thought I, as I need all the help I can get. I didn’t say anything, just took it all in. Strange, though, as this time he was mentioning targets, as if they were assignments. Instructions were about how to kill as many people (all head shots) as possible as fast as one could pull the trigger, that is, how it is, counterintuitively, that one moves from one target to the next as fast as one can aim even while not quite aiming, if that makes sense. To real shooters it will. Imagine a row of small steel targets on springs but unevenly spaced and of uneven heights and all moving on horizontal bars in different directions but you able to get a “kill” each trigger pull as fast as you can pull the trigger. Its where your eyes are looking. Not where you think. This was scaring me, needless to say. I decided to let him just keep going to see where this was going to go. He was clearly baiting. Field guys aren’t always the best counterintel guys.

Before I could say anything at all – no, really, nothing – he gave me lessons in bomb making for all situations, for cars, for entire buildings, for suicide bombing – yep- or for events from which you could walk away before it happened, always looking for a reaction from me, a question from me, a request for clarification from me. I said nothing. I just watched the show of baiting. He described usage of Composition-C (C-4) and of other otherwise easily obtainable materials. On and on he went. And that’s not the first time he said he could actually obtain such things. I’m sure he must have been leaving out details – or perhaps all the details were entirely fictional – as I’m guessing that such lessons would otherwise be rather illegal. He knows I write this blog. I have to wonder what he’s up to. He didn’t mind that all-hearing-cell-phones were present… So…

terrorist suicide bomber

This is like the third time he’s shared bomb making, so I suppose he’s just venting about his life up to now in the military and The Company. But this was different with the detail, even named targets such as an elevator toward the top of the […!]. Was he looking for another partner in a group no one would suspect, you know, like, a priest? He spoke to that point rather incisively. I’m guessing these are not conversations priests casually have now and again. But, then again, this was a monologue. So, coming at that from a different angle, is he trying to frame me for some future event, or perhaps frame the guy who stole my identity, you know, if I took an interest in all this? It’s all too easy, isn’t it? But, whatever, I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. For myself, I didn’t show any interest, ask any questions, or take any notes, or set any appointments to see some demonstrations. Nor did he push any of that. Probably just venting. Yep. That‘s what he’s doing. PTSD and all that. Fine. A bit weird all the talk on suicide bombs though.

Attempting to move on to a conversation instead me just watching a monologue for the longest time – as the hands of the clock were now spinning around – I recounted to him more of the baiting to which I’ve been subjected a few weeks ago by the GTMO guys with the bit about murder as “suicide” as an “assignment”. He said it was all perfectly familiar to him, that that’s how it’s done, how assignments are given out. Bingo, thought I. I asked: How’s that? He said it was all so familiar – expressly exclaiming this many times – but also signaling his recognition of details of what I was saying with his body language, point after point, nodding his head, smiling for just a nanosecond at this or that, pointing with a finger at any important detail… because, he said, this is all exactly the kind of thing he himself did, in detail, when he was stationed in France, baiting people, manipulating people, having people carry things out without their even knowing they were doing it at his bidding, expert, he thought anyway, at counterintelligence in a field-counterterrorism way. Why do things yourself if you can get your enemy to do them against himself for you? It’s all a rather murky world.

It gets so screwed up that in the end you don’t know who’s who and what’s what, whether the deep state is the real government or whether there are string pullers who make nations and governments a fiction and anything said to be deep into self-delusionary self-protectionist dramas lacking importance and influence on the world stage whatever individual players think of themselves. “The Guy” supported the view of just a few string pullers, while actual nations, including our own USA, are entirely irrelevant, unimportant, almost fictional. He himself, for instance, laughing at the upper echelon of The Company, in particular at Pompeo, then Director now Secretary, and Haspel, then someone providing enhanced interrogation now Director. Um…

Catching him off guard, I mentioned a possible connection down in the far western Florida panhandle. “So what?” he challenged, glaring me down.

Catching him off guard, I mentioned KSM singing after enhanced interrogation. This put him into controlled anger mode. He did well, but he was upset. To be clear, he was angry at the fact of enhanced interrogation being used, and his doubts that anything whatsoever actionable had been obtained in such fashion and where exactly did I get my information that KSM actually gave up anything actionable.

Mind you, it wasn’t all like this. We spoke of the faith. He also went on an on with social justice issues that he immersed himself into coming off of his ops. But in speaking of the faith there were a couple of topics which he himself brought up, as he always does, which put him into barely controlled anger mode, specifically anger against the Successor of Saint Peter, speaking not just of Pope Francis, but all of the Popes these past decades, none of them caving in on two topics, not caving in because of the truth of the matter (that being irrelevant), but because, he said, with white hot, momentarily shaking anger, because of power. They won’t give up on their power, he insisted again and again, with a crazy look in his eyes when he said ‘power’. The two topics making him so angry?

  • He supports divorce and remarriage (he’s happily married) because, after all, what difference does it make? This goes along with marriage for any reason, like LGBTQ “marriage”. I recall the Eritrean operative (Front of House for Pope Francis) who was murdered with the child in her womb as a shot over the bow when there was a referendum on “Gay Marriage” in Italy and there was huge pressure that the Catholic Church would make no intervention.
  • But the topic that made him really angry was that the Catholic Church teaches that women’s ordination is impossible regardless of any rite that anyone pretends to accomplish. It was like the Popes are interested not in truth, but just in ‘power’ because they follow the example of Christ.

Surreal, you say? No. Not at all. Actions against the Catholic Church are all about getting the Successor of Peter to cave in on but one matter of faith or morals, because after that, the Catholic Church is simply no more, because then Christ is a liar, the Church is as wishy-washy as anyone else, merely politically correct, a nothing, to be dismissed, which allows us, then, to congratulate ourselves, cursing God and feeling the power. Oooo! Power! He’s repeated very many times that these USA maintains a two-hour window in which we can assassinate any world leader. Some very few, one or two, might take just a bit longer, but it will happen very quickly. Think about that for a moment. The changing logistics needs massive teams just to be readied to do this in any given two-hour window.

Here’s the deal: Pope Francis wants his Missionaries of Mercy to go into and even beyond the peripheries, right out into the darkest of existential suffering, not necessarily to be successful, mind you, but to be a presence of mercy – at least the offering of it – for those who want it. In this case, it is to witness to the light of Christ regardless of the rage of the world.

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Filed under Day Off, Guns, Intelligence Community, Military, Terrorism