below is today's post at Mobile Audit Club website by
Kurt Brown,
alias Saint Ram Bone, surviving FDIC federal bank examiner
Mobile Audit Club
http://www.angelfire.com/zine2/democracyordeath/
and Youtube Saintrambone videos (some were edited by Youtube or federal
censors)
http://www.youtube.com/profile?user=saintrambone
Daily Foreword 2-12-2009: Today, I, Kurt Brown, alias Saint Ram Bone am
feeling very sick. It is as if I have been poisoned in mind, body, and
spirit. I know right from wrong, and I can play a song with words from the
notes if I play with my fingers and leave the pick from the guitar alone.
I went to a mall on the 10th. I had bought a sandwich and drink prior. I
had left the drink in my truck, the truck in which the federal government
had the keys while I was incarcerated and injected forcibly in 2001 after
FDIC employment. The truck in which the Flagstaff Arizona Medical Center
had the keys to when they forcibly injected me when I went to them after
seeing what appeared to be a toxic waste crew in Arizona and a burn on my
neck. I drank from that cup after going into Best Buy, an electronics
department store. I drank one sip and then was petrified. I dumped it out.
I feared poisoning of the drink by my enemies. After all, I chase
government criminals like a detective who chases child molesters.
When I went to Wal Mart in Pensacola, a large department store, I had the
usual fear. The fear of the governments watchmen or thing that controls us
running up to the counter before or after I arrive, celebrating my return so
they crown themselves jubilant that I have returned and they can run chaste
after me, calling me the thief, the whore, the liar. I often wonder if
every employee who is not of their fold at those stores has been raped by
our enemies in some form or another.
When I was led down the stairs at the LA VA in Westwood in early 2001 after
being jailed there for several days, I was put onto a table and they alleged
a Cat Scan of the head. I was not feeling sick really until after their
abuses. I had a huge cut or scar in my mouth years later that became
infected. A doctor in Los Angeles said he had not seen anything of that
sort and it reached to the top of my mouth from the gumline.
I am awake at 1 a.m., awakened from sleep by horrid dreams. I have asked to
return to the fold to the front lines of bank examination in the federal
government. It is not our federal government, it is not our money, I feel
we have fallen. A woman in a dream told me they had taken my mind apart to
see how I worked, how we worked. I pray for the creator to end this. I had
a dream we are going back to the dark ages. Let us hope they never turn on
the lights again for this species as it is imperfect, not done, and those
who accomplished our overtaking are likely no better, undone.
My life has been horrific, my life has been jubilant, my life is better off
to not have ever been, but perhaps I am series of mistakes, both within and
without. I wonder if they have us playing with clumps of radio-active
material as children and persuading us to eat and to die in their sleep.
Change is upon us, upon me, at all times. I would prefer a taco instead of
my home. I no longer desire my trap that I bought and lost everything over.
All I ever had was the freedom and ability to roam. Now I have a suitcase
box and these old computing machines. All I ever had was laid out in stars
and fields of green. I had it all, and now I have this box of limited
recompense and worth. Everyone knows it, especially I. I await the great
storm, when they and or I die. It has happened before and it will happen
again, but when.
Today, I turned to the Bible again. I feel like a holocaust victim, a
deceased end, a long time lover gone, and barely a friend. I turned to
Hosea 9, Punishment for Israel, and I see it is real. Yesterday in my
delirium in contracting to get lost funds for a dear friend, I turned to
song of songs and it said how wonderful were the eyes, and I thought is this
the lovers end.
I await the final battle. Recently I had a customer come look at my box, my
end, my home owned by the bank. I did not want to show every room so I lied
and told the family that my mother was alive and sleeping in that end.
Later the man looked over my right shoulder and thought he saw something. I
did not know if he was trying to distract me or ridicule me or just making
a comment. After all, I carry on my back, my long lost friend, till the
end, till death do us apart, again and again.
The lies of mass media. The ridicule of our and my suffering. The loss of
civility. The inconspicuousness conspicuousness of a lover whose love will
likely end, only to be my whore, again and again.
I remember when I was a child. I wanted the world to end. Sometimes I hid
to save what was left, now I see the children, afraid and bereft, some
smiling, likely at wits end. This is the end, I pray, again and again.
Falling is what my sister saw me do in a dream. Perhaps from skyscraper,
perhaps from wits end.
Today post will be moved to the Love Line Pages as it borders on poetry, but
today I put it in Daily Foreword Notes hoping you to pray for this, IT's,
day to end. I feel we and I have been manipulated. Do not feel alarmed or
threatened when we ascend or descend. Just as I told a lover when an
allegedly abandoned plane was about to crash, or more likely be shot down
recently, she said it was unusual when she got out of bed to look out the
window and it sounded like a war was starting as we heard it fly by with
jets perched on its wings end, "Come to bed, there is nothing we can do
about it if it is the end". I rolled over and went back to sleep. It does
not matter to me if I am in her bed or a thousand more women's bed, as long
as I am not sleeping alone, in the end. I really have no one, just as
predicted by a woman who said she could give me riches I have never known.
Perhaps she lives on the road as I do, at least in the wealthiest moments,
maybe traveling penniless, but with a friend. Perhaps too this suffering
will end. Kill me but do not think I will ever bow down to the loathsome
ever again.
Can you decrypt my American Holocaust Number X 017 911 84? Can you decrypt
my alias Saint Ram Bone?
017 for James Bond type endeavors, what a joke, what a war. 911 because the
government did not respond to an attempt on this bank examiner, federal,
informants life in 2001. 84 as in George Orwells book 1984 and the main
character who was caught and punished doing the forbidden, consorting in
forbidden areas with like minds, and he was taken down a hall way after
being fattened and fed, and likely shot in the head. The instructor from a
dream looked at me rather funny in a conversation of this book I had not
read during my college years, and only read after I was given the warning by
a friend who saw the Holocaust I was in in the American end.
Saint is because I may already be dead. Ram because that is what I was
driving and behaving as on that fateful night of my first wits end and
assassination attempt against me on post-St. Valentines Day plus 3 nights in
2001. Bone because that is what my head looks like after loss of hair and
shaving it, and especially when I ride in that gloriously ridiculous
contraption I call my truck, or Truk. N Wor B Nits U A Truk. Do you know
that one? I should not divulge or partake, but who gives a care when you
want or are in the end.
I should not divulge or partake, but who gives a care when you want or are
in the end. My mother obviously had a sense of humor, or could she really
read from the wrong end. Hurry, be silent, I do not want to awaken her, in
the box I dwell, she is on the other end, sleeping under a light, likely
whistling a Sueet Carol.
This concludes today's post at Mobile Audit Club website by
Kurt Brown,
alias Saint Ram Bone, surviving FDIC federal bank examiner
Mobile Audit Club
http://www.angelfire.com/zine2/democracyordeath/
and Youtube Saintrambone videos (some were edited by Youtube or federal
censors)
http://www.youtube.com/profile?user=saintrambone