by Iamwhomiam » Thu Dec 19, 2013 10:02 pm
It's all good, May Day, and if anyone is owing an apology, that would be me for going off as I did on you. Really. I'm fairly tolerant and accepting of others beliefs. Everyone is entitled to believe what they wish and I'm a bit surprised how instantly I became more than nasty to you; I became repulsive. And no one wants to read or catch wind of that crap, so this time, to all, I apologize.
Really, please don't feel badly because I lost my son, well, I mean like that. How my son died Is no excuse for me behaving as I did and I'm a bit embarrassed that I had. My kid wouldn't have hesitated to call me on it. Having lost my son in such a spectacular way doesn't give me any special privilege, but it does offer me a certain perspective not shared by all, but all parents who have lost a child through such violence do share a common grief, all too common, I would say. Not gonna scapegoat my tragedy as some sound reason for excusing my outrageous behavior.
Many of the good reads mentioned here, though not particularly in this thread, are more recent and on different topics I've been interested in of late, but I haven't kept my reading current, it being kinda off-topic esoterica I long ago explored, dabbling now and again through the years looking for a momentary distraction to grab my attention away from endless years of battling for social justice or though discussions with my son, answering his questions when I could and learning from him far more often than not.
I've known about MK programs for a long time and remember first learning about Montauk and its tie-in to the Philadelphia experiment, which I still find hardly believable. Why? Because I hung out there surfing, just below the Great Eroded Cliffs, but camping above, parking our cars in a low spot close to the cliff edge so a trooper wouldn't see us without following the path, roadway, (probably at one time an ocean front base perimeter road), and making our way down one eroded gully or another to the water carrying our boards. Shark habitat, you know. So for me it's hard to swallow that while I slept under the stars, down below some kid was having his mind fu... tweaked, maybe by an alien entity, no less. Or worse.
Not sayin' that's untrue, but as often as I was there through the late 60s, nobody got disappeared, at least none of my large crowd. We all explored the concrete Cape Cod house and observation towers, climbing high to where the gun and binocular mounts were, but never down below, where the stairway down below ground was flooded and spooky. Oh, we got kicked out plenty of times, but never by military, or rather never by anyone obviously military; always by cops.
But I do have my stories from that time, sleeping drunk in a tree to avoid arrest by the state or East Hampton police, waking up, surprised I hadn't fallen out in my sleep, rubbing my eyes to discover in the field below me was a large herd of American Bison, which I later learned was the oldest place in America to have a commercial buffalo ranch, established in the 1600s. Right here at the tip of Long Island's South Fork. Being hung-over seeing an animal you thought at the closest were only to be found 1,000 miles west... well, try to imagine it.
Short version - I had gotten my car stuck in the sand after arriving late at night and having to find a new way in, having found our normal entrance 'guarded' by a cop parked there hoping to catch unwitting speeders racing by, or to do as he was, to block the entrance roadway. I think there were 5 of us and we were all pretty drunk. I got my '57 Ford Fairlane stuck in the sand and rather they wait there till morning, apprehensive of being arrested, (no sleeping on the beach or in the protected sand dunes that were nesting areas), and we took off walking the few miles, 5, to the bay side where the fishing boats first pushed off just before dawn. I hoped to and did find someone to tow my car out of the sand. Bummer was that I not only left the engine running overnight, but I left the transmission in drive, which fried it. It was still running when we got back with a tow, but it wasn't gonna go anywhere after our rescue.
One last thing I've never discussed openly but have shared with one privately. My first trip to Montauk took place in the summer of '63 I believe, but it could have been '64, probably was '64; I was 15. as a guest of my girlfriend's family. I dated one sister and my best friend dated another and we were both invited and the two of us shared a room at the East Deck Motel, where the best surf on the east coast is to be found. There was an old barn in town and we went there one evening to see some band playing. My friend was a musician and I was his band's manager and sound man. Well, the band rocked out and we had a great time. We were in the front row on folding chairs about six feet from the band. There was no raised stage.
Well, like I said, the band was smokin', making noises never heard before or so it seemed to me. After the show was over, I pulled my friend off his girlfriend (they were only smooching, being 15 and in public) and went over to talk with the guys in the band while they broke down and I got the attention of their weird looking lead singer, who was coiling cables to pack away. I told him how fantastic I thought their sound was, how great their blues numbers were and wished them well and good fortune. But I did ask him about the bands name and told him it was cool, I get it, like a "rolling stone gathers no moss" and he said, "Yeah, something like that" in his British accent. And then I said to him, but there are four of you. Shouldn't it be the rolling stones? True story.
I think I've decided upon a title for my autobiography, how's "The Remarkable Life of a Completely Unremarkable Man"?
Back to our present topic... Yeah sometimes people unwittingly say the most offensive things, hey, I just did, right? But some things really get me, like some claiming from a place far removed from an incident that some fellow who just had his legs blown off by a pressure cooker bomb, and many more with serious injuries from its shrapnel, were crisis actors. Faking it as part of a psy-op, with lots of fake blood spurting out from fake blood vessels hanging from the meat remaining around a fake femur protruding from a fake prosthesis worn by a real amputee faking it all. Not something your average citizen gets to see, traumatically dismembered victims with bare bones sticking our from their blood-spurting stumps.
I'm not saying crises actors are not real, I know they are; I'm an EMT. And no one can doubt the mystery of what else was taking place that day beside the Marathon, or how the presence of private contractors only deepens it. People will be arguing for decades their version of what Silverman actually meant by saying "Pull it," and they will be arguing about this tragedy and all others that have occurred and those yet to occur.
I do feel it more than upsetting whenever anyone further victimizes a victim.
Lastly, I do believe there are 'for real' conspiracies. Theorizing not necessary. I'm not too naive to know false flags serve some purpose, though I may never learn what that purpose was.
I do not believe the Marathon bombing was a psy-op and the reason I don't has to do with its victims. But I do admit I don't know one way or the other which is an actual tragedy or a psy-op fake tragedy. And I can think of lots of reasons that would lead someone to believe one or more of these events was staged.
I do believe this might be the case in my son's and his friends murders, MK. Just too many mysteries and that incident involved an identical twin with a father with a mysterious military background.
When one does not know why something happens, we do want to learn the most rational and reasonable reasons for its happening. Sometimes there isn't any to be found and sometimes, after digging into it we find the truth is so bizarre one would think it fiction.
Blessings, Peace and Love.
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