Deer In The HeadlightsBy John Kaminski
Searching for the truth is
ugly, frightening and dangerous
— and the only worthwhile choiceMaybe I'm already sufficiently hunkered down; safely ensconced in my leaky trailer; barricaded against theonslaughts to come; insulated from the contrived catastrophes that get worse with each new assault; prepared for the biological barrage our masters have scheduled for us to cull this feckless human herd and make their sinister existences even more profitable; as fortified as I can be against the imminent financial collapse about to engulf us all, at least for someone who earns his meager coins by hurling reckless adjectives at all these endless crimes against humanity.
After all, they haven't come for me yet. But will they come next week?
Oh, I am so prudent. I remove the magnetic antiwar sticker from my trunk in certain rural parking lots so the rednecks won't trash my car. Mmm, such courage. And sagacity. And always the darting eyes of man hazardously at large in an alien world. Who the hell are all these people, and why are practically all of them fast asleep?
Never have I heard so much talk as over the past few years about people wanting to escape from warmongering America. I get postcards from Costa Rica, cryptic e-mails from Thailand, letters about how nice it is in Denmark or Portugal or Brazil, all from people who have shucked that furtive sense of panic that still grips many people with actually functioning souls who remain uneasily in their decaying United States.
Once I wrote that we shouldn’t run off to foreign places, that the best of us should stay and fight for what is truly ours. But who can blame those of us who are intimidated by the widespread lack of support for values and actions that are truly humane. What’s the score now? About six people in the entire Congress who are apt to tell the unvarnished truth about anything? And not a single newspaper.
To not be afraid is to be stupid.
I have already received several notes from people who journeyed to Oklahoma City recently especially to see me. I had volunteered to go and participate in the group analysis of a previous disaster, now several incidents removed from the current affront to all things decent and holy, which is of course the continuing massacre of innocents in a faraway country whose oil America wishes to steal.
Some of you may remember that I canceled my appearance, essentially because of three things: extreme poverty; disenchantment with the overly respectful (and hence, IMHO, futile) way the organizers of the event planned to discuss this clear case of mass murder of American citizens by the American government. And, of course, fear of flying. I love to fly. But I wish to avoid having my orifices scrutinized by minimum wage Homeland Security goons.
More to the point in my recent field of vision were the hundreds of letters that have recently blessed me with tokens of appreciation for my efforts at describing how so-called humans can be so inhuman. We're talking cold hard cash here, folks, and book orders. In between my scribbled rants that often show up in the most unexpected places, I eke out an austere living by selling my books, in which I have collected these very rants. I am always uneasy about asking for support, and always humbled by the sincere ways in which many people respond.
People (them again) always ask me, "How can you read all those horrible stories day after day and not be affected by them; how can you keep from slitting your wrists?" or something along those lines. It's a question I don't usually answer.
But when I try to, I think of that series of photos taken at a checkpoint in Iraq in which triggerhappy U.S. troops shot first and asked questions later, later to find six terrified and bleeding children in the car that rolled to a stop. I think of that little bleeding girl screaming over her butchered parents, and U.S. soldiers wearing masks to hide their identities from the photographer. That little girl is my boss. And the rage I feel at the people who put her in that position, I'm telling you, is simply more than you want to hear. Why do I do what I do, and how can I stand what I have to look at? I work for that little girl, and if you don't too, then you have a problem with me.
Because if you don't work for her, that means you're an accomplice to mass murder (which as Americans, we all are), and that means I'm going to seriously kick your ass if I get the chance, although as you have rightly guessed by now, it will only be verbally and from a distance.
Likewise, I work for the souls of those kids in that Murrah building daycare center so righteously snuffed out by all those federal employees who were warned not to go to work that day. Which is why I got somewhat upset by the relatively inferential (as opposed to confrontational) intent of the organizers who had chronicled the irrefutable evidence that the OKC attack on humanity was not about a renegade pseudopatriot with a truck bomb, but about a government conducting an experiment on its population’s social alienation from reality. Which spectacularly continues, meaning the experiment was a success.
I wrote a story for that group, but they didn't want it because they already had plenty of good ones (especially by Pat Shannan and Craig Roberts), and I know it's only a fool who quotes himself, but here's part of what I wrote:
Your silence guarantees more phony disasters American cowardice triumphs as the facts of the OKC bombing remain concealed. They come into your town, commit some unpardonable crime, then disappear into the night.
The cops follow, explain the event in some way that absolutely does not make sense, some luckless patsy is put on trial, convicted by a judge who excludes most of the relevant evidence, and the patsy is executed.
Case closed, the government tells you.
The next day the ad-filled newspapers embellish the official version. Legislation is then passed to prevent the contrived atrocities they took such pains to explain.
But as you contemplate the blazing memory of the sight of your beloved children exploded into little bloody pieces or crushed by fallen debris, you wonder what you should say, what you can do.
When you attempt to express your doubts about what happened, you are looked upon with a nervous terror by your neighbors. You receive unmistakable messages that you really shouldn't go there, out of concern for your own health, your own future.
The messages include newspaper reports of others who didn't heed this advice and were discovered in some odd place after their puzzling and unexpected suicides. So the message gets through to most, and a brittle silence engulfs the land.
After awhile, those who continue to speak about the incompatibility of what was written down and what they saw with their own eyes begin to be tolerated as amusing oddities, embarrassing gadflies, whimsical conspiracy theorists. The voluminous dossiers of suppressed facts they have compiled are regarded as mere evidence of their quirkiness, and can never supplant the initial impression that the popular cover story has hazed over the general populace, anesthetizing the consensus thought process like some warm, familiar blanket, which most refuse to realize is permeated with a smallpox of the mind.
"Well, we know it was those damned terrorists," is the repeated mantra. "That's why we make war on them."
"You don't want to put yourself in a place you know you can't go," say others, reviving a variation of the old canard that you can't fight city hall, and thereby guaranteeing that the sudden act of vicious tragedy will happen again in some other town, and be followed by the same process of phony explanation, prosecuted patsy, and ultimately suppressed knowledge of what really happened.
It is the one consistent pattern of American history. The majority don't really know what happened, and are terrified to challenge the official version lest they be blackballed by their cowardly neighbors, or worse, ruined or killed by the same shadowy, unidentified forces who perpetrated the original crime and then covered it up.
For those who disregard the obvious dangers and continue to speak the truth as they perceive it, the rewards are bittersweet and intangible.
OK. Now, from that point on, I attempted to discuss specifics I had learned, mostly from organizers Charles Key and Chris Emery. The story gets pretty involved, and I had garbled some of those facts. So in the rush to put together their program, they didn't have time to instruct me on every point, and the story didn't get published. That’s OK by me. No biggie. Their task was humongous. The event was, according to some, a great success, in that at least California Rep. Dana Rohrabacher is mulling over the possibility of reopening an investigation into allegations that McVeigh and Nichols were assisted in handling explosives by the FBI. But as I said before, it will accomplish nothing. Too many paid-off shills in the way. This a political sop. The OKC coverup continues.
And what is worse is that the confidence of some of us who care has been badly shaken, mostly by the decision to invite reactionary politician Bob Barr as the featured speaker at the OKC 10th anniversary probe and gathering. It comes to me as a terrible shock that the very center of the resistance movement to the government’s coverup in OKC may, in fact, be rotten to the core.
So I, in my own way, continue on my atrocity watch, not to dabble in the lurid and duplicitous for its own titillating sake, but to analyze the inexplicable self-destructive behavior of humans and perhaps by talking about it, ameliorating it. Perhaps by understanding it, detoxifying it.
I tend to link OKC and Waco together in my mind. They were both unexplained government atrocities in the early 1990s, and some people accepted the government’s phony aspersions about the Patriot movement doing OKC in retaliation for Waco. But just the other day, a dozen years after federal troops incinerated all those women and children in that farmhouse, I finally heard the most plausible story of what I think really happened.
Now, as many of you know, I tend to reject out-of-hand any contentions that we are ruled by supernatural forces, be they angelic or alien. In my simple mind, it just makes life too complicated. Yet, you must accept valid information where you find it, which is sometimes in unexpected places. And you can’t let your own paradigms and beliefs get in the way of hearing what you need to hear. The penalty for that is the ugly world we have now.
Over time, I have received many recommendations to check out a website that utilizes as its chief metaphorical theme communication with a group of extraterrestrials known as Cassiopaeans. Having seriously dabbled with many New Age subjects in the early ’90s and found the genre as riddled as the Patriot movement with creepy charlatans and egotistical psychos, I tend to dismiss such recommendations out-of-hand. But that is not to say it can all be dismissed in such a way.
When you look at the work of Laura Knight-Jadczyk and her physicist husband Arkadius, fast-buck operators seeking to harvest cash from seances is not what you see. I’m not sure that sending you to is the proper way into their insightful milieu, but it’s the way I went in. And I have no intention to commenting right now on the validity of the worth of their Quantum Future School or perceptions that are beyond the grasp of my own, but what I did find in their site at this very link — — was a fascinating examination of the nature of psychopathy, which in my mind bears very directly on the situation we are all facing in this messed up world today.
I know this explanation is getting a little long, but bear with me. As you know, we all have been looking for a way to explain the behavior and the rude and rapacious men who run our world, who are running it into the ground. They are not like us (or, they are not like me, I don’t know about you, really).
One of the more fascinating and enigmatic explanations of what is actually happening in the world today is put forth by British phenom David Icke, whose many books and lectures have posited that the powers that be are actually reptilian shapeshifters, cold blooded in the truest sense. Many people find that assertion preposterous, and turn away. I’ve always related to it in a metaphorical sense, and in any case respect Icke for being one of the bravest men in the world for even attempting to tackle problems in the way he does.
But given my queasy uneasiness with such fanciful interpretations, I sometimes feel choosing to go to this level can be a distraction from the problems themselves. Not so with Laura Knight-Jadczyk’s explanation — the mask of sanity. And the assertion of the Quantum Future School that the official culture in America is a natural state of psychopathy. Hey! You only need to read a newspaper that the assertion is true. I highly recommend this information. Go to here.
But let me first synopsize my understanding of it, and tell you about the event that triggered Waco, because it bears on the tragedy and disappointing drive to unearth the truth about Oklahoma City. (I know this is convoluted; thank you for your patience.)
From one of Laura’s reviews of a book titled “The Mask of Sanity” by Hervey Cleckley comes this description:
... a person who is able to mimic the human personality, but who leaves the impression that something is not there. They have a personality structure which “functions in a manner apparently identical with that of normal, sane functioning” and yet when all is said and done, “we are dealing here not with a complete man at all but with something that suggests a subtly constructed reflex machine which can mimic the human personality perfectly” to the point that “no one who examines him in a clinical setting can point out in scientific or objective terms why, or how, he is not real.”
In my own search to identify who some have called “biorobots,” I find that when
Knight-Jadczyk draws upon the work of Cleckley and the Russian exile Boris Mouravieff and labels half the human population “organic portals,” or people without souls, she is right on target in explaining why the newspaper headlines are the way they are these days, or have always been. I know. It should come as no surpriseto me that people don’t always to the right thing. But this line of investigation strikes me as the way to actually fix the problem, for all you out there who frequently suggest I complain too much and don’t do enough about proposing solutions. Understanding this concept is definitely the beginning of a solution to why the human race seems hellbent on destroying our planet.
The Jadczyks, as I understand it, have had a hard time with a fellow named Rick Ross, who once upon a time ran an outfit called the Cult Awareness Network, which supposedly rescued runaway teens who had been lured away from their parents by Moonies, Hare Krishnas and other exotic thought processes.
Yet it was Rick Ross and the Cult Awareness Network who told Janet Reno that David Koresh was abusing children at his Waco compound. And, of course, when you get into why he would do such a thing, and what it all means, you of course get into — you guessed it, Zionist influence, subterranean motivational activity that results in false flag operations like COINTELPRO, and worse (if there can be something worse than COINTELPRO?).
Observe, in this snippet lifted from
What a lot of people don't keep in mind is the fact that COINTELPRO also concentrated on creating bogus organizations through which hostile actions might be instigated and blamed on innocent third parties.
In other words, creating bogus Palestinian Terrorists to attack the World Trade Center is entirely within the tradition of COINTELPRO - and we have seen, over and over again, a string of incidents when purported "Islamic Terrorists" have been noted, but the FBI and CIA just simply turn their heads and order their agents to stand down! One then begins to wonder just WHO initiated the COINTELPRO idea in the FBI?
We, or some of you out there, desperately need to put the pieces together on all this. This describes Waco, Oklahoma City, and the 9/11 massacres. We as a nation and as a species need to see who is doing what to whom, to us, before it’s too late.
Now (don’t hit me!), I said all that to say this.
Or more precisely, to let someone else say this. One of the letters I received from someone who traveled to the disappointing Oklahoma City protest had this to say (I’m not sure if I should use his name or not, given the nature of the subject matter):
Beam me up, Scotty! Yeah, the Cognitive Dissonance is ringing in my ears, it's so strong. A Dallas-local NewAge-ey speaker gave a talk last year on America's Shadow, in which he pretty accurately (but not totally completely) laid out a list of "our" continuing atrocities, dating from the 1800s. Very interesting and informative, and right in line with what I had already discovered that had me disparaging my parents and grandparents for blindly and blithely ignoring in their time; going along to get along until it gets to me and its a steaming heap of manure so high it obscures the horizon
By the time I've come to awareness of the depth of the problem and the real issues, its an un-winnable situation. The media's sewn up. The voting process is totally co-opted. Whistleblowers are regularly and severely dealt with. The economic situation is getting ratcheted down to where the "middle class" becomes a term applying to the 1950s through the '70s; a historical footnote. Yet there is still so much residual inflationary "prosperity" that anyone and their kid brother can still float a loan on a new SUV. An economic sugar cube trail into a box canyon with debt in hot pursuit!
But, John, I've crashed some of the Homey Land security meets and listened to talks that will never make the cyclops tube. There is no going back. Even your words so far, which will echo in cyberspace long after you've made your decision to stay and slug it out or bail — those will not be forgotten.
If you had made it to OKC to speak, you could have listened to Gen. Partin and seen a few charts he held up. He maintains it's the same plan being carried out here that's been done throughout the world. Cut to the chase — when control is really consolidated, when level Red is reached, it's round-up time. You, me, and anyone that cracked a joke at the wrong party, you're a marked man. Know it. Everything now is just marking time.
So, what to do? I'm probably the wrong person to offer an opinion, because I'm sitting here with two little scars on my chest ... the nearest guess I have is from a Taser hit 10 or 11 months ago. One of the wounds would not heal until I pulled a small piece of shirt material out with tweezers. I still have the shirt with the holes in it. Meanwhile, I developed a nice bruise over a vein inside my right elbow. I really wish they'd use the left, y'know. Hard to hide the bruise when you're shaking hands, etc. I'm missing no more than 3 to 5 hours of time I can't account for, but after all this time I've only got a vague memory of what transpired, and one or two faces I might recognize; nothing more. And I'm really hoping I'll recover the whole thing, but not successful so far. So much for being an objective journalist!
So, what was this? This is how Homeland Security develops witnesses for their secret courts. And this is why they cannot reveal their sources. They're using you, or in this case, me, as a witness against ourselves. That's my best guess. Payback for me getting too close. Can I reasonably conclude different? If I had been involved in planning anything nefarious I am sure I wouldn't be typing this note to you now. As it is, I'm just a truth seeker who found enough to speak out occasionally. And because I have some moral sense, no, it is not okay what they have done and are doing to people. It is diabolical.
So, here's my challenge. Even if you decide to quit, can you, really? After what I've been through, I can't. I'm still out there gathering crumbs dropped by the cryptocracy, trying to make sense of it. When I don't have "real" work, I paint houses; do deliveries; anything to keep the bill collectors at bay til I can get back to my real work, my passion. It's not dedication, per se.
When you truly understand what's coming, can you do anything else? Can you?
So there I sat, and here I sit. I hear the train coming. I see the light of Code Red blazing deadly in the dreams of my vision. I see the psychopaths driving the train. I am not an Organic Portal, though they are. I am a deer in the headlights. And they are the hunters.
All I ever promised was to keep pounding on this keyboard until the very last moment.
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