To
the Readers of
Radio New
Jerusalem:
I
have been
meaning to sit
down and write
this all up
for some time
now, but as I
have mulled
over in my
mind exactly
what it is I
want to say,
situations and
circumstances
have kept
changing.
Please
bear with me
as I proceed
now to update
you on various
things of
which you
should be made
aware.
First
of
all, the
obvious: Radio
New Jerusalem
has reverted
from being a
daily news
reporting site
to a news site
portal.
There
were several
reasons for
this, but
first and
foremost, the
daily hit
counts on this
news page just
simply did not
justify the
hours of
research and
preparation
that went into
compiling it
five days a
week.
I was
waking
literally in
the middle of
the night to
comb through
various
Catholic,
secular and
arcane
sources, from
which I would
post links to
those
articles,
videos and
information
that I thought
told the story
of that day’s
news.
While
this was
something I
enjoyed doing,
the stress and
strain of it
resulted in
compromises to
my health,
and, try as I
might to
produce a
quality
product, the
daily hit
counts on the
news page
averaged, at
their peak,
something
under 300 per
day – peanuts
in the global
digital market
place.
Those
who did visit
this page
regularly
offered me
virtually no
feedback or
criticism,
either
positive or
negative, and
this created
an attitude in
me that I was
piping and you
would not
dance, playing
dirges and you
would not
mourn.
It was
time to take a
step back, so
as family
converged on
us for the
Christmas
holidays, I
decided to
suspend daily
updates so as
to better
determine what
future course,
if any, Radio
New Jerusalem
should pursue.
This is
still somewhat
up in the air.
The
compromises
to my health
mentioned
above were not
so much
physical as
mental and
spiritual.
The
midnight news
routine did
contribute a
fatigue factor
that certainly
played a part
in what ended
up being
something of a
breakdown, but
primarily the
cause was an
ongoing state
of clinical,
major
depression
exacerbated by
increasing and
excessive (for
me anyway)
alcohol
consumption.
I have
struggled with
depression for
several years
now, and what
I came to
learn the hard
way is that
treating
depression
with whiskey
is akin to
fighting fire
with gasoline.
The end
result was a
state of
encroaching
misery and
deepening
despair, and a
ride on an
emotional
roller coaster
that had fewer
and smaller
“ups,” and
increasing and
ever more
precipitous
“downs.”
After
making my life
(and my
wife’s) hell
in the weeks
after the
holidays, I
decided
something had
to be done,
and discovered
what I needed
in a product
called SAMe,
an acronym for
S-Adenosyl-L-Methione. This is a
substance that
occurs
naturally in
the body, and
among the
benefits of it
are mood
stability and
improved liver
health and
function.
Since I
can attest to
an improvement
in the former
and suspect it
may well be
the result of
an improvement
to the latter,
I believe I
was deficient
in this
substance.
Further,
removing
alcohol from
my daily diet
has produced a
sharpened
mental acuity,
and so, for
the first time
in many moons,
I sit down to
write…
My
purpose
in relating
all of this
publicly is
for no greater
reason than to
make a clean
breast of the
aforementioned
situation and
circumstances
so as to make
my readers,
few though you
may be, openly
and honestly
aware of the
foibles and
pitfalls of my
life.
I do
this so that
you may judge
among
yourselves
whether or not
these stated
and admitted
weaknesses
detract from
my credibility
as a witness,
as the ground
I intend to
cover in
writing here
is
controversial
to say the
least.
And, as
I related
nearly two
years ago in
an article
titled “What
Is Truth?”,
there
have been
those in my
life who have
sought to
destroy my
credibility in
an effort to
strengthen
their own.
In
short, while I
may suffer
from a
formally
undiagnosed
mental
illness, I am
not crazy, and
there is a
difference.
In the
end you “pays
your money and
you takes your
choice,” and
since I offer
this up for
free, what do
you have to
lose save the
time it takes
to read it?
Enough
about
me.
As
we move deeper
into the new
year of 2019,
there is a
vast amount of
information
being
disseminated
through a wide
variety of
sources, and
contained
within it are
the usual
misconceptions,
misinformation,
disinformation,
propaganda and
just plain
outright lies
that belie the
myriad of
flaws within
the human
condition.
Since it is
these very
flaws which
also taint, to
varying
degrees, the
human
perception, we
would do well
to consider
the words of
my dad’s old
Italian-American
buddy in the
Army Air Corp,
who used to
say in his New
York tinged
Italian
accent, “The
good Lord he
expecta you to
use-ah you
goddamn head.”
In
the 21st
century
mainstream
media even the
good Lord
himself is
routinely
denied, and
his
expectation
replaced by
the words of
an evil and
invisible
intelligentsia,
mouthed
through a
motley
collection of
overdressed
sock puppets,
“Believe what
we tell you.”
And
many do and so
the advice of
the good Lord
thus goes
largely
unheeded.
Catering
to
those who do
choose to use
their heads is
the so called
“alternative
media,” which
in recent
years has
grown from
what was once
a small
trickle into
what is today,
thanks to the
burgeoning
internet, a
raging torrent
of data
ranging from
basic news
gathering and
reporting to
the widespread
dissemination
of
conspiracies,
theories of
conspiracies,
and arcane and
esoteric
knowledge and
information of
all sorts.
The
internet, like
Alice’s
Restaurant,
has become
that place
where you can
get anything
you want, and
as the old
saying goes,
“If you get
what you want,
may you want
what you get.”
Blinded
by
their own
hubris, the
movers and
shakers of the
corporate
media were
once content
to overlook
with a certain
disdain the
growing
professionalism
in the
“lesser” media
they looked
down their
collective
nose at,
dismissing it
all to the
masses huddled
in front of
the television
as a
do-it-yourself
home brew of
“conspiracy
theory
nonsense.”
This view from
the ivory
broadcast
tower
prevailed as
assumed truth
until the
election of
Donald Trump
as President
of the United
States
demonstrated
that a
significant
enough number
were getting
their news and
information in
this
“alternative”
way so as to
defeat the
bought and
paid for
darling of the
global elitist
left, Hillary
Clinton.
And as
President
Trump has
continued to
point at the
arrogant and
false
reporting of
the “rust
belt” media as
“fake news,”
the response
from the
talking heads
in Washington,
New York, Los
Angeles and
bureaus
elsewhere has
been to
respond, “No!
You’re
the fake
news!” as if
this was some
elementary
schoolyard
urination
match. And,
incredibly,
they continue
in this
response while
at the same
time
persisting in
the same
falsehoods,
half truths
and spin that
inspired the
president’s
comment to
begin with.
It’s as
if they are
bent on using
as their credo
those
words
misattributed
to Herr
Goebbels,
“If you repeat
a lie often
enough, people
will believe
it, and you
will even come
to believe it
yourself.”
And one
of the things
that prompts
me to write
again is the
legitimate
concern that
this yet may
prove to be
so.
The
seminal
event that
spawned the
transformation
of the
American news
media from a
journalistic
endeavor into
a propaganda
service for
what has come
to be known in
our time as
the “deep
state” was the
assassination
of President
John F.
Kennedy on
November 22,
1963.
From
the
moment of the
first news
bulletins on
that Friday
afternoon
announcing
that, “The
president has
been shot in
Dallas,” until
coverage of
the funeral
mass ended on
Monday
afternoon, the
nation’s
attention and
the cameras of
the then three
major
networks, ABC,
NBC, and CBS
were focused
on coverage of
this event and
nothing else.
On
Sunday
morning, as my
mother was
trying to
hurry my
father along
in getting
dressed for
her Uncle
Archie and
Aunt Grace’s
50th wedding
anniversary
celebration in
St. Johns that
afternoon, I
was sitting by
myself in the
living room
watching the
coverage of
Lee Harvey
Oswald being
transferred
from Dallas
Police
Headquarters
to the county
jail.
I
didn’t find
this
particularly
interesting,
and was
watching only
to kill time
in a manner
that would
keep my dress
clothes clean
and my mom’s
focus on my
dad and not
me.
Suddenly,
a man in a
dark suit
stepped
forward,
thrust has
hand into
Oswald’s
midsection,
and after a
muffled “pop”
the scene
erupted into
mayhem and
chaos.
I
remember a
reporter
exclaiming in
an
understandably
excited voice,
“Oswald has
been shot!”
and this
brought both
mom and dad
into the
living room to
see what was
going on.
“What
happened?”
My dad asked.
“Oswald
has
been shot!” I
repeated.
After
watching
maybe a few
minutes of
this, with
Oswald now
being loaded
into an
ambulance that
seemed to
appear out of
nowhere, my
mom insisted
that my young
eyes didn’t
need to be
watching any
more of this
horror and
insisted that
I turn off the
television
set.
On
the way to St.
Johns, a 30
mile drive
from where we
lived in Alma,
the radio was
left off and
my mom, dad,
two sisters
and I rode
along in
silence for
the most part.
What
little
conversation
there was
centered
around Ma
halfheartedly
telling us
little stories
of Grace and
Archie, while
no one else
cared or said
much of
anything.
The
golden
anniversary
celebration
was at Archie
and Grace’s
home, and
besides our
family and my
grandmother, I
remember Uncle
Bill and Aunt
Helen, my
great Uncle
Carl and Aunt
Hazel, and a
few other
older people I
didn’t know
being there.
After a
semi-formal
dinner that
was geared to
Aunt Grace
telling
stories of
their life
together while
Uncle Archie,
true to form,
smiled, nodded
and remained
mostly quiet,
the women
cleared the
table and went
to the kitchen
to wash dishes
and gossip,
while the men
retired to the
living room
for coffee and
conversation.
Someone,
probably Uncle
Bill, produced
a bottle of
whiskey from a
jacket pocket
and spiked the
coffee, while
Uncle Archie
pretended not
to notice and
went to the
kitchen and
found me a
glass of
Vernor’s
ginger ale.
By
the second cup
of coffee, the
conversation
had become an
animated
discussion of
the national
emergency at
hand, and what
I noted was
that while the
natural lines
of a political
discussion
among this
group would
have usually
been drawn
between Uncle
Archie and my
dad as
Republicans,
and Uncle Carl
and Uncle Bill
as staunch
Democrats,
today there
was none of
that.
The
killing of the
president was
serious
business, and
the business
as usual -
good natured
arguments as
to which party
had the most
scoundrels and
ne’re do wells
(which by the
third cup of
coffee would
end in a tie)
was today off
the table.
Now
Uncle Carl
was, in
appearance, a
cross between
Aristotle
Onasis and
Anthony Quinn.
A
homily and
bombastic
little old man
with a heart
of gold, he
somehow
managed to be
obnoxious, and
at the same
time affable,
and could get
away with
remarks and
comments that
neither lesser
nor greater
men would dare
make.
He was
prone to
tirades, and
the words that
rolled out of
his mouth did
so unfiltered
and with no
concern for
the opinions
of others,
even and
perhaps
especially the
always
dignified Aunt
Hazel.
On a
weekend visit
to their home
in Toledo
once, Aunt
Hazel wanted
to take the
women folk
shopping, and
so when Uncle
Carl and my
dad and I
found
ourselves in
the JC Penney
store at the
local mall,
Uncle Carl
proceeded to
show off for
us by
approaching an
attractive
young female
associate and
asking, “Say,
honey, do you
have a place
here where a
fella can go
to drain his
pickle?”
As the
somewhat taken
aback young
lady dutifully
pointed Uncle
Carl towards
the restroom
and he waddled
proudly off in
that
direction, I
heard my dad,
in bemused
shock, quietly
utter the name
of our Lord
and Savior
under his
breath.
As
the sun broke
weakly through
the gray and
white ragged
clouds on this
cold and sad
Michigan
November
Sunday
afternoon, I’m
sure those men
present at
Archie and
Grace’s house
fully
anticipated
the tirade
that was to
come from
Uncle Carl
concerning the
disturbing
events in
Dallas, and,
as expected,
he did not
disappoint.
After a
litany
describing the
various and
obvious
security
lapses of
parading the
president
through an
open area in
an open car,
and some salty
commentary on
“that bastard
Lyndon
Johnson” and
“that son of a
bitch J. Edgar
Hoover,” and
after my dad
had managed to
interject a
remark on the
stupidity of
the Dallas
Police
Department,
Uncle Carl
summed up his
tirade on the
Kennedy
assassination
thusly: “I’m
telling you
this stinks to
high heaven
and there’s
more to it
than meets the
eye, dammit!
If this
Oswald punk
killed Kennedy
all by
himself, and
killed that
policeman, why
did somebody
want to shoot
him?
Couldn’t
they wait
until he was
fried fair and
square in the
electric
chair? You
think
the police
marched his
ass right out
in public
where this
asshole could
shoot him
because
they’re that
stupid?
Don’t
you think cops
know better
than that?
Hell, I
know better
than that,
don’t you?
Find
out who had
this little
son of a bitch
shot and
you’ll know
who killed
Kennedy, and
it all would
have been a
hell of a lot
easier to
figure out if
somebody
hadn’t just
shut up the
one man who
could have
told them all
about it!”
The
afternoon
drew to a
close with
Uncle Archie
and Uncle Bill
still
convinced that
Oswald was a
crazed lone
gunman who had
killed Kennedy
on his own,
while my dad
tended to
agree with
Uncle Carl
that there
were too many
unanswered
questions and
disturbing
lapses to come
immediately to
that
conclusion.
It is
interesting
that some five
and a half
decades later
this
conversation
and debate
continues, and
that the line
of demarcation
wasn’t then,
and never has
been, drawn
along party
lines.
As
we drove back
towards Alma
in the
gathering
darkness, I
finally heard
firsthand the
report on the
radio that
Oswald had
died and
realized that
I had actually
seen a man
killed live
and in person
on television.
It was
an uneasy
feeling, and I
didn’t like it
much,
regardless of
what Lee
Harvey Oswald
had or hadn’t
done.
And I
found Uncle
Carl’s words
somewhat
haunting.
If
Oswald alone
was guilty as
was assumed
officially
then and now,
who would want
him dead?
The
logical
answer, even
to my ten-year
old mind, was
obvious: no
one.
I had
seen
firsthand,
with my own
eyes, how
vulnerable the
police had
made him, and
I realized
that Uncle
Carl was
right: cops
aren’t that
stupid.
And the
news media was
smart enough
to see it if I
was.
They
were right
there filming
it.
They
knew and said
nothing.
They
lied.
There was
more to this
than met the
eye, and I
have believed
it from that
day to this.
My
point
in relating
this story,
beyond sharing
the
entertainment
value inherent
in the person
of Uncle Carl,
was to suggest
that just as
everyone can
remember where
he or she was
when hearing
the news of
the Kennedy
assassination,
so everyone
should
remember the
same thing
about one’s
first
realization
that the news
media was
lying about
it.
Everyone
who
distrusts and
disbelieves
the
mainstream,
establishment
news media
must have
similar
stories of
coming to
consciousness.
This
one is mine.
As
I stepped up
efforts in the
selective
reporting of
alternative
news during
2018, it
was my sincere
hope and
prayer many
would come to
remember that
this coming to
a greater
consciousness
took place
using the news
service
provided at
Radio New
Jerusalem.
Maybe
some did.
And
while I have
often said
that the first
half of my
life was about
learning how
to succeed,
and the last
half has been
about learning
how to fail, I
don’t consider
Radio New
Jerusalem a
failure as
much as a
humble effort
to inform that
has, in a vast
sea of
information
driven by a
new online
media reality,
simply run its
course and
finished its
task.
And given the
prophetic
nature of this
task, this
is more
ominous than
it sounds.
Those
who
never do come
to the
realization
that what we
see, read and
are told is a
tightly
managed
package of
lies,
half-truths,
spin and
deceits can,
perhaps, best
be described
in a term
coined by
alternative
media pioneer
and legend Bill
Cooper:
“sheeple.”
I have
gone under the
assumption, as
have many
others
(including the
late Mr.
Cooper), that
there are also
a considerable
number of
souls in this
world who are
simply
ignorant
because the
mainstream
media (and
society as a
whole) are
experienced,
polished, and
very capable
of lulling the
masses into an
induced state
of false well
being.
Perhaps
these
individuals
could better
be described
as “sleeple,”
and it is they
who are the
targets of
what many are
now calling
the new “Great
Awakening:”
the
beginning of a
second
American
Revolution.
Yet it
goes way
beyond this.
While
the
long-term
future of
Radio New
Jerusalem is
weighed in the
balance, in
the short term
I intend to
take the
opportunity
provided to
weigh in on a
new
phenomenology
of the 21st
century that
questions the
very nature of
our being, and
which suggests
that various
forces, in and
out of human
control, tear
at the very
fabric of a
reality that
we have always
taken for
granted to be
constant.
The
Q-Anon
phenomenon,
child sexual
abuse and
pedophilia in
high places,
Luciferianism
and the New
World Order,
the physics
and
metaphysics of
CERN and the
so called
“Mandela
Effect,”
geoengineering
and weather
control versus
the global
warming hoax,
the dangers of
run away
technology in
the form of
artificial
intelligence
and the
“singularity,”
and, last but
certainly not
least, the
tensions
present in a
Catholic
Church in
which the Real
Presence of
Jesus Christ
now comes into
full blown,
immortal
conflict with
the
enthronement
of Lucifer
within the
Vatican: these
are but the
guideposts on
the journey to
the onrushing
apocalypse.
A
journey that
begins,
curiously
enough, when
the door to
this
alternative
reality is
opened with
the key of
knowledge: the
knowledge that
Lee Harvey
Oswald wasn’t
alone and
neither are
we.
|