Wednesday, 2 August 2017

The Park

When I was a very young child, of pre-school age, I was sitting one day on the curb of a road that ran through the small park that was just outside of the garden of the home where I lived for many years, when, for some indeterminate reason, I threw a small stone at a passing car, and, somewhat taken aback by the outcome, I heard it hit the car.  The car stopped.  I impulsively ran, to a nearby tree, and hid behind it.  And waited.  And nothing happened.

I tell a lie. Something did, indeed, happen.  What happened was that I never ever did that sort of thing again.

Why did I even do it?

I don’t know, to this day.  I think I was just bored.  I had no one to play with.  I had a brother - three years older than I; but he was away at something called ‘school’.  And even then, when he came home, he had his own circle of friends to spend time with, from this thing called ‘school’.  I could hardly wait to go to this ‘school’ thing myself.

In the meantime, I spent a lot of time on the swings nearby this particular incident that I have shared with you (to my somewhat shame).  It was a great set - I think four of them, in a pit of sand.  My brother taught me to go way high in them, and then bale out, onto the grass just beyond the sand pit, and see how far you could go.  I remember being told one day that there was a war going on in a place called ‘Europe,’ and that late afternoon, out on the swings before going home, as was my usual routine, I swung as high as I could, wondering if I could swing high enough to see this place I had been told about.  

And then came the day that I, too, went to this place - this other place - called ‘school’.  It was neat.  On the walls of the room were pictures of birds.  I remember in particular blue jays and red cardinals.  There were birds in the bushes of the garden of the house where I lived, but they were as nothing compared to these beautiful creatures.*  Anyway, I thrived at school.  Partly - I will acknowledge - because of my brother.  He told me years later that he had taught me the alphabet - from a portable chalkboard device that was in the playroom upstairs that doubled as our bedroom - and so I was streets ahead of the other kids, and would rattle off words in our primer that caused our teacher to have to move quickly on beyond me when we were having a reading session.  Easy peasy.  And so, when years later, and about to leave university; having dropped out at the end of my Junior year to go looking for capital-t Truth, and going into the bookstore on campus to look for anything I might like to take with me before leaving my formal education behind, and coming across a book titled ’Why Johnny Can’t Read,’ …But that’s another story.  For now:     

I got thinking of all this today when, glancing through my ‘daily bread’ of all the mail that I receive from outfits that I have given donations to, I came across an envelope from a new outfit.  This one was called ‘Phantom Rescue,’ and had a picture on the envelope of a swing set in a park in the evening of a town so near to you that it could be your own.  There was a message on the envelope that went along with the picture; thusly: ‘Will YOU help bring them home?’  This outfit rescues kids who have been abducted by the child sex slave operators who have taken to infesting our communities like a massive breakout of cockroaches.  Quote: “American children are being snatched up on their way to school, plucked from playgrounds or schools, or lured into a trap by child predators on the Internet.”  It told briefly the story of a young girl who “was snatched from her own driveway by sex-traffickers using one of her friends…to lure her outside…”

How outrageous.  

Going on right.  Here…

Childhood may be boring.  But for some children, it is all they’ve got.

And for taking that away from them, there is no forgiveness.

There is only annihilation.

And you can take that to the bank.

* I should clarify something here: My brother and I lived, for some years, in a house where we had been farmed out to an old couple who took kids like us in for a living, whose parents needed momentary assistance in the matter.  For whatever reason.  For our mother, it was because she had divorced our father - while I was still an infant - and was going to secretarial school to learn a trade.  I of course knew nothing about any of this.  For all I knew, this was just how things were done.
   I had a bit of an inkling of a larger picture about life, when every once in awhile this strange lady would crop up into the scene.  I remember once my brother taking me to this lady’s room in an apartment building where she had hidden some small candy eggs around the room, and we were to go on an Easter egg hunt for them.  Well; okay…and another time - when she had moved, to a small house near The Park that was the center of my attention in my growing-up life - when my brother took me to see her on Christmas Eve, and she gave each of us a couple of presents, from under a small table tree.  And that was it.  All very formal.  
   ‘This is your mother.’
   ‘Oh.  Hello.  When’s dinner?…’
   When she remarried - I was halfway through my first year of school - we went to live with her and her husband in a smaller town some miles away.
   But even it was no closer to my being able to see this place called Europe.  Although while we were living there, the date of December 7th, 1941, came to be etched in our memories, along with all other Americans…
   ...a day that changed all our lives forever.
   And now here we are.
   On the edge of another war.
   With many fronts.


And speaking of creatures:

from ‘We’ve Lost Jim Marrs’ - (Video) - August 2
(Jim Marrs, investigative journalist and book author par excellence, dead at 74.  A shame.)

kibitzer3 says:
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A good man. A shame to lose him, especially at this time. We need more of his caliber. To drain, not the swamp. But the sewer.



And while on the subject of creatures; and then I'll let it go for the night:

Take, e.g., the MS-13 gang, and various drug cartels (with links to terrorist organizations, like Hezbollah and the Muslim Brotherhood); assisted into this country in major droves in 2014, under the auspices of the Usurper, in an attempt by TPTB to turn this country into a failed Narco-Terrorist state, like Mexico, with these characters lying in wait (especially in ‘sanctuary cities’) with their IEDs and RPG missile launchers and anti-tank weapons and AK-47s and so forth:

Snowflakes, inadvertently or otherwise, have assisted, and continue to assist, this state of affairs into being.  Are therefore playing with fire.

Not a wise thing to do if you are a snowflake.

A word to the wise.  Or at the least: A word of warning.

Not to expect too much from these, our brainwashed children.  Who appear to think that revolution is groovy.

Not a good idea.

And especially,

not in my country, you won’t.

And not to discount the role of the banking elite in all this, in running their drug trafficking and money laundering operations.

You have made a big mistake, boys and girls.

A very big mistake.

But, I’ll let actions speak for themselves.

And that is all.

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