Swimming out to sea

5th November 2010

A longtime friend and I talk on the phone about many things, what we like to think of as the cutting edge stuff ó the 9/11 coverup, the deliberate medical debasing of humanity, and the wonder that people canít see through all the transparent lies. But occasionally a subject comes up, usually after some particular disappointment, that we only refer to cryptically, obliquely, usually as a passive mention of frustration and its inferred ultimate solution.

Almost in a whisper, we refer to it as ďswimming out to sea.Ē

The truth, we have found out, doesnít matter to most people. Only what is advantageous to their continuing habits of contentment is what lights up the board for just about everyone. And I guess Iím that way, too. After all, I was just trying to make a living out of finding out the truth, and to my frustration discovered thereís simply no money in it.

So here I sit, not blaming what I tried to do as much as how I tried to do it ó blurting stuff out isnít the best way to convince people, Iíve learned. They need to be shown how it pertains to their own lives, and then that needs to be reinforced with lots of evidence. Plus, my failure as a viable human economic entity has a lot more to do with my own personal behavior and lack of discipline than the subjects Iíve chosen to talk about in newspapers and on the Internet.

So Iím not blaming all those wonderful people Iíve met who are only trying to make the world right. They have been the light of my life, kindlers of hope, believers of all stripes who only want common sense to reign and hypocrisy to disappear.

Thus I can only blame myself for not being more competent, for not being clearer about these ugly things of the world that I have only a superficial grip on. 9/11 was conducted with the approval of our highest leaders, and American soldiers conducted numerous rapes of entire families in Iraq. I donít need to know much more than that to fully realize that I am very ashamed of my country and my species.

But I do know so much more. Too much more.

I know that the beast is in charge, and will tell any lie to further its purpose.

I know that ordinary people lead their lives as best they can and troubleshoot the lies they can perceive whenever they can see them. That they choose not to see so much might just be what makes them happy, because I can tell you from personal experience, choosing to see these things definitely does not make you happy.

And Iím no longer even sure that it improves your chances for survival, since there are so many examples that knowing these things actually reduces your chances for survival. I wish you could ask Matt Simmons and Paul Wellstone.

But given the sorry turns of my life, I should not be giving advice. Iíve tried that and nobody really listens. They all just want to tell me their version of events.

So I just want to say to all of you over the years who have written me such nice words and supported me with what for most of you was a generosity you could not really afford, you have been the inspiration for the stories I have written, and I couldnít have done any of this without the concern and information I received from you. And although the economic gain of what I created amounted to very little, I nevertheless remain quite satisfied with the stories I wrote, as they mostly stand the test of time.

When you canít see the future, it means there isnít one. Very likely this is my last post on these matters, and I wish I could leave you with some inspirational passage that would spur you on to conquer the tyrants and create justice and compassion in the world, but all I can say at this point is that if I had a ďkill switchĒ like the Internet supposedly does, I would have flipped it off weeks ago.

As I sit here pondering how to spend my final $40 while yet weeks away from my next Social Security check, I canít really focus on anything but the future that isnít there, and wondering what it was happened to all of us.

Things arenít so clear now. All I can hear now is the rush of the world around me, and the dawning realization that I am not a part of it anymore, nor do I have a wish to be. When I go to sleep at night, I pray that I wonít wake up.

But ďswimming out to seaĒ? Hell no, the waterís much too cold in November.

But tell me, if you could, whatís the point of a world without hope?

Thanks to all those who tried to help me find an answer that I couldnít. It was an honor to work for you, and Iím sorry the results didnít turn out better.

John Kaminski is a writer who lived on the Gulf Coast of Florida who for nine years has written about 9/11, the phony wars and Jewish plan to enslave humanity, only to be banned and ridiculed by those posing as responsible citizens. His work can be found at www.johnkaminski.info

Snail mail is:
250 N. McCall Rd. #2,
Englewood FL 34223.