Kimberlee Carbone says she was pulled over under the pretext of not “apply[ing] her turn signal at least 100 feet before the intersection” as per Pennsylvania law, before she was forced to endure five hours of humiliation. Officer David Maiella had made the stop after seeing a man “briefly enter an apartment” and then get into Carbone’s car that he suspected of buying drugs, according to the lawsuit.
Fifteen minutes into the stop, New Castle Police Chief Robert Salem and Lawrence County District Attorney Joshua Lamancusa made their way to the scene and interrogated the two about whether or not they were in possession of illegal substances.
Carbone insisted that she and her passenger had no drugs but the officers didn’t believe her,the lawsuit says, so the cops then fabricated a story that they smelled the odor of burnt marijuana wafting from the car. Carbone then arrested her for driving under the influence without having a sobriety test administered, and the officers conducted a pat down and search of the vehicle that found nothing.
According to the lawsuit, once at the Lawrence County Correctional Center, Carbone was strip-searched and forced to “bend over, spread her buttocks, and cough” before two corrections officers made the claim that they saw a plastic bag protruding from her vagina.
Carbone was then instructed by her to “prod her personal areas by inserting her fingers into her vagina,” bend over, spread her buttocks, and cough again as she was “crying hysterically,”the lawsuit states. No drugs were found at the jail so the officers sent Carbone to Jameson Hospital for “an internal examination of her body cavities… for a possible overdose, rectal packing and/or oral intake of a controlled substance.”
After nothing was found and no drugs were detected in Carbone’s urine, the officers remained convinced that she “might have something located deeper in her vagina and rectum,” so she was subjected to an involuntary CT scan, which also didn’t find anything, according to the suit.
During the scan, Carbone says that she was told by D.A. Lamanusca that her ordeal would end “if she helped him by provid[ing] information regarding drug-related activity,” and that he asked her “if she knew what prison felt like.” The lawsuit says Lamanusca and the officers also made “derogatory remarks about [Carbone’s ] compromised position,” and then ordered that a “second internal examination of [her] vagina and rectum” be conducted before instructing two nurses to perform a third.
Carbone’s vagina was also swabbed “for testing,” and after none of the inspections produced evidence of drugs, she was told she was free to go five hours after she had originally been pulled over, the lawsuit states.
The suit names as defendants, New Castle police chief Robert Salem; police officers David Maiella, Terry Dolquist and Sheila Panella; Lawrence County Corrections Officers April Brightshue and Neisha Savage, Corrections Commander Mark Keyser; Lawrence County District Attorney Joshua Lamancusa; Jameson Health System, Dr. Bernard Geiser and Jameson employee Kim Fee; the City of New Castle and Lawrence County.
Senior District Judge Terrence F. McVerry dismissed several of Carbone’s claims in February including, conspiracy to violate her Fourth and Fourteenth Amendment rights, conspiracy to commit assault and battery, conspiracy to harm her reputation, false imprisonment, civil conspiracy, and intentional infliction of emotional distress against Lamancusa.
An neutral evaluation hearing in the case has been scheduled for May 10 in which an impartial third party is supposed to provide an objective opinion on the value of the litigation. After that, a discovery process will begin and last through December 1st.
Claims in the lawsuit that have yet to be decided include, violations of Carbone’s Fourth Amendment rights against unlawful search and seizure, false imprisonment, negligence supervision, battery, First Amendment retaliation, and intentional infliction of emotional distress against police, corrections officers, Geiser and Fee, Lawrence County and New Castle..
New Castle police have not commented on the pending litigation but the case outlines the ridiculous implications of the drug war and comes on the heels of an Aiken, South Carolina case that came to light earlier this month after dash-cam video emerged showing a roadside cavity search of a man that was pulled over for having temporary tags on his newly purchased vehicle.
Ms. Carbone should get a bunch of her friends and relatives together and administer some street justice to the thugs that assaulted her.
You’ll love this one, Mike: http://www.copblock.org/156646/false-alert-k-9/
Thanks for the link Eric, too few Amerikans remember “just doing their job” or “just following orders” was the Nuremberg defense for assorted Nazi war criminals. Doubt I’ll live long enough to see our very own Stasi put on trial and try to use the same defense.
Full rant, too: http://ericpetersautos.com/2016/04/18/people-as-poultry/
Do remember, the Nazis were only on trial to prove who “won” the war.
If our troops did the same thing (and despite the war-appropriate actions, things like nuking Japan and firebombing the civilian cities of Dresden and such? The morality is irrefutable, and it was immoral.)
I’m also concerned that in fact, “The Man In the High Tower” (Amazon prime video, new series) is in fact much closer to the truth.
That in fact, the Nazis did NOT lose (especially when you consider we KNOW about Operation Paperclip…) – we in fact imported the ideas here.
This makes one ask the question: Did we actually fight a WAR? Or was it all engineered, given that the ideals of the Nazis were in the US before the war? Eugenics, for instance (see Margaret Sanger; culling the less-valuable races was part of her objective in making Planned Parenthood. While I personally agree with her, that there are notable differences and that some races are essentially more useful than others – I also know that the skin color doesn’t MANDATE the outcome. Therefore, my prejudices are based on a malleable subset, who CHOSE to be less than they could be – which, with me, is an unforgivable sin. Build yourself up! don’t accept the ghetto as your highest possible level of existence!)
So, eugenics, WRT “animal husbandry” of man. Note we’ve been going in reverse…. Breeding stupidity, venality, and weakness into the race, after nature worked so hard to make us rugged and robust.
Politically, even with my “like” of Trump, there’s no denying that the whole mess is at least mostly “fixed” and that even that least-worst choice is awfully close to a socialist strong man, per Scott Adams’s analysis some time back. But the alternatives are an outright socialist and a communist and a Big Government “CONservative.” All communists, in essence… Just differing in tyrannical intents by a matter of degrees.
If we think through this all, I think we’d all come to agree that … We didn’t WIN the war. We won the BATTLES. Their ideology flew in and polluted the minds of the people, and we’ve been racing to the lowest possible denominator as quickly as we could. We WANT to be herd animals (talking about the mob of humanity here). We DEMAND someone ELSE take responsibility – and lead us to the Promised Land of Milk and Honey – no work required on our part. (It’s the converse of the speech in “The American President.” As follows:
Lewis Rothschild: You have a deeper love of this country than any man I’ve ever known. And I want to know what it says to you that in the past seven weeks, 59% of Americans have begun to question your patriotism.
President Andrew Shepherd: Look, if the people want to listen to-…
Lewis Rothschild: They don’t have a choice! Bob Rumson is the only one doing the talking! People want leadership, Mr. President, and in the absence of genuine leadership, they’ll listen to anyone who steps up to the microphone. They want leadership. They’re so thirsty for it they’ll crawl through the desert toward a mirage, and when they discover there’s no water, they’ll drink the sand.
President Andrew Shepherd: Lewis, we’ve had Presidents who were beloved who couldn’t find a coherent sentence with two hands and a flashlight. People don’t drink the sand ’cause they’re thirsty. They drink the sand ’cause they don’t know the difference.
We’ve got people as citizens who shouldn’t be trusted with mucking out horse stalls. And they vote.
We’ve got people elected to office who shouldn’t be seen as better than the muck in the horse stables. But they’re being elected because they tell Boobus Americanus that it’s all unicorn farts and rainbows and “The Wealthy” are to blame – while concealing the fact they ARE the wealthy. And they ARE to blame, but not because they’re wealthy – because they’re busy selling the dream of universal wealth to Boobus Americanus.
Meantime, Boobus Americanus is achieving great procreation, and intelligent people are being supplanted… By sheer demographic change, Boobus is winning. And that’s before you look at the influx of people who despise the things America was founded on – who ALSO will vote, and change the demographics.
r/K is rearing its ugly head again, and TPTB want r to win the race. As long as TPTB get to remain the K that drives the r.
So it’s the Ruthless who rise to the top. The venal, evil, and psychotic/sociopathic.
Maybe we need to water that tree pro-actively, since TPTB are the ones actually sending the alphabet agencies and the local piggies out to prey on us… To weed out those who know we’re on the wrong track. To ensure the herd is “safe” – for exploitation.
And waiting will allow… What, exactly?
Enemy get to dig in, solidify position in hearts and minds as well as physically with more restrictions on us, and fewer and fewer on them.
Simple example, the whole Police BS. Turning into armored thugs with a badge over the last 30-40 years, arguably before that, and what’s the deal…? WE are seen as enemies of the people. We ARE the people! but PoPo sees all “the people” as “THE ENEMY.” And it’s being supported by Boobus Americanus, and we aren’t arguing nearly enough with TPTB, in the language they speak. And make no mistake, the same war is coming either way – if WE don’t do it, TPTB will orchestrate it, because it gives them more power and more justification.
Think of it this way: John Brown, Harper’s Ferry: Could he have been motivated by TPTB then? Finicum might be the latest iteration, but Bundy, too – and TPTB are in the process of getting wealthy again, now that Bundys are out of the way….
John Brown time again: The Democrat party was split intentionally, to ensure that the Civil War would happen.
Communist Russia / USSR and the “free market” “capitalism” of the US, placed perhaps in artificial competition?
“Give me control of a nation’s money and I care not who makes the laws.” – Quote by: Mayer Amschel Rothschild
[Mayer Amschel Bauer] (1744 -1812), Godfather of the Rothschild Banking Cartel of Europe
Source: in ‘The Creature from Jekyll Island’ (American Opinion Publishing), p. 218
“He who has the gold, makes the rules.”
Seems a problem to me… I think we’ve been fed so much BS we can’t FIND the truth. And any more, given what we know? I think the “lizard alien NWO” conspiracy theories may not be that far off. 😛 (I mean, where did the concept for “V” come from, right…? Follow my meaning? 😉 Yes, I’m being silly, but there’s so much stuff we don’t know, one MUST wonder – given what we DO know… ??? It’s just, the more strange and conspiratorial things we find out are true, the less we have reason to take ANYTHING at face value, so for all we know, there IS a Lizard Alien Mothership in orbit around Nibiru, and THAT is why we don’t KNOW about Nibiru… Sorry if I’m sounding too close to Tor, no copyright infringement intended. 😉 )
Once you start thinking, it’s kind of hard to turn it off. Which then makes things seem much more plausible, E.G. on the way in today? Headline on Facebook, “These common OTC cold remedies cause IQ loss & brain shrinkage.”
Sudafed, Zicam, etc, were depicted. Is it true? Not a clue. But plausible? SURE! Especially when you notice the immunizations now being MANDATED… I mean, we can’t use lead paints because kids might eat the chips! But we inject mercury and formaldehyde – known toxins – into our infants and teens and adult humans…. And we “decide” it’s safe, yet using the same logic, we should have a HazMat team clean up a broken CFL lightbulb!
It doesn’t make any sense – which means it’s impossible to rationalize, really – which means… We’re being lied to, and the most efficacious solution is – kill ’em all, Satan knows his own. (That’s all of them.)
“All governments suffer a recurring problem: Power attracts pathological Personalities. It is not that power corrupts but that it is magnetic to the corruptible.” -Frank Herbert, “Dune”
if you live somewhere where people have to transport items in body cavities, you can be sure its a prison society of some kind.
“The Big Space Fuck”
KURT VONNEGUT / “AGAIN, DANGEROUS VISIONS,” HARLAN ELLISON, ED., 1972
“What was the dirtiest story I ever wrote?” wrote Kurt Vonnegut in “Palm Sunday,” his 1981 “autobiographical collage.” “Surely ‘The Big Space Fuck,’ the first story of literature to have ‘fuck’ in its title. It was probably the last short story I will ever write. I did it for my friend Harlan Ellison, who printed it in his anthology ‘Again, Dangerous Visions.’” It’s a terrific, and terrifically relevant, story. I found only a fragment of it on the Web. Here’s the story in full as it appeared in “Palm Sunday,” courtesy of the Notebooks’ head clerk, O.C.R.
In 1987 it became possible in the United States of America for a young person to sue his parents for the way he had been raised. He could take them to court and make them pay money and even serve jail terms for serious mistakes they made when he was just a helpless little kid. This was not only an effort to achieve justice but to discourage reproduction, since there wasn’t anything much to eat any more. Abortions were free. In fact, any woman who volunteered for one got her choice of a bathroom scale or a table lamp.
In 1989, America staged the Big Space Fuck, which was a serious effort to make sure that human life would continue to exist somewhere in the Universe, since it certainly couldn’t continue much longer on Earth. Everything had turned to shit and beer cans and old automobiles and Clorox bottles. An interesting thing happened in the Hawaiian Islands, where they had been throwing trash down extinct volcanoes for years: a couple of the volcanoes all of a sudden spit it all back up. And so on.
This was a period of great permissiveness in matters of language, so even the President was saying shit and fuck and so on, without anybody’s feeling threatened or taking offense. It was perfectly OK. He called the Space Fuck a Space Fuck and so did everybody else. It was a rocket ship with eight-hundred pounds of freeze dried jizzum in its nose. It was going to fired at the Andromeda Galazy, two-million light years away. The ship was named the Arthur C. Clarke, in honor of a famous space pioneer.
It was to be fired at midnight on the Fourth of July. At ten o’clock that night, Dwayne Hooblere and his wife Grace were watching the countdown on television in the living room of their modest home in Elk Harbor, Ohio, on the shore of what used to be Lake Erie. Lake Erie was almost solid sewage now. there were man-eating lampreys in there thirty-eight feet long. Dwayne was a guard in the Ohio Adult Correctional Institution, which was two miles away. His hobby was making birdhouses out of Clorox bottles. He went on making them and hanging them around his yard, even though there weren’t any birds any more.
Dwayne and Grace marveled at a film demonstration of how jizzum had been freeze-dried for the trip. A small beaker of the stuff, which had been contributed by the head of the Mathematics Department at the University of Chicago, was flash-frozen. Then it was placed under a bell jar and the air was exhausted from the jar. The air evanesced, leaving a fine white powder. The powder certainly didn’t look like much, and Dwayne Hoobler said so– but there were several hundred million sperm cells in there, in suspended animation. The original contribution, an average contribution, had been two cubic centimeters. There was enough powder, Dwayne estimated out loud, to clog the eye of a needle. And eight hundred pounds of the stuff would soon be on its way to Andromeda.
“Fuck you, Andromeda,” said Dwayne, and he wasn’t being coarse. He was echoing billboards and stickers all over town. Other signs said, “Andromeda, We Love You,” and “Earth has the Hots for Andromeda,” and so on.
There was a knock on the door, and an old friend of the family, the County Sheriff, simultaneously let himself in. “How are you, you old motherfucker?” said Dwayne.
“Can’t complain, shitface,” said the Sheriff, and they joshed back and forth like that for a while. Grace chuckled, enjoying their wit. She wouldn’t have chuckled so richly, however, if she had been a little more observant. She might have noticed that the sheriff’s jocularity was very much on the surface. Underneath, he had something troubling on his mind. She might have noticed, too, that he had legal papers in his hand.
“Sit down, you silly old fart,” said Dwayne, ” and watch Andromeda get the surprise of her life.”
“The way I understand it,” the sheriff replied, “I’d have to sit there for more than two-million years. My old lady might wonder what’s become of me.” He was a lot smarter than Dwayne. He had jizzum on the Arthur C. Clarke, and Dwayne didn’t. You had to have an I.Q. of over 115 to have your jizzum accepted. there were certain exceptions to this: if you were a good athlete or could play a musical instrument or paint pictures, but Dwayne didn’t qualify in any of those ways, either. He had hoped that birdhouse-makers might be entitled to special consideration, but this turned out not to be the case. The Director of the New York Philharmonic, on the other hand, was entitled to contribute a whole quart, if he wanted to. he was sixty-eight years old. Dwayne was forty-two.
There was an old astronaut on the television now. He was saying that he sure wished he could go where his jizzum was going. But he would sit at home instead, with his memories and a glass of Tang. Tang used to be the official drink of the astronauts. It was a freeze-dried orangeade.
“Maybe you haven’t got two million years,” said Dwayne, ” but you’ve got at least five minutes. Sit thee doon.”
“What I’m here for–” said the sheriff, and he let his unhappiness show, “is something I customarily do standing up.”
Dwayne and Grace were sincerely puzzled. They didn’t have the least idea what was coming next. Here is what it was: the sheriff handed each of them a subpoena, and he said, “It’s my sad duty to inform you that your daughter, Wanda June, has accused you of ruining her when she was a child.”
Dwayne and Grace were thunderstruck. They knew that Wanda June was twenty-one now and entitled to sue, but they certainly hadn’t expected her to do so. She was in New York City and when they congratulated her about her birthday on the telephone, in fact, one of the things Grace had said was, “Well, you can sue us now, honeybunch, if you want to”. Grace was so sure she and Dwayne had been good parents that she could laugh when she went on, “If you want to, you can send your rotten old parents off to jail.” Wanda June was an only child, incidentally. She had come close to having some siblings, but Grace had had them aborted. Grace had taken three table lamps and a bathroom scale instead.
“What does she say we did wrong?” Grace asked the sheriff.
“There’s a seperate list of charges inside each of your subpoenas, ” he said. And he couldn’t look his wretched old friends in the eye, so he looked at the television instead. A scientist there was explaining why Andromeda had been selected as a target. There were at least eighty-seven chrono-synclastic infundibulae, time warps, between Earth and the Andromeda Galaxy. If the Arthur C. Clarke passed through any one of them, the ship and its load would be multiplied a trillion times, and would appear everywhere throughout space and time.
“If there’s any fecundity anywhere in the Universe, ” the scientist promised, “our seed will find it and bloom.”
One of the most depressing things about the space program so far, of course, was that it had demonstrated that fecundity was one hell of a long way off, if anywhere.
Dumb people like Dwayne and Grace, and even fairly smart people like the sheriff, had been encouraged to believe that there was hospitality out there, and that Earth was just a piece of shit to use as a launching platform.
Now Earth really was a piece of shit, and it was beginning to dawn on even dumb people that it might be the only inhabitable planet human beings would ever find.
Grace was in tears over being sued by her daughter, and the list of charges she was reading was broken into multiple images by the tears. “Oh God, oh God, oh God—” she said, “she’s talking about things I forgot all about, but she never forgot a thing. She’s talking about something that happened when she was only four years old.”
Dwayne was reading charges against himself, so he didn’t ask Grace what awful thing she was supposed to have done when Wanda June was only four, but here it was: Poor little Wanda June drew pretty pictures with a crayon all over the new living-room wallpaper to make her mother happy. Her mother blew up and spanked her instead. Since that day, Wanda June claimed, she had not been able to look at any sort of art materials without trembling like a leaf and break-ing out into cold sweats. “Thus was I deprived,” Wanda June’s lawyer had her say, “of a brilliant and lucrative career in the arts.”
Dwayne meanwhile was learning that he had ruined his daughter’s opportunities for what her lawyer called an “ad-vantageous marriage and the comfort and love therefrom.” Dwayne had done this, supposedly, by being half in the bag whenever a suitor came to call. Also, he was often stripped to the waist when he answered the door, but still had on his cartridge belt and his revolver. She was even able to name a lover her father had lost for her: John L. Newcomb, who had finally married somebody else. He had a very good job now. He was in command of the security force at an arsenal out in South Dakota, where they stockpiled cholera and bubonic plague.
The sheriff had still more bad news to deliver, and he knew he would have an opportunity to deliver it soon enough. Poor Dwayne and Grace were bound to ask him, “What made her do this to us?” The answer to that question would be more bad news, which was that Wanda June was in jail, charged with being the head of a shoplifting ring. The only way she could avoid prison was to prove that everything she was and did was her parents’ fault.
Meanwhile, Senator Flem Snopes of Mississippi, Chair-man of the Senate Space Committee, had appeared on the television screen. He was very happy about the Big Space Fuck, and he said it had been what the American space program had been aiming toward all along. He was proud, he said, that the United States had seen fit to locate the biggest jizzum-freezing plant in his “l’il ol’ home town,” which was Mayhew.
The word “jizzum” had an interesting history, by the way. It was as old as “fuck” and “shit” and so on, but it continued to be excluded from dictionaries, long after the others were let in. This was because so many people wanted it to remain a truly magic word—the only one left.
And when the United States announced that it was going to do a truly magical thing, was going to fire sperm at the Andromeda Galaxy, the populace corrected its government. Their collective unconscious announced that it was time for the last magic word to come into the open. They insisted that sperm was nothing to fire at another galaxy. Only jizzum would do. So the Government began using that word, and it did something that had never been done before, either: it standardized the way the word was spelled.
The man who was interviewing Senator Snopes asked him to stand up so everybody could get a good look at his cod-piece, which the Senator did. Codpieces were very much in fashion, and many men were wearing codpieces in the shape of rocket ships, in honor of the Big Space Fuck. These cus-tomarily had the letters “ U.S.A.” embroidered on the shaft. Senator Snopes’ shaft, however, bore the Stars and Bars of the Confederacy.
This led the conversation into the area of heraldry in general, and the interviewer reminded the Senator of his campaign to eliminate the bald eagle as the national bird. The Senator explained that he didn’t like to have his country represented by a creature that obviously hadn’t been able to cut the mustard in modern times.
Asked to name a creature that had been able to cut the mustard, the Senator did better than that: he named two—the lamprey and the bloodworm. And, unbeknownst to him or to anybody, lampreys were finding the Great Lakes too vile and noxious even for them. While all the human beings were in their houses, watching the Big Space Fuck, lam-preys were squirming out of the ooze and onto land. Some of them were nearly as long and thick as the Arthur C. Clarke.
And Grace Hoobler tore her wet eyes from what she had been reading, and she asked the sheriff the question he had been dreading to hear: “What made her do this to us?”
The sheriff told her, and then he cried out against cruel Fate, too. “This is the most horrible duty I ever had to carry out—” he said brokenly, “to deliver news this heartbreaking to friends as close as you two are—On a night that’s supposed to be the most joyful night in the history of mankind.”
He left sobbing, and stumbled right into the mouth of a lamprey. The lamprey ate him immediately, but not before he screamed. Dwayne and Grace Hoobler rushed outside to see what the screaming was about, and the lamprey ate them, too.
It was ironical that their television set continued to report the countdown, even though they weren’t around any more to see or hear or care.
“Nine!” said a voice. And then, “Eight!” And then, “Seven!” And so on.
Tor, thanks for the comment and the link at the end. I enjoyed the interview. I still don’t know how I read so much Vonnegut but missed the short story. Live and learn I suppose. peace, b
Vonnegut was the first one who enabled me to engage in critical thinking. And I especially enjoy the way he doesn’t try to justify or defend himself. Rather, he seeks only to honestly present himself with total clarity and without apology. Another guy like this was Charles Bukowski.
Really, I think that’s all one needs to do.
You don’t need to be anyone or anything special.
Of course its better to be above average in technological prowess. And of a superior moral character. Or to bend over backwards to make sure you practice what you preach, and not violate your code of ethics. If you have any of these, you’re set.
But its absolutely not a requirement to enjoy freedom and to spread this joyful experience to others. There is another way.
What’s required is to know your flaws, your transgress, your violations. And to accept the fact that you may not be able to rise above them or make much improvement in yourself. And then extend this acceptance to others, who also violate the NAP in a minor enough way, that they aren’t a mortal threat to you. Especially, its good to be able to put yourself in such other guys shoes.
Cause if you’re below average in ability and conduct, chances are, those who are willing to associate with you will be also be so.
Invention of Kurt Vonnegut
Born into this:
born like this
as the chalk faces smile
as Mrs. Death laughs
as the elevators break
as political landscapes dissolve
as the supermarket bag boy holds a college degree
as the oily fish spit out their oily prey
as the sun is masked
born like this
into these carefully mad wars
into the sight of broken factory windows of emptiness
into bars where people no longer speak to each other
into fist fights that end as shootings and knifings
born into this
into hospitals which are so expensive that it’s cheaper to die
into lawyers who charge so much it’s cheaper to plead guilty
into a country where the jails are full and the madhouses closed
into a place where the masses elevate fools into rich heroes
born into this
walking and living through this
dying because of this
muted because of this
because of this
fooled by this
used by this
pissed on by this
made crazy and sick by this
the heart is blackened
the fingers reach for the throat
the fingers reach toward an unresponsive god
the fingers reach for the bottle
we are born into this sorrowful deadliness
we are born into a government 60 years in debt
that soon will be unable to even pay the interest on that debt
and the banks will burn
money will be useless
there will be open and unpunished murder in the streets
it will be guns and roving mobs
land will be useless
food will become a diminishing return
nuclear power will be taken over by the many
explosions will continually shake the earth
radiated robot men will stalk each other
the rich and the chosen will watch from space platforms
Dante’s Inferno will be made to look like a children’s playground
the sun will not be seen and it will always be night
trees will die
all vegetation will die
radiated men will eat the flesh of radiated men
the sea will be poisoned
the lakes and rivers will vanish
rain will be the new gold
the rotting bodies of men will stink in the dark wind
the last few survivors will be overtaken by new and hideous diseases
and the space platforms will be destroyed by attrition
the petering out of supplies
the natural effect of general decay
and there will be the most beautiful silence never heard
born out of that.
The sun still hidden there
awaiting the next chapter.
Tor said: “Vonnegut was the first one who enabled me to engage in critical thinking. And I especially enjoy the way he doesn’t try to justify or defend himself. Rather, he seeks only to honestly present himself with total clarity and without apology. Another guy like this was Charles Bukowski.
Really, I think that’s all one needs to do. ”
I’m told this is true of Hunter S. Thompson, too.
Can anyone confirm that it’s more than hype / good press?
What are you tryna say, Tor?
This is wrong on many levels.
It is criminal and wrong that this (the actions by these individuals) appears to be tolerated.
I used to wonder how things could have been so wrong in 1930s Germany, 1920s Russia or during the reign of terror in France.
I do not wonder so much anymore and now I just wonder how much longer before Der Tag Kommt?
But Eric if we have nothing to hide, we have nothing to worry about, right?
The thing that keeps bugging me is, they OBVIOUSLY have MUCH to hide.
But we can’t even get them to walk in front of a window….