Category Archives: Patriotism

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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Filed under Intelligence Community, Interreligious dialogue, Missionaries of Mercy, Patriotism, Suicide, Terrorism

Day-Off: flags

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Paying it forward, I got a 4’x6′ American flag for my neighbor. We put it up together and folded the old one, getting it ready for respectful retirement by fire. I threw in my old and tattered papal flag. Patriotism and well reasoned loyalty (is that nuanced enough?) are always appropriate, even when bad actors are afoot.

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Don’t worry. No forest fire at the hermitage. Unlike those in California who have to deal with environmentalist terror and dry conditions, WNC forests, 90% of the time, are soaked through and through with often double the rainfall of an average rain forest.

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President Trump to widow parishioner

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President Trump to the widow of one of the Veterans of our parish.

This brought her to tears. She says that she’s lacking in Patriotism, not because she is lacking, but because she is so patriotic that she feels the magnificence of it dwarfs her. She’s the one who has all verses of Taps memorized.

I like this. I like this a lot.

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Filed under Military, Patriotism

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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Armistice-Veterans Day: MIA-KIA?

arlington national cemetery

The surest sign that there is a lack of patriotism in a country is when people jump up to ensure that we make a distinction between Memorial Day and Veterans Day, the one being for the dead and the other for the living.

Here’s the deal: the living Vets thoughts and prayers on this Veterans Day go to their brothers who died in battle.

Lest we forget.

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Too patriotic? Voting early! Bombs? Letter to Diognetus (5-6).

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Avoiding the chaos on Super Tuesday, I went down to the election commission at the courthouse annex in Murphy, NC, and voted early. Fortunately, this is not one of the counties in North Carolina which has trouble in sending out ballots to active Military personnel and citizens overseas; their votes count. I made sure to ask if these early votes here in the county are counted, as it were, instead of just being thrown into the box for use only upon court adjudication after a contested election. They’re counted in an ongoing fashion, I was told, so that they are the first votes in a continuum. Great!

I think voting is important, so I put up the “I Voted Today!” red-white-and-blue sticker given the election commission to those who vote just after voting on the back window of Sassy the Subaru. Just because the sticker has a USA flag motif doesn’t make this a partisan move on the part of the election commission. And although I am an official representative on a local level of a mainstream church, and retain the right to express my private political opinions in the public square, I don’t have anything partisan displayed anywhere, not on my person, not on my vehicle, not at the rectory, well, unless the USA flag, the Vatican flag at the rectory, and some USMC pride on Sassy the Subaru are partisan. They shouldn’t be.

You can’t be too patriotic. Either you’re patriotic or you’re not. It’s a virtue. “For God and Country” – Pro Deo et Patria, or, as my license plate reads: [4G0D4ALL]. If you’re exaggerated either way (and you can be, either way) it’s no longer about the family of one’s fatherland, so to speak, respecting others, helping others, but instead it’s all just about yourself at the cost of others, at the cost of one’s patria, one’s fatherland. Thus, we have a suspect bomber guy, now assisting with interrogations, as it should be.

Ironically, the best way to be a good citizen of one’s patria, fatherland, here on earth is to know that we are all in exile upon this earth, away as we are from our heavenly homeland, where Jesus will bring us face to face with our dearest Heavenly Father.

We call to mind something written waaaay back in the day, some say the first century, some say later, the letter to Diognetus (here with chapters 5 and 6):

CHAPTER 5 — 5:1 For Christians are not distinguished from the rest of mankind either in locality or in speech or in customs. 5:2 For they dwell not somewhere in cities of their own, neither do they use some different language, nor practise an extraordinary kind of life. 5:3 Nor again do they possess any invention discovered by any intelligence or study of ingenious men, nor are they masters of any human dogma as some are. 5:4 But while they dwell in cities of Greeks and barbarians as the lot of each is cast, and follow the native customs in dress and food and the other arrangements of life, yet the constitution of their own citizenship, which they set forth, is marvellous, and confessedly contradicts expectation. 5:5 They dwell in their own countries, but only as sojourners; they bear their share in all things as citizens, and they endure all hardships as strangers. Every foreign country is a fatherland to them, and every fatherland is foreign. 5:6 They marry like all other men and they beget children; but they do not cast away their offspring. 5:7 They have their meals in common, but not their wives. 5:8 They find themselves in the flesh, and yet they live not after the flesh. 5:9 Their existence is on earth, but their
citizenship is in heaven. 5:10 They obey the established laws, and they surpass the laws in their own lives. 5:11 They love all men, and they are persecuted by all. 5:12 They are ignored, and yet they are condemned. They are put to death, and yet they are endued with life. 5:13 They are in beggary, and yet they make many rich. They are in want of all things, and yet they abound in all things. 5:14 They are dishonoured, and yet they are glorified in their dishonour. They are evil spoken of, and yet they are vindicated. 5:15 They are reviled, and they bless; they are insulted, and they respect. 5:16 Doing good they are punished as evil-doers; being punished they rejoice, as if they were thereby quickened by life. 5:17 War is waged against them as aliens by the Jews, and persecution is carried on against them by the Greeks, and yet those that hate them cannot tell the reason of their hostility.

CHAPTER 6 — 6:1 In a word, what the soul is in a body, this the Christians are in the world. 6:2 The soul is spread through all the members of the body, and Christians through the divers cities of the world. 6:3 The soul hath its abode in the body, and yet it is not of the body. So Christians have their abode in the world, and yet they are not of the world. 6:4 The soul which is invisible is guarded in the body which is visible: so Christians are recognised as being in the world, and yet their religion remaineth
invisible. 6:5 The flesh hateth the soul and wageth war with it, though it receiveth no wrong, because it is forbidden to indulge in pleasures; so the world hateth Christians, though it receiveth no wrong from them, because they set themselves against its pleasures. 6:6 The soul loveth the flesh which hateth it, and the members: so Christians love those that hate them. 6:7 The soul is enclosed in the body, and yet itself holdeth the body together; so Christians are kept in the world as in a prison-house, and yet they themselves hold the world together. 6:8 The soul though itself immortal dwelleth in a mortal tabernacle; so Christians sojourn amidst perishable things, while they look for the imperishability which is in the heavens. 6:9 The soul when hardly treated in the matter of meats and drinks is improved; and so Christians when punished increase more and more daily. 6:10 So great is the office for which God hathappointed them, and which it is not lawful for them to decline.

 

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Still celebrating SCOTUS Justice Brett Kavanaugh. Highlights & predictions.

  • This will have decades of most positive ramifications for the USA and the world.
  • God bless Justice Brett Michael Kavanaugh.

I was cheering at the justifiable emotion of Senator Lindsey Graham:

The absolute best round of questioning came from Republican John Neely Kennedy of Louisiana, very short, very sweet. This was the very last closing session of questioning:

So, let’s see, I’m guessing that within the next six years, we might well see the resignation of Ruth Bader Ginsburg. After all, she’s going on 86 right now. Trying to hang on would put her well into her 90s. Her placement would, of course, be another woman, right? I’m thinking of Amy Coney Barrett. Aren’t you?

As you can tell, I’m still in celebration mode. I’m a Catholic priest. But even if you’re an “atheist” but also a promoter of natural law, you should also be in celebration mode. You are, aren’t you?

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Trump, Sounding Taps, Patriotism, Flag and our little parish

President Donald Trump just wrote the other day to one of our elderly widows in the parish. Her husband, a WWII vet, died recently. I’ve mentioned previously that this widow presents herself as being UN-patriotic, not because she’s unpatriotic, but because she feels inadequate before the magnificence of all that which is patriotism. I mean, she has all the verses of TAPS memorized. Her least unpatriotic moment is more patriotic than the most patriotism others can muster.

Day is done, gone the sun,
From the lake, from the hills, from the sky;
All is well, safely rest, God is nigh.

Fading light, dims the sight,
And a star gems the sky, gleaming bright.
From afar, drawing nigh, falls the night.

Thanks and praise, for our days,
‘Neath the sun, ‘neath the stars, neath the sky;
As we go, this we know, God is nigh.

Sun has set, shadows come,
Time has fled, Scouts must go to their beds
Always true to the promise that they made.

While the light fades from sight,
And the stars gleaming rays softly send,
To thy hands we our souls, Lord, commend.

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Meanwhile, the old flag out front of the church had sun damage and was replaced at the private cost of some individual parishioners. “No problem,” they said, “because we have a dozen flags ready all the time.”

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Update: Donkey wannabees

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These guys pass by the rectory. They’ve been geared up in these patriotic days. Alloy wheels aren’t quite the old wooden models, but – Hey! – you do what you can do. These are mules out front, with the body of a horse and the ears of a donkey. Donkey wannabees.

Update: I passed by the wagon train in Andrews NC some months ago. I remember locking eyes with one particular gentleman. I remember being distressed for him. No reason that I knew about. Meanwhile, the guy who fixed my tire the other day told me about this guy who was riding the wagon train as the last thing on his bucket list before dying of cancer.

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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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Tree felling: Blackest of Black Ops

tree felling

This tree, estimated to top out at a whopping 150 feet, as a double, was threatening both our social hall and classrooms-church buildings. I employed this most capable off-the-charts-skill-sets black ops guy while he was stateside for communications with the State Department for some days not only because he had all the equipment and know how and insurance, but because of who he employs and the conditions he sets for employment.

He gets young men coming from impossibly horrifically broken families and puts them to work to get them away from bad influences and requires that they are always enrolled in a class or classes to get their GEDs. As a result of his fatherly influence in their lives, they are awesome young men.

We spoke quite a bit about situational awareness, and, I must say, this bit about bettering those around him is the best way to go about situational awareness. It’s like a teacher engaging the most troublesome of troublemakers, making them leaders of their classes. Very cool, all of that, very cool indeed.

And then, off he goes in the blackest of black ops land, you know, the darkest of existential peripheries. I am honored to have met this guy. An inspiration. I think it’s good for priests to have lots of laity that they learn from in all sorts of ways.

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John Stalin Brennan Russian Bear discontinued for bottom feeding

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This now double-ear-tagged bear was spotted at a parishioners house the other day. He was brought here from Tennessee. Everyone everywhere dumps their troublesome creatures on us. He’ll be live-trapped again and removed in some other way. He’s learned to do up some swamp bottom feeding. In this case he dragged the garbage precipitously downward until it got caught up between a couple of trees. Then he ran away.

Meanwhile, John Brennan, young Stalinist, had voted for everything to do with Иосиф Сталин, you know, იოსებ სტალინი, you know, everything, connected with Joseph Stalin, General Secretary of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union you know, the guy responsible for the genocide of an entire continent through firing squad, torture, prison, “labor camps”, and vast regions of total starvation, stealing everyone’s food:

stalin bear

It surprises me that people today gleefully take an adventure on the Trans-Siberian railway not realizing that it was used for eastward movement of Moscow’s war machine, and westward movement to remove all grain and foodstuffs from the entire region of the globe. Everyone dead everywhere. That’s what John Brennan, Director of the CIA, voted for. He’s continued in his anti-American subversion in his bottom feeding. So…

I’m so happy that his clearance has been cleared out. Finally. To remove his security clearance is to be patriotic. Now maybe we can do something for America, taking America back from those who promoted AmeriKa.

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Saluting the best of the American Military Patriotism in Joyce Kilmer

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On Monday of this week a great meal at The Hub was had with the higher ups among the caretakers of the Joyce Kilmer Memorial Forest up in the back ridges of the parish. Personalized commemorative photos were handed out. The more one learns about Joyce Kilmer, the more enthralled one becomes. Besides the ol’ Wikipedia, here’s some bits and pieces which might hold your attention:

The next project for me is to walk the “Upper Loop”. I did the lower, and was told that I hadn’t yet seen the forest. So, O.K. I’m getting psyched up for this nature extravaganza.

Joyce Kilmer, just so you know, in putting us before the creation of the Creator, puts us before the Creator of creation. Clever, that. I love that.

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“Fr George, you can make a car bomb, a suicide vest, take out a building…”

suicide bomber land day 2001

And so it continues. People with ineffable military experience, with CVs including any number of alphabet agencies and institutes, offices and bureaus and divisions, come up to me to somehow bait me on whatever stupidity, such as, now most recently, bomb making. With their help I too, like them, can get as much C-4 as I want [technical advice on how to use it in what amounts], or otherwise spend a few dollars (literally just a few dollars) to prep up the necessary for a suicide vest [in such and such a way: technical advice] or otherwise hand-carried WMDs [technical, chemical advice], that would involve me, or be employed more remotely for, say, a car bomb because you know – Hey! – car bombs! Maybe I could go to [named building] it was suggested, and take it out by [technical, architectural advice here].

The old second person grammatical mistake – “You could…” replacing the impersonal third person – “One could…” – was no mistake in all this. After all, I am told, I have the perfect cover: a “priest”. I never said a word in all this. No questions. No notes. It was presented to me without me asking, presumably with incorrect and insufficient details. People like this can be honest, have integrity, and are baiting, not really knowing the full story, knowing that the full story cannot be known. Fine. Or they can do all this to get themselves more useful idiots. Here’s the deal: one cannot but make some small mistake. Meanwhile, bad stuff happens.

death gaza boy 2

I have to wonder how many people have been manipulated into doing whatever. In the most recent encounter I was told that the assignment he had in France was to bait people, manipulate people, have people do things without them knowing that they were doing his will, the will of those who assigned him to France to have such things accomplished, things that they would never have done on their own but were baited into doing. I have to wonder how many people have to die.

terrorist suicide bomberSee this kid in the picture of this paragraph? I stopped him for like ten years, but then he went ahead and did it – the suicide bombing thing – manipulated by others, including his own father, 21 dead (plus himself), and well over a hundred wounded (horrific life changing maiming etc), mostly Russian Jewish girls who had just arrived in Israel and had nothing to do with any violence with Palestinians. When will the manipulation stop?

Anyway, this most recent bomb guy, manipulator guy, did in fact make a mistake, two in fact. Purposed? Baiting? Dunno. This kind of thing goes on all the time. It’s all a “he said” “she said” kind of scenario. In fact, he told me that, and this isn’t the first time he said this: I could go ahead and say whatever and the simple question will be asked: Do you have proof? In a world of multiple levels of physical deniability? “Proof.” So, people continue to die. Violence is the way things are and will continue to be.

Jesus knows all about it. He used it for His own victory of laying down His own life for ours, the innocent for the guilty. That’s the one thing important. That’s the one thing these guys don’t include in their calculation. Really smart guys. They think they’ve got you with all their “insurance policy” extortion. But they’re perfectly lacking in wisdom. They only hurt themselves. Jesus continues to win. Love cuts through the deception of power for the sake of power. Why is that? Because in God, love is truth is power is goodness is kindness.

death gaza boy 1

If you think I’m letting violence just pass me by like I don’t care. Think again. Certain steps can be taken. This post is one of them. But there are more steps. I don’t think that I’ll be able to stop much of any violence. But – Hey! – like the Master, so the disciple. Jesus didn’t ask us to be successful in all ways, just in being faithful to His love and truth and goodness and kindness, that which these guys don’t fear, that which will overpower these guys when Jesus comes to judge the living and the dead and the world by fire. Amen.

I’ll be writing, please God, about his mistakes in posts to come. Stay tuned.

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Luckiest Priest in these USA: 4th July

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For some years now I’ve been invited to the fireworks staging area to lead the prayer for the guys and gals who head into danger to light the fuses. Then it’s time to watch one of the biggest, most simultaneous explosions, enduring displays in the State of NC from one of the tiniest towns in NC from just far away enough not to wear protective gear. It’s a privilege to be associated with these ever so friendly guys and gals.

They get $3,000.00 for their efforts. They always put it right back in to more fireworks. Our supplier gives them not only that, but a lot more after that for free as he thinks that’s really cool.

They’re kind of embattled, however, in this edging on bankruptcy town. They sooo need a new firetruck. They sooo need new safety equipment. I wish I knew some politician in government who was himself or herself in a volunteer fire department and who knows what it’s like to do more with less until you’re doing everything with nothing. Our VFD works miracles day to day. But there’s all politics with money, of course. If you get something from someone then whatever other program is cancelled, blah blah blah. We need a comprehensive overhaul and get the powers that be to go along with it.

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Road Danger: Flags and idiots

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This guy’s wearing his engine into the ground by such a huge flag which creates huge drag and generally makes everything difficult. It’s been done before, both the huge flag thing and grinding the engine down. But you gotta know that there’s gotta be a story there. I respect that, a lot. What if it was his brother who just got the Congressional Medal of Honor, but didn’t survive, you know, dying while he was saving your own life?

Meanwhile, the huge SUV to the right got right behind the biker and almost rammed him as we got closer to Andrews coming from Murphy. In the picture below, that’s the flag of the bike that looks like it’s coming out of the window of the SUV, so close are they.

road danger flag ramming

The biker continued and the SUV turned in front of the white van, cutting him off to turn right into Andrews, breaking every traffic law he could, one after the next. Just. Wow.

As it is, a police presence is finally back in town. I hope these violent clowns have their vehicles taken away from them. If they are willing to commit homicide – running someone down – just because they hate this country so much – well then, maybe they should just leave and never ever come back.

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Double Rainbow on Flag Day

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I’ve been needing to replace my American Flag outside the Rectory for a long time now – too long – and Flag Day was my excuse to make the 30 mile round trip to Lowes to get a new flag and flag pole. I mention Lowes because, unlike Walmart, Lowes always has patriotic stuff for a decent price (waaaaaaay lower than Walmart) and allow collections by the military for great causes, USMC’s Toys for Tots for example.

Anyway the ray of sunshine in the picture above (taken yesterday evening on Flag Day) crosses the thin rainbow, and then a second one, much wider but much less visible (both crossing the front of Jenny the Jeep).

Again I think to Joyce Kilmer’s Fighting 69th Rainbow Division and the book Father Gordon wants me to read, Tom Clancy’s Rainbow Six.

Note on Flag etiquette: The American Flag always takes its own right in position, or a higher posting. The flag of the Holy See on the far side signals a controversy, or does it? To whom do I owe primary allegiance? I do recite the American Pledge. Notice that it includes the phrase “under God”. I cite Sir Thomas More: “I am the King’s good servant, but God’s first.” That’s not inconsistent with patriotism and loyalty.

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Delicious Patriotism in my Parish

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Every Sunday, creations such as this, with hot firsts and seconds, are in super-abundance after the 11:00 AM Mass at Holy Redeemer in Andrews, NC. The same is true on the second Sunday of the month after the 8:30 AM Mass at Prince of Peace in Robbinsville up in Graham County.

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I fought for you

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Memorial Day Weekend Best Speech

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