Thursday, November 20, 2014

The Secret Society Speech (courtesy of jfklibrary.org)

President John F. Kennedy
Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, New York City
April 27, 1961



..."The very word "secrecy" is repugnant in a free and open society; and we are as a people inherently and historically opposed to secret societies, to secret oaths and to secret proceedings. We decided long ago that the dangers of excessive and unwarranted concealment of pertinent facts far outweighed the dangers which are cited to justify it. Even today, there is little value in opposing the threat of a closed society by imitating its arbitrary restrictions. Even today, there is little value in insuring the survival of our nation if our traditions do not survive with it. And there is very grave danger that an announced need for increased security will be seized upon by those anxious to expand its meaning to the very limits of official censorship and concealment. That I do not intend to permit to the extent that it is in my control. And no official of my Administration, whether his rank is high or low, civilian or military, should interpret my words here tonight as an excuse to censor the news, to stifle dissent, to cover up our mistakes or to withhold from the press and the public the facts they deserve to know.
But I do ask every publisher, every editor, and every newsman in the nation to reexamine his own standards, and to recognize the nature of our country's peril. In time of war, the government and the press have customarily joined in an effort based largely on self-discipline, to prevent unauthorized disclosures to the enemy. In time of "clear and present danger," the courts have held that even the privileged rights of the First Amendment must yield to the public's need for national security.
Today no war has been declared--and however fierce the struggle may be, it may never be declared in the traditional fashion. Our way of life is under attack. Those who make themselves our enemy are advancing around the globe. The survival of our friends is in danger. And yet no war has been declared, no borders have been crossed by marching troops, no missiles have been fired.
If the press is awaiting a declaration of war before it imposes the self-discipline of combat conditions, then I can only say that no war ever posed a greater threat to our security. If you are awaiting a finding of "clear and present danger," then I can only say that the danger has never been more clear and its presence has never been more imminent.
It requires a change in outlook, a change in tactics, a change in missions--by the government, by the people, by every businessman or labor leader, and by every newspaper. For we are opposed around the world by a monolithic and ruthless conspiracy that relies primarily on covert means for expanding its sphere of influence--on infiltration instead of invasion, on subversion instead of elections, on intimidation instead of free choice, on guerrillas by night instead of armies by day. It is a system which has conscripted vast human and material resources into the building of a tightly knit, highly efficient machine that combines military, diplomatic, intelligence, economic, scientific and political operations.
Its preparations are concealed, not published. Its mistakes are buried, not headlined. Its dissenters are silenced, not praised. No expenditure is questioned, no rumor is printed, no secret is revealed. It conducts the Cold War, in short, with a war-time discipline no democracy would ever hope or wish to match.
Nevertheless, every democracy recognizes the necessary restraints of national security--and the question remains whether those restraints need to be more strictly observed if we are to oppose this kind of attack as well as outright invasion.
For the facts of the matter are that this nation's foes have openly boasted of acquiring through our newspapers information they would otherwise hire agents to acquire through theft, bribery or espionage; that details of this nation's covert preparations to counter the enemy's covert operations have been available to every newspaper reader, friend and foe alike; that the size, the strength, the location and the nature of our forces and weapons, and our plans and strategy for their use, have all been pinpointed in the press and other news media to a degree sufficient to satisfy any foreign power; and that, in at least in one case, the publication of details concerning a secret mechanism whereby satellites were followed required its alteration at the expense of considerable time and money.
The newspapers which printed these stories were loyal, patriotic, responsible and well-meaning. Had we been engaged in open warfare, they undoubtedly would not have published such items. But in the absence of open warfare, they recognized only the tests of journalism and not the tests of national security. And my question tonight is whether additional tests should not now be adopted.
The question is for you alone to answer. No public official should answer it for you. No governmental plan should impose its restraints against your will. But I would be failing in my duty to the nation, in considering all of the responsibilities that we now bear and all of the means at hand to meet those responsibilities, if I did not commend this problem to your attention, and urge its thoughtful consideration.
On many earlier occasions, I have said--and your newspapers have constantly said--that these are times that appeal to every citizen's sense of sacrifice and self-discipline. They call out to every citizen to weigh his rights and comforts against his obligations to the common good. I cannot now believe that those citizens who serve in the newspaper business consider themselves exempt from that appeal.
I have no intention of establishing a new Office of War Information to govern the flow of news. I am not suggesting any new forms of censorship or any new types of security classifications. I have no easy answer to the dilemma that I have posed, and would not seek to impose it if I had one. But I am asking the members of the newspaper profession and the industry in this country to reexamine their own responsibilities, to consider the degree and the nature of the present danger, and to heed the duty of self-restraint which that danger imposes upon us all.
Every newspaper now asks itself, with respect to every story: "Is it news?" All I suggest is that you add the question: "Is it in the interest of the national security?" And I hope that every group in America--unions and businessmen and public officials at every level-- will ask the same question of their endeavors, and subject their actions to the same exacting tests.
And should the press of America consider and recommend the voluntary assumption of specific new steps or machinery, I can assure you that we will cooperate whole-heartedly with those recommendations.
Perhaps there will be no recommendations. Perhaps there is no answer to the dilemma faced by a free and open society in a cold and secret war. In times of peace, any discussion of this subject, and any action that results, are both painful and without precedent. But this is a time of peace and peril which knows no precedent in history.
II
It is the unprecedented nature of this challenge that also gives rise to your second obligation--an obligation which I share. And that is our obligation to inform and alert the American people--to make certain that they possess all the facts that they need, and understand them as well--the perils, the prospects, the purposes of our program and the choices that we face.
No President should fear public scrutiny of his program. For from that scrutiny comes understanding; and from that understanding comes support or opposition. And both are necessary. I am not asking your newspapers to support the Administration, but I am asking your help in the tremendous task of informing and alerting the American people. For I have complete confidence in the response and dedication of our citizens whenever they are fully informed.
I not only could not stifle controversy among your readers--I welcome it. This Administration intends to be candid about its errors; for as a wise man once said: "An error does not become a mistake until you refuse to correct it." We intend to accept full responsibility for our errors; and we expect you to point them out when we miss them.
Without debate, without criticism, no Administration and no country can succeed--and no republic can survive. That is why the Athenian lawmaker Solon decreed it a crime for any citizen to shrink from controversy. And that is why our press was protected by the First Amendment-- the only business in America specifically protected by the Constitution- -not primarily to amuse and entertain, not to emphasize the trivial and the sentimental, not to simply "give the public what it wants"--but to inform, to arouse, to reflect, to state our dangers and our opportunities, to indicate our crises and our choices, to lead, mold, educate and sometimes even anger public opinion.
This means greater coverage and analysis of international news--for it is no longer far away and foreign but close at hand and local. It means greater attention to improved understanding of the news as well as improved transmission. And it means, finally, that government at all levels, must meet its obligation to provide you with the fullest possible information outside the narrowest limits of national security--and we intend to do it.
III
It was early in the Seventeenth Century that Francis Bacon remarked on three recent inventions already transforming the world: the compass, gunpowder and the printing press. Now the links between the nations first forged by the compass have made us all citizens of the world, the hopes and threats of one becoming the hopes and threats of us all. In that one world's efforts to live together, the evolution of gunpowder to its ultimate limit has warned mankind of the terrible consequences of failure.
And so it is to the printing press--to the recorder of man's deeds, the keeper of his conscience, the courier of his news--that we look for strength and assistance, confident that with your help man will be what he was born to be: free and independent."

Friday, September 26, 2014

I Am The Alpha And Omega (Fifty Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, First Chapter Of His Tenth Novel, "Know Thy God! Thy God Is You!") June 2016

He held his hands out and closed his eyes.  He didn't have to close his eyes but closing his eyes made him more focused on the commands and ultimate works that he was in control of.

Luke 18:27 - And he said, The things which are impossible with men are possible with God.

That verse made all the difference in the world with him.  He saw himself levitated at that moment the verse sank into his soul.  Looking over the whole world and contemplating finally his possibilities he would bless upon this tainted Earth. 

He smiled.  Oh, yes, he was not men;  he was a man, not plural in nature; ergo, he was his God!  And people better start realizing the various other people's gods they are praying to.  Because instead of praying they are preying on each and every individual that does not understand but over-stand their given purpose.  IT was a word game.  His God had informed him long ago, it was a manipulation with subtlety of verse and definition.  

He had heard people time and time again talking about, "Do you believe in God?"  Then his God guided him into enlightenment with the overstanding; believe, is to be-lie the truth.  No, he did not belie-ve, he knew.

(to be continued...)

Thursday, August 21, 2014

Sylvester Stallone is a Fake Ass Italian (Thirty-Nine Years Old, Anthony Faglia, Indianapolis Italian Restaurant Owner, Speaking To His Thirteen Years Old Son) 2015

Fuckin America.  I fuckin work for ah fuckin livin.  Sicilian trew an' trew.  All we know is tah work.  D'en d'is guy.  We have it hard enough yah know?  Callin 'im: "The Italian Stallion,"  Rocky Balboa, "The Real Italian," "The Real Deal Italian," ...the fuck!  Yah know?  My Father, Sicilian.  My Mother, Sicilian.  The fuck?  D'is guy, fuckin fourth or at best one d'ird Italian, you know?

Fuckin Jew, that's what he is.  Ain't no fuckin real ass Italian no fuckin Jew!  The fuck?  Look at me.  Look at me?  Yah understand Ant'ny?  Ain't no fuckin real Italian no fuckin Jew!  Catholic?
 You bet!  A fuckin Jew...fahgetahboutit!  Dat's fah da movies.  Fuckin Hollywood!  Capisce?

Saturday, August 16, 2014

I'll Suck A Dick And Fuck A Man In The Ass... But Don't Call Me, Black! (Twenty-Two Years Old, Homosexual, Matthew Thames, Dark Skinned American, Professional Rookie Football Player) 2014

What?  Yes, I heard you.  Am I an African American?  What does that have to do with the reason I’m at this microphone?  I’m sorry?  Oh, I understand.   All I have to say is, yes, I am gay.  What?  Really?  That age old race question again?  I know I have a darker complexion.  I just choose not to, that’s why.   Listen, my great, great grandfather was white. His nationality?  German, one hundred percent.  I consider myself mixed, not Black.   

Listen, I am not Black.  I just love men.  Period.  Please don’t call me Black.   

I'm an American gay.

Monday, August 11, 2014

The Fair Ain't Never Been Fair (Ninety-Two Years Old, Cleetus Jenkins, Natchez, Mississippi) 1992

We weren't ever allowed in the damn place.  The present day, I see niggahs just traipsin their happy asses in the festivity and I just shake my head.  How soon we forget with our Black asses.  Back in the day, the county fair was the main location to shop and buy a niggah.  Shit.  I've asked so many niggahs, "How many Black farmers have you seen in any county fair?  State Fair?  Yeah that's what I know, zero!  Have yah evah wondahed, why that is?"  They look at me all blank faced like I'm the one that has said or did something dumb.

But we are a funny bunch.  We will forgive and forget anything...for a good ass time.  Uhm!  Just some sorry asses fo sho!  Ain't learned shit with our ignant Black asses.  Still back peddlin; and that ain't no good thang at all.  

No, I reckon it's not.

Tuesday, August 5, 2014

Advice To Lil' Dicks (Twenty-Six Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Basic Training, Bravo Company-Big Foot Platoon (Fort Knox, Kentucky))1992

"All right lil dicks," Drill Sergeant Ingram began, "Six weeks in, it's time for us to have an important discussion.  So listen the fuck up!  Very...carefully. I don't fuckin love yah!  I don't fuckin care bout cha!  Not personally anyway.  As long as yah doin your fuckin job, soldering, when you are s'posed tah be doin it.   I, nor anyone else in this here United States of America's Army is goin tah fuck with yah.  I guarantee that.  If you are a fag...I don't give a rat's ass, as long as you're doin yo damn job first, soldiering.  But we don't have any fags in this platoon?  Do we lil' dicks," Drill Sergeant looked around the room at all of us after the rhetorical question, "Let me just make sure.  If you are a fag, raise your hand.  We all have our freedoms.  This is America damnit!  So, raise your goddamned hand if you are a fuckin fag!"  Again Drill Sergeant panned the room looking as if he were going to see a hand or two going up at any time.  But he didn't.  "Very fuckin good lil dicks!  Outstanding!  If you are and you didn't raise your hand, good for you.  Ain't nobody's business.  Yah keep that shit to your damn self.  Don't need one of you mother fuckers tryin tah be a hero or some shit bout "comin out".  This shit is about a brotherhood.  And I don't know about you but while out there soldierin, I don't need to worry about someone in that brotherhood tryin tah fuck me!  Do you understand me lil dicks?"

"Yes Drill Sergeant!  Who-ah!"  We all yelled out.

"Ya learnin lil dicks!  Ya learnin!  Out-fuckin-standing!  Maybe one of these days you'll be a big dick like me," Drill Sergeant said with a smile.  We all chuckled and got back into our military baring.  "Y'alls sorry asses got two more weeks to go before you head out to your AIT, Advanced Individual Training, and you will be a full fledged soldier in this great United States of America!  Can I get a, "Who-Ah!"," Drill Sergeant demanded.

"Who-ah!  Drill Sergeant!"  We yelled out as loud as we could.

"We are heading out on Bivouac today and won't be back for five days.  And when we return I won't have too much time to talk to your helpless asses.  But let me give you one more important piece of advice.  And remember this one simple piece of advice, after the first one that I informed your asses of.  After, always keep soldiering.  The next one being, never fall in love.  At least not until your soldiering days are finished," Drill Sergeant looked around making eye contact with every single recruit in the room.  "Am I saying, don't get your dick wet.  Fuck no!  I'm saying get your dick wet but don't marry the watering hole.  Because let me tell you lil dicks something that I know.  On the various bases you will either visit and/or live on, the women love them some Drill Sergeants, a strapping man like me.  And while your asses are away, soldiering, I'm going to be in your bed fucking your wife.  Because like I said, they love the drill sergeants.  And I don't turn away no available good pussy!,"  Drill Sergeant Ingram turned to the other Drill Sergeant in the room, "Am I lyin tah these sorry lil dicks Drill Sergeant Marnell?"

"Shit!  They'll fuck Captains, Colonels...but they love us.  Your sorry ass is gone for two to eight months at a time, that hole needs to be drilled on a regular.  Vibrator my ass!"  Drill Sergeant Marnell chuckled and shook his head.

"That's all we got lil dicks.  0900 formation, pack your shit.  We's goin on a trip! Fall out lil dicks!"  Drill Sergeant Ingram commanded.  

Sunday, August 3, 2014

"The Pet Rock" And Other Marketing Miracles (continued...) (Thirty-five Years Old, Moses Burnbaum) 2013

The Hell was he thinking, that fuckin Jew.  He knew better than that.  We never talk that way in front of them, gentiles.  And there he was, Honest Goldberg, Mister Holier than thou talking shit to me.  To me! To me?  He knew the fuck better than that.  So I had to check him.

"Honest.  I understand what you are saying.  But please do not speak that way to me.  Please,"  I said.  Not wanting this to happen again.  And what the fuck did he do?

"Or what Mo?  You gonna tell Daddy on me or some shit?  I'm tired of that mother fucker.  He paid your half of this company that we own fifty-fifty.  But I paid my own damn way.  My way.  He can't do shit about me.  This is my shit. My...shit!  Do you understand?  You gotta beef with him, talk to him.  If you gotta beef with me, then I say to you, fuck you!  You fuckin pampered ass Jew!"  Asshole talking like a fucking nigger kike.  What was the fucking world coming to?  The fuck?  Did he just use the "J" word?  And at me no less.  Fuck wrong with him.

So I looked around the room at the other fifteen people in the room, all gentiles, and said, "Everybody get the fuck out!  Honest and I have to have a little pow-wow."  

(...to be continued.)

Monday, July 7, 2014

"The Pet Rock" And Other Marketing Miracles (Thirty-Five Years Old, Honest Goldberg) 2013

Addressability, that’s what it was all about.  It was the Pandora’s Box that they were looking for.  They had tried many different avenues to come up with the ultimate mental control but most all of the actions they had come up with came up with not too much.  So I had suggested to them, quite innocently, in one of their goddamned numerous of nauseous meetings:

“Check this out.  We already have addressability unbeknownst to the subscriber.  All we have to do is to make them pay for not only programming but to have them program their given television programming for themselves.  And then you get all of the goods without spending another dollar and getting paid for them giving us the information.”  And what did that smart ass Jew say to me, “The fuck Honest?  They’re not that stupid.  I mean really,” he said scoffing at me.  And all that I said as a retort was, “Really Moses?  Your degree is in business with an emphasis in marketing.  “They” are the same mother fuckers that made that sorry ass mother fucker of an inventor of “The Pet Rock” a fuckin millionaire.” 


And your ass could’ve heard a pen drop.   

Monday, June 30, 2014

Got Fags? (Anonymous) 1966

Looking at the glowing tip get brighter as I inhale;
Watching it dim as I pull my lips from the butt;
Yes, it is like life;
That's why I smoke.
As the fire fights fruitlessly
Trying to stay toward the tip,
As in life, it is in vane.
Life has to burn...up!
Life reaching it's fiery crescendo;
Burning until there is nothing left,
Only what cannot be enjoyed,
The Filter, a small part of the whole.
But for now it constantly burns;
Embers never dying;
Until life has ceased.
Pulling out another,
Rejuvenating life;
As with a birth of a child;
You need fire to implant the seed;
A Fire for life;
To start the finite whole,
The short cylindrical phallic
That will die,
From me,
Or from someone else snuffing it out,
Or burns out all by itself.
Yes, you are like life,
As long as you are burning,
I Still have a chance.
Until someone, or something, snuffs me out;
Or...I burn out all by myself.

Hooked On Stupid (Recovering Black Stoner) 1995

I see it live and in color in kaleidoscopic hues. Terrible twos are not the topic anymore in this needing of  a presbyopic state, going to get a new prescription way too late. But that’s the fate which belies such fools as we. Drinking green tea to stay healthy while the wealthy pours another glass of red wine that has suited US just fine. Going to find another cure? Sure. Whatever! Sever the chord of the discord once again. We will always sin. Our addictive innate qualities have given the powers that be to tap into the hot button of technology addiction, that affects man, woman, child, race, creed and color. Two hundred million more addicts and they’ll shut it all down, to everyone’s chagrin, to everyone’s frown. The cellular phone is the nebular drone to our once interpersonal interactive voice. Funny…humans were doomed when they were given choice.

Wednesday, June 25, 2014

God Incarnate (Female Tribal Elder, Northwest Territory, Second Cycle) Year Unknown

What dost thou seeketh in this non-refracted transgressed world? Why dost thou want to keep breathing in such fetid, rancid air? Dost thy being, thy spirit verily awake to nothingness? To awake and witness the same as thy dost the day before thine eyes closeth? Thou is the Kingdom…and the Glory! Awake ye all and passeth on thine light to thine Brethren and Sistren! Thy life will forever carryeth on afore life passeth on life! We! We all are! Our God in the flesh! And we must, not shall, adorneth Ourselves with that raiment of Holiness for all to see and to witness! For the sake of US all!

Tuesday, June 24, 2014

Fuck Memories...For Now. (Thirty-One Years Old, Jacqueline James (Jay-Jay), Black American) December 2005

My Mother had been dead eighteen months, four days, sixteen hours, thirty-seven minutes and ten, eleven, twelve...seconds.  I was still having problems.  I was healing from her passing but very, very slowly. I thought I was going mad at first but once I started reading and speaking with people who had lost a parent or parents, I found out that I was quite sane in fact; which was the most troubling part about it.  

You mean to tell me people have been emotionally devastated like me throughout humankind trying to stay somewhat functional with their daily lives dealing with the bullshit that is going on inside me right the fuck now?  How had society been so progressive in our history?  And the last query that I had just asked myself gave me great pause and helped me immeasurably for my future mental state and future productivity.


Just after my Mother’s passing I would break down crying any and everywhere.  But for the past twelve months those bad times of missing her only came when I was at my home.  Why was that?  Like now, I am at home and I am almost inconsolable with my grieving with my loss which had happened eighteen months, four days, sixteen hours, forty-one minutes and forty-five, forty-six…seconds in my past.

(to be continued...)