I wrote the other day abut that journal entry I made about my observation of the television commercial Tiger Woods was in with the paparazzi harassing him. I can’t remember when I saw that commercial, probably in 2004, but that most recent journal entry was on 9/12/2005. The date difference of 9/12/2005 and 12/30/2005 was 3 months, 18 days. The time period 3 months, 17.7 days can be expressed as 3.59 months. That was 3.59 months before Tiger's 30th birthday.
One interesting little clue I just found is about the USS Wainwright. The USS Wainwright is the second ship I “remember” serving aboard as Kerry Burgess in the U.S. Navy. From what I read on the internet, the Wainwright was commissioned on 1/8/66. That could also be expressed as 66-Jan-8. I just calculated that 4/14/77 was 6618 days from 3/3/59.
This next clue was something I puzzled over a few years ago. I remember it because I puzzled over why I was puzzling over it. The article was dated 5/10/2004 and it indicates that her comments were made "last night" which meant the comments were made on 5/9/2004. Other articles indicate her comments were made on the previous Saturday night. Either way, it is certainly close to 5/9 and I had a profound sense of puzzlement about it. These comments were made not longer after I had moved out to Spokane after giving up that Microsoft was an honest company. What it means is there were people out there that remembered me and were concerned about my well-being because I guess it looked like I was being betrayed by the people accountable for my well-being. A week later was when I sent that email about “mark this day” or whatever it was I wrote. I assume I scared them because they were worried I was going to reveal that George W. Bush had been recruited by foreign powers long ago.
Nation & World: Monday, May 10, 2004
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BEVERLY HILLS, Calif. — Former first lady Nancy Reagan endorsed human embryonic research last night at a star-studded fund-raiser.
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"Ronnie's long journey has finally taken him to a distant place where I can no longer reach him," she said. "Because of this, I'm determined to do whatever I can to save other families from this pain. I just don't see how we can turn our backs on this."
I find it reasonable to believe that I am an undercover operative of the U.S. military in a special program of counter-terrorism. I make no assertions about any authority associated with the rank of Captain in the U.S. Navy, which I believe people in the U.S. government know that I possess but which I do not know to possess. This will hold up that, as a member of the U.S. military, I am a Prisoner Of War and the captive of enemies of the U.S.A, similar in concept, among other examples, to the 19th century practice of impressments, of which the enemy force in this case is Microsoft and accomplices.
impressment
the act of coercing someone into government service
Friday, Jan. 31, 1969
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Modern times have placed new emphasis on the P.O.W. In wars gone by, a man taken prisoner was considered to be out of the war. Often enough, he was killed on the spot; if he lived, he was often mistreated. As far as his superiors were concerned, he had proved himself on the field; they were happy if he did not defect to the enemy. But in this century of total war, the prison camp has become an extension of the battlefield. Totalitarian nations are not content merely to extract information from a P.O.W. They often hound and harass a man for months and even years in order to win his mind and soul, to reduce him to an instrument of propaganda. It is, of course, a tactic that the Soviet Union devised for use against its own political prisoners, as dramatized with terrifying realism in Arthur Koestler's Darkness at Noon and George Orwell's 1984. In this sense the prisoner of war has become a symbolic stand-in for all men in this century who are subjected to the relentless pressures designed to capture and transform their minds.
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The techniques used on prisoners by the Communists today have become painfully familiar, even though the beatings, threats and psychological pressures given Bucher and his crew were so horrifying as to stun the world anew last week. To some extent, the techniques consist of old-fashioned torture protracted and refined, in a mixture of mental and physical ordeals. The P.O.W. may be kept in utter isolation or thrust into a cell group without a shred of privacy. He may be forced to sit or stand in the same position for hours on end until his bodily functions go awry. His interrogators may keep him constantly unnerved, preventing him from sleeping, exploiting his normal feelings of guilt by focusing on painful events in his life. The interrogator may alternate kindness with brutality; a strange bond, which does not exclude a measure of affection, develops between captor and captive. Write Psychiatrists Lawrence E. Hinkle Jr. and Harold Wolff: "The interrogator is dealing with a man who might be looked upon as an intentionally created patient; the interrogator has all of the advantages and opportunities which accrue to a therapist dealing with a patient in desperate need of help."
DUGANNE - TWENTY MONTHS IN THE DEPARTMENT OF THE GULF
C H A P T E R X L .
A DAY AT CAMP FORD.
LONG before daybreak the camp begins to stir. There is restlessness among our prison legions -- home-sickness, doubtless, in the souls of many sleep-locked hundreds of these ragged citizens. I hear the hum of voices arising out of morning's grey shadows; the crackling of new-lighted bivouac-brands ; the matinal twitter of red-birds. Presently the east reddens, and I see the morning star setting over yonder wooded hills outside of our prison-yard.
How royally the sun rises, atmosphered with golden mist, robed in purple haze of woodland exhalations! The camp is alive and vocal. A thousand voices call to other thousands. Tatterdemalions toll out of burrowing places, creep up from caverns, and emerge from hut-openings. Red-capped zouaves, wide-breeched; blue-bloused cavalry men, yellow-trimmed; all hungry-looking; sergeants with service stripes; jack-tars in poly-patched trowsers; wagoners in broad hats; barefooted cannoniers -- rank and file generally -- hatless, bootless, shirtless. They swarm out upon the main street; flow into crossways; jostle one another at cooking-fires; pass and repass, laden with fuel, rations, water-vessels. Another day begins.
I mingle in the throng that pours along "Fifth Avenue." I pass the "bakery," where an enterprising New Yorker sells his ten-cent leathery doughnuts and caoutchoue grape-pies for a dollar in greenbacks. I glance a moment at our "jeweller's" window -- where a corporal tinkers watche ; elbow through the crowd surrounding a lieutenant's turning-lathe, which whirls out chess-men at three dollars per set; peer into a door where sits a captain "editing" our prison-journal, "The Old Flag;" -- then reach the "spring," dash head and arms in water, comb tangled locks, and look about me.
"Motley's the only wear!" says Shakspeare, and in Camp Ford we agree with him. Such costumes never were beheld before, outside of Rag Fair or the "Beggars' Opera." I wish our Uncle Abraham, or Sam, could see this "sans culotte" procession marching up Pennsylvania Avenue. Such head-gear, from a zouave cap to rimless crowns and crownless rims, and tattered handkerchiefs, and wisps of straw! such effigies of garments! armless shirts and legless trowsers; bits of blankets tied about the loins; such patches, of every size and hue! such scarecrow figures of humanity! Their wives and mothers would not know them from the chiffoniers who rake out Northern gutters.
But they are all United States soldiers and sailors men who have met our foes on land and wave, brave rank and file of fleets and armies sacrificed by stupid commanders, and neglected in their misery by the power which should protect them. God bless them, ragged and rough as they are; for the fire of undying loyalty burns in their bosoms, and they love the "Old Flag," in spite of those who disgrace it!
