I, Kurt Brown, Alias Saint Ram Bone, former FDIC bank examiner and
then survivor of American Holocaust, send the message below to
terminated Sheriff Jack Tillman, AKA Snatch the Fairy Possum, and to
my fellows in the low life state of Allah-Bama as quoted by my
Brazilian Princess, Ho-Zan-E. This is an excerpt of posts from
Mobile Audit Club, and the URL address is below this message. Thanks
Mr. Bacon and say Hello to my beloved uncle, Holy S. Graden. I saw us
a stream, just like when we were children, he in front and me in
back. The next time I lead, and I hope we do not have so many
obstacles. Perfection is what we seek.
Segment April 20, 2007: PROMISED land KURT dirt
I remember another life, another world, or perhaps it is a recall from
someone other than myself, Kurt dirt, alias Saint Ram Bone.
Saturn is my best example. At one time I see Saturn with a surface
area many many times greater than Earth. Just out of reach of Saturn
are many satellites, some of them natural planets, some of them man or
I should say, Heavenly creature made.
The King of this paradise is honored and revered, but the king is no
more honored and revered than the most unknown among them or us, I
should say.
The paradise stretches into the millenia. Many places and beings are
there to visit. All so beautiful, all so rich. There is no hording
of wealth, there is no need to. It just weighs you down and makes you
look ludicrous.
Long time inhabitants know this and are the happiest. The wealth is
in the kingdom and it is for all to share.
Let me enlighten you and lessen your load. The benefactor is not
only you, but the essential element in this kingdom so close to
Heaven.
We know not prejudice or hatred or owe suffrage toward any being. We
are one in this kingdom and the king looks down upon all and smiles
and reckons all to the Awakening.
There are no roadblocks. There is no greed. There is only
sustenance, sustenance not only for survival, but for the spirit, just
like I felt when I was young and hopeful looking out over the ****t of
angels.
I went to Los Angeles one time and met a wonderful woman there. I
should have married her. I did not know the curse or the cue. I was
still young, so young, so naive.
I should have fled Los Angeles as she wished. I should have taken her
but I do not know if I should have taken her beyond her intended
destination. Yes, I would today. I would go all the North and turn
left, to end in the East.
There it is. I felt no pain when I was last shot. He came to me and
said, "You do not know who you are dealing with".
I have a clue. I want to travel again and I will. I love to travel.
I was told by the man on the other side that there is an advantage to
never going to the same place twice. I feel that now. I have lived
through it. I do not intend to return to Los Angeles, unless of
course she approaches with her arms open and her heart pulsating for
me, for us.
I am like a ghost in the flesh and yet I bleed. I know that I bleed,
as I bled last week. When I was ordered out of Canada. I wanted to go
North and East, but I turned right. I should have turned left.
Thanks B. Lee.
I laugh as I squander the last few drops of life. This is the way it
is meant to be. I will soon return, as I approach, as I lay down the
levee.
New Orleans, what a bequeathed saint. I miss that place. I miss my
ring.
Sequalae_Sequealae_Sequaelae
I forgive people like Jack after they have been punished, but I am a
forgiving sort, even if I or my kind leave you in the dirt.
The reason I forgive Jack is that he was brought up or raised in
adverse cir***stances. Jack was applauded for beating young men to
the dirt. He was taught to not only froth at the mouth and the hand,
but in the mind. The mind is not meant to froth. It is a sickness,
like rabidity, and it is not easily cured.
Like a dog gone rabid, the dog is often not forgiven until put down.
I joke with Jack about him being Snatch the Fairy Possum, but I know
Jack, not only from my hunt, but as a pugilist. He was good, better
than I was when I was drunk, but he could only stagger half knocked
unconscious when I was sober.
I have no mercy in the battle, there are no saints in the battle
field. We all have a dark side, and it is as deep as our light side,
and it bears a direct correlation to the goodness in our hearts. Do
not mess with me Jack and kiln. You know not what you engage.
I have a trainer with a very big nose, broken, but that is the way it
goes. You can not tell it for the wear and tear. Go ahead, touch him,
I dare.
_________________________________________________
Segment April 20, 2007:KURT_cur_TRUcK_dirt_WINGS We in this world
live in the dark ages. Many of our kind think of themselves as being
"Safe" with their fast flying fighter jets, and many of our kind think
that the automobile is the latest rage in private trans****t.
>From the beginning of time there have been misconceptions. The
beginning of time is an interesting concept, because for time, there
has to be space, and for someone to comprehend space and time, that
person has to be made of cohesive matter, cohesive in some form, or
all atoms are free flung.
Therefore, in my cohesive matter, from the dust from which it sprung,
I see space. I see the fighter jets flying over my home, the same
jets owned by the government that injected me and jailed me for being
in fear for my life after working for the USA government as a federal
bank examiner for the Federal Deposit Insurance Cor****ation, which is
not a cor****ation at all, but instead is a federal government agency.
An attempt was made on my life for re****ting money laundering and the
murder of the prior boss at the agency in San Francisco. He was
labeled a suicide.
As a side thought-- I recently had a vision that he was already dead
before the trigger was pulled in his high rise office.
We know the USA government is not controlled by us. We know we are
the lower caste. We know there are those who do things to the young
to guarantee their subjugation to the upper caste, whoever and
whatever it is.
What I find funny is that it is most likely that the upper caste
considers their fighter jets and nuclear weapons and other recent
undisclosed weapons to be top notch.
I will laugh when there guts are strung back in the Universe as dust.
Their fighter jets are a joke, the automobile is a comedy, and yet I
am not laughing. I know the creator has a greater plan, and there are
levels to warfare. The bottom layer is like an ant, biting and
stinging, to no avail. On up the scale a notch is the fighter jet and
groups of people or beings calling themselves top notch.
The beauty of being a little nobody at the bottom with my own wings
tucked in my flesh is that someday I will fly with my kind again. I
will leave this primordial hell. I hope I can see the goodness in
those who were here again. The rest with their fighter jets killing
the innocent and their government agents with their needles injecting
us, can go straight to Hell, or dust, whichever is more needed.
This life is a nightmare and it is at times pleasant. I want to get
close to the creator but I do not see the creators homestead here.
So, I will lie down in the dirt like Kurt, and howl at the moon like a
cur and laugh my insides out as I watch our enemies, twinkle twinkle
dust star in my eye, you ripped out our insides, now you die and I
forgot to cry or sigh.
We are a drop in the bucket and our leaders are jokes. We are
prisoners on this planet, or maybe it is just I, I in the primordial
phase, waiting to blossom, with wings that never die, wings that are
born to fly, not like the maggot pupae, but like saints, you and I.
The difference between the creators army is that they nor I fear
anything. If we see a nuclear blast, if we are already suffering, we
say, "Good, this is the day I am going to die".
Genetic engineering and manipulations are as old as all of the old and
new and present times combined. I may be a genetic manipulation
myself. I have these strange wings under the X ray on spine. Did I
already die? Is that why some will laugh and some will cry when I die,
and some will simply sigh or say goodbye. After all, my mother named
me after a mongrel a mut, a Cur, and my name she called me was Kurt. I
sleep in my TRUcK, and I am treated like a cur. No, I do not care if I
and the universe die. We have wings so we can fly, not like anything
on this earth, this dream of life, can die.
____________________________________________________
One last note today. The marijuana of today is as addictive as heroin
to America's youth. The regime is using that addiction to control and
punish many of our kind. They make it legal in many states and illegal
in most, more im****tantly, it is illegal in the old slave states,
where the poor of all races are addicted. I encourage law enforcement
to push for complete legalization due to widespread addiction. Plants
should be available for sale and legal. However, it should be taxed
and socially quarantined and the youth protected. We have been used
and had. Crush the dope dealing regime and their other dark side, the
casino billionaires. Donald Trump is a pompous sociopath mad man who
has a narcissistic flare. Terminate his damn show or terminate their
network.
_____________________________________________________
These were just some excerpts from Mobile Audit Club. I have learned
many things, and I am in my older age constantly striving to be a
saint, an avenging angel, who was cast down and then crawled up from
the dirt. The closed door government of Alabama is a joke, and the
joke is on us.
Mobile Audit Club
http://www.angelfire.com/zine2/democracyordeath/index.html
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