What does it take for a county to ghost someone after they have been wrongfully ambushed by the county’s henchmen? What does it take to erase someone? To drown and bury justice under layers of silence and secrecy?

My story isn’t just about an unlawful arrest—it’s about a system so desperate to protect itself from a commoner’s exposure that it resorts to intimidation, erasure, and, perhaps, something worse. It’s about the shadows where the truth hides, the voices silenced by fear, and the unholy pact of power that keeps the “blue line of justice” untouchable.

But here’s the twist: their silence? It’s their loudest confession.

Silence Screams Louder Than Words

In the shadows of forgotten filing closets, a registry of Gwinnett’s failures in hiring practices and its corrupt justice system lurks. However, a force operates that not only upholds the law but guards a code—a blue line of justice that silences dissent and shields corruption.

I’ve tried every avenue to uncover the truth—lawyers, ABC agencies, courts, and police—each one turning into a dead end on Ghosted Rd… or maybe just dead, a ghost in the memories of those who cared. We’re not there yet, though.

Their silence is telling—and yet—it’s powerful. The mental cat-and-mouse game at play involves wondering about each other’s next move. I would like to think I’m quite predictable. “They,” on the other hand, are dangerously apt to do the unthinkable. But when answers are refused, I am actually given more—the freedom to write the truth of the matter unobjected. I have the upper hand in levying my questions to the masses and letting them stew in the same wonder I experience. And I can’t help but wonder: why would a county go to such lengths to silence me? What secrets are they so desperate to bury?

Gwinnett has ceded the floor. I intend to use it. When justice delays, it betrays. And in Gwinnett, it seems they’re buying time to rewrite the script.

The Truth in the Shadows of Us All

Gwinnett’s silence isn’t just negligence—it’s complicity. If their actions were aboveboard, the evidence would’ve been in my hands months ago. Instead, they’ve left a void. However, Gwinnett’s offense against me isn’t an isolated incident. While the full details remain out of reach, I’ve discovered that others have faced similar situations stemming from Recorders Court within the same timeframe.

In my search for a lawyer willing to confront this daunting county, I became aware of another case eerily similar to mine—an arrest linked to missing documents. This raises a critical question: was this negligence by a specific employee? A systemic issue?

Obtaining the full story will be no small feat, considering the uphill battle I’ve faced just to access my own records. Yet, with any luck, that individual may find me. If there are two of us, how many more exist? The evidence suggests a deeper problem—one that hints at Gwinnett’s inability to properly maintain records during that period. A single oversight is plausible, but a pattern signals something far more troubling.

But what if there’s more to the story that gives them reason to work so hard to cover this up? Join me in this rabbit hole of questions, and maybe see things from my perspective.

It’s not unknown that I write under an alias and that I associate with individuals who have been federally labeled “terrorists” and “militants.” I have received and written many stories from others across the nation who have spoken out against the injustices carried out against them. I guess it would be equivalently conceited of me to consider that only the handful of acquaintances and associates that I know—my mom and THE Crumpton himself—would ever read my writing, and even then, I wouldn’t credit them for actually reading.

But the reality check is that I see the numbers on the backend. I know the real expanse of my audience, and with that awareness, I feel much like Peter Parker, who once reminded us: with power comes responsibility.

If Gwinnett levied the power of record-keeping to someone incapable of the job, they owe every person infringed by it an apology, at the very least, and more for those they injured while “bringing to justice” for failing to comply.

Just the same—and no matter how fractal my influence may be—my responsibility is to deliver truth. It’s hard to do without evidence, but I’ve compiled enough of my own to know the truth with 100% certainty, with only one fact remaining: who?

Who would do such a thing? Is it truly a pattern, or is it a targeted ambush?

Shining Light on Doubt

When officers surrounded my home on the night of July 29th, 2024, it was an instant step into a reality I have often considered, but never wanted to confront. People don’t like truth. If any people hate truth more than anyone, it’s the police. I’ve never been shy about my stance regarding self-defense under any conditions. With the new tools Big Brother has such as Flock cameras to following the movements of individuals, this is even more exceptionally alarming.

However, while the statement “fuck around and find out” resonates deeply with me, it does not come with casual disregard for life. I have a brain, after all. I may not always use it before I say things, but that’s why I prefer to write. Even then, I’ll defer you to the First Amendment if what I write melts your sensitivities.

I’m highly introverted as a result of many years of trauma it would turn out (I wouldn’t suspect that surprises anyone in my audience, and it is certainly not a call or challenge for one-uppers or those in need of therapy). Being put on the spot does not lend itself to a shining moment for people like me—it’s overwhelming. So when the scene unfolded outside my home (four or five Gwinnett County Police cars flanking my house, along with a Georgia State Patrol vehicle, and officers moving in with precision—their positioning deliberate, almost SWAT-like)—my own sensitivities were a little triggered. It felt like my worst thoughts were becoming reality and this tactical show of force was designed to intimidate me into responding—in a predictable way, as I said I would many times before—you can imagine I was neither cordial nor graceful.

I don’t credit myself with thinking on my feet. I’m stubborn—especially when I know I’m right. But these henchmen put me on the spot, forcing me to think quickly about how I wanted to deal with their ambush.

Maybe I wanted to believe they had the wrong address (they’ve done that before!), because I truly could not think of one thing I had done to find myself surrounded on this scale. Maybe by the time they made their quick decision to tase me instead of shooting me, it was because they were starting to realize their role as pawns of something bigger—or maybe they thought I was too cute to kill—who knows? Yet I can’t help but wonder: how many others have fallen into their trap? How many acquaintances of mine are now ghosts because they didn’t fit the narrative?

Take Jason Patrick, for instance. Just ten days after my arrest, his life ended in a tragedy so haunting it feels impossible to ignore the connection. He reportedly jumped from an overpass, allegedly struck by multiple vehicles below. But those closest to Jason don’t believe the official story. Whispers of foul play and loose ends tied too neatly swirl in the shadows of his death.

What does this have to do with my arrest? Jason Patrick was in Oregon. I was in Georgia. Surely these are unrelated incidents. Or are they?

Jason’s death raises questions too big to dismiss: Was he silenced for knowing too much? Was his fate sealed by the same forces that came for me? Jason Patrick lived what could be called a vigilante life. He believed in the Constitution. He believed in justice. He believed in exposing corruption. And he practiced helping others in their time of need. There are many great things to say and that have been written about someone many refer to as a “patriot.” Sadly, there is more written about a man with the same name that the controlling forces refer to as a “terrorist.”

Jason and my history goes back to our work together for Zen In the Car—a blog platform hosted by Daniel Louis Crumpton out of Warner Robins, GA. We called JP our boots on the ground because he fearlessly entered any of our missions in the faces of those we alleged perpetrated the real crimes. Our front line man rushed to the scenes of the Bundy Ranch incident, the Oregon Wildlife Refuge takeover, among several other historical moments of our time. However, the spin on these stories portrays no hero. They weave the narrative of a villain for our nation.

He’s dead now and can’t deliver his side of the events that occurred that early morning. His death is as mysterious as he was, though, and I wonder if he knew it would leave us with this question, or if it truly is what many of us already think. The telling of his passing will unfortunately remain nothing more than a story of inconvenience on the highways and byways of Oregon—an attempt to minimize the greatness of a person who truly tried to make the world a better place. A world that will never know—and worse, think less of when they read the chronicle of the event from those who control the narrative.

Just How Deep We Go

Was I a failed attack? It wasn’t considered at the time until JP’s death came into question, but it has to be asked if we were meant to meet our demise to send a message—a warning to others?

To say the least, DLC, JP, and I were all very close at the time. And if ever one of us needed a message sent, it would be that we’d all one day be subjected to a threat. It is understood between us that those meant to bring about enlightenment and truly expose corruption will remain in the end. So maybe it was just his time, or maybe I didn’t go the way it was planned. Who knows?

Why should I suspect something like this at all? It’s hard to say coincidentally when you don’t believe in coincidences. I believe all things happen for a reason. I don’t believe that we all have a purpose. Some of you are just NPCs idly going about your day, caring only about that which immediately affects you. I’m not judging, just pointing out a fact. Nothing Crumpton or I are doing with our writing immediately affects you. It can, however.

I think it’s important to note that the loopholes leading to my arrest lie in the fact that in 2016 I pled no contest to a speeding ticket—I paid a fine, served some volunteer hours, and took a defensive driving course. When you do this, it actually opens the door for them to lose your paperwork and justify an arrest eight years later. I guess you could always go with ‘not guilty’ and make them work for their extortion, but I didn’t want the aggravation of that in 2016, and they made ‘no contest’ sound like a good option. Now you know. Take their time, make them spend the money.

What about Crumpton? Well, Crumpton is still hard at work exposing the corruption of the Warner Robins justice system—calling out local judges and sheriffs during election season. Coincidentally, Daniel took up this passion only a couple of months before a (corrupt) neighboring county’s police showed up at my door referencing an invisible warrant for my arrest.

It’s not far-fetched to believe that in the state of Georgia, sheriffs form acquaintanceships with other county sheriffs and police officers throughout. I would even venture to say that connections between agencies are not so unheard of that someone couldn’t have targeted JP after failing to check me off the list, knowing how close he and Daniel were.

The Burden of Proof: Calling All Hands

I’m left with a heavy truth, one that gnaws at the edges of reason: Did I escape their trap by sheer restraint? Did Jason Patrick truly take his own life, or was his death another story rewritten by silence? As I piece together these fragments of negligence, intimidation, and devastating loss, a clearer picture emerges—silence isn’t just complicity; it’s the soil in which corruption thrives.

Every unanswered email, avoided call, and missing piece of evidence isn’t merely negligence—it’s an indictment of a system engineered to bury the truth.

How long does it take to rewrite a narrative to justify the unjustifiable?

How many more ghosts will Gwinnett County’s henchmen create while hiding in the shadows?

Their silence may seem protective, but it’s only made their guilt more deafening. As they stall and spin, I’ll keep writing. Writing to honor Jason. Writing for myself. Writing for all the unseen, unheard, and unjustly silenced.

Because the truth? The truth doesn’t just speak—it roars. And it doesn’t stop until light shines on the last shadow of unexposed realism. As much as the evidence suggests a deliberate falsification of a warrant for my arrest, I must acknowledge the possibility of a mere clerical error. After all, even the most damning signs could be explained away. But just like any diligent investigator, I feel compelled to follow every lead to its logical end. So, regardless of whether I’m right or wrong, I’m putting this out there. If something foul happens down the road, at least it will have been said.

So I call on you: witnesses, survivors, anyone who’s walked this same road—find me. If there’s one of us, there are surely more. Together, we can unearth what’s been buried, demand accountability, and ensure that the ghosts start speaking.

• Mukilteo man killed after jumping from overpass
• Oregon refuge occupier Jason Patrick avoids return to prison by obtaining temporary driver’s license ID
• 2 Occupiers Found Guilty Of Conspiracy For Roles In Oregon Standoff
• Jason Patrick Snow Angel
• Bonaire man hailed as hero for helping stranded Atlanta motorists
• 9 militants, former Bonaire man, arrested, one dead in Oregon standoff
• 12 Central Georgians honored as heroes
• WarTown Times: The Sheriff Needs More than a Badge and a Gun
• WarTown Times Sheriff Shootout
• WAR-TOWN TIMES -Houston County Sheriff Shootout Special-2024: Update- Day of the Primary- May 21st

Georgia on a Witchhunt? Shocking Gwinnett Arrest Proves Georgia Targeting Moms

Hall Co. Buford, GA -- July 29, 2024. I have never been one to be kept in line. So when the sobering reminder that we must always be on guard showed up at my door on this Monday night--4-6 Gwinnett county police cruisers (no lights-no sirens) and a state patrol car parked in my driveway)--I didn't exactly show up ready for the foreshadowed fight ahead. Quite frankly, I left the gun in the nightstand, and my phone/camera on the kitchen table.  

A lot has changed for this writer since I last picked up the pen against the brutality of the police state. I divorced my then-husband,  rode the roller coaster of custody battles and dealt with DFCS (Dept of Family & Children), public schools, and courts for a variety of reasons -- but the most obvious and apparent of them being simply that I'm a good person. Georgia doesn't think so and has gone to great lengths with the employ of all the agencies at their disposal to try and prove it. Unfortunately, each time, they end up with egg on their face. They will again, but this is just the beginning of that chapter. 

Age and Wisdom be Damned! If Karma Doesn't Punch You in the Face, Know I Want to!

As a mother of three, my first and foremost duty is to protect my children from harm or peril. Most mothers understand this intense maternal instinct—an unspoken, relentless drive that compels us to shield our families from harm, no matter the sacrifice. It's a force that unites and empowers us all and can be used to keep us in line.

As a witch, the first dedication to my charge is to be a custodian of balance and harmony, using my knowledge and abilities to protect, heal, and promote positive energy. That may include rituals, spells, and other gestures of power and energy that some would consider ineffective--and we can debate that another time. 

In my thirty years as a practicing witch, embracing the wisdom and strength that come with this path can be rewarding and uplifting; but it can also be challenging. The label of "witch" carries the weight of misunderstanding and prejudice. Despite the love and protection I offer my family, society sometimes sees me through a lens tainted by ancient fears and modern ignorance. That's fine. To each their own. 

However, this is where the challenge comes in, because although I am recognized for my commitment to my path, I am constantly under fire, as if the forces that be want to test my dedication. Of course, as any logical person would do, the scale of response will generally take over to ensure confrontations are minimized to more necessary times. Like a bee protective of its stinger, I know what picking up the battle sword means for my well-being.

Unfortunately, it also lends to the misinterpretation of what exact measures I might take to defend my person, my beliefs, and my family. Let me be clear. I live in a stand-your-ground state, and when prompted by necessity, I will stand my ground. 

Single-mom-hood aside, the natural condition of any woman pushed to the edge by a society that has forgotten the true meaning of justice is one I couldn't think anyone would want to FAFO about. But queue Gwinnett County Police--it's not the first time they have been the subject matter of my content, and by the looks of it, this will not be the last.  

Echoes of the Past? The Matrix Says Corruption 

Flashback to fall 2016. I got a speeding ticket in Gwinnett County and was subjected to going to court about it. The judge must've had a vendetta against Caucasians, cops, speeders, or all of the above because he very biasedly accused the police of profiling an African American kid who was charged with some random traffic offense and additionally blasting "Fuck the police" through his stereo system. That kid was made to feel like a hero of the day, as the judge promised to get him wrapped up quickly. 

After emptying the courtroom of other victims of the state, I was finally called to stand. There was no mercy extended, no suggestion that the police were profiling me. No, in fact, I was instantly accused of being a negligent person who travels at triple digits everywhere I have to go and the judge had 'something for me' indicating a punishment so severe it begged for an explanation, but never got one. I paid a hefty fine, was "sentenced" to pick up trash on the side of the road for community service, and was required to attend driving school. I complied. I did everything they demanded and walked the paperwork right up the clerk windows for handoff once completed. Case closed, right? Wrong. Let's get back to Monday night, 2024. 

Do you remember that scene from The Matrix when Neo sees the deja vu of the cat, and everyone instantly knows something about the Matrix has been changed? Turns out there was a traitor among the heroes, and that's kind of how this was.

It had already been a long day. I'm a single mom working six jobs and I'm heading to the local grocery store at 6:17p.m. I have an easily triggered spite for driving in traffic, so I take some backroads that go by a prison. I would also take this road home to avoid the traffic trying to turn left onto the highway I live on from the typical, people-filled road. Little did I know, this simple act would trigger a series of events straight out of an Orwellian nightmare.

I get home, get groceries put away, and I'm about 5 minutes and a dog walk away from calling it a day when my otherwise quiet evening was shattered by the pounding of fists at my front door. I'm not expecting company and anyone I would expect knows to come to the back door (I have a silly phobia of front door interactions due to the facing the highway, so when the lock broke in the locked position years ago, I never bothered fixing it). A glance out the window showed five Gwinnett County Police cars, a Georgia State Patrol car,  and 3-4 cops surrounding my house. I'm immediately thinking: What the fuck is this? These fuckers are either lost or looking for a fight tonight.

Becoming Public Enemy Number One.

As noted earlier, I did not grab proper protection when I met them outside the backdoor. That's as much as I can equate to trying to keep my cool because I was not nice from the start when they questioned who I was. As many fights as I've picked and uncomfortable stops I've endured, this was by far the most excessive show of force directed at me that I've ever experienced. To say it was a bit overwhelming is an understatement. After a short squabble with Officer NSync about names, he tells me the whole unit is there to arrest me. 

Nope. I'm already triggered. More cops are swarming in and surrounding me. Those are not words you want to use around me, especially when I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that there is NO reason for Gwinnett to have a warrant for my arrest. In the most convoluted cop-jargon-filled way possible, the officer explains that my car tag was scanned on a FLOCK camera, and I popped up for a warrant. I take a seat on the stoup while I feel the clench in my chest, thoughts flood in every direction, and I have no clue what the heck the cop is going on about. A warrant? For what? Illegally scanned my tags? Why is Gwinnett in Hall County? Where's Hall County Sheriff on this? When did I go to Gwinnett today?

With four police in front of me, they tell me my 2016 speeding ticket that I had long put behind me wasn't satisfying enough on their end. They lost proof that I completed driving school. 8 years ago. Of course, they'll not confess they lost anything and it's my problem to deal with, now... eight years later, with not so much as a mailed letter from the county in all those years to say "hey, we don't have this." Is it any coincidence that I did a mass cleaning of documents and computer files at the beginning of this year due to storage capacity and verifying that all my stately contracts were fulfilled? When you get this far down their rabbit hole, you'd be surprised what you'll believe when it just lines up.

Everything I Need to Know About Police, I Learned From Police

Cops are the lowest forms of criminals on earth. They do everything criminals do, but they get away with it because there's an entire system built on extorting citizens that backs up these henchmen. There's only one truth about police, and that is: if their lips are moving, you can bet your ass you're being lied to. 

No warrant was shown. Officer Pedo-looking-motherfucker looking like he stepped right out of the 80s with his mustache and gut hanging over is to the side making threats about my need to cooperate, while Office Latin-Leguizamo is on the phone, "confirming" the warrant. "If it's confirmed, you're going to jail," he says as if he's doing me a favor for double-checking, or something? Where is a black cop to fill out this DEI convention?!

 I told them exactly what I thought about their overreach of authority, especially over a piece of paper from eight years ago. They didn't like my attitude. Surprise. And whatever authority was around at that hour of the evening signing off on warrants apparently didn't either and decided I was going to jail, or that's what Officer Latin-Leguizamo promised as he hung up his cellular device. 

The supposed confirmation came through, but I know it's beyond bullshit, and I'm counting the ways in my head when they moved to arrest me. The law states I have a right to stand my ground and defend myself against wrongful arrest. I'm outnumbered in this pickle, though, and these guys can simply go fuck themselves in my mind if they're not going to listen to why they're wrong. I get up and turn to go back inside. They charge at me, taze me in the back, and tackle me down, now inside the doorway over my home. Yes, you read that right. They tased me over a piece of paper from 8 years ago. I presume my adrenaline is up because I only feel a pinch. 

As we're all on the ground, and me possibly sitting on other cops in my doorway (I really don't recall because I became fixated on one of them), I hear my daughter and dogs behind us in the kitchen. Compliance is not an option at this point. The matrix just changed to give these agents the upper hand. One of the officers has me by the forearm, and that's the only one I'm focused on. 'Get out of my house, don't scare my dogs, I'll comply.' He doesn't get up. Cops don't like being told what to do, go figure. I make it clear he's a threat to my dogs (one is a protective pitbull). I tell my daughter to take the dogs to her room and lock the door and I can't see her, but I presume she has the dogs by the collar. 

We sit there still on the floor inside my doorway--A/C freely cooling the outer world like I'm made of money and these kids were born in a barn. I repeat to the cop to not scare my dogs, and that I'll comply if we go back outside--him saying things like "don't resist" although there's absolutely no resistance. We're all literally there trying to figure out how to maneuver out of this position without losing our hand of advantage. There's none for me with four cops grappling me. 

We get up and I'm pushed outside while they cuff me too tightly. They have no clue about dealing with someone who has anxiety and panic attacks, but I'm trying at this point to keep my mental together. It's pissing off Officer Latin-Leguizamo that I won't just sit on his hood. I want to pummel every one of them for their ignorance and lies and the jeopardy it was putting me in. For the past crimes carried out under the umbrella of protection police walk with--the blue code of justice. And what was my crime? Whose vendetta was this really? 

No female officer present. No Miranda rights read. No Hall County Sheriff presence. No warrant present--because no warrant ever existed. 

EMS came and checked me over despite my refusal. A protocol because the officer shot me in the back with a taser. I guess I should be grateful he pulled the non-lethal weapon considering the stories I have covered. Another officer also caught taser. Literally, he caught it in the finger. Karma, if you ask me, and I hope he had to write a long report. 

I was put into the backseat of a cruiser and carted off to Gwinnett County Jail.

But Wait! There's More!

It was going to be a long night, and it would begin with the quietest car ride to jail.  And not to breeze over the facilities and friends I made, but my cash bond was set for $400. Yep, cash bond. More paper for them to lose. My parents, bless them, arrived with cash at 2:15 AM to bail me out. But because the police found me "a bit mouthy" on arrival, they made my parents wait over two hours before releasing me. I made sure everyone was aware of the reason I was locked up. I wanted that to stew in their minds about how they locked up a single mother over a certificate of completion for driving school from 8 years ago. The wheels were spinning in some of them, but the point was not making it through. They took my money and released me around 4:20a.m.  

The next day is hell after having been up for 30 hours straight. We realize I never received any details about my court date, so we call Gwinnett to find out more. "Renee" informs me that I didn't pay a bond at all, I actually paid a fee, and there is no court date.  What fuckery is this? Now it's just a fine?! After a thorough reflection of eight years of police interaction (more than a dozen stops for random infractions from speeding to the pink lights that can't be on my car), including multiple background checks, involvement with another county search and rescue team where my background and discovery for any warrants was conducted; AND an investigation by DFCS, there's no way a warrant on my record went undiscovered for 8 years. It outright didn't exist before Monday night, and the police didn't just decide after 8 years to come knock on my door about it. I have been living at this address the entire time. It's not like they couldn't have come before 8 years. I had driven up the local road many times before, and never had a FLOCK camera pop my tag. 

Contacting a lawyer was enlightening as one of them told me the warrant was still open. I could be arrested again at any time for the SAME unreal warrant. He provided the information for contacting the Clerk of Courts who further tried to milk me for more money by suggesting I could go back to driving school, or come down and talk to the judge (drive through the gauntlet of Gwinnett for round 2? I'm good, thanks!). I also contacted the school I attended who informed me that they don't keep records past five years. So to add fuel to this fire, the county falsified a warrant to come after me for a crime that THEY had no way of proving against me. I guess they also forgot that the burden of proof is on them, and I have two witnesses who can testify to my having completed the sentencing issued by our racial judge. 

This brings us to day 2 of the ticking clock in which Gwinnett and Hall County have left to respond to my open records request. I am, stressed beyond explanation. Anxious. Terrified to leave my house. My likeness can be tracked on cameras across the state. My car tag could be scanned by cameras and cops for no reason, and I could be kidnapped by the police and extorted all over again. 

Legally, I could fight back--to the death. As a mom, though, my first duty is to protect my family. And that means complying with these henchmen, even when I know they're wrong despite my right to stand my ground in the State of Georgia. This is also the reality of living in a surveillance state--a brewing war between real good and evil. Where your every move can be tracked, and a simple trip to the store can turn into a nightmare and lifelong trauma. This is the future, folks. This is Big Brother right at our doorstep. This mother witch knows that the fight against such insidious evil requires both mystical and practical action. I stand ready to challenge the system, to confront injustice with not only the power of my will but also the strength of my voice and unwavering resolve. 

Are you ready for this? For your sake, I hope all your past tickets are in order. 

More to come as this story develops.

Amidst Brewing Division, America Intends to Vote. Again.

With curiosity spanning across the nation regarding military training practices, U.S. debt on the rise, and friendships with Cuba restored; the 2016 elections are shaping up to be chock full of irrelevant fluff, as usual. But, what difference does it make? Hillary Clinton is on the ballot with a promise of a “New Adventure” and a “New Chapter,” which sounds neither promising or like an adventure America wants to take. Not that we are tired of the flip-flop promises delivered by politicians to land their seat, but selecting a President that will do the job right is about as challenging as finding the right woman. Unlike politicians, how to attract women comes in a handy guide. Politicians come with dirt—literally and figuratively.

The years leading up to the next election have certainly provided an eye-opening experience for most Americans (as is proven by the positively-named Presidential Approval rating sitting below 50 percent). All these eyes are now focused on the mudslinging debates in hopes of selecting the next potential hope for the U.S. Fortunately, with real issues like education and unemployment on the backburner, Americans can continue to divide themselves over concerning pushes for gun control, immigration, global warming, and abortion.

Luckily, plenty of candidates are running for each party; but Donald Trump’s presence on the Republican card certainly trumps the playing field—with curiosity. With his exemplary skills showcased in his hit reality show - The Apprentice, Trump’s familiarity with a large voting populace may prove to the Republican advantage. Hopefully, however, he has deep enough pockets to keep the rumor mill at bay; otherwise, the nation might realize he’s not as rich or powerful as he illuminates himself to be.Honestly, it's just a shame we didn't listen to him about Obama.

One thing is for sure, the election of 2016 is going to be a turning point for the country. Dirty laundry is being flung and scandals revealed, and America is ready and waiting for it with voter I.D. in hand… or not. And while there is a growing concern for the usefulness of the vote (or its integrity for that matter), America— whether they believe in the vote, or are just going through motions— intends to do just that: vote. Again.

Heart & Soul-dier; the Longwinded Explanation why a Soldier will Shoot You When SHTF

When one reflects on the impending doom awaiting us at the end of any cycle—be it personal or worldly—it becomes a daunting reality as to how royally screwed we really are. Even as I write this (which at first is done by hand on paper), I condemn myself for my blessed curse. For why must words come so effortlessly when I sit with pen and paper, yet flee at the site of a computer screen? Every decent writer likely has the top-rated voice recognition software, I tell myself. Of course, I do too, but like losing weight—nothing is going to happen by nonuse and eating chocolate. Just owning the software and installing does not a page of words create.

But just as I’ve been blessed with the skill of words, it doesn’t extend beyond the paper. Being not the type for public speaking—or maybe just speaking my thoughts out loud—the idea of talking to my computer has not gone well, and therefore, I must continue to write by hand. This is great for so many reasons, and has very much to do with the past, present, and future traditions of our “great” nation, while breaking down the notion of whether or not our military will open fire on citizens. As the title suggests, it’s kinda longwinded. But you’ll understand, I don’t apologize for that.

So what could be so great about writing by hand? I mean, it takes longer, and the potential to forget what I was thinking before I get it written down is pretty high. On top of that, once I get it all jotted down fast enough, there’s the likely event that I can’t read half of what I wrote.

What’s so great is that, as with any art, it takes time and focus to write something amazing—not just a blog or book, but anything people take something from, like a life lesson, or something. How’s that for ‘great with words?’ The point is, it takes a lot of love to commit to our art—to anything—that in 

this fast-paced world will consume so much of our short time here. It’s the very reason why art is transforming into a digital monster, being used by industries such as marketing, film, and entertainment. We are able to mass-produce digital art quickly and without real thought or emotion, without knowing we’re really pushing out messages to the human mind. We push words out quickly to achieve a number of “likes” or “shares” and we don’t have a real concern for what the words say or mean. In most cases, we share things that we think are pretty awesome, pretty cute, pretty sexy, or pretty disturbing. And if it’s not that it’s advertising. By slowing down and focusing on a message, writing it down first is like my “think before I speak” moment. In the immediacy of updating Facebook and twitter of exactly what we’re thinking, or doing, at this exact moment, this filter has been lost—along with our ability to proofread. So guilty.

 

Whether we admit to it or not, it is a sort of desensitization to real-life scenarios—a screen, or veil we cast over ourselves that says “it’s okay to say this because the majority of people are saying it and a lot of people will like it.” An hour from now, you’ll either have sparked the daily Facebook piss-off that gets a lot of comments of varied ideas, or will have passed with little more than a few “amens.”

Often, the person who spends time focusing and putting love into their art reap the most beneficial experiences. It’s great that I can’t be bought into another product of the mass-producing agenda, because it gives me time to think and rethink. Is whatever I’m putting out expressing my full potential in whatever it is I do?

What about what you do? Are you among the vast majority who’s plugged into the digital revolution?

Many don’t like the word “revolution” which seems silly to me. The human race has terms to identify all kinds of things and then shies away from using those terms out of fear or offense. The truth is we label things because it’s easier than getting to know exactly what they are. It’s easier to formulate an idea with a label attached to it and simply identify things by that label. But let’s not go there just yet.

Not many are blessed with the ability to educate others (or know-how for that matter). After four years of homeschooling, I will say it hasn’t always been fun or easy, but most blessings never are. Anyway the opportunity has afforded me the chance to educate myself in areas I never would have again. For instance history; strangely, I love history, but it’s written so dully that I often fall asleep before I ever really absorb what I’m reading. Now that the world is going to hell and a hand basket and I have to teach my kids about history (because the public school system failed), it’s real easy to see where we went wrong. To make a long story longer, homeschooling demanded my love and focus on my kids and help me to identify a truth that every revolution—while seemingly good—has pulled us further and further away from what it appears (more and more every day) we are supposed to be.

From even the time when caveman began simplifying work, we have done nothing but find easier ways and solutions to everyday situations. We left the thinking up to inventors and enjoy the luxury of being able to sit back with our feet up for just a few minutes longer. The result of such movements has been the populace we have today, full of couch potatoes and keyboard warriors talking about the very revolution that they’ll not take part in, that is—unless upon a very specific set of terms, and on a weekend because they have work on Monday.

Effectively, we’ve exchanged the concept of “love for one’s country” to “love for status.” It’s that overwhelming sense of pride and loyalty one feels to his nation (as it has been so kind and rewarding to him) that inspires him to take arms against all enemies foreign and domestic, who would threaten the traditions and values we uphold most. Traditions as simple as the pen to the paper. But we don’t have a love for country.

We implemented, just as we did everywhere else—a system of hierarchy. At every level of the populace hierarchy based on value of one’s assets became the lay of the land. We appointed others to hold authority over us—we who were all created equal and free (wo)men-- as if vested with power from a higher being, these people somehow held the prerequisites to hold such authority over us. Were they gods? Cause gods are the only beings to which we give power over ourselves. They were not gods… but they lead us to believe only they could reach God.

And because property and material possessions determine the worth of a person, we have textiles beaming mass made art to display on your appearance exactly who you are and what you stand for. People and companies profit in the billions while the world swarms in a cesspool of vile thoughts and outlets to express them immediately and without thought and emotion. That’s a bit judgmental. Though, considering we have the freedom of speech, it could be written off as just a difference of opinion that doesn’t matter, because it really doesn’t hurt anyone.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your type) we have become too much of competitive nation for all the wrong reasons. We’ve made no advancements out of a loving, true desire to make a difference in anyone’s life, but our own. How often have we initiated something with the thinking that this is going to pay off? We’ve been conditioned to call pay raises, bonuses, and benefits motivators; but the reality is, they are simply distractions that pull us further away from the very things they don’t want us to see. When you start researching and seeking things on this level, you do so out of love, and you begin to pick up on a pattern of violations against the loving nature of our being since the dawn of man. You understand why they outlawed certain music, and why they promote sex versus love. As there has been no greater study than that of the behavior of man, it’s simply not surprising to see where we are and what we’re headed towards if we continue on this path.

No one wants to be told there being conditioned, but the reality is that it’s occurring every day and you don’t even realize it. Even the people who think themselves “awake” generally have no real

comprehension of just how deep the proverbial “matrix” goes. It’s when you get to this point that you see truth in the symbols left by our forefathers, lurking in holy texts, and great works by those who lived in a day where you either loved your country or you didn’t; because you either dropped what you were doing (whether you were a skilled soldier, a priest, or a farmer) and fought for what you believed in; or you carried on in hopes of escaping the fallout.

It’s when you follow these trails that you see, not only have you been believing in the illusion of truth, but that you’re still knowingly contributing to it; that you either get ready for the fight or you carry on. The fight or fight flight response is another conditioning strengthened by our competitive nature. For many, this factor is not tested very much because maybe you live a “simple” life. However, escalations such as the kind we witnessed at Bundy Ranch, where the Constitution literally hung by a thread, and the nation was unaware of the brink of chaos they were breaching; leave me wondering about similar events on a global scale that we are unaware of.

If you consider that the technology we see today is a technology that the military has had for undoubtedly 20 years already, you might understand that technology is way more advanced than your average person is aware of. Sorry to bust your bubble, but the engineers of the military don’t just have a spark of technological genius and then decide to share with the civilian population without extensive years of research. If were getting it, it’s likely because the military has mastered and learned to control with it. Why do you think a video simulation is such a useful tool in training? Think of how perfected video gaming graphics and even other sensory related gimmicks have been added to what at one point would’ve been kids playing baseball outside, but is now time spent killing each other on hack-em-up video games? Don’t get me wrong, I love these games and tend to conquer sometimes, but I’m pretty savvy on my inability to stand the sight of real blood without passing out to know the difference between video world and what I like to call “reality.”

However, even that is only because I’m a stay-at-home mom in the sweet heart of Georgia, who for the most part doesn’t experience a lot of gunfights or high-speed chases. Then again—you don’t see me playing games like the Sims or Second Life, either. Similar video games or simulations are used in training soldiers. Why do you suppose that is? Well since most of the past two generations have grown up on video games, training using video simulators make a big impact while effectively severing the emotional bond for people by conveniently labeling enemies.

For soldiers though, the video simulators become reality. The veil of the screen is lifted, and the mind has been conditioned to perform an action. Without a doubt a large contribution to PTSD is the fact

that most soldiers act out of trained response to a stimulus. Afterwards is when they’ll be taken out of that environment and left with their inner self to answer to. The faces of those they engaged tend to have a haunting affect to any who let their mind wander uncontrollably. Why do you think there is medication that affects brain chemicals? Because what you can’t create on your own, can be provided for you… at a cost. Your continued support of the American government.

The inner self can be a strong adversary to face. It’s when you start questioning if you really love what you did, or if you loved the status. It’s this thinking that leads me to wonder, what exactly do we have to worry about with our own soldiers, and police, FBI, etc.… We’ve already been exposed to some of their conditioning and we see some are very aware of love of the job and love of the money, but how many would still refrain from pulling the trigger when the simulation is in action and when you are nothing more than a conveniently labeled enemy?

Recently there’s a video floating around on Facebook of some alleged terrorist getting shot from a helicopter. See below.

Now, most of us are cheering and touting off with ‘Merica!’not really knowing what it is we’re seeing. While any amount of research could probably dig up the details behind this video and why it would be in the hands of civilians, there will be questions as to what the soldiers doing the shooting felt in regard. Again, don’t think I don’t support our military. I do. I just know how they are used.

Now, I swore I wouldn’t touch on the sniper movie—and I won’t. Haven’t seen it, and I won’t. I won’t see it because I won’t participate with the machines conditioning me for and against warfare and controlling my feelings for my fellow man. What I will say, I have seen the propaganda for and against Chris Kyle. I don’t question whether he is a hero or not because that’s not for me to judge. Much of my knowledge of the guy came from one video. See below.

Post by The Daily Share.

It got a lot of support while trying—I think—to be anti-Kyle. I wasn’t formulating an opinion on Kyle or the movie as much as I was attempting to get a general perception of military guys that could assassinate people—literally, look down the scope, possibly look into the eyes of their victim and pull the trigger. Most of my knowledge on this topic stems only from talking to former soldiers who’ve done these things. Most are suffering from PTSD, and some handle it better than others. They all have ways of dealing and talking or not talking about it, but every one of them will attest to doing it for the love of their country, for the people they knew or their children, and always for “America’s freedom.” Some of them are struggling with grasping the consequences of their “skill.” The ability to pull the trigger.

I don’t ask or push questions, I just let them talk. I listen without making judgment and mostly trying to decide if I should try to comfort or just listen. In the end, I always come to the question that many have asked more often than not in the recent years. These conversations led me to this understanding of what we’re really looking at when we ask ourselves if our own military will fire on us. Being no scientist or doctor of any credible nature, I can only offer opinions based on things I’ve seen and read. In particular, this video of Chris Kyle confirms my thoughts further when the interviewee explained that this soldier loved what he did and there was no target off-limits—woman, child—it did not matter. It is mentioned that he loved his terrifying nickname and attributed to the successful death of 160 “terrorists.”

To all of this I say, even the reaper didn’t “love” his job, because being the judge and executioner is a duty for no man. But it could be a job. And thanks to having a standing army… It is a job. The training for this job is simple—Kill the enemy. Do you think soldiers are trained to research why this is their enemy? When a bomber is called to coordinates, do you suppose the pilot has much to say about the inhabitants he’ll be unloading on? Does the gravity of the simulated event sink in, or has the emotion been trained out of these men and women?

Will a soldier pulled a trigger against Americans? Would it not depend on the government’s label of the American? If that label is “enemy” do you think you show up any differently on the screen than the white blobs getting into the truck? Do you think you’re faced  appears any different to your enemy when placed between the hairs of his scope? Well, if there’s people loving this job, then my guess is that it doesn’t. These guys don’t get paid to do research, they get paid to kill and kill well, and for the most part people like you and me will never hear of it. So enemies are killed (Go ‘Merica!) and life goes on unaware of whatever impending doom was going to happen.

As a nation losing more and more of our roots to the plague of damnation, I wonder what would spark America’s rising at this point? With a paid for military no one could truly grasp what it meant to fight for freedom. Until the expansion of the long-range missiles, the notion of a threat to our freedom relied on the enemy at least being on our soil. (There’s only one that I know of currently). How convenient that we created the very ability to build such devices. It’s even better that we have the ability to launch them with the push of a button, because kings don’t fight amongst themselves, they fight at the citizens. Much like the number of likes and shares you enjoy and compete for, so do the powers that sit on the throne at a desk with all kinds of buttons. The only difference is they get their numbers in casualties. And no one in the leading position on the screen is going to stop and ask why or what they are winning in the end, because it’s just a matter of who’s the best. So what happens when the enemy—the “terrorist” are us, and “love” exists only for the status?

It’s a difficult reality to linger on, but it makes me glad I write. I may not enjoy the research process for the time it consumes, but I love what I learned and what I can share with others. Although it takes time, it’s something I love to do and feel is worth investing my time in, although I don’t get paid. As writing is the skill I’ve been given to express my love, I go through the lengthy process of learning about my topic and the message that needs to be conveyed. In doing so, I’ve been exposed to a variety of material for and against every topic I addressed. For that, I gain knowledge and am capable of thinking circles around any boxes. The omni-perspective opens me to all kinds of insight.

More importantly, in a time where the digital revolution has already terminated cursive lessons in so
many schools, it’s only a matter of time before writing in general is not taught. We had a glimpse of the repercussions of that during the Trayvon Martin case when the girl couldn’t read the cursive letter.

What other traditions will be allowed to sink into the mortal abyss of unheeded warnings from history? I’m happy that I won’t let this one die. I don’t live in confusion of what “love” will drive us to do, and I don’t live in a delusional sense that it’s my duty to do anything, but love for my fellow man and give him what I can out of perfect love and trust. Since my words are all I have to give, I hope you will love them all the same, and if you will love them, take them to understand what they mean to you. Love for country or love for status? Which are you conditioned for? Just remember, all your material gains here can’t go with you when you die.

Will a US soldier pull the trigger against American enemy? Yes, and he’ll feel bad about it later. Time to untrain your mind, and stop living in the illusion that you mean anything to them. They don’t look at individual civilian casualties, they look at overall the damage, and you are just a number. In enemy in the crosshairs.

“I Am”: The Cost of Liberty, the Exchange: Security?

 America has long been known as the “land of the free.” The cost of that freedom is often held in regard only by those who’ve made the ultimate sacrifice to ensure that freedom. Veiled in anonymity under a shadow of collectivized terms as: the military or soldiers, we forget the individuals behind that veil. We neglect the individual sacrifices they have made—whether it be their lives, time,  or money.

Sadly, this collectivism does not exist amongst civilians. Individuality plagues citizens so rampantly in our American culture that, by it, we’ve allowed liberty to come under fire through a failure to recognize it was ever being stolen. In fact, the collective citizens have become sheep herded by the law of man, rather than participants in the law of nature.

Bill after bill, we have complied with the passing of laws that gave man dominion over another man—and we did it under the guise of security and accountability. Once upon a time, people within a community worked to support each other. They exchanged goods and services, and communicated regularly. When war came upon a people, everyone who was able participated in the fight.  As we became less focused on the well-being of the whole, and more focused on the individual (fueled by greed and selfishness) needs, we began pulling away from this system. Largely on account of reducing our own personal responsibilities, people opted to pay taxes to support those who would fight in their stead.

While this ideology is archaic to say the least, the mentality has evolved and is the root of much destruction and chaos in our country (well, honestly the world, but let’s stayfocused on America).  As we’ve “progressed” our nation, and taken every action imaginable to deflect personal responsibility; individuality and the means to neglect ones environment have arisen and acted as direct contributions towards disunity, crime, and corruption.  As we’ve seen in past stories covered by Divine America, the collective people have sacrificed liberty in the pursuit of this hand-fed security. In our desire to retain as little responsibility as possible for our communities, it’s no wonder there is a presumption of a rising “police state.” Our failure in conducting the very checks and balances to prevent such a state is the reaping of the seeds we’ve sown.  You got what you paid for. Now, on account of  a couple of bad seeds and  an immensely, negatively-fueled media, there’s another line in the sand created by the elite, and crossed by the citizens; and it’s used to increase disharmony and paint a clear target on the backs of the very people we’ve paid to “protect” us. Did we forget that a uniform does not a hero make?

Having the displeasure of witnessing this shredding of the American culture and society, we can see the crippling of the hearts of the patriots, and a sense of immobility, despair, and defeat. And with the surmounting lines being drawn, a mentality is developed, and wars inspired. As a result, more people will be harmed by the fight or flight response that officers are forced to embrace when they encounter citizens. The people will then cry for more legislation and punishment towards officers. Every discharge of a weapon in response to criminal activity will come under question, and we will eventually not even have those few who will stand in our defense locally, because we’ve pitted the duty of the job against them, and sided with justice for the obvious criminal.

Regardless, the cry for further laws to keep us “safe” has been by far the most asinine measure we’ve taken in search of our individual happiness; and has ultimately been the largest cost the citizens have paid towards securing our own well-being. Of course, when blinded by the new concept of what well-being truly is--a state of finances--it should come as no surprise that we sit in the cesspool of corruption and greed.

As we reflect over the year we’ve had at Divine America, we are forced to recall these corruptions in action. Taken aback to our dear friend “Martin,” we see one man’s individual fight for a liberty that has been perverted by those who would use it to control and extort people. In his plea to the courts to be free of a mandated identity procured by a piece of paper and upheld by a plastic card, our dear friend sought to remind the people of the Lord’s words and warning. Not a far stretch from original pagan-man’s understanding of the power behind knowing another man’s name, “Martin” restates, “I AM THAT I AM,” a man with the right to travel freely with his property and without the threat of extortion from the henchmen of the state who blindly follow orders.

However, We The People saw fit to discard that liberty. In fact, we demanded identity be more than a term one is provided as a reference. And why? Accountability. There’s proof behind a document after all, and having that proof enables us to sue the pants off each other to achieve our financial well-being. Unfortunately, to get these papers one must commit to redefining their liberties by subjecting themselves to the laws of man—a series of rules and compliances one must live by in exchange for protection from the thugs of the state in addition to the thugs of the citizenry. Under these rules, personal responsibility is not required; and accountability becomes an effortless pursuit of fraudulence that allows for unconstitutional subjections to unwanted extortions.

How’s the exchange working out for you now? You know, now that you pay egads of dollars into auto insurance, medical insurance, home owners insurance, and so on.

Our dear friend is not alone in his fight for the restoration of liberty and it has not been without its setbacks, as even those among the “awakened” demand compliance with certain laws of man for that wonderful accountability. On account of those individuals and to update you on our dear friend’s situation; the Man alleged to be “Martin P-E-T-R-O-S-K-Y” (for the umpteenth time)—despite numerous attempts to pay restitution to the person known as “STATE”—has been found guilty of criminal activity, simply for driving without a tag. When considering the corrupt state of affairs being carried out by the Dekalb County Court , the lack of knowledge regarding their job description, the strategy utilized in trampling the first amendment, and—as Divine America hascome to learn in the latest interview with “Martin”—the apparent power of Judge Wong to act and speak for the defendant; it leaves little to the imagination as to how our dear friend will be sentenced. With initial settlements proffering time in jail (up to three years), probation, and fines surmounting thousands of dollars, it begs to question not only if people truly believe the lack of a piece of paper warrants such response, but if our dear friend’s family deserves to suffer as much as the court would like them to. “Martin” being the sole provider for his family would certainly witness the destruction of his family’s well-being.

Regardless of how you personally feel about compliance to the state mandates, many might at least agree that no one deserves to be violently ripped from their vehicle through a window and taken prisoner when no harm has been executed against another living being. But, despite having the acceptable forms of all those protections and accountabilities, a passive decision to stand against such extortions (just by not handing it over) ultimately contributed to our dear friend’s brutal attack, kidnapping, and imprisonment at the hands of thugs.  While some may consider his actions intolerable, our dear friend did this and stands by his consequences not for himself, but for the good of the people who would otherwise submit to these indignities. In hopes of enlightening people to the liberties we’ve allowed to slip away, “Martin” subjected himself to the dangers of disregarding the state’s rules of paperwork.

Now, as we throw around such terms of endearment as “crazy,” “anarchist,” and

“right-wing nut,” towards our dear friend, we ought to take a moment to recognize that it takes all kinds of kinds. People like our dear, crazy friend fighting for lost liberties of all natures, exist in many different arenas. Some people hold signs of protest on the streets, over bridges, and at local capitol buildings. Others like to voice themselves on social media. And then there’s some who give a shout out over a megaphone on White House gate at one in the morning.

While many have funny ways of drawing their lines in the sand of laws they willingly obey and those they won’t, we come across those who have stepped forth to bring about the awakening of the masses. Patriots such as former Oathkeeper member, Bill Looman—who has dedicated himself to the fight for liberty not only in his service as Marine, but as a loyal servant and spokesman of our Nation’s citizens—is one that has been met with ridicule and endured personal sacrifice on scales unimaginable to the average Joe.

Far from his first or last rodeo to spark awareness, Bill Looman has marched to the frontlines of our battlefield—the Nation’s capital—along with other such as Manny Vega and Blaine Cooper, to announce on their megaphone that We The People have had enough. It is apparent these efforts have fallen on deaf ears, but who even among the so-called three percent patriots has truly committed themselves in such ways? Who among us has already demonstrated the tuck-tail and turn-back strategy that elected leaders have come to expect and to which has contributed to the ridicule of which the patriot movement?

Effectively, the backlash by which the patriot movement has been reduced begs to have questions answered that not many are ready or willing to ask themselves. How much longer are you willing to stand by watching the nation destroyed by the elite who would define for us what actions are legal and illegal? Will you wait for it to come to your front door? Will you “bug out” to the woods and practice all that awesome primitive survival stuff you’ve working on?

It’s time for truth. What wars may come, will come. Most likely, not in our time—especially if we continue to sit and wait. Our children, though, and their children can count on the fight being entirely removed from their ideologies. They will be the bearers of the burdens to which we neglected to respond appropriately. So as you sit there, waiting for the so-called “shit to hit the fan” on your doorstep or in your backyard; know this:  that’s not going to happen.

However, as you continue to embrace and push for further legislation to keep you safe, realize you are only dooming the future of this country. You are just as guilty as those who would write such laws that will eventually see this nation crumble. Our failure now will be the consequence for which our children will suffer. And when the time comes and you are put before your creator, consider what your judgment will be for failing to do your part in preserving liberty. There is no cost greater than life, and it’s one only a few are willing to pay. Would you? We all have to die some time.