Tag Archives: Intelligence Community

Department of State from hell

Even while the Department of State is doing all they can to forbid flights evacuating U.S. citizens and translators from Afghanistan they claim credit for the rescue of four Americans.

There comes a time in everyone’s life when you have to choose either to continuing living your life as a lie, hating God and neighbor and self, or to make radical changes in one’s life to live with honesty and integrity, with purity of heart and agility of soul.

It’s a choice between life and death, eternal life and eternal death.

People are scared to look at that choice. Many entrench, blinding themselves all the more, rationalizing about choices they “have to make because ____(fill in the blank)____. And before they know it, they become murderers.

There is the occasional report of resignations from those who have not only seen the light, but then stayed in the light.

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2nd preliminary response to Vatican Bank investigating me for money laundering & financing international terrorism

/// This is the text of what was blocked by Vatican servers when attempting to send this as an email txt and then as a pdf file. Blocked two days in a row. That’s not mere server housekeeping. So, I publish it here. Too creepy for me. I take out the two names to whom this is addressed in the IOR, Vatican Bank. ///

Dear Mr XXXX XXXXXXX and Mr XXXXXXXX XXXXXXX,

Thank you for your continued service at IOR in such difficult times. The pressure you are all under is witnessed by the anomalous manner with which the request for the updating of personal details of (some) account holders has been proffered. Except for the fact that you work for the Holy See (Vatican City State), I would, in any other circumstances, assume such a request to be an inferior intelligence product devoid of the least effort to provide passable optics of professionalism. While I write this in a lighthearted manner for your entertainment, I find myself insufficient to the task of conveying to you the depth of the gravity of my concern regarding the matters at hand.

As we proceed in future communications to my own confessions of any “money laundering” and any “financing of international terrorism”, please accept these preliminary observations as a professional courtesy in view of the possibility that you are acting in good faith and not with the prestidigitations of those who are merely as clever as serpents. In this communication some requests are also made with the hope that you are trying to be helpful, respecting justice, which is never biased on behalf of one person over against another, never taking advantage of the circumstances of one person and using those unjustly over against another.

The IOR request for the updating of personal details of the (representatives of) clients of the IOR has the inescapably implied motivation of virtue-signaling, with the Holy See (Vatican City State) making the claim in this manner that it has the moral high ground in implementing policies regarding any money laundering and any financing of international terrorism. Perhaps this is an attempt to incite laughter among clients, to be in solidarity with the IOR amidst exasperation with the failures of the Holy See (Vatican City State), failures to which we are all subject in our fallen human nature. And one would laugh, except that it is all so sad.

All are aware that the Holy See (Vatican City State) has been under scrutiny for many decades regarding what is sometimes perceived as malfeasance specifically by way of alleged purposed incompetence resulting in the alleged but equally purposed non-implementation of best-practices. Alleged incompetents and/or malefactors, with the finesse of stilted Romanità, thus proffer an invitation to, or give into logistical demands of criminals leveraging the vice of greed, the fear of extortion, or willing fealty to that which falls under rubrical omertà.

To be detailed below are just a few unavoidable, immediate and irreversible consequences of your sending out an electronic communication (two, within hours, in my case) inescapably implying the possibility that those in reception of that missive may be guilty of money laundering and the financing of international terrorism.

Laudable, predictable interception of such an electronic communication by intelligence services who work for our common security are algorithm-flagged to the end of provoking human intervention. International money laundering and the financing of international terrorism are taken rather seriously in the midst of the always perverted machinations of geopolitical maneuvering and the unfathomable greed and lust for power also of specific individuals. At any rate, it is the discourteous and unprovoked first-instance threat of the freezing of accounts which requires an agent to take certain actions. If you’re willing to provoke a court case with all the discovery that such entails, it must all be quite serious.

While I am very happy that you are applying what might be seen to be merely regularly scheduled due-diligence-policies concerning money laundering and the financing of international terrorism (more on that in a future communication), I’m guessing that you could have refrained from any immediate unprovoked threats of the freezing of any account with IOR, just as you could have refrained from mentioning that investigations into money laundering and the financing of international terrorism is the purpose of these requests for clients to update their individual and unrepeatable details. Surely it would be normal best-practices to request clients to update their details, but without any mention of possible crimes and without any threats, with that simple updating being enough to accomplish your felicitous motivations as good members of the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe, sending along all updated information and activities of all clients, institutional or otherwise, for the verification and review of the OSCE in all of its 57 member countries. The intelligence services of the USA, also a member of the OSCE, are extraordinarily good at what they do, and will immediately notice any anomalies. Apriori purposed alerting of any malefactors seems counterproductive, allowing criminals to use much more care in their answers, allowing them to move funds before the freezing of any accounts. Bad as that is, that’s only the best-case scenario. There are others.

For the intelligence services of the USA, activities wrought by a foreign country on a citizen of the USA that touch on the mere possibility of such crimes related to priority security issues will immediately trigger a surveillance warrant from the United States Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Court in Washington, D.C., every time, no exceptions. I’m good with that. My life has always been an open book, particularly with our intelligence services. I’m sure you are aware that any FISA warrant also covers anyone related in any manner to the subject of the warrant, including, in this case, individuals who work at the IOR, along with the IOR institutionally, and anyone who may have ordered such an investigation. But you already know that. This must be a rather grave matter.

Despite my status as a citizen of the USA in good standing, such motivation for an inquiry into priority security issues is enough to have me abruptly detained by our Department of Justice for a more thorough inquisition, effectively having me placed in custody for an indeterminate period, even years. But you knew that before you sent your first communication, didn’t you? I’m happy to cooperate in any such investigation, but I would be dismayed on behalf of Christ’s faithful, who may be bereft of a priest to care for their sacramental needs in my remote parish. Should there be any unfortunate misunderstandings it would be convenient for me to have a contact in the Nunciature in Washington, D.C. who would be able to liaise with our Department of State and our Department of Justice. Might you send me the full contact information of that person?

Despite my status as a Catholic priest in good standing, a pastor of a parish, and a Missionary of Mercy of Pope Francis, any bishop would be understandably hesitant to tolerate that such a priest under investigation for money laundering and the financing of international terrorism by the Holy See be allowed to continue in active ministry, at least until such investigations are resolved, which could take years or, much more likely, never come to a conclusion. The most likely resulting scenario of your preliminary communication would, in most every (arch)diocese in the world, be that I am removed from public ministry, probably for life. Many in the Church, perhaps hiding ulterior motivations, congratulate themselves by citing the deadly verbiage of the expedience of Caiaphas: “pro bono eccelesiae,” “for the good of the Church.” But you already knew that before you sent your first communication, didn’t you? Again, should there be any unfortunate misunderstandings it would be convenient for me to have a contact in the Nunciature in Washington, D.C. that would be able to liaise with the Holy See with the end of having me placed back in active ministry should I indeed be temporarily removed. Might you send me the full contact information of that person?

However felicitously these circumstances may be resolved, these communications will remain registered as an “incident” in my life history on both ecclesiastical and governmental levels. This may involve harassment getting an ecclesiastical assignment as mentioned above, or even harassment in travel. For instance, is it not likely, even probable, that all fifty seven member countries of the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe will incorporate my name on a watch list, even a no-fly list? Will I be allowed to return to Italy, to the Vatican, for the upcoming encounter of the Missionaries of Mercy with Pope Francis? But you already knew all the possible repercussions before you sent your first communication, didn’t you?

In expectation of whatever name(s) you may be able to send me of those working in the Apostolic Nunciature in Washington D.C. (previous to my “confessing” any “money laundering” and any “financing of international terrorism”), I ask our Lord to shower His blessings upon you.

Father George David Byers, SSL, STD
Pastor of Holy Redeemer Catholic Church
Missionary of Mercy of Pope Francis


So, I’ll get into “confessing” “confessions” of any “money laundering” and any “financing of international terrorism” in another post. I have to write that yet. Stay tuned.

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Vatican Bank sent first response to their investigation of me for money laundering & financing of international terrorism

just me pontifical family

That’s a real picture above, though taken as a joke. Those involved will recognize the office. See the “About” page on the menu up top. Below is a screen shot of my first response to their investigation of me:


This post was also tagged as “Humor” not because this isn’t a thing, but because when I mentioned this rubbish after all the Sunday Masses for a bit of humor, the congregation laughed and laughed: Father George, the international criminal! Ooooh! :-)

There is a darker side to all of this, all too sad. That’s why I’ve included those other tags of this post.

Here’s a link to a post earlier in the day for some just as humorous background:

Vatican Bank: Fr George do you launder money and help terrorists?

For me, this is all entertainment, who can bait the other with more alacrity. So far, I think I’m winning. Let’s see if they send me a name. Then it will get interesting, and more humorous. Otherwise, I suppose they will merely freeze the account, you know, probably to take the money for money laundering and the financing of international terrorism.

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Vatican Bank: Fr George do you launder money and help terrorists?

Cardinal What’s-his-face is indicted on fraud charges somewhere between four and five hundred million dollars, and the IOR (Institute for the Works of Religion – Vatican Bank) contacts little me. I like that. :-)

Here’s a bit of the email, which surely goes out to all clients, except not, just to the very few individuals in the world who have a personal account with them, and are not, say, national seminaries in Rome or religious orders. I was quite the exception… um… as usual.

So, they are doing an investigation of specific clients regarding money laundering and the financing of international terrorism. We’re supposed to provide some information and it will all be good, unless they decide to freeze the account = confiscate the money, you know, surely not for money laundering and the financing of international terrorism. It is to laugh, but lest there be an international warrant for my arrest, I guess I’ll comply. Fun!

I do have an account at IOR for many decades. There is money in it, let’s see:

  • From the odd donation
  • From direct deposit when I worked at Vatican Radio
  • From Mass stipends (given to me by the Secretariat of State)
  • From my parents (RIP) who basically financed all my studies in Rome

The account has been sitting dead for years. It’s not like it has seen any monies moved in, moved out, just nothing.

I’m sure they are just doing a best practices audit. Good timing.

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Appeal to CIA OSC OSINT Reston: Keep friends close and enemies closer ;-)

Already some years ago my “Shadow” talked to me pretty extensively about an office for open source intelligence which had been run by DNI but was soon punted to the CIA, always at the same smallish campus in Reston, Virginia. My “Shadow” described accurately and in detail not only their analysis of gray literature such as standout blogs, perhaps peer-reviewed journals and such like, but also their playing with such authors so as to bait them into providing perspective on whatever issue.

I had never heard of such a thing – as I’m not my “Shadow”, right? – so it sounded like conspiracy theory quagmire. I mean, how could one play chess upside down, inside out, back to front and have the pretense that analysts will have the clarity not to analyze themselves in the process? This is the existential extremity of what ends up being counterintelligence with oneself. No one carrying out such an analysis can long survive not reading themselves into whatever dynamic. Unless there is fearless humility (rare, right?) so as not to use themselves as a standard of everything, it’s all an exercise of arrogant power. Is it worth anything? Sure, for what it’s worth. There must be some good people who have not worn themselves out on an adrenaline rush of being on top of whatever situation because of some will-to-power. There must be…

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is chess-board-robert-van-der-steeg-impossible-world.png

From time to time the blog will get hits from named servers in the stats that read Central Intelligence Agency, with I.P. locators landing on the roof of OSC in Reston. Those claimed hits are always on posts which would be of interest to such analysts, so that any named hit is like a friendly nod for what was written from the perspective of whatever outside-of-the-box skill sets possessed by the author. Fine.

But what happens when, because of the unrepeatable world-view of any author, who will surely sometimes have a take on issues contrary to the ever changing status quo (we’re all human, right?) he is subject to being cancelled by whomsoever, a cancelling which will also take down that which is considered to be of value for the common good? The very point of gray intel is to get non-systemic points of view, right?

Well, that’s all good when there is a healthy first amendment. But when the arrogance of some think to have control of all that there is, the thirst for the power of destruction takes over as lockstep as fear regulating the action of the cowardly. And then what do we have? Them as our saviors? No thanks. Jesus is my Savior.

This blog is been hit by the cancel culture quite strongly in the past months. This is provable in many ways, one of which is the email system. I’m able to see inside the inboxes of others whom I assist, such as Father Gordon. Only, say, one in five posts might make it to his inbox. And that is also the reported experience of others, to the point now of their getting no notifications at all. Some receive some, some receive all, some receive nothing. But it’s all in the direction of nothing at all.

It’s about enough to make me go dark. There’s a certain freedom in that. There are many things to do in life for the Lord. So, yeah, I’m thinking about going dark pretty heavily in these days. It is what it is. If the intel crowd think that one in a thousand posts is worth the effort to follow, well, they know how to reverse any such cancelling, but it’s the will to do it that’s the question. My advice to them, whatever they think about the authors of the gray lit that they analyze, is to keep their friends close and their enemies closer.

I’d like to put up, say, a homily later today on the Most Holy Trinity, and maybe, say, a Flower for the Immaculate Conception. But those are what is most offensive to the cancel crowd. Religious integrity and honesty, a life lived with the Lord is quite uncontrollable by any government. That’s why there have been hundreds of millions of martyrs this past century, the most bloody century in the entire history of mankind. And I’m concerned about being cancelled? I’m such an idiot. But a happy “scum of the earth” (to reference Saint Paul). ;-)

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CIA *Ass*et: “Verbalize your evaluation of your mother, Father George” (Yikes!)

In years past this blog has sported articles about my mom. Logistical circumstances have brought me to make a review of those missives, combining some of them in this posting. I apologize for the rather out-of-the-ordinary weirdness of what is contained herein. It is what it is. I lived it. I think my mom is the best. Long time readers will roll their eyes with all of this, you know, “Here we go again!” Anyway…

Some of those writings were spurred on by a guy who, after years of apparently sloppy “intel” harassment, presented himself as a CIA *ass*et to a friend, whom he tried to offer a very far-reaching bribe (deep into DC darkness) for info about yours truly. Ooo! Info! Sigh. I’m such an open book. So, like, why? Boring! Anyway, the bribe, connected with that self-identification, is about as lawless as it gets regardless of the truth of anything claimed. He burned himself on that one, as it were, so to speak. He’s fake based just on that, unless, as it happens, he lost it, was desperate, didn’t know how otherwise to get some street cred. There was also, at the same time, terrible baiting from a guy who I call my “Shadow.” Long time readers are acquainted with that drama. My “Shadow” is a guy who has been established with secured identity by DS, which identity happens to be mine because of stupid oversight during the very beginnings of Fast and Furious arms transfers to cartels by these USA, stupid oversight which those in the know laugh about to this day, but I do not. That‘s the driving engine of many incidents in my life.

When one is on the radar of the CIA for whatever reason (in my case, because of my “Shadow”), there are evaluations to be made as time goes on with perpetual and interdepartmental programs. About the most important aspect of an investigation into the personality of a candidate who is to be or is already in some way connected with the CIA – knowingly or unknowingly – is about one’s own evaluation of one’s mother. Shrinks are always the same, wherever they are to be found! This is about deep seated perspective on what goodness is to be in the view of the subject, and therefore what he is capable or incapable of doing on various assignments or as a fall guy. This information is to be had through analyses wrought on answers to innumerable questions coming in from innumerable angles, written, oral, and otherwise, all of which inasmuch as possible are confirmed, verified. I was voluntold early on in life – in grade school – to do up such admitted at the time to be experimental exams, and those went on through junior high school and high school, diversely in prep school, diversely again in the seminary, diversely again by other ways and means. But this is all other than what one goes through when being associated in some way with the CIA. This *ass*et guy, self-tasked with the always important and tell-all follow-up to any such company evaluations as years go by, decided to go the way of tricked out baiting that speaks to an admission of one’s history with such evaluations, that is, with “conclusions” pasted on an individual such that any subject believes what evaluators have to say, with their evaluation made to be your own because of the undeniability of answering the way one did in grueling million question psych exams. I don’t know if anyone can read between the lines here… Anyway, the baiting?

  • “Verbalize your evaluation of your mother.”

“Your evaluation” refers to assessors’ work about you. “Verbalization” (distinct from any evaluation) instantly provides permission to distance oneself from the conclusions of previous evaluations foisted upon the individual, having one verbalize an ad hoc personal evaluation that is perhaps not so consonant with what has already been analyzed in the past through those days and weeks and months of others sorting through of one’s psyche. But I’ve never belonged to the CIA or been involved as any kind of asset.

The reason for the CIA evaluator *ass*et guy asking about mom isn’t just because I had instead been posting a lot about dad after the great Mark Meadows (our back in the day NC Senator and then White House Chief of Staff) had obtained for me my dad’s super-abundant war-time medals from both the Navy and Army – and therefore not putting much emphasis on mom just then – but rather also because of something that happened following the message I left with CCS at Main State back in the day, that was on Tuesday, 18 December 2018, with me trying to distance myself from my “Shadow.”

Shortly after that message about my “Shadow” was left with CCS at Main State, my “Shadow” called me up for a two hour and forty minute phone call, which amounts to more than I’ve spoken with that “Shadow” guy my entire life put together. At one point, my “Shadow”, 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 (also my heritage, therefore, a threat), my “Shadow” said that my mom was a B****, if once, then a dozen times, with great vehemence. shrieking. Mom 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. For him to be pumped on mind-numbing but utterly raging and outraging adrenaline for two hours and forty minutes is quite impossible, as this would lead to collapse. 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 (he hung up at that point after like eight seconds of dumbfoundedness). Does that mean I don’t care about what he 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? What makes me tick? Interesting, thought I, all this happening, as I say, very soon after my message left with CCS at Main State about him.

img_20180510_210632511_burst000_cover_top~37476656947255448852..jpg

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 birthday presents. If you want to know what my mom and I thought of each other, take a look at that picture. See the two foreheads together? That’s a kind of Vulcan mind-meld, though as a matter of the heart, of currents of existence that escape categorizations and evaluations. Meanwhile, notice mom’s free hand on the one shoulder, dad’s free hand on the other shoulder. I’m totally the son of my dad and my mom.

As to the CIA evaluator *ass*et guy’s request for verbalization of any evaluation of mom, becoming reflective, I simply said to his face that she was melancholic and liked to read a lot. That was me baiting him. After all, what kind of question is that about your own mom? That question is, in and of itself, monstrous. Love is much more than mind games. In return, the CIA evaluator *ass*et guy baited me once again, immediately telling 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? But that’s the bait for reaction. So I did react.

I said that she was willing to go through all-out-hell as a guinea-pig at the Navy’s N.I.H., literally in deadly conditions, at the edge of death, for weeks at a time, in screaming pain, for my sake. I remember the phone calls we would get at home from N.I.H. setting up the sessions out East. Even the phone calls were traumatic. The sessions were monstrous. I can’t even bring myself to relate what she described. My mom? She’s 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 N.I.H. 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. What they did, what SHE did, has saved my life countless, countless times over. This was able to be set up because, of course, dad was USMC, which is the history of the Navy’s N.I.H.

pieta st mary cathedral st cloud mn

Bonus story about mom: I found the picture above of the hand-carved Pietà which, at least when I was a kid, was situated in a side niche chapel in the at-the-time beautiful but now long wreckovated crypt church of Saint Mary’s Cathedral in Saint Cloud, Minnesota. This used to be a purposely-in-the-shadows mysterious just-lit-by-candles shrine with long kneelers surrounding the banks of candles. Now it’s annoyingly lit up more by spotlights than candles. At least they left one kneeler there. I’m happy to see it’s well worn.

My best memory of mom is when – frequently, mind you – she would bring me, just a couple of years old, then three and four and five years old… when she would bring me down into those mysterious candle-lit shadows and we would kneel before Mother Mary holding her ever so dead Son, the Incarnate Word. She taught me how to light a candle. I would look on in wonder and awe at the majestic Mother of God holding Him… Jesus…

I would return here on my own when I knew a bit of Latin. Understanding what it meant, the verse was instantly ingrained in my mind in Latin, and has re-echoed throughout my life quite continuously:

  • O vos omnes qui transitis per viam, attendite et videte si est dolor sicut dolor meus.
  • O you, all of you who pass by the way, be attentive and see whether there is a sorrow such as my sorrow.

That, of course, is from the Hebrew Scriptures, Lamentations 1:12, that is 1:ל. You know the inscription above, the abbreviation for the Latin, INRI, Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews. It’s a fuzzy picture, but there are also the beginning and ending letters of the Greek alphabet, the Alpha and Omega, you know, the First and the Last, He Who Is. And then there’s the more visible symbol of the Greek letters beginning the title Christ, that is, Messiah, the Anointed One, the Suffering Servant, the One who takes upon Himself all our transgressions, sins, standing in our place, the Innocent for the guilty, so as to have the right in His own justice to have mercy on us.

So, Mary beholds the sins of the world wrecked upon her Son. Could there be any sorrow like hers? And we kneel before Jesus in her arms, our hearts ripped out of our chests…

And my mom brought me here to introduce me to Jesus’ mom. What do you think I think of my mom? Can I verbalize it? Words fail me. Did Jesus love His mom? Could He, the Word Incarnate, Verbum Incarnatumverbalize that?

I’ll just light a candle, you know, something about the Light of the Nations, the Light shining in the darkness, and then say a prayer… Hail Mary… even for the CIA evaluator *ass*et guy, and all the rest of the CIA. After all:

But a Hail Mary for my “Shadow” and my mom too, and dad.

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CIA Kryptos Identity Logo

Having read only to dismiss as irrelevant an extensive teaser about this new logo, my first thoughts instead went somewhere else. And that’s because the design makes me think of the palimpsest folios of Kryptos, ever being pealed back as one might do with any palimpsest as technology increases. First with the eye, then a microscope, then with chemicals, then with various types of really weird microscopes that pick up different chemical reactions with papyri or any kind of vellum. The folios in the new logo about equal the number of years of the CIA’s existence IF, that is, IF we go back to the life and times of the one I hold to be the forerunner of the CIA, the great Catholic Poet, Joyce Kilmer, who ably and bravely demonstrated the very best of forward reconnaissance when he was killed by a sniper over in France. Anyway, you remember the artful Kryptos in the CIA’s courtyard, broken cross, sepulcheric rock, the waters of death and life:

Kryptos 1
Kryptos 3
Kryptos 2

The coriolis effect represented as a key to fulsomeness…

Image result for coriolis effect gif

Hmmm… Lot’s of questions about using the laws of nature against the laws of nature – yup – and all that which supersedes fallen human nature in the midst of continuing free will and consequences one way or the other.

I hope the new logo isn’t all about braggadocio. Any reflection of that in the CIA would about end any effort to go more deeply into human nature and fallen human nature and beyond. “We’re in conTROL!!!” is a statement that is all out of control. Questions about overarching historical indications of escaping the reality of who we are before God are discarded at our peril. Once you see that, the reality of who we are as fallen creatures before our Creator, it can’t be unseen, just escaped.

“The center cannot hold.” ??? Answer:

CRUX STAT DUM VOLVITUR ORBIS

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Gun confiscation fingerprints? I kind of lost them in a boating accident…

Just the other day the druggies in my neighborhood were readying themselves to do up a home invasion on me, but my fearless neighbor, risking life and limb, chased them away. This happens quite a bit. Andrews, NC is the drug capital for WNC, for East TN, for North Georgia. The crime has transformed and increased to crazy levels. But we don’t have stats because, you know, why should they be sent in to state level anyway? We’re a nice town! But the State is on to us now, so I imagine something might be sent in, maybe for parking tickets or the like. So, speaking of the Second Amendment…

We hear much about HR127 which in effect is tantamount to removing the Second Amendment from the Constitution of these USA. I doubt that will proceed very far. But more recently, an interview with Wuhan Joe was published (now post-inauguration), which presents something even more far reaching in its simplicity. Wuhan Joe wants to confiscate all guns, though providing his personal permission[!] for having a sidearm if there are biometrics involved, so that, for instance, a self-defense tool will not operate unless any involved fingerprints are those of the registered owner of the self-defense tool. This, of course, requires a new purchase on the part of citizens in good standing. Surely there’s no kickbacks to be involved there… Um… Also, technology for framing individuals for crimes by way of fingerprint transfers has been around for decades.

Fingerprints… I’ve submitted to that process by way of black inkings and by way of all sort and manner of glass-plate scanners right through the years right around the world and right across these USA. The fingerprinting events of whatever method have always been frustrating, with whatever law enforcement techs becoming visibly annoyed and even somewhat aggressive with my lack of viable fingerprints. Hunted criminals try to “erase” their fingerprints. No fingerprints = suspicion. The meme question to me is then: “Who are you, anyway?” This blog has sported many accounts of this occurrence which, being so frequent, is humorous.

The last fingerprinting event came about as part of the process of getting permission for second amendment Constitutional rights here in what the Sheriff has declared to be a 2A sanctuary: Cherokee County of North Carolina. The nice officer worked it seemed for an exaggerated amount of time in an attempt to acquire something, anything of recordable data for any would-be fingerprint so as to send these off to the State Bureau of Investigation. “Maybe two or three partials, maybe,” she said after many repeated attempts, exasperated that she had reached the limit of attempts possible in the law. “I’ll send what I have to the SBI, but they will reject this immediately and we will have to go through this multiple times, setting up more appointments on this end and waiting possibly for weeks each time, and then sending it all to them and waiting. This may add months to your request for getting permission. But after many attempts they also will have to accept what is there and send whatever it is off to the FBI. And then we’ll wait again.”

“Permission.”

“No worries,” thought I. “There are other ways of ascertaining who I am, and there will be no problem at all,” thought I, smiling with sardonic contentedness. Indeed, the SBI instantaneously approved me first try – instantaneously – but not because of any viable fingerprints. The nice fingerprinting officer was shocked about this, once again giving me the “Who are you anyway?” look, and offering comments of amazement. It is to laugh.

UPSHOT: I could never fire a gun that wouldn’t fire without immediately viable fingerprints, which wouldn’t work anyway except in perfect laboratory conditions regarding temperature (cold and hot not working), no gloves (which are common when working, and/or when in cold areas, like from Texas to Canada), no sweat (that you otherwise would have even in cold weather when there is an adrenaline pumping situation), no mud, no dirt, no new scrapes since the last fingerprint scan, no blood, and no switching of hands when your own fingers of your strong hand have been shot off (a not super-infrequent occurrence as you draw up with your self-defense tool right in front of you), a bad grip for reason of broken fingers and you shove a trigger finger into the trigger guard all the way to the palm of your hand to get some viable muscle to pull the trigger (no fingerprints there), and so on.

But I don’t have fingerprints to begin with. So, how is this Constitutional? I’m a citizen in good standing, and I’m being infringed. And, yes, I have a many reasons for carrying my now permitted concealed carry tool, also openly carried here in North Carolina and in this 2A sanctuary of Cherokee County.

The joke in these days about any gun confiscation is to say: “Oh! I’m so sorry dearest confiscation officers! I would hand over all my guns but I lost them in a boating accident!” But let’s update that for my situation:

“I lost my fingerprints in a boating accident.”

Go ahead and laugh at my stupidity, as I got what I deserved: While I’ve always had trouble fingerprinting, this intensified when building the hermitage now many years ago. I needed to fill in gaps under the rafters and I used expanding foam. I didn’t read the directions and so didn’t wear gloves. This was like a gorilla glue in the hair experience. My hands had glops of foam all over them. I’ll just wash that off before it dries, thought I. Nope. Rubbing alcohol? Nope. Gasoline? Nope. I finally read the warnings on the spray-can. Uh-oh. I then tried an abrasive pot scrubber. Nope. My heart fell. I entrenched. Steel wool? Yep. After many sessions, many hours each, my hands were entirely raw. It worked, but…

“You see these marks?” asked the nice law enforcement fingerprinting officer, showing me printouts of my non-fingerprints. “The story is embarrassing,” said I, but then I recounted the story above. There was deserved rolling of eyes. I laugh at myself as well.

But should I lose my second amendment under Wuhan Joe just because I didn’t read directions on a spray foam can while going a zillion miles an hour in just getting things done in my construction tasks, even triple tasking? Even someone who makes a mistake with a spray foam can still has second amendment rights, right? Believe me, that mistake will never be made again. We can learn from mistakes. And this wasn’t criminal and there was no criminal intent.

Having said all this, I still have two requests for Diplomatic Security.

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Amazon challenges God?

Some say it looks like a poop emoji. There are dozens of conjectures about what it looks like, but I’ll tell you this, unbelievably not even one description that I saw mentioned the famed tower of babel. Most were ziggurats back in the day were stepped pyramids, as in Jacob’s ladder, upon which the Babylonian gods were to descend and ascend, with a meeting of the twain at the top. There is a somewhat anomalous if much more famous twisted version to be seen in Iraq, but it is tiny, mostly destroyed, just pitiful, nothing like the more famous painting.

We recall the account in Genesis 11:3-9:

  • They said to one another, “Come, let us mold bricks and harden them with fire.” They used bricks for stone, and bitumen for mortar. Then they said, “Come, let us build ourselves a city and a tower with its top in the sky, and so make a name for ourselves; otherwise we shall be scattered all over the earth.” The LORD came down to see the city and the tower that the men had built. Then the LORD said: “If now, while they are one people, all speaking the same language, they have started to do this, nothing will later stop them from doing whatever they presume to do. Let us then go down and there confuse their language, so that one will not understand what another says.” Thus the LORD scattered them from there all over the earth, and they stopped building the city. That is why it was called Babel, because there the LORD confused the speech of all the world. It was from that place that he scattered them all over the earth.

There is plenty of vocabulary and literary devices going on in there which recall Genesis 2:4a–3:24, wherein we read about original sin and the disarray in the spirit of man, his dumbed down communication because of being so narcissistically concerned with himself as cut off from others.

There’s a lesson to be had here. Unless there is a recognition of the fallen state of man and the need for redemption wrought in God’s justice, that is, the Son of the Mother of the Redeemer in Genesis 3:15 who will stand in our place, the Innocent for the guilty… unless there is honesty about and repentance from our specious motives, any attempt on our part to control the world through manipulation will only end in further division, further chaos, further misery, until we are brought so low that we will call out no longer to the Tower of Babel narcissists, but to God.

But we are putting God to death. God speaks eloquently from the silence of the tomb. And then He rises from the dead and is present to His little flock, God who is Love, Living Truth.

We are not united by draconian censorship and identity politics (making a name for ourselves). We are not united by being in fear of a totalitarian Police State. We are united by Jesus who is the Way, the Truth and the Life, all with the freedom of the children of God.

But to say that God loved the world so much as to send His Son to redeem us is now considered hate speech and subversion, sedition, treason. To say that our identity is to be found in God is makes one liable to be attacked by marauding bands of anarchists who insist that only their lives matter.

C’mon Amazon.

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Proof BLM Antifa = Jan 6 Siege. Capitalized by Dems. All staged. Treason. Sedition.

https://www.lifesitenews.com/news/giuliani-releases-footage-of-blm-agitator-giving-riot-training-before-jan-6-capitol-storming

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Capital siege leftist instigator with his extreme violence challenge

Just 45 seconds: 2’00” to 2’45”.

Now that’s some scary stuff…

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Military, LifeSite, Trump on Capital Siege

Absolutely worth watching. What a time we live in? More on that in a future post. Stay tuned.

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Capital Provocateurs: BLM, Antifa

This guy is one of the best of the best. One of ours. Very interesting. What he says is verified by others who were there. A must see, this video.

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SHTF by 17-18 January? What I’m told.

This is just one of many of those purposed “leaks” ever so useful when the SHTF as it does in all societies from time to time in all epochs since the beginning to the end. The “leaks” in this case are coming from all over these USA from wildly different sources, including serious mega-corporations essential for national security.

This could be a ruse as now even multiple national-security sourcing events are often just that, a ruse for the naive. The worst case scenario is that such a ruse (almost impossible to pull off) is to find out who’s connected to who. It could be the ol’ say something absolutely false and then see who ends up reporting it. But I don’t get that vibe here. This is from a good friend who has, how to say, a stellar military-intel career of decades, who, um, knows people, not only individuals, but he’s also great at intel tactics. He’s a most devout Catholic. The upshot is that you need some provisions of popcorn, etc, for a week, and lots of batteries for your radio, and your rosary in your hand, maybe bread and milk and tuna and bananas! Make sure you have your phone charged up for emergency broadcasts. Get some situational awareness about yourself. Ask your guardian angel to enlighten you. Get your soul in order… now.

  • Fr. George, I got some more leads, that most […Intel and Military communities…] say it is going to happen Sunday or Monday. Yes a martial law lock down. All communications will be under the control of the government and the only broadcast will be 3 hours a day for a week [… I’m leaving out lots of activity that will be going on, for safety’s sake…] This is so over the top unimaginable in the US, but I can buy into the lot of it. The logistics are going to be total chaos, moderately controlled by our military. Even if the forces are partially deployed so as to [… I’m leaving out lots of activity that will be going on, for safety’s sake…] it will take 24 to 48 hours to truly stand up a system of check points and control. As I have said, I truly believe something is going to happen, it will be ugly and I am prepared. I believe in our Blessed Mother and pray for peace.

This guy is not naive. He’s seen a hell of a lot in his life. He’s not so stupid as to think it can’t happen here. He is not an ostrich. So… take it or leave it. But pray anyway. We live in rather exciting times. And get popcorn for the three hours a day. And have your rosary at hand.

I asked him if I could put this up on the blog, which only a few devout Catholics see, besides many of, dare I say, the more devout in the intel and military community. Yes, he said. It’s good to go.

My first thought was, like, I should get more food for Shadow-dog and Laudie-dog. Now they have plenty.

Let’s see, what else do I need? I’ve been to Confession like twice in the past week and some. I know… Batteries! I don’t need a bug-out bag because I’m where people run toward! This is the best parish in the world. I’ll stock up some altar breads and altar wine for Mass in the Rectory if travel even to church would be verboten. I think that’s it. I’m not high maintenance. I got me a rosary!

Honestly, if this is what I think it is, I rejoice. I laugh out loud. HAH! Well, we shall see. Nothing is as it seems. But this may be better than it seems. Much better.

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CIA DDI Capital siege open gray source gray man gray zone graywater® humor

After some surely humorous intrigue DNI-OSC was renamed CIA-DDI, but continued working out of a campus in Reston. They are the best of the best at dumpster diving (Hey! I can relate!) in the trashy garbage of open source gray literature of what occasionally might turn out to be gray zone warfare (somewhat diversely from DARPA COMPASS). At least I’m the epitome of what a gray man is not, making me, irony of ironies, the ultimate gray man in a world of counterintel vortices sucking the overconfident into an inextricable maelstrom of graywater®. Did I just say that? ;-)

G.K. Chesterton’s Father Brown stories are helpful to extract oneself, particularly The Secret of Father Brown:

https://ariseletusbegoing.com/2021/01/15/je-suis-le-capital-siege-or-the-secret-of-father-brown-yours-truly-bad-and-evil/

IPs and named servers are easily spoofed, but that would be even stranger than a real visit. So, going along with the game, lets say that this is DDI spending human time on this blog in a time of crisis. First of all, no one in the intel world runs a named server allowing anyone to see the name, and even the the posts visited, and the actual time spent… unless they want you to see that info. And that would be the humorous part. I’m nobody. But, that’s the point. Hah!

What they were looking at was, of course, the blogpost at the top of the blog at that time, which pointed to images/video of Capital Police actively ushering crowds inside the Capital Building with the higher ups knowing absolutely that those protecting the Vice President and voting members of Congress – just outside those interior doors – would certainly shoot those violently breaking in. And Ashli did die.

The National Guard was there, but six requests for their help were turned down. When massive crowds come, you don’t insist on having the a normal day’s number of officers; insisting that upped numbers of officers do not show up is called standing them down. Refusing the Park Police’s offer of assistance is equivalent of standing them down.

And that begs questions about Democrats rushing votes on the 25th amendment and impeachment before we know what happened, almost as if they wanted to cover up their own involvement in a scenario making for staged bad-optics for Trump. More on that in a future post if we’re still up. Meanwhile, let’s review Kryptos, since this is the CIA, after all!

https://ariseletusbegoing.com/2016/01/29/solving-kryptos-part-4-coriolis-effect-crux-stat-dum-volvitur-orbis/

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“Je suis le Capital Siege” or “The Secret of Father Brown” Yours truly, bad and evil.

CHESTERTON FATHER BROWN

The only way to be able to direct souls to the Living Truth is to be humble enough to admit that one could be capable of that which is most bad and evil, for only in that way are we open to Him who saves us from ourselves. Make no mistake: this is not about “thinking like a criminal”, this is about being the very criminal in potentia, as in: “There but for the grace of God go I”, quite literally. This is The Secret of Father Brown, of G.K. Chesterton fame. It’s well worth the read, as are all things Chesterton. A little humility goes a long way. This is one chapter in the volume with the same title. If I were a chaplain to the CIA, this is what I would present to them with some examples. Very tightly scripted:

FLAMBEAU, once the most famous criminal in France and later a very private detective in England, had long retired from both professions. Some say a career of crime had left him with too many scruples for a career of detection. Anyhow, after a life of romantic escapes and tricks of evasion, he had ended at what some might consider an appropriate address: in a castle in Spain. The castle, however, was solid though relatively small; and the black vineyard and green stripes of kitchen garden covered a respectable square on the brown hillside. For Flambeau, after all his violent adventures, still possessed what is possessed by so many Latins, what is absent (for instance) in so many Americans, the energy to retire. It can be seen in many a large hotel-proprietor whose one ambition is to be a small peasant. It can be seen in many a French provincial shopkeeper, who pauses at the moment when he might develop into a detestable millionaire and buy a street of shops, to fall back quietly and comfortably on domesticity and dominoes. Flambeau had casually and almost abruptly fallen in love with a Spanish Lady, married and brought up a large family on a Spanish estate, without displaying any apparent desire to stray again beyond its borders. But on one particular morning he was observed by his family to be unusually restless and excited; and he outran the little boys and descended the greater part of the long mountain slope to meet the visitor who was coming across the valley; even when the visitor was still a black dot in the distance.

The black dot gradually increased in size without very much altering in the shape; for it continued, roughly speaking, to be both round and black. The black clothes of clerics were not unknown upon those hills; but these clothes, however clerical, had about them something at once commonplace and yet almost jaunty in comparison with the cassock or soutane, and marked the wearer as a man from the northwestern islands, as clearly as if he had been labelled Clapham Junction. He carried a short thick umbrella with a knob like a club, at the sight of which his Latin friend almost shed tears of sentiment; for it had figured in many adventures that they shared long ago. For this was the Frenchman’s English friend, Father Brown, paying a long-desired but long-delayed visit. They had corresponded constantly, but they had not met for years.

Father Brown was soon established in the family circle, which was quite large enough to give the general sense of company or a community. He was introduced to the big wooden images of the Three Kings, of painted and gilded wood, who bring the gifts to the children at Christmas; for Spain is a country where the affairs of the children bulk large in the life of the home. He was introduced to the dog and the cat and the live-stock on the farm. But he was also, as it happened, introduced to one neighbour who, like himself, had brought into that valley the garb and manners of distant lands.

It was on the third night of the priest’s stay at the little chateau that he beheld a stately stranger who paid his respects to the Spanish household with bows that no Spanish grandee could emulate. He was a tall, thin grey-haired and very handsome gentleman, and his hands, cuffs and cuff-links had something overpowering in their polish. But his long face had nothing of that languor which is associated with long cuffs and manicuring in the caricatures of our own country. It was rather arrestingly alert and keen; and the eyes had an innocent intensity of inquiry that does not go often with grey hairs. That alone might have marked the man’s nationality, as well the nasal note in his refined voice and his rather too ready assumption of the vast antiquity of all the European things around him. This was, indeed, no less a person than Mr. Grandison Chace, of Boston, an American traveller who had halted for a time in his American travels by taking a lease of the adjoining estate; a somewhat similar castle on a somewhat similar hill. He delighted in his old castle, and he regarded his friendly neighbour as a local antiquity of the same type. For Flambeau managed, as we have said, really to look retired in the sense of rooted. He might have grown there with his own vine and fig-tree for ages. He had resumed his real family name of Duroc; for the other title of “The Torch” had only been a title de guerre, like that under which such a man will often wage war on society. He was fond of his wife and family; he never went farther afield than was needed for a little shooting; and he seemed, to the American globe-trotter, the embodiment of that cult of a sunny respectability and a temperate luxury, which the American was wise enough to see and admire in the Mediterranean peoples. The rolling stone from the West was glad to rest for a moment on this rock in the South that had gathered so very much moss. But Mr. Chace had heard of Father Brown, and his tone faintly changed, as towards a celebrity. The interviewing instinct awoke, tactful but tense. If he did try to draw Father Brown, as if he were a tooth, it was done with the most dexterous and painless American dentistry.

They were sitting in a sort of partly unroofed outer court of the house, such as often forms the entrance to Spanish houses. It was dusk turning to dark; and as all that mountain air sharpens suddenly after sunset, a small stove stood on the flagstones, glowing with red eyes like a goblin, and painting a red pattern on the pavement; but scarcely a ray of it reached the lower bricks of the great bare, brown brick wall that went soaring up above them into the deep blue night. Flambeau’s big broad-shouldered figure and great moustaches, like sabres, could be traced dimly in the twilight, as he moved about, drawing dark wine from a great cask and handing it round. In his shadow, the priest looked very shrunken and small, as if huddled over the stove; but the American visitor leaned forward elegantly with his elbow on his knee and his fine pointed features in the full light; his eyes shone with inquisitive intelligence.

“I can assure you, sir,” he was saying, “we consider your achievement in the matter of the Moonshine Murder the most remarkable triumph in the history of detective science.”

Father Brown murmured something; some might have imagined that the murmur was a little like a moan.

“We are well acquainted,” went on the stranger firmly, “with the alleged achievements of Dupin and others; and with those of Lecoq, Sherlock Holmes, Nicholas Carter, and other imaginative incarnations of the craft. But we observe there is in many ways, a marked difference between your own method of approach and that of these other thinkers, whether fictitious or actual. Some have spec’lated, sir, as to whether the difference of method may perhaps involve rather the absence of method.”

Father Brown was silent; then he started a little, almost as if he had been nodding over the stove, and said: “I beg your pardon. Yes. . .. Absence of method. . . . Absence of mind, too, I’m afraid.”

“I should say of strictly tabulated scientific method,” went on the inquirer. “Edgar Poe throws off several little essays in a conversational form, explaining Dupin’s method, with its fine links of logic. Dr. Watson had to listen to some pretty exact expositions of Holmes’s method with its observation of material details. But nobody seems to have got on to any full account of your method, Father Brown, and I was informed you declined the offer to give a series of lectures in the States on the matter.”

“Yes,” said the priest, frowning at the stove; “I declined.”

“Your refusal gave rise to a remarkable lot of interesting talk,” remarked Chace. “I may say that some of our people are saying your science can’t be expounded, because it’s something more than just natural science. They say your secret’s not to be divulged, as being occult in its character.”

“Being what?” asked Father Brown, rather sharply.

“Why, kind of esoteric,” replied the other. “I can tell you, people got considerably worked up about Gallup’s murder, and Stein’s murder, and then old man Merton’s murder, and now Judge Gwynne’s murder, and a double murder by Dalmon, who was well known in the States. And there were you, on the spot every time, slap in the middle of it; telling everybody how it was done and never telling anybody how you knew. So some people got to think you knew without looking, so to speak. And Carlotta Brownson gave a lecture on Thought-Forms with illustrations from these cases of yours. The Second Sight Sisterhood of Indianapolis —— ”

Father Brown, was still staring at the stove; then he said quite loud yet as if hardly aware that anyone heard him: “Oh, I say. This will never do.”

“I don’t exactly know how it’s to be helped,” said Mr. Chace humorously. “The Second Sight Sisterhood want a lot of holding down. The only way I can think of stopping it is for you to tell us the secret after all.”

Father Brown groaned. He put his head on his hands and remained a moment, as if full of a silent convulsion of thought. Then he lifted his head and said in a dull voice:

“Very well. I must tell the secret.”

His eyes rolled darkly over the whole darkling scene, from the red eyes of the little stove to the stark expanse of the ancient wall, over which were standing out, more and more brightly, the strong stars of the south.

“The secret is,” he said; and then stopped as if unable to go on. Then he began again and said:

“You see, it was I who killed all those people.”

“What?” repeated the other, in a small voice out of a vast silence.

“You see, I had murdered them all myself,” explained Father Brown patiently. “So, of course, I knew how it was done.”

Grandison Chace had risen to his great height like a man lifted to the ceiling by a sort of slow explosion. Staring down at the other he repeated his incredulous question.

“I had planned out each of the crimes very carefully,” went on Father Brown, “I had thought out exactly how a thing like that could be done, and in what style or state of mind a man could really do it. And when I was quite sure that I felt exactly like the murderer myself, of course I knew who he was.”

Chace gradually released a sort of broken sigh.

“You frightened me all right,” he said. “For the minute I really did think you meant you were the murderer. Just for the minute I kind of saw it splashed over all the papers in the States: ‘Saintly Sleuth Exposed as Killer: Hundred Crimes of Father Brown.’ Why, of course, if it’s just a figure of speech and means you tried to reconstruct the psychogy — ”

Father Brown rapped sharply on the stove with the short pipe he was about to fill; one of his very rare spasms of annoyance contracted his face.

“No, no, no,” he said, almost angrily; “I don’t mean just a figure of speech. This is what comes of trying to talk about deep things. . . . What’s the good of words . . .? If you try to talk about a truth that’s merely moral, people always think it’s merely metaphorical. A real live man with two legs once said to me: ‘I only believe in the Holy Ghost in a spiritual sense.’ Naturally, I said: ‘In what other sense could you believe it?’ And then he thought I meant he needn’t believe in anything except evolution, or ethical fellowship, or some bilge. . . . I mean that I really did see myself, and my real self, committing the murders. I didn’t actually kill the men by material means; but that’s not the point. Any brick or bit of machinery might have killed them by material means. I mean that I thought and thought about how a man might come to be like that, until I realized that I really was like that, in everything except actual final consent to the action. It was once suggested to me by a friend of mine, as a sort of religious exercise. I believe he got it from Pope Leo XIII, who was always rather a hero of mine.”

“I’m afraid,” said the American, in tones that were still doubtful, and keeping his eye on the priest rather as if he were a wild animal, “that you’d have to explain a lot to me before I knew what you were talking about. The science of detection —— ”

Father Brown snapped his fingers with the same animated annoyance. “That’s it,” he cried; “that’s just where we part company. Science is a grand thing when you can get it; in its real sense one of the grandest words in the world. But what do these men mean, nine times out of ten, when they use it nowadays? When they say detection is a science? When they say criminology is a science? They mean getting outside a man and studying him as if he were a gigantic insect: in what they would call a dry impartial light, in what I should call a dead and dehumanized light. They mean getting a long way off him, as if he were a distant prehistoric monster; staring at the shape of his ‘criminal skull’ as if it were a sort of eerie growth, like the horn on a rhinoceros’s nose. When the scientist talks about a type, he never means himself, but always his neighbour; probably his poorer neighbour. I don’t deny the dry light may sometimes do good; though in one sense it’s the very reverse of science. So far from being knowledge, it’s actually suppression of what we know. It’s treating a friend as a stranger, and pretending that something familiar is really remote and mysterious. It’s like saying that a man has a proboscis between the eyes, or that he falls down in a fit of insensibility once every twenty-four hours. Well, what you call ‘the secret’ is exactly the opposite. I don’t try to get outside the man. I try to get inside the murderer . . . . Indeed it’s much more than that, don’t you see? I am inside a man. I am always inside a man, moving his arms and legs; but I wait till I know I am inside a murderer, thinking his thoughts, wrestling with his passions; till I have bent myself into the posture of his hunched and peering hatred; till I see the world with his bloodshot and squinting eyes, looking between the blinkers of his half-witted concentration; looking up the short and sharp perspective of a straight road to a pool of blood. Till I am really a murderer.”

“Oh,” said Mr. Chace, regarding him with a long, grim face, and added: “And that is what you call a religious exercise.”

“Yes,” said Father Brown; “that is what I call a religious exercise.”

After an instant’s silence he resumed: “It’s so real a religious exercise that I’d rather not have said anything about it. But I simply couldn’t have you going off and telling all your countrymen that I had a secret magic connected with Thought-Forms, could I? I’ve put it badly, but it’s true. No man’s really any good till he knows how bad he is, or might be; till he’s realized exactly how much right he has to all this snobbery, and sneering, and talking about ‘criminals,’ as if they were apes in a forest ten thousand miles away; till he’s got rid of all the dirty self-deception of talking about low types and deficient skulls; till he’s squeezed out of his soul the last drop of the oil of the Pharisees; till his only hope is somehow or other to have captured one criminal, and kept him safe and sane under his own hat.”

Flambeau came forward and filled a great goblet with Spanish wine and set it before his friend, as he had already set one before his fellow guest. Then he himself spoke for the first time:

“I believe Father Brown has had a new batch of mysteries. We were talking about them the other day, I fancy. He has been dealing with some queer people since we last met.”

“Yes; I know the stories more or less — but not the application,” said Chace, lifting his glass thoughtfully. “Can you give me any examples, I wonder. . . . I mean, did you deal with this last batch in that introspective style?”

Father Brown also lifted his glass, and the glow of the fire turned the red wine transparent, like the glorious blood-red glass of a martyr’s window. The red flame seemed to hold his eyes and absorb his gaze that sank deeper and deeper into it, as if that single cup held a red sea of the blood of all men, and his soul were a diver, ever plunging in dark humility and inverted imagination, lower than its lowest monsters and its most ancient slime. In that cup, as in a red mirror, he saw many things; the doings of his last days moved in crimson shadows; the examples that his companions demanded danced in symbolic shapes; and there passed before him all the stories that are told here. Now, the luminous wine was like a vast red sunset upon dark red sands, where stood dark figures of men; one was fallen and another running towards him. Then the sunset seemed to break up into patches: red lanterns swinging from garden trees and a pond gleaming red with reflection; and then all the colour seemed to cluster again into a great rose of red crystal, a jewel that irradiated the world like a red sun, save for the shadow of a tall figure with a high head-dress as of some prehistoric priest; and then faded again till nothing was left but a flame of wild red beard blowing in the wind upon a wild grey moor. All these things, which may be seen later from other angles and in other moods than his own, rose up in his memory at the challenge and began to form themselves into anecdotes and arguments.

“Yes,” he said, as he raised the wine cup slowly to his lips, “I can remember pretty well —— ”

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Bait to shoot? Dems of the siege?

The last line of defense of the Vice President and those voting – an entire branch of government – included the agent who did the head-shot, who could not have been told to stand down, not by the President, not by anyone. He was like the guy with his finger on the nuclear button. No one is going to interfere with those guys. Can’t happen. He just did his job. It was absolutely known he would in fact do his job. And what gave him a target was staged, I’m guessing by the Dems, who are rushing for the 25th or an impeachment before it becomes known what they have done. What a cynical use of law enforcement protecting them. Law enforcement and non-violent Trump tourists were used like pawns. Too bad, that. We all know of what can only be called a purposed lack of personnel on 6 January 2021.

Trump was speaking in the morning and the assault on the Capital Building had already begun. He was going to present his case at 1:00 PM, but mayhem had already started. He never got the chance to march peacefully to the Capital Building so as to simply make a show of concern about the election. He never got the chance. Blame him? No.

I’d like to see the NSA, FBI and DARPA COMPASS barf up what they knew of logistics for 6 January 2021. Yes, I would. They knew pretty much everything, even visiting the perps before the day, telling them not to go, you know, being polite and nice. SMH.

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Nashville bomber: 5G paranoia. Déjà vu experience, coincidence I’m sure.

Motive: the not-to-be-named-guy hated police?

Apparently a while back this guy made an offhand comment that all police are corrupt. I’ve heard that comment a lot while hanging with the town police and deputies of various counties as a LEO chaplain in recent years (ICPC). That all police are corrupt is a generalization anyone might be tempted to make when being upset at, say, a traffic stop. It happens all the time. It’s like someone exasperated with politicians saying that all politicians are corrupt. Ever here that? The LEOs I know brush that off like a flake of dandruff. No big deal.

I just can’t see that what the Nashville bomber guy was doing in hurting AT&T’s computer junk building had anything to do with baiting law enforcement to get killed. This isn’t like an IED set off at a police recruiting station in Bagdad killing dozens of candidates standing in line and injuring even more, or like an IED set off in a crowded Bagdad market killing dozens, injuring hundreds, then a pause of two minutes, and then another IED going off to kill or injure all the good Samaritans who rush to aid those who have been hurt by the first IED, an evil but common, well known practice. With the Nashville AT&T bomber guy, everything was done to get attention of locals so that they might hear the warnings and get away. The warnings were extremely clear, also for any police rushing to make an intervention. So, I don’t buy into any motive of his hating police as being central to any motive. To do that would be to push actual police-hating groups to do the same thing, jacking up the stakes.

Motive: 5G paranoia?

While clearing the area of detonation of anyone who might get hurt is an ETA Basque separatist calling card, what this guy was doing was entirely different, right? Let’s examine what he actually did, which, in his mind, was to attack 5G infrastructure development.

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Did his action interrupt the work of some scattered 911 dispatchers? Sure. Did that mess with Nashville ATC for some hours? Sure. But that’s so random an effect among the scattered circuitry in the hardened AT&T hardware building that it can’t be said that those were individuated targets of an omni-directional, that is, non-directed explosion.

We know the guy was emotionally vulnerable, which means he might also have been open to being manipulated. That’s not to say he was manipulated, but he was apparently convinced that he was going to be a hero for saving his region and the country and the world from a 5G genocide, you know, brought about by 5G “bad stuff in the air”. I’m no psychologist, but it seems to me that this kind of sociopathic savior mentality needs to be suggested, constructed, nurtured by someone in order for it to get traction in the brain. It’s a much different mindset compared to the “lone wolf” terrorist.

Just a guess, a hypothesis… I’m wondering if there was a manipulator in the background. Motivations for a manipulator run a full spectrum all the way to the left (disruption factors dumbing down societal capabilities) and all the way to the right (intel empire building, which was the contention of the great Bill Binney about other events a generation ago). So, that gets complicated, until you have suspects to study, actionable intel. Let’s see now… Oh! I almost forgot!

Déjà vu...

Already back on September 19-20, 2020, the following was presented to me by way of an extremely vulnerable proxy, a loved family member, who was psychologically compromised, manipulated by a relentless “Karen.”

  • “They, the mafia, the international mafia, where you live, in Appalachia, they have pulse machines from international terrorists, pulse machines of wavelengths of bad stuff that can go through cars and houses and into your body and hurt you and make you tired [microwave targeting of embassy offices is a thing, but I’m guessing my rectory is not an embassy office!] and you’re not safe because they are coming to get you [lol: such a cliché] so you have to run really far away so that you feel better and where you’re not in danger from the pulse wavelength machines of the mafia from international terrorists. And you can read about it on – [A few URLs were provided dozens of times. Sorry, I didn’t pay attention to this. I never want to get baited into visiting weird websites] – if you scroll two thirds of the way down [whatever cited article] and read about it there and it’s true and stuff and everything so go away, really far away, because you’re not safe and they are coming to get you, you know, those people who slow down by your house because there’s a speed bump and they look at your garden and tell you how nice it is or ask you what the Mass schedule is now but they are really slowing down and surely pointing international mafia terrorist pulse wavelength machines at you with bad stuff that goes through cars and houses and into your body and can hurt you unless you run away, really far away, and stay away, and you have to leave now because you’re not safe, and whatever you do, don’t get a 5G phone because everyone with a 5G phone coming this October will die because it’s a genocide of all people with 5G phones all around the world and everyone is going to die with 5G phones so don’t get a 5G phone because it’s as bad as the international mafia terrorist pulse wavelength machines with bad stuff and everything…”

Soon, I would need a new phone, as I’m really hard on electronics. I got a 5G phone weeks later, in… wait for it… October! And I’m still alive! :-)

You have to know that the account of that message above is just a paraphrase of much longer diatribe of multiple rants that went on in the midst of a dozen+- communications, for hours and hours, over days. The extreme duress suffered by my loved one, being unwillingly programmed to do this task, being someone whose personality was erased completely until this, my loved one, completed her mission. This did grave damage to my loved one. The manipulator “Karen” is good at what she does. She uses even dozens of throw-away phones, and now, it seems, endless VOIP numbers.

I don’t buy that the “Karen” manipulating my loved one had fallen for some sort of 5G paranoia. I think she wanted to bait me (who knows why?) into getting upset with her manipulating my loved one. It’s extortion. This “Karen” has also said that she would force me into doing something “to get involved.” The message, it seems to me, is that more harm will be inflicted on my loved one if I don’t comply. The cruelty using my loved one is unspeakable. Anyway, I will not comply. That’s not virtue signaling. That’s a lifetime of experience witnessing situations in which integrity was tossed, witnessing that lost integrity is full destruction.

The timing of this days-long-message to me places it on a timeline in which the Nashville bomber guy was already well into his bombmaking cycle, not that there is necessarily any direct connection with this “Karen” and the Nashville bomber guy. But I have to wonder if this “Karen” possibly knew of the Nashville bomber’s activities, one way or the other. And that, of course, would beg a gamut of monstrous possibilities. If this “Karen” is involved, she’s already proven that, for her, there is no line of conscience which she is unwilling to cross. The Nashville bomber guy suicided. That was totally unnecessary for his ends. With just a bit of effort, regardless of cameras etc., he could have escaped. But he’s dead. He can’t speak to manipulators. Look, that’s just something to notice which might be a remote indication that a manipulator was involved. I’m not saying there’s a direct connection of this “Karen” with the Nashville bomber guy, just that I am personally cognizant of someone who could have manipulated him, and therefore, possibly others. As it is, this “Karen” has a highly inflated sense of being able to manipulate anyone, anytime, anywhere, well, until really smart people pop her balloon, one after the other. She definitely has an “I’ll show you” aspect about herself. I can totally see this “Karen” messing with the Nashville bomber guy. I have to wonder if Petula Clark’s Downtown was used by the Nashville bomber guy to smooth over the manipulation I’m guessing he was suffering, or used by him as a kind of thanksgiving to any “Karen” for allowing him to be the hero saving everyone from the genocidal 5G bad stuff.

All too creepy. I guess that’s an appropriate summary to a super-creepy 2020.

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Filed under Intelligence Community, Law enforcement, Terrorism

More American Community Survey anti-American anti-Community manipulation

The U.S. Department of Commerce has been hacked by Russia by way of SolarWinds. That means that the subsidiary U.S. Census Bureau has been hacked by Russia by way of SolarWinds. That means that the subsidiary of the Census Bureau called the American Community Survey has been hacked by Russia by way of SolarWinds. That means that all ultrapersonal intimate details of one’s entire life forced out of American citizens in good standing by threat of up to a $5,000.00 fine and up to five years in prison is now held by Russian Intelligence Services. But the ACS already knew that, right? I mean, they have the best of the best of DARPA COMPASS working for them, right? It’s, like, impossible that they wouldn’t have known this since – what? – at least as early as March 2020. Wow. This is gangster land, isn’t it? Those are just some questions. But what do I know? Zippo.

As I continue to critique the ACS for use by priests, I’ll evaluate certain questions that make it all very impossible, even for seemingly mundane questions, such as:

Question 14.a. Does this person speak a language other than English at home?

Answer: Since most priests live alone it’s a stupid question. If a person lives alone they don’t speak any languages at home, right? It’s like asking whether a celibate priest has stopped beating his wife. Um…

Oh, but wait! I do speak at home. I speak to Shadow-dog and Laudie-dog saying, yes, in English:

  • Goooood daaawg!
  • To Laudie-dog: Good girl!
  • To Shadow-dog: Good boy!
  • To both dogs while entering the rectory: Come on in!
  • Or when I’m leaving the rectory: I gotta go! Let’s go!

As to the part of the question (14.b.) which asks what that other spoken language is, I mean, for a priest, what if I were to write down what Saint Paul speaks about in his letter to the Corinthians, about speaking in tongues?

The problem is that the interrogation only asks for what the one “other” language is. But I often pray in many languages, and out loud, you know, to the other Person who lives with me in a chapel: Jesus in the Most Blessed Sacrament in the Tabernacle. Let’s see, what are languages that I know well or that I’ve at least studied or stared at until I could see a bit better what was happening? In general categories, let’s see:

English, German (mostly hoch Deutsch), Italian (mostly Roman street Italian, like damose da fa or nam a magna…), French, Spanish, Hebrew (modern, biblical, ultra-ancient), Greek (Biblical and the smattering of the ultra-weirdness of modern Greek), and, I mean, I dunno, similar things like Portuguese or whatever. Surely quite a bit of Latin (ecclesial and some archaic usages), and just bits and pieces of Chinese, ancient Egyptian, Coptic. Quite a bit of Syriac, Aramaic. Bits and pieces of Akkadian, Sumerian. I did study a grammar of Miskito, which is a language spoken by that native tribe on the eastern edges of Honduras, Nicaragua and right down to the border of Venezuela. I put the Hail Mary in that language to music that I played on the guitar way, way back in the day. That grammar was put together by a great Capuchin bishop from Wisconsin.

So, I mean, how do I even begin to answer? No matter what I write down as to whether or not I speak any language at all at home and what any language is the ACS will be able to say that I’m lying. So, why bother?

Anyway, all my little circumstances don’t matter one bit.

What does matter is that millions of peoples’ sworn autobiographies which they thought were totally private are now owned by Russia.

Oh, and I forgot, I did start staring at a Russian grammar as well. It’s a bad sign when you forget how many languages you’ve stared at in your life and can’t quite get a hold of how many of those you speak at home.

What we do know is that those at the U.S. Census Bureau and the American Community Survey speak Russian really, really well. ;-)

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Filed under Free exercise of religion, Intelligence Community

TOR hackers are Turkeys and invited to be chaplain for the NSA

The above is just one of many this morning. Many of these groups are the very best in the world for extracting everything from raw-formatted hard drives and flash drives. Pfft. Whatever. I don’t care one little bit. Good for them, as long as they are doing what they do for God and neighbor, Pro Deo et Patria, 4GOD4ALL and all that. Great.

But aren’t hackers 24/7/365-366 in their mother’s basements even when they are older, not coming up even for a delicious Thanksgiving dinner especially during Covid lockdowns coming from the Dems?

That would be wrong.

These hackers in their dozens all took off the entire Thanksgiving holiday weekend. Ain’t gonna happen with malicious hackers. Never. So, these guys are just bored workers here in these USA wanting to get inspired with AriseLetUsBeGoing even if being paid slave wages to do so. Whatever about their oh so so ultra secret exit nodes[=outhouse holes?], they all seem to flush out [sorry!] at Fort George G Meade (=NSA) and other such locations. ;-)

Counterintelligence amounts to a lot of baiting and counterbaiting in a vortexed maelstrom of – in the end – who knows what? I know that well. But I thought a bit of humor – and all this is humor – would be good just about this time post-election 2020.

No offence to our intelligence services. Really. It’s just that it seems all this is impolite.

Having said that, I have a really good friend who was invited to be a chaplain for the NSA.

He’s another one of those most researched people in the world.

I love it.

But then:

Just some humor. Please forgive me.

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Filed under hacking, Humor, Intelligence Community