To be a Watcher on the Wall, was my intent, at the recent Town Hall. To be more specific in my language, t’was the recent WAR-TOWN, town hall hosted by the AFGE Local #987 in the damp and leaky, Homer J Walker civic center, just a few meters from City Hall. Yours Truly had to readjust my grey and white keffiyeh, as the wind had kicked up considerably as I made my way to into the entrance. Obviously with representative Sanford Bishop being in attendance, and the string of recent town halls across the country that were …let’s say, a little on the feistier side; seeing a police presence wasn’t too much of a surprise. Thankfully, they were all in casual, cop, wear rather than a Frank Castle tryout uniform – so credit, where credit is due.
Easily enough I was asked if I had any weapons on me, to which I thought inside myself a string of one liners, zingers, & punchlines that would probably get me a night at the detention center, and wisely refrained from actually saying out loud. Then it was a fist bump with Assistant Chief of Police, Todd Edwards – whose interactions with, I always enjoy. Not too sure if he’s Irish much, but he certainly carries that vibe about him. Then it was into the auditorium to awkwardly find a seat, be an observer, and evaluate quite a few things, during this very delicate time in the history of the species. After finding the closest, red, ripped fabric seat up in the nosebleed section Your Humble Author, Narrator and Fictional Character scanned the room, from the rafters, as it were, to log all the main characters in the room.
Down on the stage was Mike Jones, with microphone in hand and representative Sanford D. Bishop sitting at a table to his right. To the left of them was an empty seat, where the dually invited, but wholly absent Austin Scott was to sit. Running around in the pit, before the stage was Kristen Kiefer, of the Houston County Democrats, energized and determined looking, from where I was watching. It was she who had informed me of this lovely, little get together; an invitation I was too curious about to reject. In the first row of seats before the stage sat city councilmen Curtis and Holmes, between them Madam Mayor LaRhonda Patrick; all three of which were certainly giving credit to the fever pitch of concern in the country by their attendance, alone. Oddly, my mind calculator had to deduct the presence of councilmen Bibb, Lashley & Lauritson while I pondered why…but not really.
Ya know, and the funny thing about that was just the previous day, at the “State of the City Address”, where Air Force big wigs, plenty of press, networking connections, fancy photographers, videographers, political grovellers, and a room filled with vested interest-to-be there, local, gubment, employees; all the councilmen were there, save Holmes. Now, I won’t presume knowing why Holmes was absent at the “State of the City Address”, probably a personal matter of some sort. But he sure did miss a lot of opportunities for napalm selfies and quasi-authentic poses for sleek magazines & social media scrolls. S’shame, really. However, Yours Truly noted, that of the six on council; five were present at the giggles and smiles shindig, hosted by the Museum of Aviation. However, only two could make the town hall. Don’t know what that means. Don’t really care. Just thought it was hilarious to note.
Coming up the stairs, and conveniently close to where Your Humble Author, Narrator, & Fictional Character had planted himself, was one of the kindest & most resilient Spirits I have ever had the pleasure of encountering. Reverend Rutha Jackson; a genuine soul of Righteous Rebellion. I will never forget the first time she and I broke bread, while discussing our disdain for the ugliness & corruption of the systems around us. Mrs. Jackson had relayed to me the details of a story I had longed to hear, regarding her previous entanglement with a former mayor, some apparently uninvestigated allegations, and intimations that certain parties were moving money around through the vessel of a corporate, Christian church, in a manner most naughty. After having filled in the gaps of what I knew from previous news reports; the bits & pieces that make it out, a fuller picture had been painted for me, about the connections of corruption in the community. It was like a who’s who of a kind of “Hillbilly Illuminati”.
At one point in our conversation, over soup & salad, as Mrs. Jackson told me her tale, I could comprehend that in her aspirations to stand up to “power” and balance the scales towards righteousness, were not without risk of retaliation. This was apparent. Which meant that the woman sitting before me, to do the things she has done; must have a spine more made of steel than can be found in the multitude of modern men. Bravery. Courage. Dignity. To know what right thing to do, and act on it, often requires a will not governed by ego. A vessel that can hear that small, still voice. And I knew it all the more as she wrapped up by saying “But…are you willing to die, for righteousness’ sake?” Needless to say, seeing Mrs. Jackson at this town hall wasn’t surprising, but birthed a smile upon my face anyway.
Upon seeing me reach out, her face lit up too, and she wrapped her arm around me, with the smile of her soul, and let me know that my work is not in vain, and encouraged me to continue doing,…whatever it is that I do. I assured her I would, and that we would talk soon, then returned to my seat, much lighter than when I had left.
As the attendees and public names of note, still shuffled about the auditorium, preparing cue cards with questions, and placement of press; this lull allotted Yours Truly to continue a tally of those present. A scan to my left, and down roughly six or seven rows, the visage of Law Dixon & his son Nas, paused my peruse of the place. With steepled fingers, a Sinister Strange smirk began to curl my cheek. I have high hope for Law you see, since his involuntary conscription into the realm of activism. Which began with the announcement of the Police State during “Operation Rolling Thunder”. Sounds like a AC/DC cover band, dunt’it?
Law Dixon, a transplant to WAR-TOWN, was just going about his business one day, providing rides for patrons a-plenty, in his 9 to 5, honest occupation. While alarmed by the amount of po-po presence patrolling We the People, Law had not expected to be pulled over himself, by a road pirate, and invited to a game of fraud, abuse, violation of rights and a potential contract to pay the state some money, … just because. You see, according to the story, a spotter among a multitude of spotters, had been eye balling the good folks of Warner Robins, to tattle tell to the Georgia State Patrol regarding any victimless violation of statutes, codes, acts, & ordinances; when suddenly Law Dixon was implicated in an imperial crime!
Officer-Sounds-Like-Gestapo of the GSP was swift to cease the free travel of Law Dixon and his uber-passenger, by first declaring a state of emergency with his flashy lights. Demanded, without warrant issued under oath or affirmation, paperz please. The query on the nature of the stop was requested by Law, who was in turn accused of fiddling with his phone. An Imperial infraction, befitting of the ever, dreaded, “Operation Rolling Thunder…for your safety….and compliance”. Mr. Dixon denied the accusation, with a handy, dandy, dash-cam on his side, but alas; Officer-Sounds-Like-Gestapo would hear none of it. To wit, a bill of attainder for “driving while distracted” was produced toot-sweet! A little too, toot-sweet. Toot-sweet of a nature that would heavily imply the citations were already pre-determined & pretty much filled out. Clearly, for safety reasons.
Thankfully Law Dixon maintained his composure, at the stormtrooper checkpoint with the threat of being taken to a cage, if Officer Sounds-Like-Gestapo did not get his signature upon the bill of attainder. Instead of believing you can win with a stormtrooper on the side of the road; Law was wise enough to simply slip out of the situation with as little hub-bub as possible, and win another way. With the support and encouragement of his significant other, Sierra, the two concluded that something about this stop, and “Operation Rolling Thunder” as a whole, was simply not right. Rather than stay silent, or grumble a little bit, but do nothing for remedy – Law & Sierra made the choice to put it on blast! And up, up, and away into the interwebs the dash-cam footage magickally went, only to go viral (as the kiddies say), exposing both the fraud being executed upon the residents of WAR-TOWN and something much more systemic. But we will get to that in due time.
Due to the virility of the footage, uploaded to multiple, social media platforms; the Georgia State Patrol certainly had some benedict smattering their face. After attempts to file official complaints, and a few photo ops with the NAACP, which snagged a headline or two from the local, mainstream media; the GSP became oh, so, sorry, and quietly dismissed the citation with the charges that were scribbled upon it. Law Dixon was not satisfied with this gesture from the state that treated him like a criminal from jump and only backed down when the spotlight was on the cockroaches in the kitchen. No, Law wanted accountability. He was not content to sleep on that, walking away from an imbalanced scale of justice, grateful his Rights weren’t violated any further. Thus, an activist was born.
From beginning his journey into the labyrinth of seeking remedy & reparations, Law Dixon has been popping up in all the right places. Unpermitted “protests” pointing out the incompetency of the Antichrist in Chief, FLOCK System presentations to city hall’s, in opposition to the Orwellian, digital, concentration camps canvassing our communities; and now here. At the WAR-TOWN, town Hall. Each occasion to show his face, and involve himself with the going-on’s of his country and community during these unprecedented times, Law has been sure to bring his son’s. Knowing that being informed, engaged, & involved is an example he certainly wants to set for them. Which is why the respect of Your Humble Author, Narrator, & Fictional Character is most certainly laid at Law’s feet. For as George Washington once said, “a primary object…should be the education of our youth in the science of government. In a Republic, what species of knowledge can be equally important? And what duty more pressing…than communicating it to those who are to be the future guardians of the liberties of the country?”
Then it appeared the festivities were beginning as Madam Mayor Patrick said a few words, then passed the stage off to Mike Jones & Sanford Bishop. I remained perched, from on high, watching and listening. Curious to see if this town hall would contain the same swath of grumbles & complaints regarding the recent coup of our country, by nothing less than the 4th Reich, which draped itself in a flag as it carried its cross all the way into the White House. Would the scene here, in WAR-TOWN, be similar to the digital mountains of tik toks, from across the nation Your Humble Author, Narrator, & Fictional Character had consumed the past few weeks? In one aspect immediately, I knew the answer was no.
The WAR-TOWN, town hall, was conspicuously shy, by comparison, of warm bodies. Town halls across the country had been filled to capacity and overflowing from the door, with Americans that are outraged and willing to express that outrage to their so called, representatives. In the instances those representatives even bothered to show up, anyway. But this was not the case, in the community I observe. For I would be stretching it to say if the place was filled by one quarter at all. And while this conspicuous absence of concerned homo sapiens in the area didn’t surprise me much; it sure did break my heart. For either these people are on the side of the wickedness befalling them, or too apathetic to care. Worse yet, too blind, deaf, and dumb to even know it is happening at all? As a community, Yours Truly could certainly deduce that the majority of WAR-TOWN is under some deep, hypnotic, spell.
Though seeing and hearing the passionate few who did attend, and raise their voice, it reminded me that perhaps even the smallest sparks can ignite the brightest flames. If that hope can become a reality, only time will tell. The little sparks in attendance did in fact raise the same concerns I have heard from multitudes across the land. From the insanity of Elon Musk to the dismantling of the VA and every department in between, to the privacy of American’s most precious data being at risk due to DOUCHE or whatever it’s called. At least these few, WAR-TONIANS, were pretty much abreast of what hour we are in. And so was Sanford Bishop, who repeated the phrase that’s heard a lot these days, “we are in a Constitutional crisis.” To which Your Humble Author, Narrator, & Fictional Character almost yelled “Amen.” Now I won’t presume to put words in Sanford Bishop’s mouth, however if I may, allow me to give you the jest of what I gleaned from his answers to the quasi-crowd. And it goes like this…
Your gubment has been infiltrated by a ‘trojan horse’, that is completely out of control, driving around like a drunk on so-called saint paddy’s day, hitting every light post & fire hydrant it can. Have you ever tried to get the keys from a drunk? Yeah, it’s a horrible mess and the night never, ever ends well for anyone. That’s your gubment. Loud. Obnoxious. Unreasonable. Unempathetic. Crude. Selfish. Self-centered. Oblivious. And if it gets behind the wheel; fatally dangerous…which it has. Congress cannot help you. Checks & balances cannot save you. Your representatives are, for the most part, through fear, apathy, or empathy, going along with the establishment of Musk’s creepy, new Empire and are either unable or unwilling to do anything to stop this dystopian nightmare. In short, what Sanford Bishop was saying to the good people of WAR-TOWN, was that the fate of America is now in the hands of the People. No one is coming to save you. Your Constitution is being eviscerated, and the separation of powers is being consolidated. And if the People don’t get control of the wheel, this bitch is about to hit a concrete wall.
This sentiment was what Bishop was attempting to relay when he used the phrase “Constitutional crisis” as he held up a copy of “Project 2025”, explaining that this has all been laid out for some time. And I would agree but insist that time has been much longer than Bishop would even imagine. Fascist dictatorships do not spring up overnight, rather their paths are paved far, far in advance. This one in particular, the 4th Reich as it were, is very much akin to “The First Order” from the shittier Star Wars movies. It’s an offshoot of Hitler’s brainchild that managed to scurry into the shadows for a while, awaiting the time to pop back up with a new but equally disgusting face, to mouth vomit orders to those complicit with eagerness to go along to get along. It’s so much worse than Sanford Bishop could articulate, and from my point of view, more lethal than the good people of WAR-TOWN have the capacity to accept.
With chin propped in hand, I closed my eyes in lament over what I know is befalling this species. For, if one knows history they are able to predict the future with a near perfect perception. Even after their representative made it clear that there was nothing anyone in gubment could really do to stop this…the people of WAR-TOWN continued to ask what gubment was going to do to stop this. It was like continually tapping X on the controller in an RPG with a multitude of NPC’s and having the same script verbalized over and over again. This was not isolated to WAR-TOWN, mind you. This seems to be the theme across the country in all Town Halls. I was just hearing it in my jurisdiction and being reminded of Einstein’s words: “No problem can be solved from the same level of consciousness that created it.” Gubment can never provide the solutions to problems created by gubment. To think or hope that it can is simply dumb as fuck.
But hey, who cares? My assignment during these times is to observe. To watch. To document. My briefings from the “Great Gig in the Sky” do not include any indications that I am tasked to stop the inevitable Empire that is booting up its technocratic, police state in the inevitable top down, crack down of all peoples deemed “non-compliant”, as we speaketh. No. Empire is the inevitable result of a people that have become derelict in their duties of maintaining their knowledge & connection to Spirit. Empire is what you get when you don’t pay attention and subcontract your obligations to be informed and connected to a Higher Power, to bureaucrats that are incapable of either. Ahriman made manifest within the political structures before your very eyes. I’m content knowing it is not my occupation to prevent him from wrapping his fingers around the throat of America and squeezing until the snap. As Ahriman is currently doing.
Seeing the prophetic play out before me, yet again, I silently began to see myself out the back. No need to finish the dog and pony show. I’ve seen this all happen before. The names change. The faces do too. But Empire is physics. Authoritarianism is painted by numbers. And in a room filled with people, where among the most passionate to speak up could barely distinguish between branches legislative, judicial, or executive; hope for America in me was as thin as the line of coffee swirling around the bottom of my cup. Flicking the plastic cup into the waste bin by the auditorium exit I thought to myself “If they let this continue further, they deserve what’s coming. If they can’t make individual stands, they have earned collective oppression.” Intent on my exit out into the wind, with silence and not an utterance inside, I started towards the doors outside. Had it not been for the vibrating notification from my “Illuminati-pocket-Doo-Hickie” of an incoming text I would have made it too. Yet a quick speed read, of a request that Yours Truly speak, caused me enough pause before I could jingle my keys to leave.
To be continued in “A Watcher on the Wall: Part II
A SONG TO PLAY US OUT…
