Standing at The Stand.

The dialog from the DVD for the 1994 television miniseries is slightly different but I don't feel like stopping to transcribe the dialog for the relevant scene. I also cannot recall if I recorded certain details about that last time I called the police for assistance. I referred to that incident as how I sensed passive-aggressiveness from the Seattle police officer I was trying to talk to after they had strapped me to a gurney inside the ambulance. I told him I wanted to talk to a detective and he told me that I would get to talk to a detective. That was the end of the conversation and no one else from any police department said a single word to me after that point.

The incident with the Seattle police was a few months after I had been discharged from the Veterans Administration hospital in Seattle.

You people are all imbeciles.





http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/80261/King_-_The_Stand.html


Stephen King

The Stand - The Complete & Uncut Edition [ RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 ]


“Just roll up your sleeve, Mr. Redman,” the pretty nurse with the dark hair said. “This won’t take a minute.” She was holding the blood pressure cuff in two gloved hands. Behind the plastic mask she was smiling as if they shared an amusing secret.

“No,” Stu said.

The smile faltered a little. “It’s only your blood pressure. It won’t take a minute.”

“No.”

“Doctor’s orders,” she said, becoming businesslike. “Please.”

“If it’s doctor’s orders, let me talk to the doctor.”

“I’m afraid he’s busy right now. If you’ll just—”

“I’ll wait,” Stu said equably, making no move to unbutton the cuff of his shirtsleeve.

“This is only my job. You don’t want me to get in trouble, do you?” This time she gave him a charming-waif smile. “If you’ll only let me—”

“I won’t,” Stu said. “Go back and tell them. They’ll send somebody.”

Looking troubled, the nurse went across to the steel door and turned a square key in a lockplate. The pump kicked on, the door shooshed open, and she stepped through. As it closed, she gave Stu a final reproachful look. Stu gazed back blandly.

When the door was closed, he got up and went restlessly to the window—double-paned glass and barred on the outside—but it was full dark now and there was nothing to see. He went back and sat down. He was wearing faded jeans and a checked shirt and his brown boots with the stitching beginning to bulge up the sides. He ran a hand up the side of his face and winced disapprovingly at the prickle. They wouldn’t let him shave, and he haired up fast.

He had no objection to the tests themselves. What he objected to was being kept in the dark, kept scared. He wasn’t sick, at least not yet, but scared plenty. There was some sort of snow job going on here, and he wasn’t going to be a party to it anymore until somebody told him something about what had happened in Arnette and what that fellow Campion had to do with it. At least then he could base his fears on something solid.

They had expected him to ask before now, he could read it in their eyes. They had certain ways of keeping things from you in hospitals. Four years ago his wife had died of cancer at the age of twenty-seven, it had started in her womb and then just raced up through her like wildfire, and Stu had observed the way they got around her questions, either by changing the subject or giving her information in large, technical lumps. So he simply hadn’t asked, and he could see it had worried them. Now it was time to ask, and he would get some answers. In words of one syllable.

He could fill in some of the blank spots on his own. Campion and his wife and child had something pretty bad. It hit you like the flu or a summer cold, only it kept on getting worse, presumably until you choked to death on your own snot or until the fever burned you down. It was highly contagious.

They had come and got him on the afternoon of the seventeenth, two days ago. Four army men and a doctor. Polite but firm. There was no question of declining; all four of the army men had been wearing sidearms. That was when Stu Redman started being seriously scared.










JOURNAL ARCHIVE: 9/18/2006 2:18 PM
This reminds me of the last time I called the police for assistance. It was because I noticed something familiar about that Tacoma Mall terrorist. I can’t remember the date I was talking to the Seattle police but I think it was shortly after I arrived in the gulag at Pioneer Square. I remember standing there in front of the patrol car camera pointed at me as I told the police patrolman that I had suspicions that the vagrants in the area thought I was an informant. I think I wrote some of that in my journal, but that may have been the period when I was avoiding computer access. The part that stands out in my mind is that he immediately dismissed my suspicions and said that he didn’t think anyone thought I was an informant. Then, as usual, they dumped me off at the hospital. I don’t even remember them asking me any substantive questions. That was the time the paramedic told me I had high-blood pressure as I was waiting in the ER while strapped on the gurney.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Delta_force


One of several operations in which Delta Force operators are thought to have played important roles was the invasion of Iraq in 2003. They allegedly entered Baghdad in advance, undercover with long hair and moustaches, along with SEALs from DEVGRU, guiding air strikes, building networks of informants while eavesdropping on and sabotaging Iraqi communication lines.




Also, all this information about covert operations and methods is worth big money to video game manufacturers, along with other interested parties.

JOURNAL ARCHIVE: 9/18/2006 2:29 PM
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Delta_force


Delta Force operators are granted an enormous amount of flexibility and autonomy, as with their Navy counterpart, DEVGRU. They reportedly do not maintain any general uniformed presence and civilian clothing is the norm on or off duty while at Ft. Bragg. This is done to conceal the identities of these "secret soldiers". Uniforms are rarely worn, if at all, with any markings, names, or branch names on them. Hair styles and facial hair are allowed to grow to civilian standards in order for the force to be able to blend in and not be immediately recognized as military personnel.



Some details are good to reveal to encourage recruitment, but other details are dangerous to reveal. Only the operational commanders of this group have the authority to decide where the line should be drawn as to revealing details about the group.


[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 18 September 2006 excerpt ends]










JOURNAL ARCHIVE: August 14, 2006


That is why they have been trying to get me killed. Only I can press charges against them. Others can, but the chances of success are only guaranteed if I do it. I just do not know how to do it at this point. The police just take me to the hospital every time I talk to them and sometimes leave me nothing but expressions of passive-aggressiveness.


[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 14 August 2006 excerpt ends]





JOURNAL ARCHIVE: Thursday, January 18, 2007 posted by H.V.O.M at 9:10 PM


This Tacoma, WA, terrorism incident occurred on 11/20/05. I wonder if it is a deliberate variation of 11/2. I called the police again about this because I sensed someone was trying to connect to me somehow, but they didn’t give a shit. They didn’t even ask me any questions. I called them after I started living in that homeless shelter in Pioneer Square and I told the cop I thought that people were seeing me as some kind of informant, along with my suspicions about the terrorist, but he just brushed off my suspicions and told me that he thought no one thought I was an informant. That was the last time I called the police because all they did was take me to the hospital where I had to explain that I didn’t need their help. I needed the damn police to start doing their damn jobs. All I got from direct interaction was incompetence and the last time, passive aggressiveness.


[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 18 January 2007 excerpt ends]










JOURNAL ARCHIVE: 01/26/08 6:18 PM
A few times I have thought I was regaining memories of discovering murder victims in the course of my work as a police officer and detective. I feel a mild sense of dread that is probably from being able to recognize the signs of what I am about to see and I have seen it a lot. Probably too much.


[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 26 January 2008 excerpt ends]










http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/80261/King_-_The_Stand.html


Stephen King

The Stand - The Complete & Uncut Edition [ RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 ]


Stuart Redman was waiting for Elder. He had been waiting for three days—and this evening Elder did not disappoint him.

At just past noon on the twenty-fourth, Elder and two male nurses had come and taken away the television. The nurses had removed it while Elder stood by, holding his revolver (neatly wrapped in a Baggie) on Stu. But by then Stu hadn’t wanted or needed the TV—it was just putting out a lot of confused shit anyway. All he had to do was stand at his barred window and look out at the town on the river below. Like the man on the record said, “You don’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.”





http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/KOMO-TV

KOMO-TV

KOMO-TV, virtual channel 4, is a television station in Seattle, Washington. It is an affiliate of ABC and broadcasts on digital channel 38. KOMO-TV is the flagship station of Fisher Communications, and its studios and offices are co-located with sister radio stations KOMO (1000 AM and 97.7 FM), KVI (570 AM), and KPLZ-FM (101.5 MHz.) within Fisher Plaza in the Lower Queen Anne section of Seattle, directly across the street from the Space Needle.


Steve Pool - Weathercaster





JOURNAL ARCHIVE: From: Kerry Burgess

To: Kerry Burgess

Sent: Tuesday, May 9, 2006 6:01:15 PM

Subject: Right


I wonder if this is where that guy painting the picture was standing?

http://local.live.com/?v=2&sp=aN.47.619681_-122.348911


[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 9 May 2006 excerpt ends]





http://maps.google.com/?ie=UTF8&t=h&layer=tc&cbll=47.619176,-122.348985&panoid=-lfueBIXwUv3LKH8_yDIyw&cbp=12,354.84278861856137,,2,3.587035306919222&ll=47.619407,-122.349037&spn=0,359.99794&z=20

156 4th Ave N, Seattle, WA, United States





http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/80261/King_-_The_Stand.html


Stephen King

The Stand - The Complete & Uncut Edition [ RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 ]


“You wheeled that all the way out here?” Stu asked.

“I wheeled it until I saw something I wanted to paint. I go different ways on different days. It’s good exercise. If you’re going east, why don’t you come back to Woodsville and spend the night at my house? We can take turns wheeling the barrow, and I’ve got yet another six-pack of beer cooling in yonder stream. That ought to get us home in style.”

“I accept,” Stu said.

“Good man. I’ll probably talk all the way home. You are in the arms of the Garrulous Professor, East Texas. When I bore you, just tell me to shut up. I won’t be offended.”

“I like to listen,” Stu said.

“Then you are one of God’s chosen. Let’s go.”










http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/80261/King_-_The_Stand.html


Stephen King

The Stand - The Complete & Uncut Edition [ RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 ]


Deitz turned to him slowly. Now his face had changed. His lips were thinned with anger, his eyes staring. “You were what?”

“Faking,” Stu said. His smile broadened.

Deitz took two uncertain steps toward him. His fists closed, opened, then closed again. “But why? Why would you want to do something like that?”

“Sorry,” Stu said, smiling. “That’s classified.”



- posted by H.V.O.M - Kerry Wayne Burgess 07:27 AM Pacific Time Seattle USA Wednesday 03 April 2013