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Filters

FCDC circa 1970

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COAS in yo' face CoS

mr. fish in darkness dwelling, cloaked in form but not in smelling. your master will not let you think yet finds no veil to mask your stink.

yum yum! soak it up mr. fish! how you must quiver with the erotic thrill of my comrade's days skewered in the land of ho for his defense of the constitution, this quaint document so far beneath the contempt of all you superior beings who have made it obsolete banding among yourselves into "the most ethical group on the planet" at the beck and call of the david, this absurd charter making lawful space for yapping gnats to delay the supremacy of lrh, this speed bump of your disgust.

"death after death after death" is the david's pronunciamento upon us.

tuck your bib under your slavering chin mr. fish, you don't want to drool on your fashionably smart new uniform. you must be ravenous at the thought of the bright brilliant courageous dead child to be presented as the centerpiece of your holiday cheer, fruit of his uncles' icy discipline and scorn, the hamburger from your relentless meatgrinder stat machine.

yum yum mr fish

it's on the menu for the coming week

yum yum



p.s. it is hoped there are auditors reading who recognize this is standard tech for adressing a recalcitrant preclear.
 
How-to-Catch-Big-Fish.jpg
 
waltzing matilda, waltzing matilda, you'll come awaltzing...

N.B. mr. fish:

i am an auditor and if you examine the body of my work on this board not only will you find unblinking praise of tech but as well my criticism of the church is tempered with a generosity of spirit e.g. the post titled "the white and gold" is a profound and lyric celebration of the sea org colors and the first post on it's "to audit is a calling.." thread is a spirited and spiritual exposition of the dianetic imperative.

but now a severely caustic tone pervades my posts. if you look at my hand it is still holding a cheap bic pen but examining the words it is apparent i have transferred my paintbrush to my left hand and my right now brandishes an epee. for the benefit of everyone but mystic (mystic is always right about everything including this) unable to combine two and two and get four the doubleclutched downshifting of my lamborghini was occaisioned by an agressive act against emma.

the minions of CoS often sneer with arrogant disdain "we're not a turn the other cheek religion"

i have turned both cheeks to CoS and both badly battered and stood again to speak well of dianetics but wondered how you have overlooked the simple fact the nazerene places no restraint upon us if we see some jackal screwing with a decent person.

you know my name is william birdwood trained to audit in san francisco and ssa at fcdc. now you're going to get to know me a little better.

emma and i have never met. i'm an american and she is in far off australia. america has it's birthday every july fourth commemorating the signing of the declaration of independence. australia's national sovereignty came gradually and their closest comparible holiday is ANZAC Day in honor of the engagement at gallipolli or from the naval perspective, the dardenelle campaign. as anyone with a cursory knowledge of the history of oz is well aware this is so as it was during the great war the troops of australia and new zealand first went into combat under their own colors rather than the union jack and, as it happens they were under the command of my great grandfather's cousin and my namesake, general sir william birdwood, "the little digger".

so...

you see mr. fish...

purely as a matter of family honor i am perfectly willing to stand in harm's way, willing if need may be to use whatever force necessary in her defence utterly confident whereas this is a matter of liberty and the united states is allied no better with any nation than it is with oz as a matter of national honor the line i defend would be defended even if i were felled from it.

and if, mr. fish, this post is beyond your intellectual capacities allow me to condense it into three clear unadorned BULLET points which you are cordially invited to pass on to your colleagues:

1. DON'T

2. f***

3. with her
 
to begin: much silence. a few words

...


...he was my son...


...


...so bright, so strong...


...


jesus!


first person i ever met in my life when he gave me crap at least it was in a diaper...
 
Winston Smith said:
I have a headache, Commander.
Click to expand...

aspirin maybe? unflat ext rd?

look, you don't have to read my stuff. it's not required and it does get pretty miserable.

i'll give it a break for today...

but.

i'll be back on it tomorrow. my kid is dead. he was dead four years before i was materialy informed. and CoS horsecrap is invovlved so i'm mocking the osa web monitor.

but...

there's so much more to this. i'm a spiritual being and although i didn't know that i knew my kid was dead i did know it. he died of leukemia and all the time he was ill i was trying desperately to find him because i knew what was happenning, i could hear him, he was calling to me. very serious "OT" phenomena of a sort which very many people have some familiarty even though they may never even heard of ron.

so...

if this gives you a headache go play some bach, go read some trollope whatever, but i have themes to develop and who knows? maybe i can drive some osa web monitor to pole vault over the barbed wire. or something.
 
Oh my, Commander, I had no idea. That would cause me to take my entire arsenal after DM or whoever was responsible. I am so sorry for you. That scn has not been shut down in the US by law enforcement is a crime of unimaginable magnitude to me. Given the evidence and eye witnesses of the atrocities of scn in the US, our "government" should be protecting us. What a worthless piece of crap Washington, DC is...and I worked and lived around there for almost 50 years. My condolences to you and yours. I cannot think of a more horrible thing.

God Bless you, my friend.
 
Lotta folks look at us folks in California, Oregon and Washington as a bunch of stoners.

Here, have an Oregon Christmas tree:

Funny-MarijuanaChristmasTree-www.jpg
 
before we return to our story...

thanx winnie (also mystic. and HATSHEPHUNK! you must be psychic! i wanted that exact pen and ink to appear on this thread after dec. 20!)but...

yeah.

my buddy's dental history is worth a headache innit?

and now i'm going to show you some lovely verbal snapshots of a dead child. and that will lead to a nasty little denouement presaging a broadside on the CoS flagship.

gruesome.

but this section is scheduled to be wrapped up on dec. 20 so i can release my readers to a warm and joyous Xmas celebration and in fact is designed to enrich the holiday by making people cherish ever more deeply the love they share with their own children.

personally i've had thirty years of cold hard lonely homeless holidays nicely eased by the generosity and compassion of the good people of a great nation. the extremely groovy upside of this is that my personal difficulties begin with defending The Bill of Rights against CoS policy as essayed in post no 4340 on this thread which lead to being "fair gamed" at the price of my sons life. (he died of leukemia. the year i was born,1949, this was an automatic death sentence. today 85% are in remission after five years and when he died it was 80%. there's a damn good chance if i'd been there he would have lived.)

so i get to spend christmas in the spiritual company of the shivering farmers' sons at valley forge under the command of colonel washington in '76 and the battling bastards of bastogne under tony mcauliffe. that's a damn good deal for a soldier.

CoS is engineered to go all the way as what it is.

our constitution is ordained to go all the way.

one will break.

one will not.

so please keep reading. if you get a headache, take an aspirin. unless you're an osa web monitor who needs to be "sessionable".
 
Bird

Please-accept my condolences for the loss of your son !!!! Indeed- that is a terrible thing to experience-he-you-and all whom loved him will be in my prayers. Amen !!!!!!!!!
 
two bolts

please excuse me mr. fish, i never should have allowed this rabble to interupt your holiday feast feeding on the roadkill crushed under the treads of the CoS juggernaut. i won't let it happen again.

*******

the lightning strikes not in a single flash but two, the first from cloud to earth and then too quick for eye to separate the second rising up along the same jagged ionized path. though slower by a different order of magnitude my son was named in a similar double stroke. for about three weeks she and i had bandied names, mine falling at her feet, hers at mine and then in a flash i knew his name and said "ian" and she knew it too and i said "middle name?" and she said "sean" and it struck me like a returning bolt. she and i were one. she and i were three.

and there was another bolt back in new york in april i suppose before we moved up to sommerville that summer. she was three months along and we were lazing in our living room she on the beanbag chair and i on our big floor pillows both just quiet and easy and she looked over at me and said "who is this jesus guy anyway?" and i said "he is the son of god". she looked at me sort of hushed and dazed and said "when you said that it went through me like lightning."
 
the eagle's nest

it was an aerie, a garret apartment atop a woodframe building across from the library in somerville and each room had a dormer window. i painted the kitchen a bright yellow and the cupboards and trim a warm dark brown. our bedroom had light blue walls and dark blue trim. the living room was between our bedroom and the nursery and i painted it an off white with a charcoal grey accent against the hall and wrapped the dark grey around onto the wall to the right. then i took masking tape to mark three broad diagonal bands rising from the floor a foot from the accent wall so they extended onto the eaves and their tip wrapped around into the dormer. i mixed the white and grey 50-50 for the middle band and then this 50-50 with the grey for the upper and white for the lower band, oh coo-rawnt and mo-derne.

i spent as much time on the kid's room as i did on all the rest combined. i used four colors, a soft yellow and green and two tones of blue. they weren't quite pastel, more like gouache colors. each of the several surfaces was a different color and then the wall to the left of the door was a wonderwall painted with odd shaped patches of the four colors and then i added a few clouds of the pattern higgledy piggledy on the other surfaces some wrapping from one surface to another

the happiness of preparing for our first child had it's peak on a crisp bright october sunday. in '76 the patriots had their first winning season since i had left in '66. 3-11 the year before they would go 11-3. i moved our 17" b&w boobtube into the kid's room to watch them host oakland as i doodled. the raiders would win the super bowl and go 13-1 and were the heavy favorite in the game but "grogan's heroes" beat them 48-17 and the image "naked reverse" won the pulitzer for best sports photo of the year.

the day was equally crisp and bright when she went into labor. his momma was one gutsy broad and she wanted to do home delivery.we had paid a doctor to attend but he had pulled up sick that day and sent his assistant, a midwife-in-training. she was a pretty darkhaired girl named joan from ipswich and it was her first attempt at solo.

the library was beside the the high school and the marching band practiced in the parking lot their music wafting through the open window. just so, just so, just so, that's just the kind of kid he was to have a brass band to greet him.

but the labor didn't go well and around midnight we decamped to women's hospital in boston. just before dawn 28 oct 76 he was delivered by forceps. a few minutes after i was told of his birth the prettiest little nurse hustled up to me. she had thick auburn hair pulled into a ponytail and wide set hazel eyes with large black belladonna pupils and she looked up at me with such a rapt beatific visage as to make a renaissance portrait fall off a wall and said "i work with babies all the time. your son... he's something different... he seems so wise."
 
gold the gold that gold can be

ahhh mr. fish, wasn't my buddy a nice appetizer coming off a plane on a stretcher at 106lbs like an hor's d'oeuvre on a platter and now my deadson as an infant just tender succulent veal for the master's table... and with rare garnish.

*******

of course i was in shock for a week fearing to touch the small delicate creature while his mother gave impeccable care but quickly the warmth of him on my shoulder as i'd walk him to sleep won me over. and he was so alert and sharp and alive, so much who he was right from the beginning. only three weeks old i could hold him at arm's length, my hand under his wump, his little legs dangling down, both of us keeping his balance and he'd look at me with clear blue eyes and a broad floppy grin both of us amazed to have found so great a friend. and the little wizard rounded off all our rough edges and made us the friends we had never quite been, made flawless truth of failed pretense.

other people's babies are gooey noisy sloppy smelly contraptions and a proud papa is a bore but this kid was awsome and intense and he seemed to bring to the task of being a babe the fervor and competence of a neurosurgeon. we had an old dictionary with a section giving the meaning of names so looked up ian. oh, scottish for john. gee, i should have known that. sean? irish for john. shoulda known that too. john? "god's gracious gift". hey! i didn't know that i knew that but, yeah, no s*** sherlock.

so there's a lot of baby pictures and either you know what they look like or you don't care. but let me tell you something you don't know and won't believe. i drove a cab and paid the rent and bought the food, we had a ten year old impala i bought for $75 and most of what we had came out of the salvation army thrift store and we were happy and vital and vibrant. and there was the night i had the dream i swear was no dream.

to work hard and lay on a firm mattress naked beside a good mate, a sweet child nearby and the cool fragrant night air of late spring breezing in the window is to sleep well. one night a couple days after i'd spent two weeks chewing on plato's "republic" i slept better. without prelude from soft blind repose i was in the air above billowing cumulus beneath the cerulean vault in so much bright light brighter than sunshine yet full absent of glare. then a great hand opened before me, maybe eighteen feet from fingertip to heel of palm and in it's hollow were some teeny-tiny gold seeds. i took one and broke it open and from it flowed the eensiest weensiest ittybitty drop of a golden fluid and i touched my tongue to it. it was only sweet because there is no word for it's taste, sweet as if honey is bitter and uncanny wet. it flowed into my tongue, into my blood even into the wetness of every cell and through my tongue filling my mouth and out through my face up through the brain and skull down through the neck, the chest and shoulders out through arms and hands, down through gut and groin through legs and feet melting me solid and firm and alive, alive, alive.

the greeks called it "Nectar" and i tasted it.
 
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