LeRoi’s blog

This year, we, as a nation, will elect a new President.  I ask that everyone that happens across one of my blogs, please vote.  It is so much more important than I once believed. To me, it is more important that we all participate in the process, than who wins.  That being said,...
I know that this election year we are confronted with two very different candidates.  They are similar only in that they can both be called different.  I truly believe that one of them has the potential to be, not just a good President, not just a lesser evil, but a great President.  I also know that both men have shown to be quite flawed in there quest for this job. Bravo.  Men are flawed.  I see this as a good sign.  I feel more comfortable with a human being leading our nation than  someone or something that is hiding behind an eminence front.  John McCain has said some things, that although I recognize and understand the intent, came out sounding out of touch and even uneducated.  On the other hand, Mr. Obama has put his foot so deeply in his mouth that I'm surprised he was able to continue speaking.  Again, bravo.  I am really one of the sharpest people I know but if I had to speak to huge crowds of people, in order to make them like me, I'd sound like a dumb ass.  The most aggravating thing that I have found about this is that we are limited in our ability to obtain accurate information.  Limited because, unless we follow these guys around ourselves, we have to count on the media. The media, all media is biased. Every television station, every blogger, every newspaper, all media has it's own ass at the heart of it's intentions.  I get very frustrated.  I happen to be a political junkie, so I absorb information from lots of different sources and am able to see where things fit together.  I know every quote by the end of the day and have usually discussed at length the latest news with several other "no-life" types.  I have some recommendations for those of you who may be interested.
First of all, we are mostly under the impression that a President has the ability to do much, much more than he actually can.  That is mostly because they lead us to believe it while they are applying for the job. So we expect to much, they promise to much, no way can anyone ever end up satisfied completely.  The president cannot just institute policy like he says he will while campaigning.  We have rules and systems in place to  prevent just that.  That would be fascist .  We keep on expecting too much, they keep on saying too much.  "What will you do about_______?"   "I will_______."  Bullshit, the correct answer would be that I am in favor of_____. I would initiate legislation that would____.  Get it?  The president gets to pick his cabinet, get his kind of believers in some posts that are influential in some of the policies that will change a law, keep a law, or exonerate a law.  He is essentially a vote, period.  He will have an awful lot of influence but last word is not really his mainstay. Keep that in mind.  The more a candidate promises, the less he is being honest, or, the less he understands about the job.  I love to hear a candidate honestly answer that he is in favor of whatever the topic is, and that he will communicate with the best and brightest in the legislative branch of our government to try to get that put into law.  That is the truth.  The President is, in fact, the leader of our military.  I wish that was less significant than it is.  I wish we were at peace time and that wouldn't come up, but lo, that is not the case.
Every time a candidate answers a tough question about a present day crises with a cry of blame on how it got that way, I doubt that candidates ability to lead.  For instance, when asked about how they would handle the war in Iraq, nearly every candidate proclaims that it is George Bush's war and that if "I" was leading at that time, we would have.......  No kidding?!  Just suppose, I'm not saying, but just suppose that Geoge W Bush, Dick Cheney, and co. did lie to us.  Suppose they went to war with intentions not consistent with the story that was given to the American people.  I do not happen to think this is necessarily the case but if it is.. We are there, we need solutions to a present day situation that is, first of all, not understood by most of us, second, still going on.  People who have no idea why they are there, are dying.  They agreed to join the military, they even agreed to die to keep our country strong, but they need to know they are keeping our country strong and free or we need not be there.  So when asked about this, I expect a forward solution, not a backward blame or avoidance.  Watch carefully what is said, you'll see what I mean. Make your judgments based on what you hear the candidate say, not what any news organization says they said.  It will be wrong, really.  Whether you are a Republican, a  Democrat, Libertarian, an Independent or whatever, you will never get an exact quote taken in context, never.
The reason I'm writing this blog is because I am a junkie, a politics junkie, I am absorbed by it, fascinated.
There are a couple of news people with whom I give a huge recommendation.   Of course,  because it is the process that is important, I'll tell you that  one is very liberal,  one quite conservative.  Both, extremely smart and as close to fair minded as there is.
Pat Buchanan is an old school republican, former presidential candidate himself, smart, funny and reports and analysis  by the facts.  Gives the real story  or offers an opinion based on real facts.  The guy is in his 70's and when we lose him, in my humble opinion, we lose a great one.
Rachel Maddow is a liberal commentator that has her own radio program an Air America.  She also is a political consultant for NBC and can be seen frequently on the many news oriented programs on MSNBC on cable. She is an obviously gay woman, look a bit like a pretty man.  No one is brighter.  On top of every piece of political trivia going back a hundred years and she is maybe thirty.  Very impressive, like Pat, gives real information or her opinions are based on facts and she shows how she arrives.
I have huge admiration and respect for both these people, they are the best at what they do, of course, that's my opinion. 
Now let me say something else.  You probably won't like this based on our Presidents favorability rating but I gotta be honest.  History will give George W. Bush a much better grade than we have thus far. I have not been a fan for a lot of reasons but how do you measure a successful Presidency? Like I said at the outset, we are given only a small percentage of actual information and that information is gonna lean with the giver.  Therefore, you gotta look back at his reign in about twenty years. Did he make some blunders, yes.  Did he get our country into more debt than any President in our history, with help of his staff, yes.  Did he arrogantly proclaim that he was the "decider"  when challenged on a point, yes he did.  He has many places where he can be criticized and he is and that is fine that's one of the beauties about being an American.  Consider this, do you believe that whomever is responsible for the "9-11" incident intended to kill about three thousand people and stop?  I don't, I think they were and are intending to cripple our free society and hurt us real bad, they wanted and want much more despair for our Nation.  (Even if you believe that there was some conspiracy, this still holds true)  There have been no further attacks. There have been some thwarted attacks in Europe and at one airport in this country but no more people have had to die on our soil for their cause.  I say that when G. W. started all those programs that were supposedly designed to stop terrorism, I cursed his power-hungry ass.  I was frightened by some of the laws that have come out of it. Still I'm concerned, but, no more incidents, to me, no matter how much information I'm not being given, this is accurate, no further attacks, thank G. W.
I believe Barrock Obama does not stand a snowballs chance in hell of being a meaningful, important, or successful President.  I believe him to be less than honest, way to inexperienced and  frankly, frightening.  I believe he has a chance of winning and I think  we will all be very regretful  and eager to replace him by the time four long years have passed.   I do believe him to be a talented and maybe even gifted, ambassador.  No doubt he will make a mark in this life somewhere, somehow.  For all our sakes, I hope his legacy is not just being a really bad leader. Not now, When we need a great leader.  A good leader will get us through, a great leader could put us where we want to be.  I believe That John McCain can be a great leader, not that necessarily will be, but I believe it is at least possible. Listen to what he says that is substantive, listen to him, not the reports.  He outright answers questions by saying "I will talk to some real smart people and see where they think we should go." That takes courage folks because like I said, the president doesn't have the bottom line in many things. I've heard him say "yes I changed my mind" that is truthful.  He goes on to explain that the world is changing at an alarming rate, to think that you will  feel the same way about all things  five years from now is naive or even, immature.  Again, sounds like truth.  Mr McCain is not a great speaker, doesn't draw rock star crowds, doesn't really excite anyone in that way.  Too bad, that would be a bonus. Listen I am only one fellow.  One opinion.  I am well informed and unbiased, but again, one man's opinion, most people I know disagree with my views.  Of course I live a life of leisure and am blessed with tons of time to study and form my opinions, not bogged down with a helluva lot of responsibilities, I am better informed than anyone I know, I also and opinionated and arrogant.  There is an answer for you, grab your best friend, your spouse, your neighbor, go out and vote, make mine not count, you can do it. 
Please take the time to pay close attention, even for a day, you may be surprised at how much "news" you hear is twisted and delivered with some slant, left or right.  Then form an opinion and take part in the very basic premise for our freedom, the most important right/privilege/responsibility we have.  VOTE!

I come from a very large family. We were blessed with a mother so fertile that I and my six siblings were never lonely.  There was always someone close in age that we could play with, fight with, argue and scream and absolutely love with.

I was raised in a rural area outside of Tulsa, Oklahoma. We were dirt poor from the early sixties up until 1972 when my mother was the victim of a violent, drunken abuser. She wound up dead way before her time and way before us kids had a chance to grow up.

I was eleven then.  My closest brother was Duane. This is Duane’s story .He was born only a matter of several months after I was. We had the same father.  By the time Duane was actually born, our father was doing a life sentence in state prison for murder.

Duane was born gay, I don’t care what any crackpot will tell you, there was never a decision for him to make about his sexuality. While the rest of us played baseball and rode horses, and learned to hunt and fish, Duane would secretly steal my youngest sister’s Barbie dolls, Keep them in an unknown location and privately live in a world only he knew. Well, we knew, but we loved him and knew he was different and he was one of us. 

When Duane was twelve years old, I was actually incarcerated for one of the first times in my life and missed him terribly. I was given the privilege of a phone call home at a point maybe halfway through the fourteen months I spent in the boy’s camp. During that conversation he said he had something very important to tell me.  I was very intrigued.

I got on the phone with him and he says to me, “I’m queer, Lloyd, I’m a homosexual.” I told him that we had all know that his whole life. I had, in fact, beaten up several kids over our short years for calling him “Faggot” or “queer bait” and I still remember the pain in his face when that would happen.  Although he and I were very different growing up, I truly loved him.

As many young men do, we chased our own brand of hell, after both our parents were gone and all us kids ended up in different temporary homes, foster care, or well-meaning relatives and other short –lived remedies. I was not to see Duane again for about four years.  By that time he was living in Santa Fe, New Mexico. He had found a group of young gay men to associate his life with. He seemed ridiculously happy considering, (at least from my view) he was still a very lost little boy. I went to save him. Duane needed

a lot of things from me I guess, but not to save him. I found him genuinely content in his peer group. He had a fake birth certificate and was doing extraordinary at a local cosmetology school.

He had also, fallen in love.

!!

Marvin was native to New Mexico; He was a waiter in one of those fancy, high dollar Santa Fe places.  He was recently split from his wife and children.  That’s Right folks, after eight years of matrimonial bliss; He actually brought Duane home to his family and spelled the whole thing out to them.  I wasn’t quite around then, but the more I heard the story from everyone who was within earshot or eyeball range, the more I knew I would have paid quite a sum to have witnessed that little dose of reality.  Marvin packed what little he had, kissed his children and grandparents, said goodbye to the woman he’d married and walked out of his life holding tight to my brother’s arms. I’m quite sure that this typical Chicano Family has never had that kind of idea about there boy and stood watching them go with mouths agape.

!!!

Their relationship had some pitfalls, as you can imagine, and I’d hear about them from my safe settings in California or Washington.  I had often made bad jokes and innuendoes directed at this alternative lifestyle.  I meant it in good fun, I really did.  Duane however thought and continued to think for sometime that I hated him for his homosexuality.  Nothing could have been further from the truth.   I admired his accomplishments, He became such a sought after hairdresser and beauty advisor to the well-to-do women in New Mexico that he had become quite comfortable over a very short time.  Not only was he good, he was well-mannered, handsome, non-threatening, he had the whole package.

I got the call in 1992 that he and Marvin had contacted aides. It affected me so deeply that I pooled together literally every penny I could muster so that I may go to Santa Fe, and to nurse him, to wash his ass, to shower him, to do anything in my power to make his life more livable. As you can see, I, as well as many others was quite ignorant of Aides and its terrible track.

I found them both in fair health.  I found them both completely devoted to each other and staying alive. They had a beautiful Adobe home on the right side of town.  They were very popular and loved by everyone they knew.  They were doing Magic Johnson Before he was.  Jim Nabors was a friend of theirs and he too was quite sick with the same virus. It was a scary time for those of us, uneducated in the dilemma.

Remember, Duane had been born in 1962.  I arrived on my mission of mercy in 1992. Duane and Marvin had been in a continuous loving relationship since Duane was 16 years old. So from 1978 to 1992, so far, they had loved through thick and thin. 

The following summer their best friend Steve died and that was when I really saw it hit Duane’s eyes.  A sadness there that I hadn’t seen since grade school.

Bottom Line, as they got weaker, I was finally able to help.  I did become an ass wiper, as well as the bather and the keeper of the medication and so-forth.

Duane died in 1998 in his bed at home, with his cats and his makeup just perfect.  I still mourn for him because I still love and respect him.  I do also envy the greatest love, trust, and devotion that I have ever seen or heard tell of.

Sometimes I just think of him and I gotta write somethin', The picture is Duane about '89 or so, my daughter, amanda, my neice, shirley.

Fallen

George Miller was a friend of mine.  "No-relation,"he'd say, and laugh like that was the best comedy he ever heard,  He was about 10 years my senior and had served a brutal time in Vietnam.  Once told me he never regretted it, said if it were not for nam, he'd have never found "good Drugs"  which caused him to wanna change, then he was able to really look at himself.  I love that logic, I've used it myself to describe myself and others, as the need came up.
Anyway, George was killed on November 11. 2007,  A freak accident got him.  His truck was in the shop to be prepared and he rode a friends bicycle home from work.  He was killed by a driver going just a tad bit over the limit.  I don't know details much but bottom line is, it was an accident, nothing evil, nothing malicious. Not a bit a harm were intended.  Here one day, gone the next.  Odd. Unsettling.
 I've only known George for about ten years.  I remember the first time we talk, I told him, wow, you are just like an old me.  I don't remember what I meant but I know me. I meant it to be a compliment.  I meant it to exciting cuz' then I could learn, I might be the student... Over the next decade we never really got to be close.  We had a couple of mutual acquaintances  with whom we were very close  so on occasion, we'd find ourselves having opportunities to have really long, deep, conversations.  I loved it. I know every time I'd see him I'd grin, hug him. But all told, we probably spent between 5 and 18 hours together on just under 20 occasions.. We had also worked together on exactly two occasions.  We did little socializing there thou.  George would drive ya nuts.  Slowest guy ever. Deadlines???HMMMM, "I don't get paid enough for deadlines."
Anyway, I spoke with his latest girlfriend today. I had never met her.  Says the family has some weird faith or notion that if I were to have a memorial get-together, he would not rest.  I am trying real hard not to be selfish but aren't these things designed to soothe us?  me?  I got a meeting with 'em tomorrow, I'll let you know what changes,  I'd like to burn a little reef play some good music, eat, tell stories about how George touched our lives.....Couple of over-the-top cocktails, blammo.  But that just me.

I noticed this morning that I seem to look more "trailer trash" each year I grow older.  I saw myself this morning as I participated in dialog between myself and a neighbor's cat.  I'd say something like "merower"  he would respond similarly, I'd repeat, so on. This took place as I sat on my front porch, smoking and watching my neighbors as they left for work or started their busy day.
At some point, I stood to return to the house and that is when I noticed my reflection in the glass of the door.  I stepped back and looked hard at this reflection.  I saw a middle aged white guy in a beat up baseball cap, Levi's, and a "wife beater" undershirt that stretched just enough over the belly to show a convex indentation of his navel.  He had a two-day stubble of a beard and a slightly goofy smile. I laughed a little at that guy, called him a redneck out loud and went back in to start my day.
I was thinking that we rarely get to see ourselves as others might and that perhaps that is a good thing. Someone once told me that if we did see ourselves as other people do that we really wouldn't want to. I can see that.         
                                                                                                                 Peace, LeRoi'

I don’t know if I ever bothered to mention, but I’m a big fella.  I’m right at 6’7”, I go just under three hundred pounds.  So, I’m a big guy.  I’ve been the biggest in my class my whole damn life. I’m getting’ a bit long in the tooth, but in my day, I was hell to have against you.  I’m not bragging or complaining, I’m just sayin’, “In My Day….,” ok?

So, a couple of days ago, I’m doing my morning stroll.  I do this because I’ve been lucky and good luck kind of makes you want to sit on your ass.  I’ve seen it happen to more people than just me.  It’s a phenomenon.   Anyhow, I’m doing my morning stroll of about two miles.  I end up at my daughter’s home to kick it with the boys, or bug Amanda and Kevin before they head off to work.   The walk takes me through a really large Shopping Mall area, across several (4,5,?) busy intersections, and just a few blocks through the “hood”.  I have walked, jogged, driven, and been taxied, across these same steps a thousand times.  Without incident, no problem, baby.

On this particular morning though, I had an unusual occurrence.  I noticed a gentleman walking toward me on the sidewalk just before I reached the shopping area.  He was in my age bracket, maybe a couple years older, maybe a few, but my bracket.  Anyhow, he stops me and says, “There are some ‘gang bangers’ at the Mall.  They told me, in no uncertain terms, that I couldn’t wear my red sweatshirt while passing through here.”  I gasped! I couldn’t even wrap my head around it. He goes on, “Your sweatshirt is red too, better watch it!”  I don’t think I said much to the dude.  I wanted to smack him, I wanted to comfort him, protect him, I don’t know, but I couldn’t say a whole lot.

Needless to say,  I quickened my pace.  I can be a real jerk when I am arguing some point, but when I feel like I’m on the good and right side of a noble endeavor, I’m an outrageous fool.

Sure enough I spotted these youngsters not more than a couple hundred yards past the report.  More importantly, they saw me.  They were already headed in my direction.  I pretended not to notice at first. There were three boys, two black, one white, all dressed up in blue. They were probably between 14 and 16 years old.  Just about the time the sun got completely out of their eyes, I made eye contact with the oldest looking young man.  I swear, I saw him realize that I wasn’t going to respond the same way the last guy did.  I saw it in his eyes.  I don’t know what caused that exactly but I saw it.  It was also obvious that he knew he wasn’t in time to stop his less observant cronies from running there mouth, he wasn’t near in time.  The white kid started to spit out some kind of spiel that began with “ Wassup, hey you need to start…...”  that was all that got out, I mean, I think.

I want you all to know that I would never get into a physical altercation with some teen aged boys.  For one thing, I’d be back in prison quicker than you can spit, and would deserve to be.  Second, there is a reason that we send young men to fight for us.  I just really am not into all that work.  Third, I’m a smart fucker, and I wouldn’t need a physical altercation to win this.  Hehe

I won’t go all into exactly what was said, I’d have to make it up all over again, but I know that I convinced them that old guys get to walk through there in any color sweater they want to.  I mean, it isn’t like we appear to be trying to claim they turf, right?

                                               Peace, LeRoi’

I cannot say enough about this relationship I have with my grandsons.  I have spent an awful lot of time with them lately and my heart is full.  Graven has learned to spell his name and even peck it out on the keyboard. He is three.  his name has been the password on the computer so there is his motivation.  he loves to play games on PBS.com.  Drake, as you see his picture here is a very good, happy, smiling baby. Rarely fussy, Rarely whiny, amazing. My lovely daughter, her handsome husband, are very good parents. These are the things that make a guy want to live forever.  I want to see them be men,  I want to see my daughter be a wise old woman, which I know she will be.  I don't get to write much anymore because, perhaps, I'm lazy, but I wanted to reintroduce these boys to ya'll, they are just on my mind and my heart today.

I have, many times, eluded to my childhood on these blogs.  I have talked about some of the rougher spots and  how I got through, good or bad,  usually learning something invaluable along the way.  That is probably why I can still think in sentences most of the time and have a fairly good sense of the real world.  I had a lot of gifts, some were entirely natural, some were learned from others. I guess I don't give credit to those others enough. I do feel that I am responsible for seeing the good and being able to make a positive out of a situation that could have left me a victim, or a statistic.  But, there were a few folks along the way that had purely golden intentions,  had only my best interests at heart.  Frankly, that was rare and I sort of sabotaged most of them but some golden stuff got through.
This brings me to Sally Miller.  When I left my aunt and uncles home in 1973, after two and a half years of wholesome family life, to go live with my father whom had just gotten out of prison, That road took me to Santa Fe, New Mexico.  The "City Different" in the Land of Enchantment,  All I seen was pinon' trees and rocks, so I wasn't very enchanted at first.
My father had married the librarian at the prison he had been in,  I had heard alot about her but you know how that goes.  Well,  He couldn't have ever told me then, how much she would come to mean in my life,  Then, as a teenager. Well after her and my father had split, Into my adulthood and again, Now.
About three years ago,  i had gotten her phone number from a relative and called her.  She was actually visiting her Daughter in Wyoming.  I had just gone through a terrible divorce that damn near killed me and she was having health problems.  We were able to touch base, cry a bit about those we had lost, My brother and my daddy, were both gone, as well as a few more people that we considered extended family.  She was able to tell me some reallt cool observations about me and I always listen, (she smart!)  We exchanged email addresses.  I believe I sent one ,more email with a couple of family pictures then, Nothing.  To be honest,  I thought she had probably died.  I know that sounds horrible but she was 70 then and pulling around an oxygen tank.  After several months, I just kinda figured, and I was too frightened to find out if I was right.  So we lost touch again.  Three years,  have gone by.  Yesterday,  I opened my email there and sweet as can be, there's a note from Sally.
She starts out saying "I know you probably wont get this but if some chance you do,,,,,,,"
I am so very excited to hear from her, I cant explain.  I sent her back an email with my address on it and my cell phone.  I sent another email, probably to big for yahoo mail with pictures, instructions, so on. 
I gotta say,  I needed something to come along and remind me of the good in this world  Sally Miller Is just that Reminder.  Peace Ya'll,  LeRoi

               If you have spent any time reading all the material out there concerning conspiracy theories, you have probably heard or read the term, "A New World Order"Maybe you've even delved enough to know some things about it.  Maybe you've heard enough to write it off as total horse shit.  Frankly, a lot of what is out there is total horse shit.  No doubt;  like kids passing a story from ear to ear, bt the time your reach the last child, most, if not all, the point is gone.  I believe most of the conspiracy theories we hear about are just like that.  Everybody that ears part of an idea, wants to put his own twist in, to make it interesting, before you know it, the twists outweigh the substance by far and away.  We then end up with a complete misunderstanding of what we really needed to know. I happen to think that is a real shame and part of why these things work.  Most end up ill-prepared at best, and completely off the mark at worst.
               Fortunately for you dear reader, I have done my very best to read all there is available on each of the subjects I will be discussing.  I have checked my sources, I have spent hours and hours simply studying these things from all sides.  I consider myself capable and worthy to be called an expert.
               Some may say I'm crazy at times, other times I may be seen as naive'.  Let me remind you now that nearly all great thinkers and writers that had the balls to really report the truth for what it is were chastised in this manner. I feel quite comfortable putting myself in that group.  Except for the small details of longevity and consistent credibility, I am of that caliber.The credibility will come with the longevity, that will come naturally as my information is perfectly accurate.  I've done my homework. 
                                                      A New World Order

               First of all, this is not a conspiracy theory.  This is a name for the inevitable place our democracy has been heading for a long time.  This is scary, it's new and we are not good at radical change as a people. We do everything in our power to resist such notions as revolution,  civil unrest, brother against brother, so on.  Let me tell you my friends.  The constitution as Tom Jefferson and a few of his homies wrote it, is gone.  Never to be taken seriously again.  What does That mean?  To the most regular Joe,  really, surprisingly less than you might think. The cards that are being played at this point in American history are the cards that have been on the table a very long time.  Remember "The New Deal"?   Franklin Delano Roosevelt's Claim to fame.  That was the beginning of the welfare state.   The idea was for all of Americans to become Dependant on the government.  That was a problem after the stock market crash and the lean years that followed.  The poor man needed something.  A system was set up so that he may collect welfare while he couldn't earn money to support his family.  The Upper middle class would foot the bill by paying a higher tax rate.  But wait,  that doesn't seem right.  In the meantime the government set up a little something called Social Security. Another Government agency put together solely for the purpose of taking care of our elderly once they retire. Not a bad sounding deal.  We pay a slightly higher tax rate  to help our downtrodden until they are on their feet.  In the meantime, the U.S.A. would be putting me a little retirement account together so that I too, can live happily ever after.  This was brought out just at the end of world war II.  Our economy was in  better shape than it had ever been and showed no signs  of digressing.  "So," said Mr Roosevelt,"We have abundance, let's use it to bring about social change."  He went on to say that no driveway should be without a Ford or a Chevy, and that no pot should be without a chicken in it for supper.     I'm here to tell you dear reader that, that man was as much of a puppet then as our beloved G>W is today.
               The best and the brightest of this world know that the real shot-callers, the real decision makers of this world are who?  Bankers.  The most powerful people on the planet tell George Bush what his policies will be,  they told FDR and they are the real power players in this world.Because they control the money.  And how LeRoi??? you are speaking in riddles buddy, please explain.  Credit.The new Deal gave Everybody, Rich, Poor, Middle You, Me, Everybody a chance at have now pay later.
               Do you own a home?  Do you own a car or three?  Got a coupla credit cards there in your wallet, just in case?  Of course you do..  That's The Hook. By raising and lowering your interest rates on your possessions.....you are owned and most of us don't have to think twice, when we go to the voting booth, if tbe  proposition in front of us  does a million things,(they all do) we notice the part that says low interest rates, low taxes, more free money to spend more time to pay back what we owe. This is the mightiest weapon the government has to control the masses.  Would I vote to lose my right to privacy if it were tied to a bill that lowered my monthly bills by 25%.   I know that I would.  I have to do what is best for my families quality of life.  It is my responsibility.  Right?And I have nothing to hide, I'm no terrorist, it's a win-win right?
                My son-in -law is headed back to Iraq next month.  He's been there a couple times already.He has a wife and two beautiful children.  He volunteered to go back for a one year(haha)mission.  Why?  When he leaves,  every loan that he has withstanding drop to 6%  Two new vehicles at close to twenty % each.  A new home, first home, second mortgage that is eating them alive.Real estate crisis, first home buyer  veritable rate.   you get the picture.  This is a bring it on home example of how the big banking  Industry has us all by the short hairs baby.    I'll continue tomorrow but think about this.  We are on the Virge of attacking and taking over every resource rich area on the globe.All part of the bigger picture.  Force democracy down these peoples throats get them a credit card and by God, get 'em in line.
         

Everyday, through the media, we are informed of one tragedy or another. Seems that nothing whets the inquisitive appetite like the suffering of others. Murders, rapes, children molested, not to mention the wars we fight in the name of peace, or better still, God. Thousands dying, undeservedly leaving behind loved ones to suffer the agony of the loss.

I have known the agony. I have felt the loss. I have been torn apart by the unexpected and violent loss of a dear loved one. I am not the only one. I know that I do not have the sorrow market, cornered. I am not that far removed from reality. Nonetheless, it is my own pain that I am forced to endure. If I were to feel the pain of others, as strongly as I feel my own, I would not survive. Just as I could never expect anyone else to feel my pain, or to empathize with where my life has taken me. I claim it myself. Not without dignity, but with a selfish and ruthless heart no doubt.

I am the center of my own universe. If a neighbor chops off his own hand while mowing his lawn, I would flinch, I would understand that he is hurting, but I do not feel his pain, I can only imagine his pain. Conversely, if I were to shut my finger in a door, I would scream and curse, and cry out. I am the sole receiver of my pain. I must therefore deal with my pain in whatever way brings me the most relief. I cannot stand back and take measure of the affect my relief has on you. I can only be attentive to the relief I feel, nothing more.

If a German Shepard were to have killed your child, would you not want to kill the German Shepard? Would that be enough? Surely not. Perhaps if you killed a hundred German Shepard's the pain would lessen. Maybe though, the relief brought on by vengeance would only be temporary. Perhaps you'd have to continue to kill German Shepard's every time you felt the remembered agony of your loss, if only to feel better yourself, for a moment. Would you then be concerned every time about the family that loved the dog? No, only the horror of your loss would be in your mind. The horror of your loss, and the temporary relief of some imagined payback.

The root cause of my own torment was delivered, not by a German Shepard, but by a drunken, broken, predatory hand of a weak man. A man that was not worthy of respect, in either life or death. He abused and tortured women and children but smiled and lied when in the face of men.

For years, as a boy and into my adult life, I have watched his kind of dirt. I've seen many, everywhere I've gone. Nearly every broken home has such a character. A human Hyena, preying on the weaker, the sicker, the defenseless. I studied and got to know this type of human slime and my hatred grew with my understanding. I was tormented with the idea that these types walked the same streets I walked, breathed the very air that I breathed. I became insanely frustrated, knowing I couldn't change the world.

Then, it came to me...

Growing up wasn't easy for me. Oh, I was able to make it look easy, if the looker wasn't really keen. I made perfect marks in elementary school without even trying. My teachers were always commenting on my skills and the ease at which I used them. I remember one time finishing a test in ten minutes that was supposed to take us all morning. The teacher thought I had just rushed through it so I could go outside and play. I was punished, told to sit in the corner until my work was checked. Needless to say, I was given an A on the test and an apology from the teacher. My abilities were rarely questioned after that.

I also seemed to have built-in social skills. Other kids liked me and even kinda followed me around. I had so many “friends” that I hardly got a moments peace. That was how it seemed anyway. Inside, I was a very different child.

The same kid that got such good marks in his lessons was living in a far different reality. The very child that other children looked up too and wanted to hang around with was scared to death of what may lie around the next corner. Consciously knowing that I was different but, not knowing how different, what different, where different, and frightened that I'd not be able to live up to the expectations that would be put upon me because of my “special” status.

Sometimes I thought I was returned messiah. I had heard stories of how Jesus was unaware of his own calling until he was twelve. So I patiently waited to be called upon by God. Other times, I waited to hear exactly which person I'd have to kill to take my deserved place in this imaginary society.

I had a host of imaginary friends. This is how I was able to cope with all these fears that ran so rampant through my self-important, self-destructive imagination. At night, as I lay on my bed, I would push a button on the wall that only I could see. A whole room would open up and I would socialize for hours with all those who attended. There were often scores of people, sometimes the crowd would change, but often it was the same crowd of friends, admirers. Of course none of these were alive or real in the daylight world that the rest of the world lived in.

Troubled, some may say. Psychotic, I'd answer back.

This was all before the age of ten, before puberty, before diagnosis, before tragedy, before there were reasons for the madness. We could all add the explanations later.

After finishing the second grade,my teachers decided that I was too advanced for my class. Apparently, it was noticed that I had regularly finished my lessons way before the rest of the class and then became bored and restless. I had taken to being disruptive, only because I was bored, it was “too easy” for me. I was jumped up to fourth grade the following year, never attended third grade at all. This is just another reason to feel different from everyone else. Some have said that this was the start of my anti-social, sociopath road, I know different. I actually began to learn something from this that would always serve me. That was just how easily most of the world is manipulated and fooled. I went feeling like I'd won something, like I was better. The powers that be fed right into that and so it stuck. Nothing changed as far as my good grades and boredom. School continued to be easy and boring. I just had one more reason to feel different. I was different. I just never thought about how every kid was different, every child was special. I could only see my own uniqueness, my greatness.

During the summer of my eleventh year, my mother was killed. Eleven years old. A boy needs his mama. Every boy needs his mama. With me, it was as if the only chance I had of grasping any reality before adulthood was gone. My mother was in fact the first reason that I thought I was different. She had said so many times. Not only did she say it to me but she said it to so many others. I never forgot one time. I believed her in a little boy, wildly imaginative way. I took it to heart in a way that she never meant it. I know someday she would have made it more clear. i know that all the half-lessons that I learned from her, the near truths you tell a child, she would have cleared it up, but she was dead. Suddenly, completely dead.

I had always felt different, always knew that I was on a different road than others. Now my only confident, my only hope to have things explained was taken from me and it would be a long, long, time before I got another chance to grow up.

If I were to say that I was devastated, it would be more than an understatement, it would be more an insult to my own feelings. I too, died a little bit. A part of me, from that day forward, would always be an eleven year old boy with no mama, nobody to understand me. With the exception, of course, of all my imaginary friends.

II

It wasn't Long after this that all the trouble started. I was tossed around from group homes, to foster placements, to juvenile hall and every other possible place a troubled, unwanted child can be placed. The people who took me in had good intentions at first. Sometimes I even had my own room or a bicycle or some such. Then reality would set in. I'd have a temper tantrum, or I'd hit another child, possibly the child of the good Samaritan himself. Before you knew it, I'd be out, back in custody, waiting for another try, somewhere else.

This is when I really left the world we all live in. I retreated to my imaginary world where I was the star, the main character, the King.

About this time the imaginary friends began to tell me things. I was lost in it. It was more real to me than constant rejection I was getting in the physical world and I jumped right in, both feet. I began to take suggestions from my friends. Little things at first. I was told to refuse gifts from the folks who took me in. It wouldn't be long before they regretted it anyway and why give them a moments satisfaction, thinking they had done something special for the poor little boy whom had lost his mama.

Soon though, the suggestions I got became more serious. “Get rid of their dog.” Which I would, without suspicion. “Flatten the tires on that old station wagon.” That way they can't take you back. Eventually I burned down their houses, I broke all the windows out when no-one was home. One time the foster father came in the room just as I was about to stab the two-month old baby with a fork after shoving crackers in it's mouth until it could no longer breath. Needless to say, I was in juvenile hall for a long while after that awaiting placement. Every incident became more and more serious and made it more and more difficult to place me at the next stop.

This pattern continued until I was old enough for emancipation. I think sixteen years old. All the while I was committing more and more atrocities. I never got caught for anything serious, which only served to fuel my thinking that I was different, better, smarter, than other people. I also began to think that I didn't get caught because I was in the right. That I somehow had earned the right to treat others any way I wanted. Lo and behold.. the hell had just started.