There is no doubt that there is and has been a clandestine op occurring cross the street.

The new boarder is and has taken every possible precaution to prevent me from observing her, both night and day. 

If it looks, quacks, and walks like a duck, it damned sure ain't a falcon.

The sharks continue to circle...

To know what you know and to know what you don't know, that is real wisdom. ~ Confucius

Found while browsing...  Food for thought...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vpP8MsN-CIA&feature=youtu.be

         To The Enemy


Blasted awake at midnight EDT.  Under constant attack.

Thieves, stalkers, torturers, psychotic thugs, mercenaries.

I don't seek pity.  Just a place for self-expression, and that place is here.

I'm sure some of what I write infuriates the scum.  Tough shit.  I, also, am infuriated by your completely illegal and inhumane outrages you commit on my body daily, and also upon my mind.

I do not fear you, as I do not fear death.

I am approaching 70.  It's been a long, hard road, punctuated with periods of absolute exhilaration and total bliss.

So what will be will be.  In fifty years, it won't matter to any of those alive, neither friends nor enemies, because we will all have passed into the ephemeral cloud of the past, unnoticed, unremarked, and unmourned.

So be it.  It is the way of the world and what we do here, you scum that read this, and me who refuses to surrender to you, will be gone.  It's unimportant.

I know my place in the scheme of things.  You should take a very hard look at yours.

Last night I was robbed of $50.00.  That may not sound like much to you, but to me, living on a fixed income, that represents fuel, food and medication.

And I was robbed while I was in the shower!

I left my wallet in my pants on my bed and took a shower.  Later, when I hit Walmart for groceries and went to pay, I noticed that fifty bucks had been removed.  Two twenties and a ten.

The reason I know that this occurred during my shower is that when I picked up a pair of socks layed out on the bed next to my pants, a nickle fell out of the socks.  It was a calling card.  The bitches usually leave a calling card in the form of a coin or something similar when they enter the place.  So that nickel was the calling card.  I certainly didn't stuff a nickle in my socks when I laid them out.

It takes a real lowlife scumbag to steal an old man's Social Security money, but, of course, we are dealing with the lowest life forms on the planet.  Utter scumbags.  Thugs.  Mercenary scum.

And today, when the lawn service guys came over to mow, they discovered a 4.5 foot long water moccasin in my back yard.  He took off when they alerted me and I sent a couple of  rounds after him to speed him on his way and missed.

One thing I do know:  if I ever catch one of these scumbags in my home, I will do my very dead level best to blow his shit all over the walls.  Two center of mass and one to the head.  The old Rhodesian triple-tap.  Works great.  When you hit him with a .45 ACP, it is really devastating.  Elapsed time: one second.

So beware, scumbags.  If I catch you in here, you're fucking dead.

“The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.”
― Mark Twain

“You don't have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body.”
― C.S. Lewis

“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”
― Oscar Wilde, Lady Windermere's Fan

“I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”
― Maya Angelou

 

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”
― H. Jackson Brown Jr., P.S. I Love You



 

“No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.”
― Eleanor Roosevelt, This is My Story

“A room without books is like a body without a soul.”
― Marcus Tullius Cicero

“Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe.”
― Albert Einstein



Last night I was robbed of $50.00.  That may not sound like much to you, but to me, living on a fixed income, that represents fuel, food and medication.

And I was robbed while I was in the shower!

I left my wallet in my pants on my bed and took a shower.  Later, when I hit Walmart for groceries and went to pay, I noticed that fifty bucks had been removed.  Two twenties and a ten.

The reason I know that this occurred during my shower is that when I picked up a pair of socks layed out on the bed next to my pants, a nickle fell out of the socks.  It was a calling card.  The bitches usually leave a calling card in the form of a coin or something similar when they enter the place.  So that nickel was the calling card.  I certainly didn't stuff a nickle in my socks when I laid them out.

It takes a real lowlife scumbag to steal an old man's Social Security money, but, of course, we are dealing with the lowest life forms on the planet.  Utter scumbags.  Thugs.  Mercenary scum.

And today, when the lawn service guys came over to mow, they discovered a 4.5 foot long water moccasin in my back yard.  He took off when they alerted me and I sent a couple of  rounds after him to speed him on his way and missed.

One thing I do know:  if I ever catch one of these scumbags in my home, I will do my very dead level best to blow his shit all over the walls.  Two center of mass and one to the head.  The old Rhodesian triple-tap.  Works great.  When you hit him with a .45 ACP, it really works great.  Elapsed time: one second.

So beware, scumbags.  If I catch you in here, you're fucking dead.

“Those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind.”
― Bernard M. Baruch

Interesting events occurring across the street.

Without going into a lot of detail, the liar-in-residence told me another whopper the other day.

A slightly beat up little Ford Escort four-banger has arrived at the residence, sporting out-of-state plates.  The individual driving this car, according to the liar-in-residence, who limped over to my place the other day to try once again to try to soften me up with some food when I was sitting in my garage with my little dog smoking a cigar, is a friend from their church who has leukemia, but which is currently in remission.  He said they were just "helping out" and giving her a place to crash for a while.  That's four people living in a two BR duplex.

Remember Nietzsche's axiom about lying that I recently reposted.  Once someone has lied to you, you can't believe a word he says from that point onward.

Well, tonight about 10:30 PM EDT US time, I was out with my dog in the front yard.  This car came down the street and pulled into the L.I.R.'s front yard in "her" usual parking spot.  As I stood there, waiting for my dog to finish the task at hand, the driver's side door opened.  I thought, Well, now I'll get a look at the leukemia patient.  Soooo... nothing else happened.  I stood there for at least a full minute waiting for this individual to egress.  Nothing happened.  Maybe she was texting, but I saw no glow from a phone screen. And, no interior light.  That's basic tradecraft. Who knows?  But after a week, I have yet to get a look at the visitor.  So call me paranoid, but something's up.  When people act out of the ordinary, they are very often concealing something.

I know the scumbags read every post I write.  As I have previously mentioned, each post is accessed from a Firefox browser in the States with no source listed on the data page.  The average elapsed time between my post and the hit is 16 minutes.  Tonight, when I apologized to lifevorce for unintentionally deleting her comment, they hit that one in 19 minutes.

So I am almost convinced that a new interloper has been introduced into the equation.

As I once mentioned, this hyper-alertness is not paranoia.  It is situational awareness based upon decades of experience.  When you're really in the shit, you're always looking for the next asshole who is about to dump another bucketful on your head.

So we will see if they're escalating a situation where no escalation is required.  They do that.  It's often quite provocative.  More often than not, they lose.

Thought I'd re-post this.  Maybe the asshole across the street will read it...

“I'm not upset that you lied to me, I'm upset that from now on I can't believe you.”
― Friedrich Nietzsche

I don't think I ever told you about the cell phone battery thing.

These bastards will implant a virus on your phone which will substantially reduce the battery's ability to hold a charge.  They have done it to three batteries on my phone, which is a Casio GZone Ravine.

The original equipment battery's normal talk time is around four hours.  They hit it and reduced it to around an hour and a half.

So I bought a long-life battery that should provide around nine hours talk time.  They attacked that and reduced the talk time to less than four hours.  And, they did it again when I bought another long life battery.

I sent the phone in to the manufacturer and they could discover nothing wrong.

We're dealing with total scumbags here who psychotically attempt to interrupt every normal facet of our lives.  Nothing is sacred to them but their dark god, Satan.  He rules their lives.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?NR=1&v=eOkB7FcDSCw&feature=endscreen

Another firearms scam they've pulled on several separate occasions is to open my gun safe, which is a real cracker box, anyway, and change the zero on my hunting rifles by changing the scope settings.

Some of you may not know what that is and a very brief explanation is in order for the neophytes.

The zero is set through a trial and error process by shooting at a target at a known distance from a solid shooter's rest to eliminate extraneous weapon movement up to and during the moment of firing the weapon and then marking the strike of the bullet. All things being equal, and there are many potential variables involved, if the bullet's point of impact is different from the aiming point seen through the sights, the sights must be adjusted correspondingly to change the POI until the aiming point and the POI coincide. When a rifleman attains zero, which basically consists of hitting the desired point at a hundred yards with several shots, the rifle is said to be in zero.  Changing this without the shooter's foreknowledge results quite often in a miss.  In a critical situation where a life or lives are at stake, or a truly desired trophy animal is the target, a missed shot can have tragic results.

Accuracy is the Golden Fleece of experienced shooters.  The late highly respected firearms expert, Col. Jeff Cooper, said, "Only accurate rifles are interesting."  Shooting is as much an art as it is a science.  If you are lucky enough to possess a very accurate rifle and are an expert in its use, it can be a very frustrating experience to have some mercenary thug surreptitiously change your zero. Make no mistake about it.  We are speaking here of thugs. You know who you are.

   All warfare is based on the art of deception.

                                              Sun Tzu

One thing I have previously forgotten to mention is the numerous weapons tampering incidents I have experienced over the last five or six years.

I keep a shotgun by my bed at night, because it is the most effective short range weapon one may legally possess.  I also lay my .45 on the night stand  for quick access, should the need require.  The pistol, of course, is a weapon of last resort, because, unlike the effects of handgun fire on a target shown commonly in the movies, it can be very ineffective in a confrontation.  Studies by the FBI have clearly confirmed this.

Florida is a Castle Doctrine state and I have the legal right to defend myself against any intruder or home invaders without being required to retreat.

I was well trained in safe weapons handling as a young boy, initially by my father and later by my rifle team coach and Junior ROTC instructors I studied under as a student of a military prep school. Then three years in the 82nd Airborne Division also required frequent weapons handling.  As you might imagine, Army rules for weapons handling are strictly enforced.  Very strictly.  I.e.,  I know how to safely handle and carry weapons.

So when I pick up any weapon, the very first thing I do is check to determine that the weapon is on "safe."  Obviously, one never touches the trigger of any weapon under any circumstances unless one intends to fire it.

So on at least five separate occasions, when I have examined the weapons after awakening, the safety selectors have been moved to the "fire" position, rendering the weapon less safe.  Accidentally touching the trigger could result in disastrous consequences, including death, serious injury to myself and others or substantial property damage or all of the above in any combination.

Is someone trying to kill me or injure me through actions that could be interpreted as an unsafe weapons handling accident caused by an AD, an "accidental discharge."?  It seems obvious to me that this is the case.

They still try the dumbest shit.  It does get boring.  Nobody can be this stupid.

Nothing is ever as it seems.

Saturday night.  Alone with Blues playing on the satellite radio.  Some good stuff coming in off the frequency.

You may ask yourselves, why would a guy who is totally isolated and alone listen to the Blues?  Well, my friends and enemies, because the Blues are truly inspirational.  They are the only authentic American music from which much of Rock and Pop music have been derived.

I grew up listening to a Nashville, Tennessee AM station, WLAC, that played blues much of the night during the late 50's and could be clearly heard at night all over the South.  I knew who BB King was when I was 14 years old, long before he made the mainstream.  And Robert Johnson and Muddy Waters.  So I cut my milk teeth on the Blues.

Eric Clapton almost single handily brought the Blues into the white audience's realm, but to give him the credit he roundly deserves, he has always credited the incredible black American musicians from the Mississippi Delta for his success and has featured many of them who are still with us in concerts and studio sessions.

Many others have copied the styles of the early geniuses, to their credit.

The Blues always remind you that someone is suffering more than you and are expressing it better than you can to make themselves feel better and remind and warn us of the consequences of self-pity.

American Blues.  Good stuff.

Henry David Thoreau wrote, "Most men lead lives of quiet desperation."  I have traveled the world and have found that to be a fairly accurate statement.  I do not.  I write here.  That alleviates any desperation that I might feel.

Scoundrels are attempting to drive me to desperation so that I will commit desperate acts.  They have so far been completely unsuccessful. With the rare exception, their ploys have been foolish and even stupid.  Their provocations are most often quite amateurish and easily detected.

They did run a true psychopath at me back in the 90's for five years.  He established his credibility, up to a point. He was a cunning bastard.  I'll give him that. But when he crossed the line into a different mode, he partially exposed himself, set off some major alarm bells between my ears, and a few bucks spent with a good Miami PI exposed him completely.  After burning most of his bridges, he shot himself.  Good riddance.

Yet, the slimesuckers tried the almost identical ploy recently, using a total fool and pathetic liar as their foil. But instead of five years, they condensed it into about five weeks.  Incredible.  He blew it completely on Day One. So I went along with him simply out of curiosity to discover just how he would play the game.  He stumbled almost every time he tried a set up and now he is fearful of retaliation.  I think they intentionally set him up as a target to draw me out in the hopes I would blow this guy's shit all over the walls.  Then they could nail me for murder.  I believe they consider Useful Idiots to be expendable.

Hell, I've been a cowboy much of my life and no cowboy is gonna fall for something as pathetically stupid as that.

So he's alive and I'm still free, so to speak, and he's sweating bullets because he knows that I know he's somebody's bitch.  He'll have to live with that.  I look at this pathetic excuse of a human being and chuckle.  As I wrote previously, his paranoia is revenge enough.  He is one of those that Thoreau described.  He's truly pathetic.

The beat goes on...

No wisdom today.  Just the pain of impending loss, as my little friend slowly wastes away from cancer.  She's the only friend I have in this town who hasn't either discarded me or attempted to betray me.

No self pity here.  Just the complete acceptance of the situation.  Acceptance does not assuage grief, however.

I have DEW burns all over my right forearm where I have been mercilessly attacked in my sleep for the last three sleep periods.

The infuriating thing about being a TI is the completely cowardly manner by which we are attacked.  These psychopaths hold nothing sacred except their own over-inflated egos.

They are hollow men, dedicated to creating suffering and misery for the same reason dogs licks their balls:  because they can.  They are craven individuals lacking the courage to face their victims, but slink through the night like hyenas and whimper and snivel and lash out when they are deservedly ridiculed.

They are essentially reptilian, possessing all the evident characteristics of the lizard and the snake. They strike from concealment, offering their victims agony and often enough, death. They represent the forces of pure evil on this plane of existence and I wish them long, agonizing and lingering ends.

If Hell does in fact exist, they have a special corner reserved specifically for them.

Satan charges a fee for acquiring his power in this life.  Their immortal souls.  They are the ultimately condemned.

“Of all tyrannies, a tyranny sincerely exercised for the good of its victims may be the most oppressive. It would be better to live under robber barons than under omnipotent moral busybodies. The robber baron's cruelty may sometimes sleep, his cupidity may at some point be satiated; but those who torment us for our own good will torment us without end for they do so with the approval of their own conscience.”

― C.S. Lewis

BTW, had another break-in a couple of nights ago while I was asleep.  Missing is a partition from my cigar humidor that is used to segregate brands, ages or types of cigars in the box.  It may turn up in a few days, as other small items have over the years.  Stealing something and then replacing it later is commonly referred to as "gaslighting," a term taken from the title of the film of the same name, whereby a woman's husband took and then later replaced small items repeatedly in hopes that she would think she was losing it. 

This happened recently to me when a tailor's measuring tape I often used disappeared from my desk drawer and then miraculously reappeared a couple of weeks later.

This is just another mindfuck the reptiles often use to attempt to destabilize someone.  From what I have gleaned over the years via communication with other TI's, it's a common tactic.  I pay it no mind.

The fundamentalists across the street are worried.  They know they've been outed as agents provocateur.

They have no reason to fear me.  Only their own treachery has driven them to this.

I am no threat.

As I have previously stated, the old proverb, "He who seeks revenge should dig two graves" applies. Their lives are certainly worth less to me than my own and I am no fool, although some seem to treat me a such.  Their paranoia is revenge enough.

“The smallest minority on earth is the individual. Those who deny individual rights cannot claim to be defenders of minorities.”
― Ayn Rand

“I'm completely in favor of the separation of Church and State.
... These two institutions screw us up enough on their own, so both of them together is certain death.”

― George Carlin

"A paranoid is someone who knows a little of what's going on."
 
― William S. Burroughs

“You're not to be so blind with patriotism that you can't face reality. Wrong is wrong, no matter who does it or says it.”

― Malcolm X, By Any Means Necessary

Want some illumination?  Read Thomas Sowell.  He may very well reshape your entire philosophical construct.  In the vernacular, he cuts through the bullshit with a scalpel.  Must scare the shit out of the totalitarians.  He exposes the self-anointed elites for the scum they really are.

"If you are not ready to use force to protect civilization, then be prepared to accept barbarism."

                                     Thomas Sowell

The barbarians are among us.  They show themselves every day and every night with their cowardly attacks.  They need to be snuffed out like a candle's flame and consigned to the dustbin of history.

The Surveillance State continues...the congressional shills working for the One World puppeteers continue to vote to restrict our civil liberties, and the scumbags are taking maximum advantage of it.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/world/national-security/house-votes-to-renew-controversial-surveillance-law/2012/09/12/ba71bc38-fce5-11e1-a31e-804fccb658f9_print.html?socialreader_check=0&denied=1

The local redneck scumbags really surface on the weekends.  These pathetic nine-to-fivers work at their menial jobs during the week in this shithole town and then throng to harass a 70 year-old man who is simply not intimidated by them. That takes balls. They're wanna-be thugs and rank amateurs.  They're ridiculous.  Their tradecraft is pathetic.  Had one get right on my rear bumper tonight when I was returning from a milk run and tag me for a long block.

Wonder how he would have reacted if I had just slid open the rear window in my truck cab and sent a couple of .45 slugs his way?  Probably would have shit himself.  Hell, who knows?  Anything can happen when you feel your life is in imminent danger.

                              Desiderata

Go placidly amidst the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexatious to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labours and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul. With all its shams, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be careful.
Strive to be happy.

                                                    Max Erhmann



 "But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness."

That line, I feel, is of great importance to those of us who are under constant attack.  The loneliness and isolation that so many of us are driven into, herded into, if you will, is one of our greatest enemies. We are very susceptible, and the constant, unrelenting attacks only accentuate the potential for unreasonable fears to develop.

This program is a carefully calculated terror campaign sponsored by our government, who hypocritically purports to be carrying on a continuous "war on terror."  They are among the most accomplished terrorists of all.

Occasionally, it almost overwhelms me.  I am manipulated by these scumbags, but I constantly fight to prevent them from controlling my inner thoughts.  That is very difficult, particularly since I have been targeted for around 34 years, initially because of a confrontation with an affirmative action appointee in a Federal program of some past notoriety who was in well over his depth.  But that is often the case with affirmative action types.  Their grasp very often exceeds their reach. If you study Thomas Sowell, he explains it clearly. For those of you unfamiliar with Sowell, he is a black American genius, an economist and a philosopher.  And I hope fervently that my original tormentor dies a lingering and agonizing death.  Who knows?  Maybe he already has.

So I fight day to day to keep control over my emotions, with very little outside assistance.  Many of us do.  But I take it one day at a time, with varying degrees of success.  We will see what tomorrow may bring...

The sharks are circling.  Stakeouts all over the area; some obvious, meant to be obvious, and some are not.

So what do I do?

Deal with it.

I seek only peace.  I despise war.  I have experienced first hand its effects.

But nameless, faceless assholes make continuous war upon me.  I did not choose this war.  It has been foisted upon me.

I can't retreat.  I am not allowed to.  So I must defend myself.  I will. To the death.

I would prefer any alternative but slavery.  I will die first.

So those who make war upon me should look to themselves.  For they are not safe.  In their consummate arrogance and hubris, they believe they are.  They are fools.

Still here.

Feel like hell, compliments of the scumsuckers.  If I don't make it through the night, it's been real, it's been fun...it's been real fun.

Ooooo, the pencil-dicked bitches are really mad at me.  They threw an intense electronic tantrum this morning.  Basically blew me out of bed after I had slept about three hours, so I am navigating on pure instinct.  They ain't gettin' no cherry, though, so they can go fuck themselves.  I've been sleep deprived much of my life, working as a pilot with about ten thousand hours night time in my log books.

They're slowly killing me and I know it and I am not afraid of these pukebags.  They can go piss up a rope.

Never quit.

Read this...

We can kiss what's left of our "privacy" good \bye.

http://rt.com/usa/news/fbi-recognition-system-ngi-640/

Here's a good article that partially covers what the scumbags are doing to us and a few names of the scumbags involved. Also mentioned is the so-called "mental health profession's" refusals to acknowledge it.  Scumbags, as well. (Never, ever trust a shrink.) The usual suspects, of course...

http://www.examiner.com/article/c-i-a-blackwater-hit-squads-violence-against-innocent-individuals

And...the Snitch Society...

http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2012/09/03/120903fa_fact_stillman?currentPage=all

Great article on the Surveillance Society...

http://www.npr.org/2012/09/06/160627856/why-your-cell-phone-could-be-called-a-tracker?utm_source=twitter_socialflow

John Masefield has always been my favorite poet.  He led a remarkable life.  I just posted "Sea Fever", one of my favorites, as I have had a lifelong relationship with both the sea and the sky.

Here is one his most poignant poems...

                             Spanish Waters

Spanish waters, Spanish waters, you are ringing in my ears,
Like a slow sweet piece of music from the grey forgotten years;
Telling tales, and beating tunes, and bringing weary thoughts to me
Of the sandy beach at Muertos, where I would that I could be.

There's a surf breaks on Los Muertos, and it never stops to roar,
And it's there we came to anchor, and it's there we went ashore,
Where the blue lagoon is silent amid snags of rotting trees,
Dropping like the clothes of corpses cast up by the seas.

We anchored at Los Muertos when the dipping sun was red,
We left her half-a-mile to sea, to west of Nigger Head;
And before the mist was on the Cay, before the day was done,
We were all ashore on Muertos with the gold that we had won.

We bore it through the marshes in a half-score battered chests,
Sinking, in the sucking quagmires to the sunburn on our breasts,
Heaving over tree-trunks, gasping, damning at the flies and heat,
Longing for a long drink, out of silver, in the ship’s cool lazareet.

The moon came white and ghostly as we laid the treasure down,
There was gear there’d make a beggarman as rich as Lima Town,
Copper charms and silver trinkets from the chests of Spanish crews,
Gold doubloons and double moidores, louis d’ors and portagues,

Clumsy yellow-metal earrings from the Indians of Brazil,
Uncut emeralds out of Rio, bezoar stones from Guayaquil;
Silver, in the crude and fashioned, pots of old Arica Bronze,
Jewels from the bones of Incas desecrated by the Dons.

We smoothed the place with mattocks, and we took and blazed the tree,
Which marks yon where the gear is hid that none will ever see,
And we laid aboard the ship again, and south away we steers,
Through the loud surf of Los Muertos which is beating in my ears.

I’m the last alive that knows it. All the rest have gone their ways
Killed, or died, or come to anchor in the old Mulatas Cays,
And I go singing, fiddling, old and starved and in despair,
And I know where all that gold is hid, if I were only there.

It’s not the way to end it all. I'm old, and nearly blind,,
And an old man's past's a strange thing, for it never leaves his mind.
And I see in dreams, awhiles, the beach, the sun’s disc dipping red,
And the tall ship, under topsails, swaying in past Nigger Head.

I’d be glad to step ashore there, Glad to take a pick and go
To the lone blazed coco-palm tree in the place no others know,
And lift the gold and silver that has mouldered there for years
By the loud surf of Los Muertos which is beating in my ears.

"Sea-Fever"

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

By John Masefield (1878-1967).
(English Poet Laureate, 1930-1967.)

"Science flies you to the moon. Religion flies you into buildings."

"The road to death is a long march beset
with all evils, and the heart fails little by little
at each new terror, the bones rebel at each step,
the mind sets up its own bitter resistance and 
to what end?  The barriers sink one by one,
and no covering of the eyes shuts out
the landscape of disaster, nor the sight
of crimes committed there"

Katherine Ann Porter
Pale Horse, Pale Rider

Everyone should watch the movie Shooter with Mark Wahlberg.  It is an excellent critique of reality.
Only in the movies is justice served, and that in small doses, but, sometimes, it happens.

I'm being set up to take out a duck. Three ducks, actually. My daddy always taught me not to shoot sitting ducks, particularly when they have weights tied to their feet so they can't fly.  If I take out the ducks, they'll take me down.

So I'll pass.

Sometimes, the set-ups I am offered stupefy me in their blatant idiocy and consummate transparency.

These scum regularly use expendables to get what they want.  Hell, they'll take out an entire government or a country or a region, not considering whatsoever the human cost.  That record is clear.

But we are not contending with brilliant minds here.  Just people of average intelligence with sophisticated technology to do their thinking for them who's minions are often well below average intelligence and who will use any means in order to achieve their ends and please their bosses for a pat on the head.  Good dog.

Just look for my post on psychopaths.  That explains everything.

I have been under extremely heavy DEW attack during the past three days and nights. That's why I have written very little during the past three days. The attacks always occur after I have been asleep for three or four hours.  They are agonizing.  Torture, plain and simple.

The attacks invariably occur three or four hours into sleep.  As previously mentioned in other posts, I awake with my head and forearms feeling as if the internal pressure will extrude my brain through my ears and rupture the skin on my forearms.

I often visualize the bitch who is controlling the intensity on the weapon as a short, obese guy of 240 pounds or so, about 5'3", hasn't seen his dick that's hiding under his sickening gut other than in a mirror since he was about age twelve, with three chins, about age 40, pudgy fingers with filthy nails, prematurely balding, sporting post-pubescent zits, with a tiny three-incher hiding down there below the folds.

He bathes once or twice a week and doesn't use soap, and changes clothes every four or five days, whether he needs to or not.

"Toothpaste" isn't a word in his vocabulary.

He couldn't get laid in a Mexican whorehouse with a hundred dollar bill in each hand, and the only affections he has ever received from women, assuming he likes women, have been purchased retail for cash in some low-rent Detroit flop from  AIDS-ridden hookers he picked up under a bridge or in a rail yard.

He is a consummate slob, a pathetic, unrepentant sadist with absolutely no self respect, and a true psychopath, whom his birth mother deserted on the front steps of an orphanage after she really got a good look at him.

I have no doubt that they are attempting to finally drive me over the edge.  

Fuck them! 

They will fail.

Here's an updated list of some of what the slimeballs have stolen from me over the past several years.  Updates are italicized...

A partial list, far from complete, of various items which the reptiles have stolen from me...

HP laptop computer
Rolex Submariner men's watch, stainless steel.
My deceased mother's engagement ring
A Southern Air Transport license plate.
A Southern Air Transport men's watch.
A sterling silver cat's eye belt buckle.
Rifle carrying case.
A hand hammered sterling silver belt buckle commemorating our relief work in Ethiopia, created by an Ethiopian silversmith.
My Southern Air Transport Captain's wings.
One pound of Hodgdon H110 pistol powder.
A clothes brush left by my father.
Approximately $400.00 worth of handloaded .458 Winchester magnum rifle ammunition.
100 empty, reloadable .375 H&H magnum shell cases.
Various different types and calibers of ammunition, including over 20 factory loaded .45 ACP Gold Dot hollowpoints.
Half a case of MRE's I had stored for hurricane season.
A container of audio cassettes that I hadn't listened to in years from the cab of my pickup truck while parked inside my locked garage.
At least a dozen T shirts of various colors.
Two or three golf shirts.
A Florida Sheriff's Association front license plate.
The second pilot's log book from my early days in aviation. 
An expired US passport with entry stamps and entry visas from countries all over the world.
Various 100 round boxes of handloaded revolver ammunition.
Various single socks from a pair.
Two pair of Cabela's cargo shorts.
Twice, about half the spoons, forks and knives from my flatware set. 
Various dishes, cups and drinking glasses.
A journal I had written in Africa describing the last African Cape buffalo hunt I undertook in Tanzania in 2009.
A Leatherman combination tool.
A tiny hearing aid cleaning tool.
One of a set of four Zuni sandstone coasters given me by my daughter.
A travel alarm clock.
A pair of Cabela's hunting boots.
Three pistol magazines, .45 ACP caliber, semi-custom, for my carry weapon.
Various loose bullets to be used in handloading revolver cartridges.
The file containing the records of and all the serial numbers of weapons I have purchased over the years.  In other words, all my firearms records.
A hand made Colombian chinchorro (hammock), a real work of primitive art, worth well over $1000.00, that was made for me by an Indian tribe in Colombia.
A Civil War-era quilt given to me by one of my deceased aunts.
Various writing implements, mechanical pens and pencils.
Camo day pack used for hunting trips.
Three collectible beach towels done by an artist in El Salvador that I bought at Ilopango AFB during the war. 

This list is far from inclusive.  This demonstrates the typical actions, and only some of them, carried out by the scum that has been attacking me.  This stuff did not just get up and walk off by itself.  They stole it all, some from inside my locked gun safe, which they have repeatedly opened and ransacked.

The totals are in the thousands of dollars.  The Rolex alone is currently worth around $3000.00 on the used market.

And this, of course, doesn't begin to list the vehicle sabotage and other outrages and acts of sabotage that are continuously directed at me.  I'm certain that the thefts will continue.

I love to read. I think I posted the quote that a person who does not read has no advantage over one who cannot read.

But the current trend in popular  Western literature, arguably created by the Harry Potter series and Ann Rice's Vampire Chronicles, has everyone out there, (well, not everyone), jumping on the serialization band wagon.  What a frigging bore.  Did Hemingway serialize?  Did Dostoevsky?  Shakespeare? Saint-Exupery?  Hell, no, because they were capable of original thought and of creating individual characters and plot lines in each new work and didn't have to depend on hacking out crap in twos, threes and fives.

It gets boring as hell and displays an almost total absence of imagination.

Whomever coined the phrase, "golden years", had to be some advertising maven about 30 years old.  He didn't have a clue.

There is nothing golden about growing old.  Particularly when you have a cadre of dedicated psychopaths trying to drive you nuts.

There is nothing golden about losing friends to diseases associated with aging.  There is nothing golden about the increased isolation one experiences as familiar faces disappear from the scene, and character assassination by these reptiles precludes any possibility of forming new relationships with neighbors and acquaintances.  Conversely, some of these neighbors are conned and manipulated into becoming useful idiots and then actively attempt to subvert you. 

Even soldiers on the line get a break from constant combat.  We don't.  We are constantly assaulted both directly and indirectly by these psychopaths.  It never ends.

We can trust no one, increasing the natural isolation that occurs as we age and friends, mine who are scattered to the far corners of the globe, periodically drop off the chart.

It is what it is.  Yeah, it's hard to be hard.  To survive physically and psychologically, though, we must.  We must forsake all that is considered to be normal and fight, and look for the very subtle hints in the behavior of others which give us clues that yet another friendly stranger is actually a weapon aimed at our hearts and minds.  That's not paranoia.  It is simply situational awareness.

It helps me to write.  I don't know if my various narrations and small pearls of what I consider to be wisdom benefit anyone but me.  But this blog is for me, to express my feelings and opinions as the sharks continue to circle.  If someone out there gains anything useful for it, then so much the better.

I've studied shark behavior.  It's been many years since I cracked a book on those elemental creatures, but the one thing they are very efficient at is feeding.

The most dangerous are the carcharinids.  This classification includes those known colloquially as man eaters.  Although lightning strikes kill many more people worldwide annually than do sharks, there is a certain psychological effect that a circling bull or tiger shark will have on you that doesn't occur with a close approaching thunderstorm featuring multiple lightning strikes in close vicinity.  The mere fact that this soulless creature which exists only for two reasons, to breed and to feed, is circling you, possibly intent on consuming you, can have a fearful and ominous effect.

They remind me of our sworn enemies, the pitiful psychos who constantly attack us in various ways.  They, as does the shark, feel nothing. Nothing but the desire to feed on your carcass.  And that, they do.  They take perverted satisfaction in our pain and isolation.  It gives them a false sense of power. It gives them the illusion of control in a chaotic world. It makes them feel as if they are something much more than they are.  Many true sadists actually become sexually aroused when they cause others pain.  We're dealing with some truly sick fucks.