Tuesday, January 31, 2012
The Daily Messenger: In a Police State, walking your dogs can get you t...
The Daily Messenger: In a Police State, walking your dogs can get you t...: When park rangers become - as they have become in the last twenty years - militant bullies with badges, then the country is doomed. More and...
The VFW
The VFW
by Don Bradley, 1-31-12
On any of the forgotten roads leading out of town, you'll find them. Old, weather-beaten taverns, relics of Eisenhower, cheap gas, plenty of jobs, and lives gone by. Sporting faded parking lots in need of repair, no windows to let in the light that reminds all within that life still beckons from beyond the door, and older cars long past their prime, the VFW still stands in every locale as a haven for the lost, weary, and those much in need of love and friendship. These places also have karaoke nights, which pulls in those, whose voices (and sometimes their ego), need a work out from time to time.
It happened to me that—having avoided bars with a vengeance my whole life—life itself required I actually visit one in order to see someone. “Let's meet at the VFW...it's within walking distance from where I live.”
Okay.
It takes a few moments to shift from the outside world to the VFW world. Arriving, there doesn't seem much going on at all. A few cars in the lot, no visible sign of life, and, being on roads less traveled, it's quiet. Once inside however, the wailing strains of some lamenting country singer whining about losing his girl/dog/truck/job hits your ears and you are instantly greeted by twenty or so turned heads, all looking to see who it is that has just violated their airspace. The smiles and warm nods inform that it's okay to come in; pull up a stool, pardner.
We're all here for the same reason. Have a drink, won't you?
Meeting my friend, I am informed of who is who and why is why. It's an interesting family of folks who make the VFW an important part of their life. Everyone is a story, a tale, a great suffering or hardship that has come upon them—sometime for decades.
It's about broken hearts, promises, regrets, and weird remembrances of slights from the 7th grade or a jilted lover back in '82. Everyone knows everyone else, hence the extended or more likely, replaced family that is no more in their other life; the life they left at the door.
You cannot belong at the VFW unless you bring with you a great pain right in the middle of your heart. It must be unstated at first, but it must be sensed by all as severe—to you at least—enough to pull you in here. For you see, the bar stools are in fact great magnets for souls suffering under burdens they are unable to carry any longer within themselves. They need, no, they MUST, come to some place, somewhere, to unburden this great load that is slowly grinding their best parts into the dirt.
They come here, to the ever open, ever welcome VFW.
For it is their church. A place where they are understood, loved, accepted without judgment and given an open forum—especially after several drinks—in which to confess the thing which is that great pain and cross which they carry every single day of their lives.
Looking around, peering deep into the hearts and souls of the assembled choir, I wept inside. A part of me was chatting with my friend, but my deeper part was observing and listening with an open heart to the great wall of suffering that was the masked frequency of laughter and shouts of good cheer. All facades, all blusters of courage hiding a deeper longing to be understood, forgiven, and freed.
Sometimes, there was no understanding. As one man put it, “why doesn't that guy put a cork in it.” He would be no man's priest that night, his ego driving the worth of his own pain above all others around him.
At 8 in the evening, it's all bon-vivant, smiles, and have another beer! By 11, it starts to get very quiet. Half the women are silently weeping, tears streaming down their face as each regales those willing to comfort what has befallen them—that day or thirty years ago. Little huddles of loving, warm embraces move from woman to woman, giving solace and murmurs of love and support. Sometimes, someone shouts out in anger at some unseen foe, past enemy, or just someone in the room they—for reasons only they know—happen to hate. Jealousy is found here. Anger, too.
Welcome to the VFW.
It makes perfect sense why Christ hung out in bars in his time. These are souls in need of real healing, love, and a way out of their own personal hell. A soul healer of that magnitude would find full time work there. Every single day. The pay sucks though. For real soul healers are never paid—they are nailed up. But I digress...
When disinterested pastors impatiently listen to wounded hearts, there is the VFW. When fake gurus offering even faker New Age modalities that give nothing and take everything, there is the VFW.
There will always be the VFW. As it should be.
As long as love is denied, there will be the VFW. As long as suffering goes on without end, there will be the VFW. At the VFW, love is never denied, misunderstood, or held back. As long as you are drinking. And drink you must, if you are to be accepted here. This is understood at the outset.
But the risk is great. Of alcoholism. Of digging deeper holes than one can ever imagine; as the morning strains of light and a hangover oft reminds. That drug keeps the wound from EVER healing. As any drunk knows without being told.
It's part of their pain.
And very often, a great part of their loss.
Of everything that ever matters to them now, once it's gone and has stayed gone for so many years, that it pains them to recall it. Until a half dozen drinks allow it to be recalled with all the associated regrets, remorse, and suffering that is loss. Then the vicious cycle repeats.
Then, finally, one day, the realization. I MUST CHANGE WHO I AM AND STOP LIVING IN THE PAST. I must become something new, with new ways and ways of thinking. For in this, I will be free.
Hopefully without AA. For that is a hospital without an exit sign. Ever. For AA is about programming and group-think—it abhors a thinking individual. It wants droids. Lots of obedient, jingoistic droids.
It's about a change in mind and spirit. Once understood, it becomes easily obtained.
But one must want it so very badly.
Until then, there is the VFW.
The VFW
The VFW
by Don Bradley, 1-31-12
On any of the forgotten roads leading out of town, you'll find them. Old, weather-beaten taverns, relics of Eisenhower, cheap gas, plenty of jobs, and lives gone by. Sporting faded parking lots in need of repair, no windows to let in the light that reminds all within that life still beckons from beyond the door, and older cars long past their prime, the VFW still stands in every locale as a haven for the lost, weary, and those much in need of love and friendship. These places also have karaoke nights, which pulls in those, whose voices (and sometimes their ego), need a work out from time to time.
It happened to me that—having avoided bars with a vengeance my whole life—life itself required I actually visit one in order to see someone. “Let's meet at the VFW...it's within walking distance from where I live.”
Okay.
It takes a few moments to shift from the outside world to the VFW world. Arriving, there doesn't seem much going on at all. A few cars in the lot, no visible sign of life, and, being on roads less traveled, it's quiet. Once inside however, the wailing strains of some lamenting country singer whining about losing his girl/dog/truck/job hits your ears and you are instantly greeted by twenty or so turned heads, all looking to see who it is that has just violated their airspace. The smiles and warm nods inform that it's okay to come in; pull up a stool, pardner.
We're all here for the same reason. Have a drink, won't you?
Meeting my friend, I am informed of who is who and why is why. It's an interesting family of folks who make the VFW an important part of their life. Everyone is a story, a tale, a great suffering or hardship that has come upon them—sometimes for decades.
It's about broken hearts, promises, regrets, and weird remembrances of slights from the 7th grade or a jilted lover back in '82. Everyone knows everyone else, hence the extended or more likely, replaced family that is no more in their other life; the life they left at the door.
You cannot belong at the VFW unless you bring with you a great pain right in the middle of your heart. It must be unstated at first, but it must be sensed by all as severe enough —to you at least—to pull you in here. For you see, the bar stools are in fact great magnets for souls suffering under burdens they are unable to carry any longer within themselves. They need, no, they MUST, come to some place, somewhere, to unburden this great load that is slowly grinding their best parts into the dirt.
They come here, to the ever open, ever welcome VFW.
For it is their church. A place where they are understood, loved, accepted without judgment and given an open forum—especially after several drinks—in which to confess the thing which is that great pain and cross which they carry every single day of their lives.
Looking around, peering deep into the hearts and souls of the assembled choir, I wept inside. A part of me was chatting with my friend, but my deeper part was observing and listening with an open heart to the great wall of suffering that was the masked frequency of laughter and shouts of good cheer. All facades, all blusters of courage hiding a deeper longing to be understood, forgiven, and freed.
Sometimes, there was no understanding. As one man put it, “why doesn't that guy put a cork in it.” He would be no man's priest that night, his ego driving the worth of his own pain above all others around him.
At 8 in the evening, it's all bon-vivant, smiles, and have another beer! By 11, it starts to get very quiet. Half the women are silently weeping, tears streaming down their face as each regales those willing to comfort what has befallen them—that day or thirty years ago. Little huddles of loving, warm embraces move from woman to woman, giving solace and murmurs of love and support. Sometimes, someone shouts out in anger at some unseen foe, past enemy, or just someone in the room they—for reasons only they know—happen to hate. Jealousy is found here. Anger, too.
Welcome to the VFW.
It makes perfect sense why Christ hung out in bars in his time. These are souls in need of real healing, love, and a way out of their own personal hell. A soul healer of that magnitude would find full time work there. Every single day. The pay sucks though. For real soul healers are never paid—they are nailed up. But I digress...
When disinterested pastors impatiently listen to wounded hearts, there is the VFW. When fake gurus offering even faker New Age modalities that give nothing and take everything, there is the VFW.
There will always be the VFW. As it should be.
As long as love is denied, there will be the VFW. As long as suffering goes on without end, there will be the VFW. At the VFW, love is never denied, misunderstood, or held back. As long as you are drinking. And drink you must, if you are to be accepted here. This is understood at the outset.
But the risk is great. Of alcoholism. Of digging deeper holes than one can ever imagine; as the morning strains of light and a hangover oft reminds. That drug keeps the wound from EVER healing. As any drunk knows without being told.
It's part of their pain.
And very often, a great part of their loss.
Of everything that ever matters to them now, once it's gone and has stayed gone for so many years, that it pains them to recall it. Until a half dozen drinks allow it to be recalled with all the associated regrets, remorse, and suffering that is loss. Then the vicious cycle repeats.
Then, finally, one day, the realization. I MUST CHANGE WHO I AM AND STOP LIVING IN THE PAST. I must become something new, with new ways and ways of thinking. For in this, I will be free.
Hopefully without AA. For that is a hospital without an exit sign. Ever. For AA is about programming and group-think—it abhors a thinking individual. It wants droids. Lots of obedient, jingoistic droids.
It's about a change in mind and spirit. Once understood, it becomes easily obtained.
But one must want it so very badly.
Until then, there is the VFW.
The VFW
The VFW
by Don Bradley, 1-31-12
On any of the forgotten roads leading out of town, you'll find them. Old, weather-beaten taverns, relics of Eisenhower, cheap gas, plenty of jobs, and lives gone by. Sporting faded parking lots in need of repair, no windows to let in the light that reminds all within that life still beckons from beyond the door, and older cars long past their prime, the VFW still stands in every locale as a haven for the lost, weary, and those much in need of love and friendship. These places also have karaoke nights, which pulls in those, whose voices (and sometimes their ego), need a work out from time to time.
It happened to me that—having avoided bars with a vengeance my whole life—life itself required I actually visit one in order to see someone. “Let's meet at the VFW...it's within walking distance from where I live.”
Okay.
It takes a few moments to shift from the outside world to the VFW world. Arriving, there doesn't seem much going on at all. A few cars in the lot, no visible sign of life, and, being on roads less traveled, it's quiet. Once inside however, the wailing strains of some lamenting country singer whining about losing his girl/dog/truck/job hits your ears and you are instantly greeted by twenty or so turned heads, all looking to see who it is that has just violated their airspace. The smiles and warm nods inform that it's okay to come in; pull up a stool, pardner.
We're all here for the same reason. Have a drink, won't you?
Meeting my friend, I am informed of who is who and why is why. It's an interesting family of folks who make the VFW an important part of their life. Everyone is a story, a tale, a great suffering or hardship that has come upon them—sometimes for decades.
It's about broken hearts, promises, regrets, and weird remembrances of slights from the 7th grade or a jilted lover back in '82. Everyone knows everyone else, hence the extended or more likely, replaced family that is no more in their other life; the life they left at the door.
You cannot belong at the VFW unless you bring with you a great pain right in the middle of your heart. It must be unstated at first, but it must be sensed by all as severe enough —to you at least—to pull you in here. For you see, the bar stools are in fact great magnets for souls suffering under burdens they are unable to carry any longer within themselves. They need, no, they MUST, come to some place, somewhere, to unburden this great load that is slowly grinding their best parts into the dirt.
They come here, to the ever open, ever welcome VFW.
For it is their church. A place where they are understood, loved, accepted without judgment and given an open forum—especially after several drinks—in which to confess the thing which is that great pain and cross which they carry every single day of their lives.
Looking around, peering deep into the hearts and souls of the assembled choir, I wept inside. A part of me was chatting with my friend, but my deeper part was observing and listening with an open heart to the great wall of suffering that was the masked frequency of laughter and shouts of good cheer. All facades, all blusters of courage hiding a deeper longing to be understood, forgiven, and freed.
Sometimes, there was no understanding. As one man put it, “why doesn't that guy put a cork in it.” He would be no man's priest that night, his ego driving the worth of his own pain above all others around him.
At 8 in the evening, it's all bon-vivant, smiles, and have another beer! By 11, it starts to get very quiet. Half the women are silently weeping, tears streaming down their face as each regales those willing to comfort what has befallen them—that day or thirty years ago. Little huddles of loving, warm embraces move from woman to woman, giving solace and murmurs of love and support. Sometimes, someone shouts out in anger at some unseen foe, past enemy, or just someone in the room they—for reasons only they know—happen to hate. Jealousy is found here. Anger, too.
Welcome to the VFW.
It makes perfect sense why Christ hung out in bars in his time. These are souls in need of real healing, love, and a way out of their own personal hell. A soul healer of that magnitude would find full time work there. Every single day. The pay sucks though. For real soul healers are never paid—they are nailed up. But I digress...
When disinterested pastors impatiently listen to wounded hearts, there is the VFW. When fake gurus offering even faker New Age modalities that give nothing and take everything, there is the VFW.
There will always be the VFW. As it should be.
As long as love is denied, there will be the VFW. As long as suffering goes on without end, there will be the VFW. At the VFW, love is never denied, misunderstood, or held back. As long as you are drinking. And drink you must, if you are to be accepted here. This is understood at the outset.
But the risk is great. Of alcoholism. Of digging deeper holes than one can ever imagine; as the morning strains of light and a hangover oft reminds. That drug keeps the wound from EVER healing. As any drunk knows without being told.
It's part of their pain.
And very often, a great part of their loss.
Of everything that ever matters to them now, once it's gone and has stayed gone for so many years, that it pains them to recall it. Until a half dozen drinks allow it to be recalled with all the associated regrets, remorse, and suffering that is loss. Then the vicious cycle repeats.
Then, finally, one day, the realization. I MUST CHANGE WHO I AM AND STOP LIVING IN THE PAST. I must become something new, with new ways and ways of thinking. For in this, I will be free.
Hopefully without AA. For that is a hospital without an exit sign. Ever. For AA is about programming and group-think—it abhors a thinking individual. It wants droids. Lots of obedient, jingoistic droids.
It's about a change in mind and spirit. Once understood, it becomes easily obtained.
But one must want it so very badly.
Until then, there is the VFW.
The VFW
The VFW
by Don Bradley, 1-31-12
On any of the forgotten roads leading out of town, you'll find them. Old, weather-beaten taverns, relics of Eisenhower, cheap gas, plenty of jobs, and lives gone by. Sporting faded parking lots in need of repair, no windows to let in the light that reminds all within that life still beckons from beyond the door, and older cars long past their prime, the VFW still stands in every locale as a haven for the lost, weary, and those much in need of love and friendship. These places also have karaoke nights, which pulls in those, whose voices (and sometimes their ego), need a work out from time to time.
It happened to me that—having avoided bars with a vengeance my whole life—life itself required I actually visit one in order to see someone. “Let's meet at the VFW...it's within walking distance from where I live.”
Okay.
It takes a few moments to shift from the outside world to the VFW world. Arriving, there doesn't seem much going on at all. A few cars in the lot, no visible sign of life, and, being on roads less traveled, it's quiet. Once inside however, the wailing strains of some lamenting country singer whining about losing his girl/dog/truck/job hits your ears and you are instantly greeted by twenty or so turned heads, all looking to see who it is that has just violated their airspace. The smiles and warm nods inform that it's okay to come in; pull up a stool, pardner.
We're all here for the same reason. Have a drink, won't you?
Meeting my friend, I am informed of who is who and why is why. It's an interesting family of folks who make the VFW an important part of their life. Everyone is a story, a tale, a great suffering or hardship that has come upon them—sometimes for decades.
It's about broken hearts, promises, regrets, and weird remembrances of slights from the 7th grade or a jilted lover back in '82. Everyone knows everyone else, hence the extended or more likely, replaced family that is no more in their other life; the life they left at the door.
You cannot belong at the VFW unless you bring with you a great pain right in the middle of your heart. It must be unstated at first, but it must be sensed by all as severe enough —to you at least—to pull you in here. For you see, the bar stools are in fact great magnets for souls suffering under burdens they are unable to carry any longer within themselves. They need, no, they MUST, come to some place, somewhere, to unburden this great load that is slowly grinding their best parts into the dirt.
They come here, to the ever open, ever welcome VFW.
For it is their church. A place where they are understood, loved, accepted without judgment and given an open forum—especially after several drinks—in which to confess the thing which is that great pain and cross which they carry every single day of their lives.
Looking around, peering deep into the hearts and souls of the assembled choir, I wept inside. A part of me was chatting with my friend, but my deeper part was observing and listening with an open heart to the great wall of suffering that was the masked frequency of laughter and shouts of good cheer. All facades, all blusters of courage hiding a deeper longing to be understood, forgiven, and freed.
Sometimes, there was no understanding. As one man put it, “why doesn't that guy put a cork in it.” He would be no man's priest that night, his ego driving the worth of his own pain above all others around him.
At 8 in the evening, it's all bon-vivant, smiles, and have another beer! By 11, it starts to get very quiet. Half the women are silently weeping, tears streaming down their face as each regales those willing to comfort what has befallen them—that day or thirty years ago. Little huddles of loving, warm embraces move from woman to woman, giving solace and murmurs of love and support. Sometimes, someone shouts out in anger at some unseen foe, past enemy, or just someone in the room they—for reasons only they know—happen to hate. Jealousy is found here. Anger, too.
Welcome to the VFW.
It makes perfect sense why Christ hung out in bars in his time. These are souls in need of real healing, love, and a way out of their own personal hell. A soul healer of that magnitude would find full time work there. Every single day. The pay sucks though. For real soul healers are never paid—they are nailed up. But I digress...
When disinterested pastors impatiently listen to wounded hearts, there is the VFW. When fake gurus offering even faker New Age modalities that give nothing and take everything, there is the VFW.
There will always be the VFW. As it should be.
As long as love is denied, there will be the VFW. As long as suffering goes on without end, there will be the VFW. At the VFW, love is never denied, misunderstood, or held back. As long as you are drinking. And drink you must, if you are to be accepted here. This is understood at the outset.
But the risk is great. Of alcoholism. Of digging deeper holes than one can ever imagine; as the morning strains of light and a hangover oft reminds. That drug keeps the wound from EVER healing. As any drunk knows without being told.
It's part of their pain.
And very often, a great part of their loss.
Of everything that ever matters to them now, once it's gone and has stayed gone for so many years, that it pains them to recall it. Until a half dozen drinks allow it to be recalled with all the associated regrets, remorse, and suffering that is loss. Then the vicious cycle repeats.
Then, finally, one day, the realization. I MUST CHANGE WHO I AM AND STOP LIVING IN THE PAST. I must become something new, with new ways and ways of thinking. For in this, I will be free.
Hopefully without AA. For that is a hospital without an exit sign. Ever. For AA is about programming and group-think—it abhors a thinking individual. It wants droids. Lots of obedient, jingoistic droids.
It's about a change in mind and spirit. Once understood, it becomes easily obtained.
But one must want it so very badly.
Until then, there is the VFW.
In a Police State, walking your dogs can get you tasered, arrested, and jailed.
When park rangers become - as they have become in the last twenty years - militant bullies with badges, then the country is doomed. More and more, when badge bullies get answers they don't like, or they are having a bad day, out comes the taser, whether you are an 8 year-old child, or a guy just walking his dogs. Tasering the population has now become commonplace.
And this story about the guy giving a false name...how did they know at the time it was false? They couldn't have known. That is no reason to electrocute a human being, regardless. Cops lie a dozen times a day, but no one is zapping them for it.
A Montara man walking two lapdogs off leash was hit with an electric-shock gun by a National Park Service ranger after allegedly giving a false name and trying to walk away, authorities said Monday.
The park ranger encountered Gary Hesterberg with his two small dogs Sunday afternoon at Rancho Corral de Tierra, which was recently incorporated into the Golden Gate National Recreation Area, said Howard Levitt, a spokesman for the park service.
Hesterberg, who said he didn't have identification with him, allegedly gave the ranger a false name, Levitt said.
The ranger, who wasn't identified, asked Hesterberg to remain at the scene, Levitt said. He tried several times to leave, and finally the ranger "pursued him a little bit and she did deploy her" electric-shock weapon, Levitt said. "That did stop him."
San Mateo County sheriff's deputies and paramedics then arrived and Hesterberg gave his real name, the park spokesman said.
Hesterberg, whose age was not available, was arrested on suspicion of failing to obey a lawful order, having dogs off-leash and knowingly providing false information, Levitt said.
He was then released. He did not return a phone call seeking comment.
Witnesses said the use of a stun gun and the arrest seemed excessive for someone walking two small dogs off leash.
"It was really scary," said Michelle Babcock, who said she had seen the incident as she and her husband were walking their two border collies. "I just felt so bad for him."
Babcock said Hesterberg had repeatedly asked the ranger why he was being detained. She didn't answer him, Babcock said.
"He just tried to walk away. She never gave him a reason," Babcock said.
The ranger shot Hesterberg in the back with her shock weapon as he walked off, Babcock said.
"We were like in disbelief," she said. "It didn't make any sense."
Rancho Corral de Tierra has long been an off-leash walking spot for local dog owners. In December, the area became part of the national park system, which requires that all dogs be on a leash, Levitt said.
The ranger was trying to educate residents of the rule, Levitt said.
The park service is investigating the incident, he said.
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2012/01/30/MN921N0LQT.DTL
And this story about the guy giving a false name...how did they know at the time it was false? They couldn't have known. That is no reason to electrocute a human being, regardless. Cops lie a dozen times a day, but no one is zapping them for it.
A Montara man walking two lapdogs off leash was hit with an electric-shock gun by a National Park Service ranger after allegedly giving a false name and trying to walk away, authorities said Monday.
The park ranger encountered Gary Hesterberg with his two small dogs Sunday afternoon at Rancho Corral de Tierra, which was recently incorporated into the Golden Gate National Recreation Area, said Howard Levitt, a spokesman for the park service.
Hesterberg, who said he didn't have identification with him, allegedly gave the ranger a false name, Levitt said.
The ranger, who wasn't identified, asked Hesterberg to remain at the scene, Levitt said. He tried several times to leave, and finally the ranger "pursued him a little bit and she did deploy her" electric-shock weapon, Levitt said. "That did stop him."
San Mateo County sheriff's deputies and paramedics then arrived and Hesterberg gave his real name, the park spokesman said.
Hesterberg, whose age was not available, was arrested on suspicion of failing to obey a lawful order, having dogs off-leash and knowingly providing false information, Levitt said.
He was then released. He did not return a phone call seeking comment.
Witnesses said the use of a stun gun and the arrest seemed excessive for someone walking two small dogs off leash.
"It was really scary," said Michelle Babcock, who said she had seen the incident as she and her husband were walking their two border collies. "I just felt so bad for him."
Babcock said Hesterberg had repeatedly asked the ranger why he was being detained. She didn't answer him, Babcock said.
"He just tried to walk away. She never gave him a reason," Babcock said.
The ranger shot Hesterberg in the back with her shock weapon as he walked off, Babcock said.
"We were like in disbelief," she said. "It didn't make any sense."
Rancho Corral de Tierra has long been an off-leash walking spot for local dog owners. In December, the area became part of the national park system, which requires that all dogs be on a leash, Levitt said.
The ranger was trying to educate residents of the rule, Levitt said.
The park service is investigating the incident, he said.
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2012/01/30/MN921N0LQT.DTL
In a Police State, walking your dogs can get you tasered, arrested, and jailed.
When park rangers become - as they have become in the last twenty years - militant bullies with badges, then the country is doomed. More and more, when badge bullies get answers they don't like, or they are having a bad day, out comes the taser, whether you are an 8 year-old child, or a guy just walking his dogs. Tasering the population has now become commonplace.
And this story about the guy giving a false name...how did they know at the time it was false? They couldn't have known. That is no reason to electrocute a human being, regardless. Cops lie a dozen times a day, but no one is zapping them for it.
A Montara man walking two lapdogs off leash was hit with an electric-shock gun by a National Park Service ranger after allegedly giving a false name and trying to walk away, authorities said Monday.
The park ranger encountered Gary Hesterberg with his two small dogs Sunday afternoon at Rancho Corral de Tierra, which was recently incorporated into the Golden Gate National Recreation Area, said Howard Levitt, a spokesman for the park service.
Hesterberg, who said he didn't have identification with him, allegedly gave the ranger a false name, Levitt said.
The ranger, who wasn't identified, asked Hesterberg to remain at the scene, Levitt said. He tried several times to leave, and finally the ranger "pursued him a little bit and she did deploy her" electric-shock weapon, Levitt said. "That did stop him."
San Mateo County sheriff's deputies and paramedics then arrived and Hesterberg gave his real name, the park spokesman said.
Hesterberg, whose age was not available, was arrested on suspicion of failing to obey a lawful order, having dogs off-leash and knowingly providing false information, Levitt said.
He was then released. He did not return a phone call seeking comment.
Witnesses said the use of a stun gun and the arrest seemed excessive for someone walking two small dogs off leash.
"It was really scary," said Michelle Babcock, who said she had seen the incident as she and her husband were walking their two border collies. "I just felt so bad for him."
Babcock said Hesterberg had repeatedly asked the ranger why he was being detained. She didn't answer him, Babcock said.
"He just tried to walk away. She never gave him a reason," Babcock said.
The ranger shot Hesterberg in the back with her shock weapon as he walked off, Babcock said.
"We were like in disbelief," she said. "It didn't make any sense."
Rancho Corral de Tierra has long been an off-leash walking spot for local dog owners. In December, the area became part of the national park system, which requires that all dogs be on a leash, Levitt said.
The ranger was trying to educate residents of the rule, Levitt said.
The park service is investigating the incident, he said.
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2012/01/30/MN921N0LQT.DTL
And this story about the guy giving a false name...how did they know at the time it was false? They couldn't have known. That is no reason to electrocute a human being, regardless. Cops lie a dozen times a day, but no one is zapping them for it.
A Montara man walking two lapdogs off leash was hit with an electric-shock gun by a National Park Service ranger after allegedly giving a false name and trying to walk away, authorities said Monday.
The park ranger encountered Gary Hesterberg with his two small dogs Sunday afternoon at Rancho Corral de Tierra, which was recently incorporated into the Golden Gate National Recreation Area, said Howard Levitt, a spokesman for the park service.
Hesterberg, who said he didn't have identification with him, allegedly gave the ranger a false name, Levitt said.
The ranger, who wasn't identified, asked Hesterberg to remain at the scene, Levitt said. He tried several times to leave, and finally the ranger "pursued him a little bit and she did deploy her" electric-shock weapon, Levitt said. "That did stop him."
San Mateo County sheriff's deputies and paramedics then arrived and Hesterberg gave his real name, the park spokesman said.
Hesterberg, whose age was not available, was arrested on suspicion of failing to obey a lawful order, having dogs off-leash and knowingly providing false information, Levitt said.
He was then released. He did not return a phone call seeking comment.
Witnesses said the use of a stun gun and the arrest seemed excessive for someone walking two small dogs off leash.
"It was really scary," said Michelle Babcock, who said she had seen the incident as she and her husband were walking their two border collies. "I just felt so bad for him."
Babcock said Hesterberg had repeatedly asked the ranger why he was being detained. She didn't answer him, Babcock said.
"He just tried to walk away. She never gave him a reason," Babcock said.
The ranger shot Hesterberg in the back with her shock weapon as he walked off, Babcock said.
"We were like in disbelief," she said. "It didn't make any sense."
Rancho Corral de Tierra has long been an off-leash walking spot for local dog owners. In December, the area became part of the national park system, which requires that all dogs be on a leash, Levitt said.
The ranger was trying to educate residents of the rule, Levitt said.
The park service is investigating the incident, he said.
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2012/01/30/MN921N0LQT.DTL
In a Police State, walking your dogs can get you tasered, arrested, and jailed.
When park rangers become - as they have become in the last twenty years - militant bullies with badges, then the country is doomed. More and more, when badge bullies get answers they don't like, or they are having a bad day, out comes the taser, whether you are an 8 year-old child, or a guy just walking his dogs. Tasering the population has now become commonplace.
And this story about the guy giving a false name...how did they know at the time it was false? They couldn't have known. That is no reason to electrocute a human being, regardless. Cops lie a dozen times a day, but no one is zapping them for it.
A Montara man walking two lapdogs off leash was hit with an electric-shock gun by a National Park Service ranger after allegedly giving a false name and trying to walk away, authorities said Monday.
The park ranger encountered Gary Hesterberg with his two small dogs Sunday afternoon at Rancho Corral de Tierra, which was recently incorporated into the Golden Gate National Recreation Area, said Howard Levitt, a spokesman for the park service.
Hesterberg, who said he didn't have identification with him, allegedly gave the ranger a false name, Levitt said.
The ranger, who wasn't identified, asked Hesterberg to remain at the scene, Levitt said. He tried several times to leave, and finally the ranger "pursued him a little bit and she did deploy her" electric-shock weapon, Levitt said. "That did stop him."
San Mateo County sheriff's deputies and paramedics then arrived and Hesterberg gave his real name, the park spokesman said.
Hesterberg, whose age was not available, was arrested on suspicion of failing to obey a lawful order, having dogs off-leash and knowingly providing false information, Levitt said.
He was then released. He did not return a phone call seeking comment.
Witnesses said the use of a stun gun and the arrest seemed excessive for someone walking two small dogs off leash.
"It was really scary," said Michelle Babcock, who said she had seen the incident as she and her husband were walking their two border collies. "I just felt so bad for him."
Babcock said Hesterberg had repeatedly asked the ranger why he was being detained. She didn't answer him, Babcock said.
"He just tried to walk away. She never gave him a reason," Babcock said.
The ranger shot Hesterberg in the back with her shock weapon as he walked off, Babcock said.
"We were like in disbelief," she said. "It didn't make any sense."
Rancho Corral de Tierra has long been an off-leash walking spot for local dog owners. In December, the area became part of the national park system, which requires that all dogs be on a leash, Levitt said.
The ranger was trying to educate residents of the rule, Levitt said.
The park service is investigating the incident, he said.
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2012/01/30/MN921N0LQT.DTL
And this story about the guy giving a false name...how did they know at the time it was false? They couldn't have known. That is no reason to electrocute a human being, regardless. Cops lie a dozen times a day, but no one is zapping them for it.
A Montara man walking two lapdogs off leash was hit with an electric-shock gun by a National Park Service ranger after allegedly giving a false name and trying to walk away, authorities said Monday.
The park ranger encountered Gary Hesterberg with his two small dogs Sunday afternoon at Rancho Corral de Tierra, which was recently incorporated into the Golden Gate National Recreation Area, said Howard Levitt, a spokesman for the park service.
Hesterberg, who said he didn't have identification with him, allegedly gave the ranger a false name, Levitt said.
The ranger, who wasn't identified, asked Hesterberg to remain at the scene, Levitt said. He tried several times to leave, and finally the ranger "pursued him a little bit and she did deploy her" electric-shock weapon, Levitt said. "That did stop him."
San Mateo County sheriff's deputies and paramedics then arrived and Hesterberg gave his real name, the park spokesman said.
Hesterberg, whose age was not available, was arrested on suspicion of failing to obey a lawful order, having dogs off-leash and knowingly providing false information, Levitt said.
He was then released. He did not return a phone call seeking comment.
Witnesses said the use of a stun gun and the arrest seemed excessive for someone walking two small dogs off leash.
"It was really scary," said Michelle Babcock, who said she had seen the incident as she and her husband were walking their two border collies. "I just felt so bad for him."
Babcock said Hesterberg had repeatedly asked the ranger why he was being detained. She didn't answer him, Babcock said.
"He just tried to walk away. She never gave him a reason," Babcock said.
The ranger shot Hesterberg in the back with her shock weapon as he walked off, Babcock said.
"We were like in disbelief," she said. "It didn't make any sense."
Rancho Corral de Tierra has long been an off-leash walking spot for local dog owners. In December, the area became part of the national park system, which requires that all dogs be on a leash, Levitt said.
The ranger was trying to educate residents of the rule, Levitt said.
The park service is investigating the incident, he said.
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2012/01/30/MN921N0LQT.DTL
Monday, January 30, 2012
GM to Sell Vehicle Data
General Motors has run into privacy issues with its OnStar GPS-based system, which may continue to track vehicles even after a customer cancels the service. General Motors changed its OnStar privacy policy in December 2011, indicating that it reserves the right to share data it has collected - such as a vehicle's speed, location, odometer reading, seat belt usage and airbag deployment - with other companies. This is true even for customers who have cancelled the OnStar service unless they explicitly ask for the two-way communications link to be disabled. General Motors says the data would be anonymous and aggregated before being sold. Vehicle-based telematics systems like OnStar are an emerging area for privacy concerns, with new worries about the possibility of misuse of data.
---------
These new cars are all about tracking everywhere you go, everything you do, how long you are there, etc. And know this, what GM and other GPS trackers knows, the government knows - because all the children share in the spying playground with Big Brother.
---------
These new cars are all about tracking everywhere you go, everything you do, how long you are there, etc. And know this, what GM and other GPS trackers knows, the government knows - because all the children share in the spying playground with Big Brother.
GM to Sell Vehicle Data
General Motors has run into privacy issues with its OnStar GPS-based system, which may continue to track vehicles even after a customer cancels the service. General Motors changed its OnStar privacy policy in December 2011, indicating that it reserves the right to share data it has collected - such as a vehicle's speed, location, odometer reading, seat belt usage and airbag deployment - with other companies. This is true even for customers who have cancelled the OnStar service unless they explicitly ask for the two-way communications link to be disabled. General Motors says the data would be anonymous and aggregated before being sold. Vehicle-based telematics systems like OnStar are an emerging area for privacy concerns, with new worries about the possibility of misuse of data.
---------
These new cars are all about tracking everywhere you go, everything you do, how long you are there, etc. And know this, what GM and other GPS trackers knows, the government knows - because all the children share in the spying playground with Big Brother.
---------
These new cars are all about tracking everywhere you go, everything you do, how long you are there, etc. And know this, what GM and other GPS trackers knows, the government knows - because all the children share in the spying playground with Big Brother.
GM to Sell Vehicle Data
General Motors has run into privacy issues with its OnStar GPS-based system, which may continue to track vehicles even after a customer cancels the service. General Motors changed its OnStar privacy policy in December 2011, indicating that it reserves the right to share data it has collected - such as a vehicle's speed, location, odometer reading, seat belt usage and airbag deployment - with other companies. This is true even for customers who have cancelled the OnStar service unless they explicitly ask for the two-way communications link to be disabled. General Motors says the data would be anonymous and aggregated before being sold. Vehicle-based telematics systems like OnStar are an emerging area for privacy concerns, with new worries about the possibility of misuse of data.
---------
These new cars are all about tracking everywhere you go, everything you do, how long you are there, etc. And know this, what GM and other GPS trackers knows, the government knows - because all the children share in the spying playground with Big Brother.
---------
These new cars are all about tracking everywhere you go, everything you do, how long you are there, etc. And know this, what GM and other GPS trackers knows, the government knows - because all the children share in the spying playground with Big Brother.
Fukushima Reactor 6 has lost 7 tons of water. Reactor 4 water pipes burst from being frozen
Tokyo Electric Power Company has found water leaks in 14 locations at the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear plant.
The utility says the leaks apparently occurred after frozen water ruptured the pipes and the leaked water did not contain any radioactive materials.
Tokyo Electric said about 40 liters of water leaked from a cooling system for a spent fuel pool at the No.4 reactor on Sunday, but the flow stopped when workers closed the valve.
The company said the leak forced the system to stop for one hour and 40 minutes, but the pool's temperature did not rise.
Tokyo Electric said 7 tons of water had leaked from the No.6 reactor.
The temperature fell to minus 8 degrees Celsius on Sunday morning near the damaged plant.
Ruptured pipes caused 3 water leaks on the previous day.
Tokyo Electric official Junichi Matsumoto admitted that the utility failed to take sufficient steps to prevent frozen pipes. He said it will take quick action to protect the pipes from the cold weather.
http://www3.nhk.or.jp/daily/english/20120129_23.html
Fukushima Reactor 6 has lost 7 tons of water. Reactor 4 water pipes burst from being frozen
Tokyo Electric Power Company has found water leaks in 14 locations at the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear plant.
The utility says the leaks apparently occurred after frozen water ruptured the pipes and the leaked water did not contain any radioactive materials.
Tokyo Electric said about 40 liters of water leaked from a cooling system for a spent fuel pool at the No.4 reactor on Sunday, but the flow stopped when workers closed the valve.
The company said the leak forced the system to stop for one hour and 40 minutes, but the pool's temperature did not rise.
Tokyo Electric said 7 tons of water had leaked from the No.6 reactor.
The temperature fell to minus 8 degrees Celsius on Sunday morning near the damaged plant.
Ruptured pipes caused 3 water leaks on the previous day.
Tokyo Electric official Junichi Matsumoto admitted that the utility failed to take sufficient steps to prevent frozen pipes. He said it will take quick action to protect the pipes from the cold weather.
http://www3.nhk.or.jp/daily/english/20120129_23.html
Fukushima Reactor 6 has lost 7 tons of water. Reactor 4 water pipes burst from being frozen
Tokyo Electric Power Company has found water leaks in 14 locations at the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear plant.
The utility says the leaks apparently occurred after frozen water ruptured the pipes and the leaked water did not contain any radioactive materials.
Tokyo Electric said about 40 liters of water leaked from a cooling system for a spent fuel pool at the No.4 reactor on Sunday, but the flow stopped when workers closed the valve.
The company said the leak forced the system to stop for one hour and 40 minutes, but the pool's temperature did not rise.
Tokyo Electric said 7 tons of water had leaked from the No.6 reactor.
The temperature fell to minus 8 degrees Celsius on Sunday morning near the damaged plant.
Ruptured pipes caused 3 water leaks on the previous day.
Tokyo Electric official Junichi Matsumoto admitted that the utility failed to take sufficient steps to prevent frozen pipes. He said it will take quick action to protect the pipes from the cold weather.
http://www3.nhk.or.jp/daily/english/20120129_23.html
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Thanks for the cancer...
Killing me softly with their lies, killing me slowly with their chemsoup and fallout...
Thanks for the cancer...
Killing me softly with their lies, killing me slowly with their chemsoup and fallout...
Thanks for the cancer...
Killing me softly with their lies, killing me slowly with their chemsoup and fallout...
Something Wicked This Way Comes --For Real
Evil people know one another: Arab proverb
Charlie Manson is an enigma to most people; a singer/song writer, murderer, anarchist revolutionary, philosopher, occultist, Scientologist, etc. There have been quite a few books written about him, giving useful clues and attempting to put those clues together in such a way that Manson will make sense to them. However, a few writer/researchers have made it clear that you cannot understand him until you know that he was an MK Ultra mind control victim of the Illuminati, with Helter-Skelter programming.
This goes for several of those who were members of his communal family. In addition to being a member of the Scientology brainwash cult, Charles was also a member of the super-satanic Process Church of the Final Judgment.
Is there an easier way to initiate a revolution than to program people to do it for you? I don't think so. Neither does the Illuminati, hence they created the Process Church through their agents Robert Moore and Mary Anne Maclean (accomplished Scientologists). Researcher Jim Keith says of the Process " Manson's reported plan to unleash the apocalyptic 'Helter Skelter' revolution also seems to have been copped straight from Process theology, but there is a familiar ring. The 'process' of The Process is identical to that of Tavistock, the return of the blank slate, the tabula rasa, through violence."
The Tavistock Institute is a well-known MK Ultra type programming center in Great Britain. According to Dr. John Coleman, the British rock band the Beatles was put together and then brought to America by the Tavistock Institute as a step in creating a cultural revolution in the United States. The Tavistock was also responsible for inserting 'trigger words' into their 'cult lyrics' through a man named Theo Adorno.
The American equivalent to the Tavistock Institute is the Esalen Institute in Big Sur, California. Esalen is a new agey cult center where Manson was seen just a few days before the Tate-La Bianca murders took place. Robert DeGrimston was also reported to have spoken there and Manson murder victim Abigail Folger had also been seen there. It's possible that Manson and other members of 'the family' had undergone programming there. The one thing that a lot of people have figured out over the years is that part of Manson's programming did involve Beatles' music.
John Todd knew Manson and, being an insider, was aware of the plan the Illuminati had for utilizing Manson and the Process in Operation Chaos Creation. Let's flash back to that message by John Todd, cited in part 2, in which he said the following regarding Manson:
" Now, they didn't want him out, and let me explain something, he did not go there because the jury found him guilty. They could not have sent him to prison if the Illuminati did not want him to go. He went there for a reason. And we have talked with prison officials across the United States, and people belonging to motorcycle clubs and so on, we have received the same answer. He has them united. There is a mass army within every prison from coast to coast. They have been promised weapons, military weapons. To verify this, the U.S. Army has said, and so has the Marine Corps., that in the last five years they have lost half of their small arms weapons to theft in the United States. That includes hand-held, ground-to-air, heat-seeking missiles that can take a DC-10 out of the sky at 40,000 feet...Now he has been gathering an army and outside of prison it amounts to over a hundred thousand professionally trained military people. They've been hiring ex-Green Berets, Rangers, Navy Seals to train them in camps...one is down in War, West Virginia, to give you an example...to train them in special forces tactics. Every one of them is as trained as a Green Beret is. That is very well trained...Manson will be released either next year or the following year. They haven't decided yet. I'll say this, the one thing that will hold their plan up is if they don't get their gun laws passed. These people refuse to go out and cause havoc if somebody's going to be shooting back at 'em. So they have been promised that all the guns will be confiscated before they start their move. Now they have been promised they will get this country, what they don't know is they have been set up. They have been set up just so they will kill a certain amount of people. The figure at the present is that in the first year one million people will be butchered. I use that term because that's about how to describe what will happen. And I can leave it to your imagination and your prayer life as to whose scheduled to be killed. Next, this is just so they can get the National Guard called out. They recently passed a law that gives the President the right to suspend the Constitution and Congress, and call martial law and call out the military. Now that would seem to harsh to us right now. But what happens when millions of people are getting shot at and killed. Then they'll be calling for it to happen."
Charlie wasn't the only member of the Process who was famous for mass murder. Investigative reporter Maury Terry, who worked on the Son of Sam case for years, dropped the six-hundred and forty page bombshell titled The Ultimate Evil. Showing that Berkowitz didn't act alone, Terry drew a coherent picture of the inner workings of the Process Church and how they were actually involved in the Son of Sam ritual killings. Albeit it, even if it was only a small glimpse of how vast and well-connected across the U.S. this one part of the Satanic underground is. His appraisal of the Process " The Process firmly believed its divine duty was to hasten the arrival of the final days -- and bastardizing the Bible told them how to do it. This was a blueprint for murder, butchery and other crime cloaked in religious justification. "
http://poweredbychrist.homestead.com/something_wicked_4.html
Something Wicked This Way Comes --For Real
Evil people know one another: Arab proverb
Charlie Manson is an enigma to most people; a singer/song writer, murderer, anarchist revolutionary, philosopher, occultist, Scientologist, etc. There have been quite a few books written about him, giving useful clues and attempting to put those clues together in such a way that Manson will make sense to them. However, a few writer/researchers have made it clear that you cannot understand him until you know that he was an MK Ultra mind control victim of the Illuminati, with Helter-Skelter programming.
This goes for several of those who were members of his communal family. In addition to being a member of the Scientology brainwash cult, Charles was also a member of the super-satanic Process Church of the Final Judgment.
Is there an easier way to initiate a revolution than to program people to do it for you? I don't think so. Neither does the Illuminati, hence they created the Process Church through their agents Robert Moore and Mary Anne Maclean (accomplished Scientologists). Researcher Jim Keith says of the Process " Manson's reported plan to unleash the apocalyptic 'Helter Skelter' revolution also seems to have been copped straight from Process theology, but there is a familiar ring. The 'process' of The Process is identical to that of Tavistock, the return of the blank slate, the tabula rasa, through violence."
The Tavistock Institute is a well-known MK Ultra type programming center in Great Britain. According to Dr. John Coleman, the British rock band the Beatles was put together and then brought to America by the Tavistock Institute as a step in creating a cultural revolution in the United States. The Tavistock was also responsible for inserting 'trigger words' into their 'cult lyrics' through a man named Theo Adorno.
The American equivalent to the Tavistock Institute is the Esalen Institute in Big Sur, California. Esalen is a new agey cult center where Manson was seen just a few days before the Tate-La Bianca murders took place. Robert DeGrimston was also reported to have spoken there and Manson murder victim Abigail Folger had also been seen there. It's possible that Manson and other members of 'the family' had undergone programming there. The one thing that a lot of people have figured out over the years is that part of Manson's programming did involve Beatles' music.
John Todd knew Manson and, being an insider, was aware of the plan the Illuminati had for utilizing Manson and the Process in Operation Chaos Creation. Let's flash back to that message by John Todd, cited in part 2, in which he said the following regarding Manson:
" Now, they didn't want him out, and let me explain something, he did not go there because the jury found him guilty. They could not have sent him to prison if the Illuminati did not want him to go. He went there for a reason. And we have talked with prison officials across the United States, and people belonging to motorcycle clubs and so on, we have received the same answer. He has them united. There is a mass army within every prison from coast to coast. They have been promised weapons, military weapons. To verify this, the U.S. Army has said, and so has the Marine Corps., that in the last five years they have lost half of their small arms weapons to theft in the United States. That includes hand-held, ground-to-air, heat-seeking missiles that can take a DC-10 out of the sky at 40,000 feet...Now he has been gathering an army and outside of prison it amounts to over a hundred thousand professionally trained military people. They've been hiring ex-Green Berets, Rangers, Navy Seals to train them in camps...one is down in War, West Virginia, to give you an example...to train them in special forces tactics. Every one of them is as trained as a Green Beret is. That is very well trained...Manson will be released either next year or the following year. They haven't decided yet. I'll say this, the one thing that will hold their plan up is if they don't get their gun laws passed. These people refuse to go out and cause havoc if somebody's going to be shooting back at 'em. So they have been promised that all the guns will be confiscated before they start their move. Now they have been promised they will get this country, what they don't know is they have been set up. They have been set up just so they will kill a certain amount of people. The figure at the present is that in the first year one million people will be butchered. I use that term because that's about how to describe what will happen. And I can leave it to your imagination and your prayer life as to whose scheduled to be killed. Next, this is just so they can get the National Guard called out. They recently passed a law that gives the President the right to suspend the Constitution and Congress, and call martial law and call out the military. Now that would seem to harsh to us right now. But what happens when millions of people are getting shot at and killed. Then they'll be calling for it to happen."
Charlie wasn't the only member of the Process who was famous for mass murder. Investigative reporter Maury Terry, who worked on the Son of Sam case for years, dropped the six-hundred and forty page bombshell titled The Ultimate Evil. Showing that Berkowitz didn't act alone, Terry drew a coherent picture of the inner workings of the Process Church and how they were actually involved in the Son of Sam ritual killings. Albeit it, even if it was only a small glimpse of how vast and well-connected across the U.S. this one part of the Satanic underground is. His appraisal of the Process " The Process firmly believed its divine duty was to hasten the arrival of the final days -- and bastardizing the Bible told them how to do it. This was a blueprint for murder, butchery and other crime cloaked in religious justification. "
http://poweredbychrist.homestead.com/something_wicked_4.html
Something Wicked This Way Comes --For Real
Evil people know one another: Arab proverb
Charlie Manson is an enigma to most people; a singer/song writer, murderer, anarchist revolutionary, philosopher, occultist, Scientologist, etc. There have been quite a few books written about him, giving useful clues and attempting to put those clues together in such a way that Manson will make sense to them. However, a few writer/researchers have made it clear that you cannot understand him until you know that he was an MK Ultra mind control victim of the Illuminati, with Helter-Skelter programming.
This goes for several of those who were members of his communal family. In addition to being a member of the Scientology brainwash cult, Charles was also a member of the super-satanic Process Church of the Final Judgment.
Is there an easier way to initiate a revolution than to program people to do it for you? I don't think so. Neither does the Illuminati, hence they created the Process Church through their agents Robert Moore and Mary Anne Maclean (accomplished Scientologists). Researcher Jim Keith says of the Process " Manson's reported plan to unleash the apocalyptic 'Helter Skelter' revolution also seems to have been copped straight from Process theology, but there is a familiar ring. The 'process' of The Process is identical to that of Tavistock, the return of the blank slate, the tabula rasa, through violence."
The Tavistock Institute is a well-known MK Ultra type programming center in Great Britain. According to Dr. John Coleman, the British rock band the Beatles was put together and then brought to America by the Tavistock Institute as a step in creating a cultural revolution in the United States. The Tavistock was also responsible for inserting 'trigger words' into their 'cult lyrics' through a man named Theo Adorno.
The American equivalent to the Tavistock Institute is the Esalen Institute in Big Sur, California. Esalen is a new agey cult center where Manson was seen just a few days before the Tate-La Bianca murders took place. Robert DeGrimston was also reported to have spoken there and Manson murder victim Abigail Folger had also been seen there. It's possible that Manson and other members of 'the family' had undergone programming there. The one thing that a lot of people have figured out over the years is that part of Manson's programming did involve Beatles' music.
John Todd knew Manson and, being an insider, was aware of the plan the Illuminati had for utilizing Manson and the Process in Operation Chaos Creation. Let's flash back to that message by John Todd, cited in part 2, in which he said the following regarding Manson:
" Now, they didn't want him out, and let me explain something, he did not go there because the jury found him guilty. They could not have sent him to prison if the Illuminati did not want him to go. He went there for a reason. And we have talked with prison officials across the United States, and people belonging to motorcycle clubs and so on, we have received the same answer. He has them united. There is a mass army within every prison from coast to coast. They have been promised weapons, military weapons. To verify this, the U.S. Army has said, and so has the Marine Corps., that in the last five years they have lost half of their small arms weapons to theft in the United States. That includes hand-held, ground-to-air, heat-seeking missiles that can take a DC-10 out of the sky at 40,000 feet...Now he has been gathering an army and outside of prison it amounts to over a hundred thousand professionally trained military people. They've been hiring ex-Green Berets, Rangers, Navy Seals to train them in camps...one is down in War, West Virginia, to give you an example...to train them in special forces tactics. Every one of them is as trained as a Green Beret is. That is very well trained...Manson will be released either next year or the following year. They haven't decided yet. I'll say this, the one thing that will hold their plan up is if they don't get their gun laws passed. These people refuse to go out and cause havoc if somebody's going to be shooting back at 'em. So they have been promised that all the guns will be confiscated before they start their move. Now they have been promised they will get this country, what they don't know is they have been set up. They have been set up just so they will kill a certain amount of people. The figure at the present is that in the first year one million people will be butchered. I use that term because that's about how to describe what will happen. And I can leave it to your imagination and your prayer life as to whose scheduled to be killed. Next, this is just so they can get the National Guard called out. They recently passed a law that gives the President the right to suspend the Constitution and Congress, and call martial law and call out the military. Now that would seem to harsh to us right now. But what happens when millions of people are getting shot at and killed. Then they'll be calling for it to happen."
Charlie wasn't the only member of the Process who was famous for mass murder. Investigative reporter Maury Terry, who worked on the Son of Sam case for years, dropped the six-hundred and forty page bombshell titled The Ultimate Evil. Showing that Berkowitz didn't act alone, Terry drew a coherent picture of the inner workings of the Process Church and how they were actually involved in the Son of Sam ritual killings. Albeit it, even if it was only a small glimpse of how vast and well-connected across the U.S. this one part of the Satanic underground is. His appraisal of the Process " The Process firmly believed its divine duty was to hasten the arrival of the final days -- and bastardizing the Bible told them how to do it. This was a blueprint for murder, butchery and other crime cloaked in religious justification. "
http://poweredbychrist.homestead.com/something_wicked_4.html
Saturday, January 28, 2012
The Daily Messenger: How to Permanently Delete Your Facebook Account
The Daily Messenger: How to Permanently Delete Your Facebook Account: Facebook is a creature and front Operation of the CIA. That was verified and established a long time ago, so ignore the propaganda and BS do...
A Visit to Japan's Nuclear Ghost Towns
The house has been in Tsuneyasu Satoh's family for generations. It is dusk, and he has come to see it, secretly, one last time. He loves the interior walls made of rice paper and the wooden floor on which his ancestors once walked. But today he will be the last member of his family to set foot in the house.
Satoh is wearing a baseball cap and glasses with black frames, as if he were trying to hide the stony expression on his face. He and his wife Sayoko don't have much time, and they know that they will have to leave many belongings behind in their old house. Things like the framed calligraphy by Satoh's father and the awards earned by his daughter, who plays table tennis on the Japanese national team. Satoh stacks blankets and wraps up the TV set. Sayoko gathers the most important items she can find in the cabinets: documents, bed linens, the good rice cooker.
When the Satohs had to flee from their home in the city of Odaka in mid-March, they were not allowed to take anything with them. Government buses and soldiers came to pick them up. Their house had survived for centuries, weathering past earthquakes and the recent tsunami. But after the explosion of the building surrounding Reactor No. 1 at the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear power plant, the Satohs had to leave the house.
Now, four weeks after the evacuation, they have secretly returned to Odaka, which is located inside the 20-kilometer (12.5-mile) restricted zone around the plant, to fill up their Nissan van.
Traffic Lights Still Work
There were 13,400 people living in Odaka before the accident. Today it's a ghost town, so quiet that one can hear the beating wings of crows flying overhead. As a last sign of life in this dead city, the traffic lights along the main road are still working. Like disco lights at a party that's been over for hours, they are still switching from green to yellow to red and back to green again.
Tens of thousands of Japanese who once lived in the danger zone around the stricken reactor are in the same position. Many suddenly had to give up all of their important and meaningful possessions. Others were allowed to stay but are now being told not to leave their houses.
The 20-kilometer restricted zone around Fukushima is, in a sense, the legacy of an uncontrollable technology. While the energy-hungry economic powerhouse that is Japan relied heavily on the dream of an inexhaustible source of energy, the people affected by the Fukushima disaster are now being left to more or less fend for themselves as they face the dirty consequences.
Odaka's dark brown wooden houses are built closely together, and some are now even leaning against each other. Some collapsed during the earthquake, but in others the walls simply crumbled. Cabbage plants and potted flowers are still lined up outside the supermarket. Some residents closed their shutters before they left, but most simply locked the front door. A black women's shoe is lying on the street at an intersection. An abandoned taxi is parked in front of the train station at the end of the main street, and a pink curtain flaps in the breeze through a broken window in the station door.
A building that housed construction workers on a bluff behind the empty coastal city looks as though the workers had just left for their shifts. A bottle of soy sauce, chopsticks, and salt and pepper shakers are neatly arranged on each table in the cafeteria. A mop is leaning against the wall. The clock above the microwave stopped at precisely the moment when the tsunami ripped apart the power lines. Some of its rushing waters also reached Odaka. The neighborhoods along the ocean, once considered among the most beautiful in Fukushima Prefecture, are now a muddy wasteland, filled with wooden debris and wrecked cars that the water pushed together into tangled piles.
Returning to Feed the Horses
Suddenly the sound of an engine breaks the silence. The soldiers sitting in the olive-green army SUV look like astronauts from a cold, faraway planet, wearing breathing masks and white protective overalls. They use probes to poke around in the mud fields, hoping to find the bodies of people who died when the tsunami ripped away the coastal sections of Odaka. The soldiers did not venture into the towns with high radiation levels at first. But now the radioactivity has declined and the risks associated with entering the restricted zone temporarily are considered acceptable.
Stray dogs are everywhere. They are timid, as if they still have to get used to the presence of people again -- and they are hungry.
The Satohs are not the only ones to venture back into the restricted zone. Horse breeder Shinjiro Tanaka periodically leaves the emergency shelter where he is living with his wife and daughters to sneak into the restricted zone and feed his animals.
"It breaks my heart to see them starving," says Tanaka, pointing to his stable. There are four dead thoroughbred horses lying next to the ones still alive. Tanaka's horses were among the attractions at a well-known equestrian event where riders wore samurai outfits. Now the animals are so thin that their ribs are showing. Suppliers refuse to bring feed to the restricted zone. Tanaka is not allowed to remove the horses, dead or alive.
'It's Safe Here'
A total of nine cities within a 20-kilometer radius of the reactor, including Odaka, Namie, Futaba and Tomioka, had to be abandoned. Tens of thousands of people were evacuated and are now living in emergency shelters outside the danger zone. Some have already rented apartments far away from the area. No one knows when it will be possible for people to live in the evacuation zone again.
The radioactivity varies from place to place. Last week radiation levels of about one microsievert per hour were measured in the vicinity of Odaka, 16 kilometers northwest of the stricken reactor. A person remaining in the area for one year would be exposed to as much radiation as a woman receiving a mammogram. Higher levels have been measured in other towns closer to the reactor.
Tsuneyasu Satoh took a close look at the reported radiation levels before venturing back into his house. "It's safe here," he says. His wife is wearing a breathing mask. Satoh, who worked in the nuclear power plant, has a personal radiation-monitoring device.
He owned a small company with 10 employees that worked for the giant utility TEPCO, which operates the Fukushima plant. As a crane operator, Satoh's job included replacing the fuel elements in the Fukushima reactor. His livelihood depended on the nuclear power plant, but now he is one of the first who have decided to abandon their houses for good.
"They have nothing under control," he says, referring to TEPCO. "So much more radioactive material will be emitted that it really won't be possible to live here any more in two years."
People will only be able to feel safe here again once the reactors have been sealed with concrete, says Satoh. He has spoken with neighbors and acquaintances who also had to flee the restricted zone. "They think that they will be able to return in a few months," he says, shaking his head. Satoh and his wife now plan to move to a small rental apartment in Tokyo, where their daughter is studying physical education.
His wife Sayoko, 53, looks tired and exhausted. She has kept a diary of their odyssey in her mobile phone. Four weeks ago, when officials told them to leave their house, they only made it to the next village in their van before running out of gasoline, and there was no gasoline to be had. After staying with friends for a while, they took a bus to Tokyo. Only gradually did they reach the decision to abandon their house in Odaka.
http://www.spiegel.de/international/world/0,1518,756196,00.html
Satoh is wearing a baseball cap and glasses with black frames, as if he were trying to hide the stony expression on his face. He and his wife Sayoko don't have much time, and they know that they will have to leave many belongings behind in their old house. Things like the framed calligraphy by Satoh's father and the awards earned by his daughter, who plays table tennis on the Japanese national team. Satoh stacks blankets and wraps up the TV set. Sayoko gathers the most important items she can find in the cabinets: documents, bed linens, the good rice cooker.
When the Satohs had to flee from their home in the city of Odaka in mid-March, they were not allowed to take anything with them. Government buses and soldiers came to pick them up. Their house had survived for centuries, weathering past earthquakes and the recent tsunami. But after the explosion of the building surrounding Reactor No. 1 at the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear power plant, the Satohs had to leave the house.
Now, four weeks after the evacuation, they have secretly returned to Odaka, which is located inside the 20-kilometer (12.5-mile) restricted zone around the plant, to fill up their Nissan van.
Traffic Lights Still Work
There were 13,400 people living in Odaka before the accident. Today it's a ghost town, so quiet that one can hear the beating wings of crows flying overhead. As a last sign of life in this dead city, the traffic lights along the main road are still working. Like disco lights at a party that's been over for hours, they are still switching from green to yellow to red and back to green again.
Tens of thousands of Japanese who once lived in the danger zone around the stricken reactor are in the same position. Many suddenly had to give up all of their important and meaningful possessions. Others were allowed to stay but are now being told not to leave their houses.
The 20-kilometer restricted zone around Fukushima is, in a sense, the legacy of an uncontrollable technology. While the energy-hungry economic powerhouse that is Japan relied heavily on the dream of an inexhaustible source of energy, the people affected by the Fukushima disaster are now being left to more or less fend for themselves as they face the dirty consequences.
Odaka's dark brown wooden houses are built closely together, and some are now even leaning against each other. Some collapsed during the earthquake, but in others the walls simply crumbled. Cabbage plants and potted flowers are still lined up outside the supermarket. Some residents closed their shutters before they left, but most simply locked the front door. A black women's shoe is lying on the street at an intersection. An abandoned taxi is parked in front of the train station at the end of the main street, and a pink curtain flaps in the breeze through a broken window in the station door.
A building that housed construction workers on a bluff behind the empty coastal city looks as though the workers had just left for their shifts. A bottle of soy sauce, chopsticks, and salt and pepper shakers are neatly arranged on each table in the cafeteria. A mop is leaning against the wall. The clock above the microwave stopped at precisely the moment when the tsunami ripped apart the power lines. Some of its rushing waters also reached Odaka. The neighborhoods along the ocean, once considered among the most beautiful in Fukushima Prefecture, are now a muddy wasteland, filled with wooden debris and wrecked cars that the water pushed together into tangled piles.
Returning to Feed the Horses
Suddenly the sound of an engine breaks the silence. The soldiers sitting in the olive-green army SUV look like astronauts from a cold, faraway planet, wearing breathing masks and white protective overalls. They use probes to poke around in the mud fields, hoping to find the bodies of people who died when the tsunami ripped away the coastal sections of Odaka. The soldiers did not venture into the towns with high radiation levels at first. But now the radioactivity has declined and the risks associated with entering the restricted zone temporarily are considered acceptable.
Stray dogs are everywhere. They are timid, as if they still have to get used to the presence of people again -- and they are hungry.
The Satohs are not the only ones to venture back into the restricted zone. Horse breeder Shinjiro Tanaka periodically leaves the emergency shelter where he is living with his wife and daughters to sneak into the restricted zone and feed his animals.
"It breaks my heart to see them starving," says Tanaka, pointing to his stable. There are four dead thoroughbred horses lying next to the ones still alive. Tanaka's horses were among the attractions at a well-known equestrian event where riders wore samurai outfits. Now the animals are so thin that their ribs are showing. Suppliers refuse to bring feed to the restricted zone. Tanaka is not allowed to remove the horses, dead or alive.
'It's Safe Here'
A total of nine cities within a 20-kilometer radius of the reactor, including Odaka, Namie, Futaba and Tomioka, had to be abandoned. Tens of thousands of people were evacuated and are now living in emergency shelters outside the danger zone. Some have already rented apartments far away from the area. No one knows when it will be possible for people to live in the evacuation zone again.
The radioactivity varies from place to place. Last week radiation levels of about one microsievert per hour were measured in the vicinity of Odaka, 16 kilometers northwest of the stricken reactor. A person remaining in the area for one year would be exposed to as much radiation as a woman receiving a mammogram. Higher levels have been measured in other towns closer to the reactor.
Tsuneyasu Satoh took a close look at the reported radiation levels before venturing back into his house. "It's safe here," he says. His wife is wearing a breathing mask. Satoh, who worked in the nuclear power plant, has a personal radiation-monitoring device.
He owned a small company with 10 employees that worked for the giant utility TEPCO, which operates the Fukushima plant. As a crane operator, Satoh's job included replacing the fuel elements in the Fukushima reactor. His livelihood depended on the nuclear power plant, but now he is one of the first who have decided to abandon their houses for good.
"They have nothing under control," he says, referring to TEPCO. "So much more radioactive material will be emitted that it really won't be possible to live here any more in two years."
People will only be able to feel safe here again once the reactors have been sealed with concrete, says Satoh. He has spoken with neighbors and acquaintances who also had to flee the restricted zone. "They think that they will be able to return in a few months," he says, shaking his head. Satoh and his wife now plan to move to a small rental apartment in Tokyo, where their daughter is studying physical education.
His wife Sayoko, 53, looks tired and exhausted. She has kept a diary of their odyssey in her mobile phone. Four weeks ago, when officials told them to leave their house, they only made it to the next village in their van before running out of gasoline, and there was no gasoline to be had. After staying with friends for a while, they took a bus to Tokyo. Only gradually did they reach the decision to abandon their house in Odaka.
http://www.spiegel.de/international/world/0,1518,756196,00.html
A Visit to Japan's Nuclear Ghost Towns
The house has been in Tsuneyasu Satoh's family for generations. It is dusk, and he has come to see it, secretly, one last time. He loves the interior walls made of rice paper and the wooden floor on which his ancestors once walked. But today he will be the last member of his family to set foot in the house.
Satoh is wearing a baseball cap and glasses with black frames, as if he were trying to hide the stony expression on his face. He and his wife Sayoko don't have much time, and they know that they will have to leave many belongings behind in their old house. Things like the framed calligraphy by Satoh's father and the awards earned by his daughter, who plays table tennis on the Japanese national team. Satoh stacks blankets and wraps up the TV set. Sayoko gathers the most important items she can find in the cabinets: documents, bed linens, the good rice cooker.
When the Satohs had to flee from their home in the city of Odaka in mid-March, they were not allowed to take anything with them. Government buses and soldiers came to pick them up. Their house had survived for centuries, weathering past earthquakes and the recent tsunami. But after the explosion of the building surrounding Reactor No. 1 at the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear power plant, the Satohs had to leave the house.
Now, four weeks after the evacuation, they have secretly returned to Odaka, which is located inside the 20-kilometer (12.5-mile) restricted zone around the plant, to fill up their Nissan van.
Traffic Lights Still Work
There were 13,400 people living in Odaka before the accident. Today it's a ghost town, so quiet that one can hear the beating wings of crows flying overhead. As a last sign of life in this dead city, the traffic lights along the main road are still working. Like disco lights at a party that's been over for hours, they are still switching from green to yellow to red and back to green again.
Tens of thousands of Japanese who once lived in the danger zone around the stricken reactor are in the same position. Many suddenly had to give up all of their important and meaningful possessions. Others were allowed to stay but are now being told not to leave their houses.
The 20-kilometer restricted zone around Fukushima is, in a sense, the legacy of an uncontrollable technology. While the energy-hungry economic powerhouse that is Japan relied heavily on the dream of an inexhaustible source of energy, the people affected by the Fukushima disaster are now being left to more or less fend for themselves as they face the dirty consequences.
Odaka's dark brown wooden houses are built closely together, and some are now even leaning against each other. Some collapsed during the earthquake, but in others the walls simply crumbled. Cabbage plants and potted flowers are still lined up outside the supermarket. Some residents closed their shutters before they left, but most simply locked the front door. A black women's shoe is lying on the street at an intersection. An abandoned taxi is parked in front of the train station at the end of the main street, and a pink curtain flaps in the breeze through a broken window in the station door.
A building that housed construction workers on a bluff behind the empty coastal city looks as though the workers had just left for their shifts. A bottle of soy sauce, chopsticks, and salt and pepper shakers are neatly arranged on each table in the cafeteria. A mop is leaning against the wall. The clock above the microwave stopped at precisely the moment when the tsunami ripped apart the power lines. Some of its rushing waters also reached Odaka. The neighborhoods along the ocean, once considered among the most beautiful in Fukushima Prefecture, are now a muddy wasteland, filled with wooden debris and wrecked cars that the water pushed together into tangled piles.
Returning to Feed the Horses
Suddenly the sound of an engine breaks the silence. The soldiers sitting in the olive-green army SUV look like astronauts from a cold, faraway planet, wearing breathing masks and white protective overalls. They use probes to poke around in the mud fields, hoping to find the bodies of people who died when the tsunami ripped away the coastal sections of Odaka. The soldiers did not venture into the towns with high radiation levels at first. But now the radioactivity has declined and the risks associated with entering the restricted zone temporarily are considered acceptable.
Stray dogs are everywhere. They are timid, as if they still have to get used to the presence of people again -- and they are hungry.
The Satohs are not the only ones to venture back into the restricted zone. Horse breeder Shinjiro Tanaka periodically leaves the emergency shelter where he is living with his wife and daughters to sneak into the restricted zone and feed his animals.
"It breaks my heart to see them starving," says Tanaka, pointing to his stable. There are four dead thoroughbred horses lying next to the ones still alive. Tanaka's horses were among the attractions at a well-known equestrian event where riders wore samurai outfits. Now the animals are so thin that their ribs are showing. Suppliers refuse to bring feed to the restricted zone. Tanaka is not allowed to remove the horses, dead or alive.
'It's Safe Here'
A total of nine cities within a 20-kilometer radius of the reactor, including Odaka, Namie, Futaba and Tomioka, had to be abandoned. Tens of thousands of people were evacuated and are now living in emergency shelters outside the danger zone. Some have already rented apartments far away from the area. No one knows when it will be possible for people to live in the evacuation zone again.
The radioactivity varies from place to place. Last week radiation levels of about one microsievert per hour were measured in the vicinity of Odaka, 16 kilometers northwest of the stricken reactor. A person remaining in the area for one year would be exposed to as much radiation as a woman receiving a mammogram. Higher levels have been measured in other towns closer to the reactor.
Tsuneyasu Satoh took a close look at the reported radiation levels before venturing back into his house. "It's safe here," he says. His wife is wearing a breathing mask. Satoh, who worked in the nuclear power plant, has a personal radiation-monitoring device.
He owned a small company with 10 employees that worked for the giant utility TEPCO, which operates the Fukushima plant. As a crane operator, Satoh's job included replacing the fuel elements in the Fukushima reactor. His livelihood depended on the nuclear power plant, but now he is one of the first who have decided to abandon their houses for good.
"They have nothing under control," he says, referring to TEPCO. "So much more radioactive material will be emitted that it really won't be possible to live here any more in two years."
People will only be able to feel safe here again once the reactors have been sealed with concrete, says Satoh. He has spoken with neighbors and acquaintances who also had to flee the restricted zone. "They think that they will be able to return in a few months," he says, shaking his head. Satoh and his wife now plan to move to a small rental apartment in Tokyo, where their daughter is studying physical education.
His wife Sayoko, 53, looks tired and exhausted. She has kept a diary of their odyssey in her mobile phone. Four weeks ago, when officials told them to leave their house, they only made it to the next village in their van before running out of gasoline, and there was no gasoline to be had. After staying with friends for a while, they took a bus to Tokyo. Only gradually did they reach the decision to abandon their house in Odaka.
http://www.spiegel.de/international/world/0,1518,756196,00.html
Satoh is wearing a baseball cap and glasses with black frames, as if he were trying to hide the stony expression on his face. He and his wife Sayoko don't have much time, and they know that they will have to leave many belongings behind in their old house. Things like the framed calligraphy by Satoh's father and the awards earned by his daughter, who plays table tennis on the Japanese national team. Satoh stacks blankets and wraps up the TV set. Sayoko gathers the most important items she can find in the cabinets: documents, bed linens, the good rice cooker.
When the Satohs had to flee from their home in the city of Odaka in mid-March, they were not allowed to take anything with them. Government buses and soldiers came to pick them up. Their house had survived for centuries, weathering past earthquakes and the recent tsunami. But after the explosion of the building surrounding Reactor No. 1 at the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear power plant, the Satohs had to leave the house.
Now, four weeks after the evacuation, they have secretly returned to Odaka, which is located inside the 20-kilometer (12.5-mile) restricted zone around the plant, to fill up their Nissan van.
Traffic Lights Still Work
There were 13,400 people living in Odaka before the accident. Today it's a ghost town, so quiet that one can hear the beating wings of crows flying overhead. As a last sign of life in this dead city, the traffic lights along the main road are still working. Like disco lights at a party that's been over for hours, they are still switching from green to yellow to red and back to green again.
Tens of thousands of Japanese who once lived in the danger zone around the stricken reactor are in the same position. Many suddenly had to give up all of their important and meaningful possessions. Others were allowed to stay but are now being told not to leave their houses.
The 20-kilometer restricted zone around Fukushima is, in a sense, the legacy of an uncontrollable technology. While the energy-hungry economic powerhouse that is Japan relied heavily on the dream of an inexhaustible source of energy, the people affected by the Fukushima disaster are now being left to more or less fend for themselves as they face the dirty consequences.
Odaka's dark brown wooden houses are built closely together, and some are now even leaning against each other. Some collapsed during the earthquake, but in others the walls simply crumbled. Cabbage plants and potted flowers are still lined up outside the supermarket. Some residents closed their shutters before they left, but most simply locked the front door. A black women's shoe is lying on the street at an intersection. An abandoned taxi is parked in front of the train station at the end of the main street, and a pink curtain flaps in the breeze through a broken window in the station door.
A building that housed construction workers on a bluff behind the empty coastal city looks as though the workers had just left for their shifts. A bottle of soy sauce, chopsticks, and salt and pepper shakers are neatly arranged on each table in the cafeteria. A mop is leaning against the wall. The clock above the microwave stopped at precisely the moment when the tsunami ripped apart the power lines. Some of its rushing waters also reached Odaka. The neighborhoods along the ocean, once considered among the most beautiful in Fukushima Prefecture, are now a muddy wasteland, filled with wooden debris and wrecked cars that the water pushed together into tangled piles.
Returning to Feed the Horses
Suddenly the sound of an engine breaks the silence. The soldiers sitting in the olive-green army SUV look like astronauts from a cold, faraway planet, wearing breathing masks and white protective overalls. They use probes to poke around in the mud fields, hoping to find the bodies of people who died when the tsunami ripped away the coastal sections of Odaka. The soldiers did not venture into the towns with high radiation levels at first. But now the radioactivity has declined and the risks associated with entering the restricted zone temporarily are considered acceptable.
Stray dogs are everywhere. They are timid, as if they still have to get used to the presence of people again -- and they are hungry.
The Satohs are not the only ones to venture back into the restricted zone. Horse breeder Shinjiro Tanaka periodically leaves the emergency shelter where he is living with his wife and daughters to sneak into the restricted zone and feed his animals.
"It breaks my heart to see them starving," says Tanaka, pointing to his stable. There are four dead thoroughbred horses lying next to the ones still alive. Tanaka's horses were among the attractions at a well-known equestrian event where riders wore samurai outfits. Now the animals are so thin that their ribs are showing. Suppliers refuse to bring feed to the restricted zone. Tanaka is not allowed to remove the horses, dead or alive.
'It's Safe Here'
A total of nine cities within a 20-kilometer radius of the reactor, including Odaka, Namie, Futaba and Tomioka, had to be abandoned. Tens of thousands of people were evacuated and are now living in emergency shelters outside the danger zone. Some have already rented apartments far away from the area. No one knows when it will be possible for people to live in the evacuation zone again.
The radioactivity varies from place to place. Last week radiation levels of about one microsievert per hour were measured in the vicinity of Odaka, 16 kilometers northwest of the stricken reactor. A person remaining in the area for one year would be exposed to as much radiation as a woman receiving a mammogram. Higher levels have been measured in other towns closer to the reactor.
Tsuneyasu Satoh took a close look at the reported radiation levels before venturing back into his house. "It's safe here," he says. His wife is wearing a breathing mask. Satoh, who worked in the nuclear power plant, has a personal radiation-monitoring device.
He owned a small company with 10 employees that worked for the giant utility TEPCO, which operates the Fukushima plant. As a crane operator, Satoh's job included replacing the fuel elements in the Fukushima reactor. His livelihood depended on the nuclear power plant, but now he is one of the first who have decided to abandon their houses for good.
"They have nothing under control," he says, referring to TEPCO. "So much more radioactive material will be emitted that it really won't be possible to live here any more in two years."
People will only be able to feel safe here again once the reactors have been sealed with concrete, says Satoh. He has spoken with neighbors and acquaintances who also had to flee the restricted zone. "They think that they will be able to return in a few months," he says, shaking his head. Satoh and his wife now plan to move to a small rental apartment in Tokyo, where their daughter is studying physical education.
His wife Sayoko, 53, looks tired and exhausted. She has kept a diary of their odyssey in her mobile phone. Four weeks ago, when officials told them to leave their house, they only made it to the next village in their van before running out of gasoline, and there was no gasoline to be had. After staying with friends for a while, they took a bus to Tokyo. Only gradually did they reach the decision to abandon their house in Odaka.
http://www.spiegel.de/international/world/0,1518,756196,00.html
A Visit to Japan's Nuclear Ghost Towns
The house has been in Tsuneyasu Satoh's family for generations. It is dusk, and he has come to see it, secretly, one last time. He loves the interior walls made of rice paper and the wooden floor on which his ancestors once walked. But today he will be the last member of his family to set foot in the house.
Satoh is wearing a baseball cap and glasses with black frames, as if he were trying to hide the stony expression on his face. He and his wife Sayoko don't have much time, and they know that they will have to leave many belongings behind in their old house. Things like the framed calligraphy by Satoh's father and the awards earned by his daughter, who plays table tennis on the Japanese national team. Satoh stacks blankets and wraps up the TV set. Sayoko gathers the most important items she can find in the cabinets: documents, bed linens, the good rice cooker.
When the Satohs had to flee from their home in the city of Odaka in mid-March, they were not allowed to take anything with them. Government buses and soldiers came to pick them up. Their house had survived for centuries, weathering past earthquakes and the recent tsunami. But after the explosion of the building surrounding Reactor No. 1 at the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear power plant, the Satohs had to leave the house.
Now, four weeks after the evacuation, they have secretly returned to Odaka, which is located inside the 20-kilometer (12.5-mile) restricted zone around the plant, to fill up their Nissan van.
Traffic Lights Still Work
There were 13,400 people living in Odaka before the accident. Today it's a ghost town, so quiet that one can hear the beating wings of crows flying overhead. As a last sign of life in this dead city, the traffic lights along the main road are still working. Like disco lights at a party that's been over for hours, they are still switching from green to yellow to red and back to green again.
Tens of thousands of Japanese who once lived in the danger zone around the stricken reactor are in the same position. Many suddenly had to give up all of their important and meaningful possessions. Others were allowed to stay but are now being told not to leave their houses.
The 20-kilometer restricted zone around Fukushima is, in a sense, the legacy of an uncontrollable technology. While the energy-hungry economic powerhouse that is Japan relied heavily on the dream of an inexhaustible source of energy, the people affected by the Fukushima disaster are now being left to more or less fend for themselves as they face the dirty consequences.
Odaka's dark brown wooden houses are built closely together, and some are now even leaning against each other. Some collapsed during the earthquake, but in others the walls simply crumbled. Cabbage plants and potted flowers are still lined up outside the supermarket. Some residents closed their shutters before they left, but most simply locked the front door. A black women's shoe is lying on the street at an intersection. An abandoned taxi is parked in front of the train station at the end of the main street, and a pink curtain flaps in the breeze through a broken window in the station door.
A building that housed construction workers on a bluff behind the empty coastal city looks as though the workers had just left for their shifts. A bottle of soy sauce, chopsticks, and salt and pepper shakers are neatly arranged on each table in the cafeteria. A mop is leaning against the wall. The clock above the microwave stopped at precisely the moment when the tsunami ripped apart the power lines. Some of its rushing waters also reached Odaka. The neighborhoods along the ocean, once considered among the most beautiful in Fukushima Prefecture, are now a muddy wasteland, filled with wooden debris and wrecked cars that the water pushed together into tangled piles.
Returning to Feed the Horses
Suddenly the sound of an engine breaks the silence. The soldiers sitting in the olive-green army SUV look like astronauts from a cold, faraway planet, wearing breathing masks and white protective overalls. They use probes to poke around in the mud fields, hoping to find the bodies of people who died when the tsunami ripped away the coastal sections of Odaka. The soldiers did not venture into the towns with high radiation levels at first. But now the radioactivity has declined and the risks associated with entering the restricted zone temporarily are considered acceptable.
Stray dogs are everywhere. They are timid, as if they still have to get used to the presence of people again -- and they are hungry.
The Satohs are not the only ones to venture back into the restricted zone. Horse breeder Shinjiro Tanaka periodically leaves the emergency shelter where he is living with his wife and daughters to sneak into the restricted zone and feed his animals.
"It breaks my heart to see them starving," says Tanaka, pointing to his stable. There are four dead thoroughbred horses lying next to the ones still alive. Tanaka's horses were among the attractions at a well-known equestrian event where riders wore samurai outfits. Now the animals are so thin that their ribs are showing. Suppliers refuse to bring feed to the restricted zone. Tanaka is not allowed to remove the horses, dead or alive.
'It's Safe Here'
A total of nine cities within a 20-kilometer radius of the reactor, including Odaka, Namie, Futaba and Tomioka, had to be abandoned. Tens of thousands of people were evacuated and are now living in emergency shelters outside the danger zone. Some have already rented apartments far away from the area. No one knows when it will be possible for people to live in the evacuation zone again.
The radioactivity varies from place to place. Last week radiation levels of about one microsievert per hour were measured in the vicinity of Odaka, 16 kilometers northwest of the stricken reactor. A person remaining in the area for one year would be exposed to as much radiation as a woman receiving a mammogram. Higher levels have been measured in other towns closer to the reactor.
Tsuneyasu Satoh took a close look at the reported radiation levels before venturing back into his house. "It's safe here," he says. His wife is wearing a breathing mask. Satoh, who worked in the nuclear power plant, has a personal radiation-monitoring device.
He owned a small company with 10 employees that worked for the giant utility TEPCO, which operates the Fukushima plant. As a crane operator, Satoh's job included replacing the fuel elements in the Fukushima reactor. His livelihood depended on the nuclear power plant, but now he is one of the first who have decided to abandon their houses for good.
"They have nothing under control," he says, referring to TEPCO. "So much more radioactive material will be emitted that it really won't be possible to live here any more in two years."
People will only be able to feel safe here again once the reactors have been sealed with concrete, says Satoh. He has spoken with neighbors and acquaintances who also had to flee the restricted zone. "They think that they will be able to return in a few months," he says, shaking his head. Satoh and his wife now plan to move to a small rental apartment in Tokyo, where their daughter is studying physical education.
His wife Sayoko, 53, looks tired and exhausted. She has kept a diary of their odyssey in her mobile phone. Four weeks ago, when officials told them to leave their house, they only made it to the next village in their van before running out of gasoline, and there was no gasoline to be had. After staying with friends for a while, they took a bus to Tokyo. Only gradually did they reach the decision to abandon their house in Odaka.
http://www.spiegel.de/international/world/0,1518,756196,00.html
Satoh is wearing a baseball cap and glasses with black frames, as if he were trying to hide the stony expression on his face. He and his wife Sayoko don't have much time, and they know that they will have to leave many belongings behind in their old house. Things like the framed calligraphy by Satoh's father and the awards earned by his daughter, who plays table tennis on the Japanese national team. Satoh stacks blankets and wraps up the TV set. Sayoko gathers the most important items she can find in the cabinets: documents, bed linens, the good rice cooker.
When the Satohs had to flee from their home in the city of Odaka in mid-March, they were not allowed to take anything with them. Government buses and soldiers came to pick them up. Their house had survived for centuries, weathering past earthquakes and the recent tsunami. But after the explosion of the building surrounding Reactor No. 1 at the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear power plant, the Satohs had to leave the house.
Now, four weeks after the evacuation, they have secretly returned to Odaka, which is located inside the 20-kilometer (12.5-mile) restricted zone around the plant, to fill up their Nissan van.
Traffic Lights Still Work
There were 13,400 people living in Odaka before the accident. Today it's a ghost town, so quiet that one can hear the beating wings of crows flying overhead. As a last sign of life in this dead city, the traffic lights along the main road are still working. Like disco lights at a party that's been over for hours, they are still switching from green to yellow to red and back to green again.
Tens of thousands of Japanese who once lived in the danger zone around the stricken reactor are in the same position. Many suddenly had to give up all of their important and meaningful possessions. Others were allowed to stay but are now being told not to leave their houses.
The 20-kilometer restricted zone around Fukushima is, in a sense, the legacy of an uncontrollable technology. While the energy-hungry economic powerhouse that is Japan relied heavily on the dream of an inexhaustible source of energy, the people affected by the Fukushima disaster are now being left to more or less fend for themselves as they face the dirty consequences.
Odaka's dark brown wooden houses are built closely together, and some are now even leaning against each other. Some collapsed during the earthquake, but in others the walls simply crumbled. Cabbage plants and potted flowers are still lined up outside the supermarket. Some residents closed their shutters before they left, but most simply locked the front door. A black women's shoe is lying on the street at an intersection. An abandoned taxi is parked in front of the train station at the end of the main street, and a pink curtain flaps in the breeze through a broken window in the station door.
A building that housed construction workers on a bluff behind the empty coastal city looks as though the workers had just left for their shifts. A bottle of soy sauce, chopsticks, and salt and pepper shakers are neatly arranged on each table in the cafeteria. A mop is leaning against the wall. The clock above the microwave stopped at precisely the moment when the tsunami ripped apart the power lines. Some of its rushing waters also reached Odaka. The neighborhoods along the ocean, once considered among the most beautiful in Fukushima Prefecture, are now a muddy wasteland, filled with wooden debris and wrecked cars that the water pushed together into tangled piles.
Returning to Feed the Horses
Suddenly the sound of an engine breaks the silence. The soldiers sitting in the olive-green army SUV look like astronauts from a cold, faraway planet, wearing breathing masks and white protective overalls. They use probes to poke around in the mud fields, hoping to find the bodies of people who died when the tsunami ripped away the coastal sections of Odaka. The soldiers did not venture into the towns with high radiation levels at first. But now the radioactivity has declined and the risks associated with entering the restricted zone temporarily are considered acceptable.
Stray dogs are everywhere. They are timid, as if they still have to get used to the presence of people again -- and they are hungry.
The Satohs are not the only ones to venture back into the restricted zone. Horse breeder Shinjiro Tanaka periodically leaves the emergency shelter where he is living with his wife and daughters to sneak into the restricted zone and feed his animals.
"It breaks my heart to see them starving," says Tanaka, pointing to his stable. There are four dead thoroughbred horses lying next to the ones still alive. Tanaka's horses were among the attractions at a well-known equestrian event where riders wore samurai outfits. Now the animals are so thin that their ribs are showing. Suppliers refuse to bring feed to the restricted zone. Tanaka is not allowed to remove the horses, dead or alive.
'It's Safe Here'
A total of nine cities within a 20-kilometer radius of the reactor, including Odaka, Namie, Futaba and Tomioka, had to be abandoned. Tens of thousands of people were evacuated and are now living in emergency shelters outside the danger zone. Some have already rented apartments far away from the area. No one knows when it will be possible for people to live in the evacuation zone again.
The radioactivity varies from place to place. Last week radiation levels of about one microsievert per hour were measured in the vicinity of Odaka, 16 kilometers northwest of the stricken reactor. A person remaining in the area for one year would be exposed to as much radiation as a woman receiving a mammogram. Higher levels have been measured in other towns closer to the reactor.
Tsuneyasu Satoh took a close look at the reported radiation levels before venturing back into his house. "It's safe here," he says. His wife is wearing a breathing mask. Satoh, who worked in the nuclear power plant, has a personal radiation-monitoring device.
He owned a small company with 10 employees that worked for the giant utility TEPCO, which operates the Fukushima plant. As a crane operator, Satoh's job included replacing the fuel elements in the Fukushima reactor. His livelihood depended on the nuclear power plant, but now he is one of the first who have decided to abandon their houses for good.
"They have nothing under control," he says, referring to TEPCO. "So much more radioactive material will be emitted that it really won't be possible to live here any more in two years."
People will only be able to feel safe here again once the reactors have been sealed with concrete, says Satoh. He has spoken with neighbors and acquaintances who also had to flee the restricted zone. "They think that they will be able to return in a few months," he says, shaking his head. Satoh and his wife now plan to move to a small rental apartment in Tokyo, where their daughter is studying physical education.
His wife Sayoko, 53, looks tired and exhausted. She has kept a diary of their odyssey in her mobile phone. Four weeks ago, when officials told them to leave their house, they only made it to the next village in their van before running out of gasoline, and there was no gasoline to be had. After staying with friends for a while, they took a bus to Tokyo. Only gradually did they reach the decision to abandon their house in Odaka.
http://www.spiegel.de/international/world/0,1518,756196,00.html
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