On the Good Ship to America

Today for some reason my thoughts reach back to the 1950s… which is a long long time ago. Who am I thinking of?

I am thinking of Toni Braunstein! Toni was a young man who also was waiting with his family to be shipped out… immigrate to America. That was a time when all of our lives kind of hung on a string… not knowing literally, what lies ahead of us.

But the young ones among us left the deep worries still to our parents, and we tried to make connections with other young people around us… having as normal a time as these circumstances allowed. There were “English-classes” held within the compound. And since we still were in Karlsdorf by Muenchen (Munich), where we waited to be shipped out to Bremerhafen, there were a lot of Saturday-night dances to go to. I was surprised that my mother, who was so overprotective of me, gave me permission to go.

Naturally it had to be with someone that she truly trusted. Like her cousin’s daughter and son-in-law. They were really nice people… full of fun. I had a very good time over there in that big dance-hall. Don’t know where this was, but the music was very rhythmic… very good, for it played all the songs I could dance to if someone would come and ask me to dance. And… someone came and did ask me.

And that someone was “Toni Braunstein”! He was maybe in his early twenties. Continue reading →

Well-done multimedia distractoid from what’s daily eating out our substance
By Brian R. Wright

A number of deep ironies this afternoon on the penultimate day of 2018. For one thing, the person inviting me to join him and his son at the Waterford MJR Metroplex is none other than Peter Eric Hendrickson, author of Cracking the Code, THE people’s liberator from misunderstanding and mispayment of the federal income tax—so long as we have the individual courage to stand up for the knowledge.

It’s probably been five years since I’ve taken in an actual film at a modern public cinema. The previous time was still LOUD. Today they’ve toned it down some, and added the plush, wide-butt recliner seats with at least a meter of aisle space at your feet for others to pass in front of you. These gentle envelopes remind me of the do-everything-for-you hover chairs for the uselessly fat passengers on the giant space-escape-cruiser in the movie WALL-E. [Escaping from the waste-world Earth in its death throes that the single, stranded WALL-E (Waste Allocation Lift Loader—Earth Class) robot still tried to clean up.]

Load up on the excitotoxin-dripping snacks and beverages—my small popcorn and carbonated beverage a steal at $8.25—then head back to your cocoon, fix your eyes and ears on the big screen, and assume the receive-program position. Despite its slyly powerful political content Vice is still a modern American movie—disconnect your critical faculties to absorb the full perceptual-emotional impact of the audio-visuals laden with unquestioned premises brushed in with the subtlety of a Mack Truck.

El Supremo False Premise: The Official Story of 9/11[1]

When Pete offered to meet me there with tickets, I gathered from cursory reviews that the Vice of Vice referred to none other than VP Dick Cheney during the Dubya years… and, silly me, I actually expected that Hollywood would be spilling some of the major beans behind Cheney’s planning and operational role in the Crime of the Century and the multitrillion-dollar, multimillion-killing-spree War of (Western Cabal) Terror that it launched.

NOT. I’m 69 years old, how could I have been so naïve? Continue reading →