Life Is Tough…

“May you live in interesting times” – Anon.

It appears that no one really knows who actually said that.  It doesn’t matter really, although many have said it is a Chinese curse.  I don’t know if I accept that.  It sounds more like a pleasantry to me.  We all want to live in times that interest us.  We all want to be a part of something bigger than ourselves…well, most of us, I think.  I dunno.  Maybe I am wrong about that.  But damn…aren’t these exciting times?  
We get to be part of an historical new beginning.  That big step forward…following two steps back.  We are going to be witness to, and participate in the washing away of the human frailties that have held us back for so long.  We can choose at this very moment to be on the right side of humanity and all the positive things that come from that popular choice.  We have that choice…now.   And that moment is coming.  Make no mistake.  Whether you “just want a beer and watch the ball game” or are out there swinging placards at the bad guys…you will be a part of the coming-apart of the fascism that has ripped us all apart.
I talk to many people about the state of this country and indeed the state of the world.  I hear one thing consistently, and that is that they wish that they could just get on with their lives, without being constantly badgered about the problems of the world.  They just want to work at a job they like…raise their families…and enjoy life.  Without having to worry about the economy, wars, terrorism, politics, job security, mortgages…etc.  Well, I feel for them.  They have been told of an impossible dream world and for some reason they feel as if it is their right to live in it.  As if they are above the strife that all of their ancestors endured. Anointed.  The Amerikan dream.
 
Someone…probably the same wise-guy that came up with that quote at the top…once said, “be careful what you wish for…it could come true”. Well of course it did.  Momentarily.  The returning soldiers from WWII came back home with dreams of an easy life that they did not know before they left.  A life that they thought they had fought for and deserved for all their hard work on foreign shores.  A life of bar-b-ques and beer.  Eternal summers.  Prosperous new beginnings.  Peace.  They didn’t think much about justice.  That was a given in this new world.  It is what they fought to maintain…or so they thought.  They could put that trophy on their mantles and dust it off every now and again…but consumerism was the fare of the day.  Technology.  New.  Easy.  Affordable.  Limitless in its possibilities.  Well, we had it for a while. And is was boring.  And while we were complacent and getting fatter and contented, our trophies were stolen…and its time to regain them.

I always felt, although I have never given into the metaphysical, that this life is a punishment.  That before we are born into it, our consciousness/spirit/ identity did something for which this life of pain and pleasure is a discipline.  Without remembering it fully we are born into a prison of guilt.  The more heinous our former transgressions, the longer we live here.  To endure our comeuppances.  To pay a grocer’s bill that we ran up. Those that struggle to live lives of luxury, lives without pain are destined to serve long sentences.  And even perhaps a repeat-offense stint in this stockade.   This sounds a bit like reincarnation, but hey…it’s the best I can come up with after several scores of imprisonment.  And it makes sense.  I think we tend to see this thing….life…all wrong.  But that may be a part of it.  Not knowing.
All I know is that life is mostly pain.  Millions of nerve endings reminding you constantly not to do certain things that would jeopardize your continuance of this life.  This mortal pain.  Self-preservation instructions mock us and, like the stubborn parole board…make us continue to serve our sentences.  But what of pleasure, joy and happiness, you might well ask?  They are here and available to us as contrast, and only that.  Without pleasure, there can be no pain.  That is the way our brains are wired.  Without grief there can be no joy to be just as easily removed as discovered.  These act as rulers by which we measure our suffering.  Nothing more.  Nothing more profound than that.  The artists among us have shown us…there is no beauty without suffering.  The deeper the joy, the more vivid the suffering.


Shit.  That’s one of the more morose paragraphs I have ever penned.  But I think it, nonetheless.  Maybe I’ll start a new religion.  We will go out and kill anyone that doesn’t become a follower…thereby releasing them from their painful sentences.

Anyway…back to our most recent collective pains…the state of mankind.  The dark age from which we are about to emerge.  The age of the jew.  He is our trial and our occasion for nobility.  He and his talmudic philosophy under which we labour.  We will soon realize this “stone in our path”, that he represents.  Many realize it even now…and there is no turning back.  It is in our very marrow as a species to struggle.  We always have and we always will do so.  There will be short-lived eras after such valiant struggle in which we relax…but by our nature, we are not truly happy until we are brawling with fate to advance our species to a higher plane.  A newer level of understanding.  A jailbreak of sorts.  Perhaps we are judged by this activity and how much a part we play in it as individuals.  I dunno. 
The scourge of zionism is providing such an opportunity at this moment in our journey, I believe.  And a huge one at that.  For it is international.  No one on earth at this time is immune to its negative influence, and it will get worse before it gets better.  This impending battle will become more and more apparent in the next 10-20 years.  If only to witness that brilliant time, I wish for more punishment here in this prison. But, alas…my sentence is almost served and there is no stay of execution in the offing.  Life is like that too.  Full of disappointment for the very nature of it I describe. 
Life is tough. Good. I can’t help but think it should be.

Lies And Where They Take Us…

A friend once told me that I should have been a prosecutor.  I am fascinated by lying.  As the weak dimensions of paper beg to be torn, so too do the thin fabric of lies.  Lies borne of nefarious motives are the thinner of all untruths.  They demand to be exposed, and that is what I attempt to do here.  To reveal as many of these Machiavellian misrepresentations pushed upon us as I can.  Those lies that seek to enslave, rather than enlighten.  If I have a talent for nothing else…due mostly to my cynicism, perhaps…it is to see through the human lie when it is used to gain an otherwise undeserved advantage.  
But that isn’t the only use of the lie.  It can be used for good.
And I will be among the first to give license to those that use this tool for our collective benefit.  The artist’s palette contains truth, but not only truth.  When mixed with prevarication, a skillful artisan can produce a richer, deeper truth.
All good fiction writers understand that effective prose can be produced by asking themselves first: “what if instead of what really happened; this took place”.  And by lying about the experiences in their lives…by stretching the truth over the pages of their venture…they can reveal a more poignant truth about the human condition.  And take the reader with them to that truth by way of their exaggerations, to a place of understanding that could not be reached by simple reportage.

Dostoyevsky never bludgeoned a pawnbroker to death.  But through his understanding of the power of guilt on the human mind, he could take us inside a criminal’s motivations.
Harper Lee never saw her father defend an innocent black man against the charges of raping a white woman in the South.  But through her artful fabrications about the memories of her father, she took us all to a place of dignity and courage of the human spirit that we would not otherwise understand.  And we are richer  for having gone there with her.
These are examples of using the lie for our betterment.  And although we recognize them as what they are…statements about things that did not actually occur…we suspend our belief to arrive at a point that the author is making.
I listened to Obama’s state of the union address this morning online.  I couldn’t conscience finding a television to watch it in real time last night as so many probably did.  I knew there would be so much use of the “lie” coming out of his mouth that it would be a daunting task indeed to keep them all separate and identified as such, which is the goal of speech-writers.  Those that use the lie for the political gain of those that dictate the finished product.  To rapid-fire half-truths and statistics to paint a pretty picture over a sick and dying reality.  
The state of this union has never been worse in its history.  We all understand that.  From the economy to hegemonic wars, we have fallen past all previous watermarks in the downward plunge of evil empires.  For to fall so far, it is necessary to fall from a greater height.  The idea of this “union” was such a lofty one that it is only predictable that when it did fail, as it has…it has fallen in and unprecedented speed and distance from its place in the minds of its founders.  The one of a constitutional republic governed only by written law.  No more and no less.  But that was long ago.  A place which we will never see again in truth.  We can only catch a glimpse of it through the shameless references to its ideals on the canvas of the poor artist’s attempt to paint pretty lies.  By using half-truths we see this bullshit-artist try to conceal the hand that brought us down from aforementioned heights.

Jewish Wall Street bankers were naughty…but not criminals.  Main Street Gentiles were naughty because they believed them, and they have paid the price.  Slaughtering the “evil” millions of innocent people in Iran is not off the table for it is the israeli table after all, and the Iranians will not participate in khazarian usury.  The military ventures in Iraq and Afghanistan were noble and successful.  We will support rebellion anywhere that the Rothschilds wish to set up a new branch of their big-box debt franchise.  We abhor all inhuman oppression of people except Palestinians…and on and on.  One lie after another….half-truths and hatred abound.  Purchased congressmen and their yiddish handlers leading ovation after ovation.  Leaping to their feet to applaud ideals that have no basis in the real world these sycophants have created.  Enough to make you launch your lunch.  
But that’s as may be.
This is the point.  As the lie of Atticus Finch took us to a real place in our minds…a place in which we are aware of the impact of our actions upon those observing us… so do the lies that are so simple to see in that speech, take us to another place.  A place where it isn’t necessary to fabricate a world that could be.   A place of no hidden agendas veiled by the tissue of lies used for the wrong purpose by the wrong people.  For zionists are not artists.  They do not lie for any other reason but to further their own  agenda that benefits only themselves.  It has become easy to see this now.  It doesn’t take the talent which I have always possessed to spot a deception.  A child can pick up on it in our world today.  These fabrications are stretched so thin that even the OWS movement(which got no notice in that speech from hell), will begin to adjust their numbers of “99%” to 98.  It is only a matter of a short while until it is obvious that the other two percent are the jewish…not among, but above us.  Lying.  Taking us all to a place in their personal hell.

Of Thor And Lemon Trees…

As a kid, I liked Thor Heyerdahl.  He was out there on the edge…putting his life on the line to prove some things that he thought to be true.  Most reading this don’t remember him.  But I do.

If I don’t water my lemon tree…it will wither and die.  So I water it. And keep it in the sunlight.  Things are like that.  That is our nature.  To alter what is…to what we think it should be.  And from Thor to my lemon tree, we fight against nature….well…until it fights back.  Mr. Heyerdahl, if you haven’t followed the link or don’t remember him, tried desperately at one point to prove that some indigenous peoples that weren’t indigenous peoples, were in various places in history because they migrated from continent to continent in crudely fashioned boats.  And that was to explain why we have mixed genealogies and races and people popping up in history that shouldn’t be popping up in history, in all sorts of far-flung places.  All because these primordial humans were smart and knew instinctively that there were other continents out there and by god, they were gonna paddle to them and start anew in strange lands.
Then came plate-tectonics.  Which made a hell of a lot more sense.  And we collectively forgot about Thor and his “putting-it-on-the-line” bravado, and few remember his many other contributions to archeology.  He was the real-life template for Indiana Jones(without the blind hatred for Germans). 

Things are like that.  Over the centuries that we humans have graced this rock, many bad ideas are pushed aside when better ones come to light to replace them.  Sometimes it takes a long time.

A few things that I think we will see falling by the wayside in the future are, for instance…airplane travel, money, twinkies(even now), war, tobacco, societies being “ruled” by the whims of other mere people, capitalism, fossil fuel, professional sports, the myth of manned space travel, sushi and the holocaust.
All of these activities, industries and endeavors are not very good ideas.  They are among the dumber things that we can come up with…but billions of people have had to endure these things in their short tenure…their one-and-only lives on earth.  It’s a shame really.  There has to be something better…a “plate-tectonics” kind of shift in the way we all think about the nature of many things.  And there are.  Better ideas.  The dumb notions that we as a species have held, that have been replaced by more sensible explanations are usually exchanged in our minds because…well…they just don’t make sense.  Some notions are harder to dispel than others and that usually has to do with money and the people-ruling-people thing.  There has proven to be a lot of money to be made from bad ideas. But even these things will become archaic in time.  We just have to quit watering the plant that is producing such sour fruit.  This plant of which I speak, is more often than not, the weed called judaism.  It will die from lack of attention, even if it seems the healthiest of dumb and destructive ideas at the moment.  Its leaves wither as we speak, or I wouldn’t be writing this.

The perception that some of us are better than others of us is a bad idea that even the simplest mind can now grasp.  It wasn’t that way only a few centuries ago.  We had royalty claiming that because of their blood-heritage, that they were suited and even compelled to rule over the rest of us.
Well, that dumb idea has more or less fallen from our collective minds.  But we have yet to reason out a few other silly misconceptions in that arena. Like the jew’s insistence that he is god’s chosen.  He attempts to lord over the rest of us by playing the eternal victim. There is no better example of this than his “holocaust” tales.  Although the followers in that cult truly believe that 6 million of their ethnicity died in WWII at the hands of the Germans –  the ultimate evil,  it is obvious to we “Thors” out here…that it just didn’t happen. We got in our little boats, and they sank.  When you see the same few pictures of piles of dead bodies, your mind goes into shock…at first.  But then if you start to use your “brain”, you begin to see that these bodies are emaciated.  Not dead and bloated from poison gas, but dead from starvation.  No wounds…no skin stripped from the bodies.  You also ask  yourself the question “how do I know…even though I am being told so…that all these bodies were Goldbergs,  Kaplans and Shapiros”?  And if you are a stickler for detail, you might even notice that there are one hell of a lot of uncircumcised penises in these snaps. A condition in which no self-respecting jew would be caught dead.

So then you realize that what you are really seeing is a few pictures of starved people.  That’s all….maybe a few hundred at best. A tragedy of war to be sure…but not a “holocaust”.  The rest of what the tribe offers as proof  of this myth has fallen away from credibility like the fictions that they are.  Try as we may to accept such a tale of 6 million murdered jews…it just doesn’t make sense, and is losing its favour among those of us that take the time to do even a small amount of research and some critical thinking. To paraphrase Sherlock Holmes…when you remove the impossible(and improbable), what remains is what happened.  This myth and all it supports is just another quest for money and the people-ruling-people thingy.  The difference between Thor’s quest and the now ruling tribe is that the rulers of this cult know it isn’t so.  Thor wanted to know.  He gracefully accepted plate-tectonics as a more common-sense explanation for some of his theories… but there is nothing graceful about the tribe and their plotting postulates.
But that’s as may be.
Things are changing.  Mr. Heyerdahl didn’t seek to have laws passed imprisoning anyone that didn’t subscribe to his view of history…and even though most of the scientific community thought at the time he was correct in his theories…no one was pushing his yet to be proven ideas down anyone’s throat.  It seemed to make sense, just as it seems that the holocaust could have happened as it is described.  The only way to really prove it, is to let people investigate what is asserted.  But that isn’t allowed…at this point in history.  So mankind is stuck momentarily with the crude-boat theory…when most of us know that can be disproved.  
Thor Heyerdahl was a famous man in his time.  And will be in my mind always.  Because he had the courage of conviction…and yet yielded many of his theoretical offerings when a more sensible theory was extended.  I like that.  Integrity.  I believe of all the qualities of man that will never fall from favour or fashion…it is that.





Another Little Girl…

“How I would like to be dead, absolutely nonexistent,”
I started the conversation by saying “first of all, I want to dispel as many as I can, of these ludicrous stories about your exploits”.  “Ok”, she said.  “Did you sleep with Jack Kennedy?”  “We didn’t sleep, no”. 
She continued to be cagy like that throughout the discussion I had with Marilyn Monroe, or as I insisted on calling her…Norma.  
I have tired recently of talking to the dead.  So many encounters with them bring me down.  This was one of them.

In reporting this one, I am not going to take that prevelant “poor Norma Jean” attitude.  I am, and have long been pissed at her.  Her eyes don’t entrap me anymore…like they did.  They don’t beckon to me as they did to the past few generations of men( and women, I’m sure) that lusted after her…ached to protect her innocence. A non-existent innocence that is, and always was the most egregious of the myths that surrounded this siren.  
After spending an evening with her…and not in sexual congress…most of the legend fell away.  As it would I am sure if we on the receiving end of such media fairy-tales would  be allowed  a candid conversation with any of our idols.  Yes, as a young punk…like most young shit-heads…I idolized her.  Wasted adoration that could have been spent on real humans.  But be that as it may…the evening by the lake that I spent talking to this erstwhile sexual fantasy was sobering to say the least.

I first addressed a tired burnt-out drug-addled whore with scraggly bleached hair, that was wont to sing in her cracked voice and reticent to respond to anything I asked her.  I soon finished with this hooker and called on her to show me they young Norma Jean so I could get to the bottom of what attracted me and millions of others to her.  She appeared as an eleven-year-old wrapped in a tattered cloth coat and with a fresh, and expectant scrubbed face. A girl like any other adolescent her age.  Full of wonder about the world and filled to the brim with talkative goofiness.  There was nothing there for me.  No revelations.  “I wanna be a movie star”, she said.  “Or a princess and live in a castle”.  Typical, I guess.  I never had daughters…but common enough aspirations for the age she grew in, I suppose.  Nothing.  Nothing that hinted of the concubine of the rich and powerful that she was to become…but why would there be,at such an innocent age. 
I asked her to age to 17.  She was happy to accommodate.  When she did…and I watched this young woman dressed in tight clothes wiggling into the campfire light, I must admit…I was stirred.  I began to envision her life of decadence.  It was in her face even then.  That innocence being lost to womanhood and more importantly, to greed.  It was not pretty…but attractive nonetheless.
This was the girl I wanted to talk to.  This was the point at which the bargain was made.  Even before she agreed to disrobe for that first jew that promised her anything.  She had made the decision at this age.  Anything goes.  Innocence.  Normality. Human connectivity.  The die was cast here.
I queried, “do you know what judaism is?”.  She answered “not really, no”.  “They are the ones that will destroy you”, I warned.  “Oh yeah?…so what?”, she responded in a nonchalance that belied her future.  “I’m going places”, she added.  “What ever it takes to get me there…I’ll do”.  “If powerful men find me attractive and want to take liberties with me…well…I mean, it’s not like they are going to actually hurt me…it’s only sex”, she posited.

I tried to get this young woman to understand that what she was willing to sacrifice would further an agenda of a tribe that fed on that kind of attitude.  And that by succumbing to their sick fantasies…in film and on casting couches…she was empowering them.  That she was setting a precedent of “shiksas” that would live long after they had finished with her. An unreal dream that thousands of people would follow, only to meet a similar fate.  She didn’t get it.  Or she just didn’t care.  I must admit, I have never met a more self-centered and greedy person outside the tribe.  Sober and young and beautiful…she fully wanted, and was prepared to give up anything she had, to become that princess of her little-girl dream. 
There must have been something I missed while talking to that raggedy girl of eleven.  Some seed within her that would germinate into making her the world’s most conspicuous prostitute.  And yet, somehow she would retain a “victim” status through all that.  Several generations would remember her as the quintessentially exploited woman.  How can that be, I pondered as I looked into those sexually mercenary eyes that evening?  I didn’t know then…and I don’t now.  I hate that.  Not knowing what moves me.  What I can hate and yet feel drawn to.  I resigned the evening being repulsed and confused by all of her.  All ages that she showed me.  There was nothing more to her…and I hated her.  
I hated her and what she revealed of femininity raped.  For what she did to the “American dream girl”.  For the decadent pleasure she provided the jews that fed on her flesh and her will.  For the loss of innocence that we all shared in her repulsive behaviour.  And more than anything…the disenchantment.

At the very least…after all was said and done in her depraved life…she did finally get what she wanted in the end.  To be dead…absolutely non-existent.

Disturbing…

There is a severe disturbance in the netherworld.  It has been rising for years now.  Many have felt its influence here and although they can’t identify it, understand that history is not being presented in a light that factually edifies the living, concerning those that have passed over.

I have been conversing with many that have serious objections recently.  And I met a darling little girl a few days ago that wishes to have a few things rectified.  She tells me that she has been maligned beyond decency, in death.  It began with her own father.
The girl is Anne Frank.
We had tea in her house on the Merwedepein where she says that memories haunt her even now.  Not the ones that everyone today would think would visit her.  But those of what she calls the “fiction” which her father and various opportunists saw fit to profit from.  According to Anne, everything the world knows of her…is false.  All brought about by an unholy, sickening greed on the part of her father, and his decision to make a name and a few shekels off of her death.
As she tells it, she always wanted to be a writer.  She had tried her hand at that young age in notebooks and diaries, but had yet to settle on a story, or characters.  These examples of her attempts were found by her father after her death and were re-written with the help of a fiction writer in New York and presented as a piece of pro-jewish, anti-German propaganda.  And she is pissed about it.  As she told it, she never got along with her mother and wasn’t around Otto, her father, enough to even remember much about him at all…except that he was a clever businessman that was adept at working the ruling Nazi party.  Perhaps this is why she turned to fiction, she ruminated.  To create a fictionalized version of her life that was more pleasant than the one she lived before she was imprisoned.  “Who knows.  Maybe I could have been a great writer…maybe not”.  “But if you can make your readers understand anything about me…please tell them that I didn’t write any of that horrid book”, she pleaded.  She was also very embarrassed about the picture that has personified “Anne Frank” over the past few generations…and how “goofy” her hair looked in that one that is used on every edition of her “diary”.


She wants it known that in Auschwitz, she and Margot(her sister) enjoyed the first real separation from whom she termed “that spiteful woman” that was her mother.  “By being away from her and her control, we began to understand that everyone was not as bitchy and…I dunno…”jewish” as Mama”.   “At the camp we got to talk to normal children our age that didn’t live under her kind of heavy-handed depressing view of things, and we were beginning to enjoy ourselves”.  “Then came all the “untouchables” as we referred to them…the jews, gypsies and criminals from all over Poland and beyond.”  “With them they brought disease and filth.”  “There were so many of them, it became difficult to even get a decent meal” she said.  “Then both of us became ill and were transferred to the hospital unit…and if it wasn’t for the sickness we had, it would have been the most enjoyable time we spent at the camp”.  She told of the clean conditions there and the care lavished on them that they hadn’t known, sharing their space in the normal camp with all the gambling and fighting among the newer prisoners.  “We were both there till the end”, she remembered.  “Typhus took us both”, she said.  “It was not an unhappy end for either of us…just a bit sad.”   “It was nothing like the legacy purported in that damnable book that my own father had written and published…he would have no idea anyway, as he was released only days after being imprisoned.”  “Something to do with running a war industry vital to the German defense”, she remembered.

When I asked if she had seen him since, she replied “No, and I don’t want to.”  “Perhaps there is a special place reserved for the type of people that were so horribly selfish and unfeeling as him”. “I hope so…and I hope he is suffering”, she said of her father.

We went on to talk about the fictional use of her life in politics and judaism since her death and the conversation turned melancholic.  “If one could really spin in their graves over being ill-treated in their memories…you wouldn’t even be able to talk to me…I would be spinning so fast!”, she added.  The fate of Palestinian children that, as she put it “…suffer far beyond what my sister and I endured”, weighed particularly heavy in her mind as we spoke. 
“If I entertained the thought for one moment that the faux-diary that was published under my name was in any way responsible for that horrible country of israel and what they have done to those Palestinian children…I would go looking for my father and my soul wouldn’t rest until I witnessed his punishment.”  ” It would be MY Nuremberg”.  “Because of all the ill-feelings that lying book has caused toward the people of Germany…I long ago disavowed that horrible religion of my parents” she stated resolutely.  “Please get this through to as many people as you can”, she begged.  “I am not like that, I didn’t write or feel any of those words…and I am mortified that my own flesh-and-blood could be so mercenary as to profit from this fraud”, she stated.  She also said that such heartless profiteering speaks of that  cult that she long-since abandoned.

This was not a pleasant afternoon spent.  It was heart-rending and sad.  But such are the tales of many that have passed before us.  Those whose lives have been reduced to cliches that do not speak well of who they were in life.  Misrepresentation, misquoting and bald-faced lying has caused many entities to plead with the living in moments of silence, to rectify the memories of these departed souls.
Such is the tale of a charming young girl that only wanted to be a writer.

I Was Talking…

I had a great conversation with Adolf Hitler a few days ago.  We yukked it up for hours.  Neat guy.  Maligned by history…but who isn’t, that is on the wrong side of biased chronicles.  He and Eva had me over for lunch and afterwards we had a chance to clear up a few things that had been bothering me about his legacy.  Eva is a sweetheart to be sure.  A real…I dunno…compassionate, thoughtful woman.  And Adolf himself, although with my HS German and his thick Austrian accent it made it a bit difficult communicating effectively, is one hell of a conversationalist.  But that’s as may be.

I wasn’t really surprised by much that he said…but impressed nonetheless.  The eloquence with which he expressed his thoughts rather took me aback and made me feel wholly inadequate in my knowledge of pre-WWII Europe.  My few interruptions of the afternoon…sneaking outside for a smoke a couple times(Adolph abhors smoking)…were filled with trying to quickly absorb what I had just heard and marshaling the next few questions that I planned to ask.  All-in-all…a delightful afternoon. I mentioned an old friend to him, now passed-on, that had told me of meeting him, when this man was but a child in Adolph’s Hitlerjungend.  He of course couldn’t remember one little boy out of hundreds and thousands that he had met…but he reveled in the general memories of the German National youth groups.  He loved children, and bemoaned the lack of a family of his own.  It was one of his many regrets. His underestimation of jewish influence in the halls of governance in both England and America seemed to bother him more than anything.  “Contrary to now-popular belief, Germany had no plans to rule the world”, he said at one point with a sly grin and a bit of a sparkle in his eye. 

“I am interested in your OWS movement, young man” (I loved the “young man” part).  He pointed out that the time would soon be upon those like me, to start connecting dots for these protestors.  It was our duty, he said to point out that all they protest against are the same manifestations of the infestation of talmudic thought that once gripped his country.  “Materialism, money-changing and decadence…all hidden in an “occupied” media under their control…” were hallmarks of organized jewry, he pointed out.  He likened this behaviour, not as a conspiracy, but to children left alone in a candy shop.    It would only be a matter of time before the modern Amerikan would make these connections, he foresaw.  “Do your best to help them”, but he cautioned…”never underestimate their power”.
When I pressed he and Eva on the issue of the ‘holocaust’, as it is now known, there were few surprises in their response.  “Nonsense…pure and simple”, he stated.   “There were no plans to annihilate anyone, and certainly not that whining tribe”.  “We put them in work camps in an effort to remove their rallying influence, while trying to negotiate deportation of the group as a whole”, he said.  “Not too smart a move, as it turns out”.  Eva chimed in…”probably the worst of many errors made in that time”.  “But they seemed such a rag-tag group, with no real leadership among them, that is was difficult to pin them down to what exactly they DID want…short of staying in our beloved homeland”, she added.   “We as a country paid the price of that misjudgement”, Adolf said.  “For that error…I shall never forgive myself.”  “Modern Germany has our sympathies and our contrition” they both agreed.  When I pressed them on the report of having died of suicide in a bunker, they both said: “In your modern vernacular…If only”.  No, they had both been spirited away according to plans and had both lived long regret-filled lives in South America.  “We watched our beloved country suffer the consequences of our good intentions far beyond that which we would have wished to”, added Eva.
The afternoon ended as pleasantly as it began.  There was well-wishing all around…and I felt…I dunno….warmed by the experience of confirming what I already suspected.  That as this charming couple had imparted, there is little room in politics for honesty…then, now or ever.  And that it is never rewarded by posterity.  A simple wish to lead a populace in the right direction with a solid foundation of simple,yet noble values is near impossible.  This has been proven time and time again throughout our history as a species.  But is was never so graphically demonstrated as in the legacy of Hitler’s Germany.  Eloquence and perseverance aren’t always enough to lead  a people to their highest aspirations.  It usually must come from a movement below the radar.  From the true grass roots of a nation.  Beyond politics…on the concrete.

I often speak with those that have passed on.  It isn’t difficult.  All that is required is insight and imagination.  Letting go of preconceived notions of what others thought of these people…they will speak to you.  From your Great Aunt Helen to Charlemagne, they are there for you to know.  There for you to feel.  There for you.  To live again, ever so briefly.  Talk to them.  They are waiting.