/ HierCon / Neighbors /
OK, I surrender. Naming names has not only hurt me all my life, it’s hurt those close to me. It hasn’t hurt those named; it’s hurt me: and my son, my love … The Nazis lock up the queer, the gypsy, the Jew: the Jew may say, “It was Hitler, it was Goebbels …” Does it do the Jew any good? Does it do Hitler any harm?
“You’re a truth teller”, the federally appointed pubic defender told me in jail. February, 2007, jailed since October 2006. “And I’m going to go to hell forever”, he added. The first part of the statement told me nothing I didn’t know. Neither did the second. What Dave didn’t tell me was what was most immediately important: but he didn’t have to tell me: I knew! and he knew I knew. He would expend not one calorie of effort passing my truths on to the court: the truth was and always had been barred from that bar: or any other bar. The court was there to rehearse and enforce flattering myths, not to probe reality. The court was put there, power plays, to protect the kleptocracy, to misrepresent its nature; not to advance science. Same reason the schools were put there, and the NY Times. While the kleptocracy endures it’s Macbeth who supervises science, not science which supervises Macbeth.
The court had followed suit from the FBI already not allowing one relevant fact about me to be established. There we were, the lawyer, Dave, and I: in a deep refrigerated dungeon. He was warmly dressed, I was in prison cottons: shiver, tremble. We were alone in the cell (but it could have been bugged for all I know). I’d been sent there under the supervision of guards: Dave could come and go in that jail. When Dave came, the guards would announce, “So-and-So” (in this case, Knatz, “your lawyer is here”. The bars between me and the corridor pop open, they ring back closed behind me.
I don’t say, “It was Hitler, it was Goebbels”. I don’t even say It was Washington, it was Lincoln” (I do say “It was Thomas Mann …”)
Never mind. I hereby, this day, Good morning, 2015 02 21, alter my practice of naming names. Come to me, and ask: I’ll tell you (It was Johnson, it was Nixon), but here at Knatz.com, the pKnatz blog, I’ll henceforth falsify the name. If it was the US, I won’t say it was the US; I’ll say it was “We”. a fiction.
Actually, this isn’t altogether new to me. For fifteen or so years I told sex stories online. If a girl named Molly suggested we take all our clothes off when we were eight or nine years old, I, telling the story, would say it was “Bonny”. Molly was bonny: literal meaning “cute”. But I renamed all the cute girls Bonny. (One or two I called “Heidi”: in tribute to a real Heidi: an utterly arresting twelve year old, from 1978).
So: the US put me in jail; I said, “The US put me in jail”. But now I’ll say, “We did it.” No longer will I say “US”, naming real names; henceforth I’ll say “We”, a suggestive fiction.
Here’s what happened: yesterday Jan wanted to go dancing at a dance center featuring a great swing band, a big band, The Golden Era Band. The dance was held in a hall owned by a guy I’d recently been implicating in reckless, dangerous, immoral activities: a big guy, a guy known to get into fist fights: a guy I don’t trust an inch, a guy who doesn’t play fair. I felt compelled to warn Jan that I’d been telling these stories, that the guy’s minions had signaled me that they were aware of it, an associate I know had sent the signal … I warned Jan that if somebody came up behind me with a 2X4, and split my head like a melon, that she should understand what was going on. Demand our money back, and, quick, get out of there.
Now, Jan knows me. Jan knows me better than anyone around these days. But: Jan doesn’t pass on what she knows. As soon as Jan tries to pass the truths to a friend, she too gets it in the neck. What does she want? the truth that gets people crucified? or to keep her life-long friends as friends? They’ll all abandon her if she admits much truth telling. Jan knows (as I too have always known) that the world doesn’t support name disclosures, not while the names are in power: you can say Hitler did it after the Reich has lost the war; don’t say it while the Reich still controls the blitzkrieg, the death camps …
Anyway, last night I promised Jan that I’d review my writing and consider toning it down a bit: not for the sake of We, and not for my sake; but entirely for her sake: for Jan’s sake. For her comfort and sense of security. I don’t fit in this world, but she does fit, is comfortable. She had been before she met me at least.
She goes through a lot, being my girlfriend. Now I guess it’s finally more important to me that she be spared seeing me murdered than it is to tell the truth, to name names.
No, Jan: it wasn’t Molly, it was Bonny. It wasn’t US; We did it.
I’m gonna go through my reports and rename villains. Ask me, and I’ll supply real names. I’m just no longer advertising them. Not while they’re in a position to murder me in front of her.
I promised God to do what I’ve done: or tried to do, been prevented from doing. I regarded the promise as also meaning that I would tell about it: and about the preventions. But: I’m 76 and 1/2 years old. I’m falling apart, so is Jan. … Sorry, God: I’ll still make the reports, but at least in the naming department, I’m retired.
Remember the radio drama cliche that “the names are changed to protect the innocent”? I’m changing names to protect the guilty: who don’t need my protection, they already run what’s left of the world. The innocent have never been protected, never will be, not so long as the mislabelers coerce us into their schools, their managed markets, their media fairyland. So: I’m changing names in hope, beyond my control, of protecting Jan’s peace of mind. Nothing but her peace of mind is worth protecting.
There’s an example: Dave was his real name, but I don’t give his full name, not his last name, no surname. Similarly I give his role but withhold his title. Go ahead, try looking up “Dave” in a federal pubic defenders registry. But come to me, ask. I’ll give you his full name, I’ll give your his address, and telephone.
I also freely confess that I liked him. That he was non-the-less a criminal was no news to me.
Garble to get edited
1 + 1 may = 2. But 2 + 1 may not equal 3. It depends on what the message is. Huxley understood some essentials of Darwin. But Wilberforce would not allow the message to be received further than that.
Eventually it did get received, by some, but no thanks to the Church and its Wilberforces. Thanks to this and that professor in this and that university; but not thanks to professors, or universities, who pretty much are cousins to Wilberforce.
Jan actually feared losing her oldest friend once she tried to tell that friend who her new boyfriend was!
Timid head pulled back into the vulnerable shell, nothing is learned.
But God rewards my apostasy: she hugs me!
Truth Against Our Religion
We tell of the Passion. We already knew what the Roman empire was like. We already knew they took the Persian torture and crucified by the thousand. Our churches tell that truth. But then our churches lie like a rug: they tell us that we’re different!
pk says, from experience, No, we’re not. In evil essentials, we’re exactly the same. Caesar is still on the throne, it doesn’t matter what the News headlines. And Caesar will always back the Temple over the money-tables turner.
And their thugs, having gone to school, think they’re protecting the “good”. Sure, we crack a few skulls: it’s for the Good.
Bible? Mis-transcription defended. Mis-interpretation enthroned.
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