“Not my problem” seems
to be the national if not the world slogan these days. People by the billion
have apparently given up all hope of the world ever righting itself, after the
programmed shellacking we’ve all gone through since sometime in the
20th century, now accentuated and accelerated beyond all hope of even
keeping track of since the nightmarish spectacle of
9/11/2001.
And that strategy, of
just minding your own business and keeping your head down, really isn’t as
stupid as it’s often made out to be, really. A person should still be able to do
that if he/she wishes – not concern oneself unduly with abstruse world-scale
affairs – without fear of getting clobbered by unearned and certainly undeserved
sudden out-of-the-blue gargantuan financial obligations stemming, say, from
vengeful unread fine-print emanating from who-knows-where on documents
tangentially dealing with your house fragmenting your future, or bombs or guns
in the hands of dark-side mad men or misguided ladies at any moment blowing away
you and/or your family. Such once was, of course, the common plight of those
whom ill fortune trapped in the derelict deep rotten cores of inner-cities, in
sterile canebrakes or hollers away out in the country, or in some crazed,
far-off or targeted seldom heard from realm of psychopath dictators with oil or
an H-bomb cache suspected clear across the globe, viewed dimly on your grainy
13-inch TV. But now, the psychs are operating closer at hand, nearly everywhere,
as a matter of fact, and the random acts and cyber-hits, or what not, are either
custom-planned or the result of fully-intended policies designed to screw
everything up for clever and/or bumptious reasons or rabid agents, to
destabilize or distress.
If I tend my yard, you
reason, and take the kids to ballet and inquire politely of the neighbors over
the fence tending their yards, and don’t make any noise at all or rattle the
chains, maybe the hubbub of the killing and wrecking machines won’t even find
me. But now, they are increasingly calibrated for finding everyone and the game’s almost up. But,
it’s not quite over yet.
And that’s roughly the
strategy of your neighbor, too, who knows well enough (when he knows or thinks
anything at all) that 9/11 knocked virtually everything out of kilter, just like
you say it did, and probably was part of an ongoing program in truth appearing a
lot more evident since. But it’s still “not my problem”, because I can’t do
anything about it.
And the likes of Greg Palast
and Chris Hedges, obscenely-famous and sold-out public intellectuals, who never,
in years and years and years, have had time, they invariably tell anyone who
inquires, to delve into the most consequential and easily key event of all of
our lifetimes to even form a reasonably-informed opinion as to whether it could
have been a false-flag operation – a set-up by powers out to trick and control
us – or not. It was either a heinous happenstance, totally beyond the control,
influence, or prior knowledge of anyone native to North America, or the blow-out
grand opening number of a new and endlessly accelerating enslaving and killing
spree launched by powers who were in control of our own government. And none of
these paid-to-be-smart clowns (Palast, etc.) have yet found time in their busy
schedules or vaguely hermetic lives to check out even the first clue about it.
Hence, the second practically unanswerable national and world slogan: “I’m not
convinced,” the refuge of many.
By now, those of us
who are for real and sane in this one way are yelling into an unrelenting gale,
that is, those of us who’ve been fool enough to look into what’s been driving us
all steadily back and reporting what we saw. They call us crazies, and we
obviously are, to take the abuse attaching to our staunch stubbornness! Only the
crazies among the Greeks questioned the tales of the gods who supposedly were
pulling their strings and messing with nature. To attest to the often-stated
fact that we have to be a little bit different ourselves – teched, or touched, I
believe, is the old-fashioned word – to dare to look straight on at all the
gargoyles and medusas and elementals of 9/11 as into the sun, in the face of
nearly-universal ridicule dealt out to dissenters these days, to openly blame
the infamous acts at Ground Zero, Salomon Brothers, and two other locations on
fiends not foreign but domestic, flies in people’s faces and questions damn near
everything they thought they had a handle on. Thus, there aren’t many of us
crazy scary enough left – and we shouldn’t be too surprised. We lost the last of
the faddists and swells some time ago, and are left a small cadre defending the
Alamo with the one great weapon we have and have had all along – the verifiable
truth.
I can’t get together
these days a decent quorum or anywhere near it for the once-thriving 911 Truth
group I started here in the middle of the middle, at one time the wonder of the
Movement. “Not my problem. The dog needed a bath, so I stayed home,” is
something like what I regularly hear now.
“Lord, give me power
to change what I can, grace to endure or accept what I can’t, and wisdom to know
the difference,” goes the old prayer. We, the few still battling mightily
upstream, obviously don’t know the difference! But we should still know that it
doesn’t matter what you know or say, if no one is
listening!
Yet, it’s not over.
For then, there comes along Pete Carroll, the coach of Seattle Seahawks in the
Super Bowl, who let slip last week that he’d grilled a returned Iraq War
higher-up general as to whether 9/11 was an inside job, and how on earth it
could have been otherwise, given what he, Pete Carroll, knew. “Carroll’s a very
good coach, so how can he be so crazy?” one article reporting this tidbit
quipped. A few more such reverenced crazies spewing the taboo words of
not-so-difficult understanding and courage by someone who really gets it and
cares, and there’ll be enough to fill a teacup. And then, perhaps, we’ll
seriously be in business!
How do I know it isn’t
over yet? Because, when it is, it will no longer matter to them what any of us think. We won’t
matter; they’ll just go ahead and plow us under, which has been their way from
Day 1.
As they’d say in
Casablanca –
You
must remember this, the truth is still the truth, the lie is still the lie! The
world must learn to tell the difference, as time goes by!
JH:
1/31/14
