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.

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• WAR-TOWN TIMES -Houston County Sheriff Shootout Special-2024: Update- Day of the Primary- May 21st

The Aftermath of State Sanctioned Intimidation

Your society can label me for speaking loudly about liberty and justice, but even your cage won't silence me--you just handed me a captive audience. 

Mental health dominates conversations these days, with everyone acknowledging the critical importance of well-being and the myriad factors that contribute to our collective struggles. Despite all the dialogue, it feels like we've missed the mark. If you think things are getting better, I have to wonder what you're really looking at. We talk about mental health in the abstract but rarely address the raw, unfiltered experiences of those living through trauma. And while trauma knows many faces, I can't speak to anyone else's experience. I can only give you mine—and that's probably why I had to go through this recent experience.

Right now, I could probably be labeled for many things depending on which government-funded agency you asked. No matter what labels make up the story of my past to others, I really want to address the things that have brought me to this state of mentality where I stand against corruption and for freedom—at any cost. After all, money is all they want, right?

Even as I write this, my heart feels like it's caught in a vice grip, crushed under the weight of every beat. A lump hangs in my throat, seemingly trying to suffocate me; the weird shot of emotionally-pained heart and unshed tears build up; my hands tremble uncontrollably; a light drizzle of sweat expands over my on-fire body as it attempts to lose control in an all-out panic. If I can keep it together, great! I'll make another day. But if I'm unsuccessful in minimizing my anxiety and stress, it's a war with myself I don't even want to describe.

But here's the thing—I’m not alone. This is the reality of countless individuals for many reasons, but all point to some form of PTSD. We’ve reserved this term largely for former military—whose indescribable experiences have left them more than battle-scarred—but the truth is trauma is derived from all stages of life and experiences we’d never consider. It's as if the whole world were walking on eggshells and didn’t even know it.

We’re conditioned to believe that state-funded medical care is a solution, but all it does is give corrupt governments a bigger hand in violating people, leveraging their authority to assign crippling labels that discredit and silence individuals. They don’t want us to have purpose—they want us pliable, controlled, and broken. Cognitive dissonance ought to fall under mental disorders, but then someone would have to acknowledge that we’ve built our world on a show of contradictions designed to replace the ancient sense of purpose—the stuff that made conquerors like Caesar formidable foes. Those who can’t be convoluted by overreaching governments are targeted by other means—drugs, alcohol, poverty—demands of the state meant to infringe upon their rights and manipulate them into submission.

Dusphemeo: A War on the Non-compliants

We’re not far from 1984. The Brave New World that threatens us preys on the weaknesses of mental health because now they’ve found another way to silence individuals—labels of disaccreditation and questionable states of mental being. Obviously, people like me who stand for constitutional freedoms are not mentally right. We're still fueled by purpose and mission. Whether you believe in it or not, this isn’t just my fight—it’s ours.

Government overreach disguised as protection and care has left me (and countless others) scarred in ways that words cannot convey in such a way that you will truly feel what I'm going through unless you've experienced it yourself.

Perhaps that's why this happened. I write so much about the experiences of others, that I may have become numb to the pains of my own past—considering others have experienced far worse than me. However, my PTSD isn’t just from a single event—it’s the result of a lifetime of interactions with a system that sees individuals like me as threats rather than citizens, a system that was designed to manipulate us into compliance.

When I say a lifetime, I truly mean since the young age of as far back as I can remember. Not only from those involving my dad but at 10 when a friend of mine built a fort in the only lot that had trees in south Florida. We had a campfire that was highly offensive to a passer-by who claimed to be a cop only after he chased us through the woods and then by car into a parking lot and started grabbing my friend and me--the story of my life encounters being simply that my 'accomplices' couldn't run fast enough. Such as that time when the neighbor kid and I decided to skip school and instead walked to Toys-R-us to buy marbles with our lunch money. Toys-R-Us was still closed at the time, and we were instead accosted by mall security who promptly called the police who took us to school. I don't know what punishment my rich neighbor kid paid, but I was grounded for '2 months' (which truly only lasted until my parents were tired of me in the house--not long).

From 11 to 18 years, I think I was relatively behaved and wrapped up in school and sports. Then I got my first car. I loved driving, and I loved driving fast. I probably got this (queue daddy's girl syndrome and eye-roll) from my dad. He used to take me for motorcycle rides when I was really young. I still carry a scar from his bike's muffler. 

My parents and their insurance carrier were probably pretty happy once I went about on my own, as those early years behind the wheel would be laced with multiple speeding violations and responses from police officers that would include everything from professionalism, dad lectures, police simply yelling and demeaning me for being a poor human being for driving fast, and even outright sexually violating me. The latter is why I was more than happy to leave Tallahassee. Maybe one day I'll grow the balls to tell that story, but right now it still cripples me to think I was ever so vulnerable and defenseless. 

These were hardly the last of interactions, just the early ones. I was the member of the family that took Dad up on not-really-a-challenge, but proving you could get more than one speeding ticket in a day. At any point, anyone could easily believe I'm the problem, but speed does not mean reckless--it just means faster than the number they put on a sign on the side of the road. I'm not the asshole zipping in between lanes, or the jerk cruising in the left lane under the speed limit preventing others from passing. Like many other laws that have come into existence under the umbrella of "for your safety," many traffic offenses are a means of extorting citizens, pushing control, and extending overreach of the state into our private lives to justify further execution of violations against our rights. 

Case in point matters with my parents that would ultimately end my utter hope for believing in our justice system and instill an understanding that if I wanted justice, I would have to get it on my own. 'Heroes' and henchmen walk a thin line and, at the end of the day, they sit at the same table to break bread together and make deals. They allow innocent people to become the victims of horrible crimes just to 'get their guy.' To make matters worse, the real 'bad guy' isn't even made to suffer for their crime. Instead, they get a slap on the wrist and are put back into the world to attempt murder on other innocent people who get in the way of their agenda--a real-life sin-city.

These encounters didn’t just leave physical scars; they rewired my brain. Every day is a battle between who I was before and the person I’ve had to become to survive. Trust is a word that no longer holds meaning for me. I see the world through a lens of suspicion, always bracing for the next attack, the next betrayal by those in power. It's exhausting, and the constant state of alertness drains the life out of even the most mundane tasks.

I wasn’t born with this fear. It was carefully curated through years of unfriendly encounters with the police, judges, and other figures in life that we're told to trust. Starting from an early age, each incident, each harsh word, and each moment of intimidation has added another layer to the anxiety I carry with me every day. Now, I can’t even relax in my own home. Even my daughter who witnessed the event has her own traumas she's now dealing with.

I hadn't been graced with custody of my daughter for the larger portion of my almost 10-years-ago divorce--despite multiple requests by multiple counties to investigate child neglect among other concerns. However, upon her coming to live with me in 2022, we were accosted with the demand for legal documents as a means to keep her out of school. Then after being kicked out of school for behavioral and paperwork reasons, the school's social worker had DFCS show up at my home to inspect what was in my fridge and question my kids on whether or not I was an abusive parent to them. Where did all of this come from when not a single thought was shed about their safety when I brought to light evidence of concern? 

In the two years of her living with me, my daughter has experienced events in which a call to the police as part of doing the right thing only turned into dismay at the lack of give-a-fuck by two counties of police. 

Now, my daughter, who witnessed police carry out their orders, and then read the report of events, now carries her own scars. I see the fear in her eyes when she hears the sound of a siren, or when a stranger knocks on the door. It breaks my heart to know that my fight has become her burden. Her childhood--meant to be filled with innocence and joy--is now tainted with a fear she should never have known.

Whenever a car’s reflection shines across my room, I’m jolted with panic, wondering what agency has pulled into my drive now? Who's coming for me now? My dogs bark, and my heart races because, whether it's a jogger up the sidewalk or six police cars pulling into the drive, their defense mode is triggered in the fashion of a bark that says whatever it is, it's unwanted.

Getting into my car just to get groceries is no longer about getting my adult chores done—it feels almost criminal and calculated in risk. I have to plan my route around cameras throughout the town because who knows if this will be another day a camera triggers an assault by heavily armed officers, ready to kidnap me under the guise of the law? The vulnerability of feeling like all I can do is take what they give me and succumb to their demands or be subjected to the flames of their accusations is a crushing weight. The idea that they win before the battle even begins is defeating. Corruption has brought this about. Nothing less.

This is not just my reality; it's the light version of everyday life for individuals targeted for pursuing a purpose that doesn't align with the Brave New World. My purpose is to expose the system designed to keep us in line, to keep us fearful, to keep us quiet. Fear won’t silence me. I'll walk into these flames alone, but I welcome you to join a witch.

Corruption, Broken Systems, and The Edge of Madness

Have you ever been at that moment when standing up for your rights feels like playing a high-stakes game of Russian roulette, where the chamber might be loaded with consequences while rolling over and complying seems like handing over the keys to the kingdom of injustice? Imagine a scenario where fighting back feels like you’re trying to win a chess match against a Grandmaster while blindfolded, and the simple act of compliance is like inviting the corrupt officials in for tea, only to find out they've brought their own brand of "justice" for sugar.

It’s a cruel joke that your constitutional rights are on paper but seem to vanish in practice. Take, for example, the Fourth Amendment, which is supposed to protect you from unreasonable searches and seizures. Sounds great, right? But in practice, it’s like telling someone not to enter your house, only for them to break in because they “felt like it was okay.” Or the Fifth Amendment’s promise of due process, which is often as elusive as a unicorn when you're up against corrupt officials who treat the rule of law like a buffet—picking and choosing what suits their needs. For example, the First Amendment—freedom of speech, except when your speech is inconvenient for those in power. At this point, you’re left wondering if your rights are real or just a figment of a bureaucrat’s imagination.

So, do you stand up for yourself and risk everything, or do you comply and hope you’re not just setting yourself up for a future where “justice” is as real as a three-dollar bill? It’s the ultimate catch-22, where defending your rights feels like a gamble, and compliance seems like an open invitation to a corrupt sausage party and everyone with a badge RSVP'd.

For those who have faced the harrowing reality of police misconduct, these questions are more than rhetorical—they're the grim backdrop to daily life. You might have felt that familiar pulse of anxiety when deciding whether to speak up or stay silent, knowing that either choice carries significant risks. How do you reconcile the need for justice with the fear of escalating an already volatile situation?

Like the psychological unraveling of Arthur Fleck, you can feel the shift from a marginalized individual to a figure of chaos embodying the extreme consequences of systemic neglect and personal trauma. Descending into the madness of your thoughts--driven by knowing your rights and the violations being carried out against you--offers a dark reflection of what you're capable of when the systems that should protect you instead work to push you further over the edge.

It's obvious societal pressures and injustices can warp an individual’s mindset, pushing them toward despair and radicalization. And it's used by our justice system as a tool of control. Arthur's story is not just a fictional narrative; it’s a cautionary tale that mirrors the real-life struggles faced by many who feel betrayed by the very institutions meant to safeguard them. The psychological toll of navigating a corrupt system—whether it’s enduring wrongful arrest, grappling with inadequate mental health support, or confronting the indifference of authorities—can drive anyone to the edge. And, when faced with such dilemmas, the edge of madness can seem tantalizingly close. The systemic failures and the crushing weight of feeling powerless against those in authority are designed to push people to the brink. 

Comply and endure, or fight and face the unknown. Imagine the deplorable environments in which the justice system often imprisons individuals—places where the lines between punishment and exploitation blur. Incarceration can become a tool not just for confinement but for extortion, where the threat of detainment is wielded to coerce compliance or silence dissent.  

Amidst this chaos, laws like the “Stand Your Ground” statutes offer a glimmer of hope. These laws are intended to protect individuals from unjust aggression, allowing them to defend themselves without fear of legal repercussions. Yet, the reality is that invoking such laws can have long-term repercussions, often dragging individuals into a prolonged battle with a justice system that may be more interested in securing convictions than ensuring fair outcomes.

The choice to stand your ground is not just a momentary decision but a weighty gamble with your future. It can set off a chain reaction of legal battles, public scrutiny, and personal upheaval. The prospect of defending your rights might seem like the only path to reclaiming justice, but it’s also fraught with risks that can reverberate far beyond the immediate conflict.

In the end, the decision to stand firm or to comply isn't merely about immediate safety or justice; it's a profound choice about navigating a system that often seems designed to punish those who dare to challenge it. Compliance may offer a semblance of safety and security, but it comes at the cost of surrendering to a system that often exploits those who choose to endure rather than fight. The danger lies in an overreaching, surveillance-driven society that operates on the premise of preemptive control, where individual freedoms are continuously eroded under the guise of security. This crossroads reveals a deeper truth: the very essence of our freedoms is tested in these moments of confrontation, and the real struggle lies in how we balance our principles against a backdrop of systemic resistance. It’s not just a choice between fight and flight—it’s a reflection of whether we will let our ideals be overshadowed by fear or confront the system's failings with the courage to seek true justice.

“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. 

Does my First Amendment Scare You?

No doubt when great writers, George Orwell and Aldous Huxley, were writing their inspirational masterpieces regarding our future, they missed this generation’s coming. With all fairness, Mr. Huxley still has 526 years to make prophecy out of his Brave New World. However, perhaps their work serves more of a warning than our English teacher professed to know, or care.

Though, 1984 had some interesting events to write home about, we didn’t see exactly what Mr. Orwell was trying to show us. Of course, we may have been too distracted by our war with Syria and Lebanon. But I digress.

One of the things that came about during 1984 included the expansion of the personal computer with the first graphical user interface. Although, similar means of distractions, like the television, were already in existence, the personal computer was the doorway into getting into peoples’ minds; and thus advanced the capabilities of brainwashing programs. We don’t call them by that, though, we call it good marketing. So let’s give Mr. Orwell credit where credit is due-he really nailed it.

Our demise was not served as promised in 1984, but perhaps somehow the date still marks significant leads into the escalated version we see today. With the scale tipped in favor of our oppressors, we see a government label on everything; a grab for personal weapons; eyes in our business; hands in our health records (despite a proven track for incompetence time and time again); and our rights slowly being stripped away. The result has led the majority to comply in hopes of avoiding conflicts with the state—which in and of itself is rather a humorous concept that indicates, when the state feels violated (even if the violation is none at all), it may violate you back. Here’s the thing, the state gets a ton of representatives to literally and figuratively kick your ass (as my dear friend learned the hard way). But again, stay focused.

Here’s an example: you receive a ticket for not wearing your seat belt (well, hellloooo officer). Now,you didn’t harm anyone by not wearing your seat belt. But according to the ticket, you harmed the state. Literally, the state feels violated by your decision, and the only way to make the state feel better is with some of your hard earned dollars.

So why comply? Because it’s easier. You don’t have to miss work to go to court; they have an online feature so you can pay with your credit card; and let’s be honest, you knew the “law” and you broke it, so might as well, bend over and grab your ankles, right?

So what happens when you follow all the rules, you comply with the demands, and the desired result is still not achieved? When the code generators and their enforcers decide that the liberties are no longer extended to you, even though you did everything right, you are faced with a decision. You have to decide if you will sit down, shut up, and take whatever they give you; or, if you will remain vigilant and say “no, I’m not complying with this.”

As you may be aware (that is, if you listened to the phone conversation between staff of the Dekalb County Courthouse in Georgia – it’s provided below if you missed it), I was recently faced with this decision when I was denied my first amendment in Dekalb. Despite following the rules and submitting a request to exercise this liberty, members of the Dekalb county courthouse staff ignored my request. When I called to find out what was taking so long, i was first told,  such a request was never received.  After that it was made clear that no one knew what their job was and they never had to perform it before. The end result was that the request was flat out denied.

Well, I complied. I did not record the case. In fact, I didn’t even go. Actually, I got caught at home nursing the sick baby, but that’s trivial. With plenty of time to reflect on what had occurred, it came to this… We (as citizens) are told if we are not doing anything wrong, we have nothing to hide—to which many citizens abide by and even coerce others to comply with in an effort to dispel security threats and aid in creating a puppies and kittens utopia. These are the people Mr. Orwell and Mr. Huxley were warning us about.

Fortunately, we heeded their warnings; and, just as we knew big brother would be used against us, we have learned to use it for us. Just as we have been convinced to comply with rules that depreciate our privacy, on account of security; our constitution holds that our public servants are always under the scrutiny of the people. We are private citizens until we enter the courtroom; why is it that the proceedings within are forbidden from the eyes of outsiders, unless provided by the court’s reporter? While every citizen should be upset with this notion, we’re far from done.

Though I gave my best effort in getting the news out there that this courthouse doesn’t believe in the first amendment and did not wish recording to take place; someone did not get the message. Unfortunately for him, the judge was not pleased, and the proverbially hammer began its descent as the fearful court gave an immediate response of charges, detainment, and confiscation of the gentleman’s property.

I am at a loss to understand why these folks are so terrified of the first amendment. If they’re not doing anything wrong in the public courtroom, they should have nothing hide. Of course, based on our research, it’s more likely they are afraid of being caught not knowing what their job is.

The good news is,  some footage did come out of the courtroom before the broadcast was cut off. Here's one of the highlights. 

It's our understanding that felony charges were threatened for further filming, but that didn't stop Divine America from getting an exclusive; and if you think the fun stops there, it actually gets better.

Although, I couldn’t make the date in person, I’m happy to say that my imposter had no conflict in schedule. If you’re confused, imagine how the innocent women sitting beside my dear friend felt when the judge accused her of being me. While I am completely flattered by the judge’s assumption that I could be credited with coordinating some effort to disrupt his court; I am more blown away by the judge’s acknowledgment of receiving my request, and his desire to point an identifying finger at some unsuspecting woman in order to hold someone accountable. I hope she let the judge know that, too.

Especially in this case, where I have painted the actions as relevant to the mark of the beast; I’m going to charter us into new waters and ask: what is the power of the court?

Last time I addressed you from a biblical sense. This time, I’m taking a different approach and teaching you a little something about me. As many of you know, I’m a witch. I do not hide this fact, and I hope it doesn’t scare or offend any of you (cause it doesn’t change). With that out of the way, let’s get back on track.

When in fear, the mighty will point an accusing finger—one we’ve seen throughout history that has led to the torture, imprisonment, burning, hanging, drowning, and beheading of many—simply for being different in the eyes of their beholder.

Now, one of the many symbols recognized by most withes is the power of the pointed finger—a tool capable of transference of energy and power unto an object or person of choosing. The natural tool-the finger- may be replaced or represented by a variety of other objects such as the wand, or athame (that’s like a small knife for those of you who are unfamiliar). In court, the judge’s gavel is that very tool—transferring judgment upon its victim. So when the judge makes a judgment and points the conceptual finger at someone—accusing them of an identity—it becomes clearly evident the extent to which these courts will go in order to hold someone accountable for holding them accountable. Whew, that was a mouthful.

So, you still comfortable with being accused of being the non-compliant witch in that courtroom? Ha! Me neither!

More and more our rights—especially our first amendment—are being distorted and violated by authorities who feel it should be contained in “First Amendment Zones.” In some cases, rights are completely prohibited. If not for people like Mr. Santelli, these zones would be all we knew. Then it would be only a matter of time before we are required to sign waivers to participate in even the so-called free-speech zones. I suppose, as long as you don’t exercise you first amendment beyond those boundaries, you’ll stay out of jail, or in this case prison. Or you could stop doing nothing, and play by their rules by sending in your own request to record at the next court date (which is tentatively scheduled for October 10). If that’s not your cup of tea, simply being present is enough to show your support of our rights. It’s when we amass in support of one that we decide to stand against wrongful abuse of all. When we stop the courts from violating the constitution, we stop them from violating citizens and communities.