Chapter 44 (ver. 2.0)

The president raised his head again, but the man was gone. Standing in the doorway was a shorter, smaller person. He had a military uniform on and was patiently waiting with his arms crossed.

“Sir?”

Is that Manning? the President thought. They must have me heavily sedated. “Hello soldier. How are you faring?”

“Better than you sir,” Manning replied. “I only got thirty more years or so. You look pretty thrashed. I didn’t know they could do presidents like this.”

“They’ve done worse,” said the President, “all in the name of national security.”

“I was gonna ask you about that sir,” began Manning, “if you have time to talk.”

“Cute. What’s up?”

“If the official narrative is written by those in control of the media and the media is owned by the uber-rich, and the uber-rich all work together to keep their fortunes from failing by pimping the government into giving them more and more tax dollars, even though they don’t actually pay any taxes, how are they serving the interests of ‘national security’?”

“They aren’t,” responded the President. “They’re serving themselves.”

“That’s what I thought,” said Manning. He popped his knuckles and looked hesitant. “Just out of curiosity, if you catch Snowden, are you gonna do the same thing to him that you did to me?”

“I didn’t do anything to you son,” answered the President. “You got yourself in that position, but I’m glad you’re still alive. Snowden’s in Russia, so he’s safe for now. We can’t touch him.”

“Would you have done the same as us?” asked Manning.

The President dropped his head, “I’m a constitutional lawyer man, I do things by the book. I would’ve done it differently, but yes, I would’ve attempted to make change.”

“So how’s that hopey-changey stuff working out for you Mr. President?”

The theme song from Psycho went through the President’s head as he heard Sarah Palin’s words come back to him. Her voice seemed to match the screech of the violins. He was scared to look up.

“It’s still me sir,” said Manning. “Are you having issues?”

Issues? No, I’m just the President of the most powerful nation in the world, bound and gagged in some room debating the ethics of our country with a hallucination…what issues could I be having? “I’ll be fine son.”

“I’m not so sure sir. I don’t think you’re in touch with the People anymore. If you’re telling me that 1% of 1% of the population actually own the government now, and you’re working with them, how are you helping the rest of us? And for that matter, how are you gonna be fine? And just so you know,” Manning continued, “I’m no longer a son.”

“They changed the laws son, er…soldier. They changed the laws to enable them to grab all this power. They did it during the last administration. I can’t just change them back. It’s the laws that hold this nation together. If we don’t respect our own laws, what can we respect?”

“If the law can be bought and sold, is that law based on human rights or the privileged?” asked Manning. “If those laws aren’t just or fair to the rest of us, are those laws worth abiding by?”

“Of course not, but you can’t buck the system until you have enough of the People behind you, and YOU DON’T!”

Manning looked hurt. The President’s temper surprised both of them. “I’m sorry. You know what I’m doing, and I don’t know what to do otherwise until the People wake up.”

“You couldn’t pardon me?” asked Manning as sweetly as possible. She had her blonde wig on now. She gave him the duck face.

The President dropped his head in frustration. “They would just get rid of me and put you back in prison, man. You know this…you know the plan…” The President stopped and held his breath. Oh shit. He looked up. Manning was gone.

Chapter 44 (ver. 1.0)

The President awoke in a chair, bound and gagged. Oh shit…

It was dark. The room was small, and the only light came from beneath the door. Was he still in the White House? He doubted it, but then again, was he even awake? He was just about to dig his index fingernail into the cuticle of his thumb to check, when the doorknob turned. A man entered and stood silhouetted in the low light. The President could barely see his face, but once his eyes adjusted, he recognized him from somewhere.

“Why have you been communicating with our enemies?” asked the man in the doorway.

The President focused on his face. How did he know him? His memory was phenomenal, and he never forgot a face…so what was going on?

“Why have you been communicating with our enemies?” the man asked again.

“What do you mean?” he responded. “I don’t know who you are, so I wouldn’t know who ‘our’ refers to, therefore I have no context of what ‘enemies’ means to you.”

“I’ll ask once more, and if I don’t get the truth, I will help you remember.” The man stayed in the doorway. “Why have you been communicating with our enemies?”

The President closed his eyes and prayed: God, I don’t know what’s going on, but I trust you. I trust you implicitly, and I trust you will see me through this illusion.

The man stepped forward and slapped the President. That snapped him out of his prayers, but he remained calm. I can do nothing on my own, but I trust you God. He began to recite the 23rd Psalm: “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.”

The man sighed and left the room.

“He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.” The President’s mind raced, his thoughts kept trying to rationalize the situation or remember who the man was, but he stayed the course: “He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.”

The man walked back into the room carrying a syringe.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”

The man rolled up the President’s sleeve and injected him.

“Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.”

The man stepped back into the doorway, tucking the needle away.

“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.” The President took a big breath and exhaled it slowly. Ahhh, that’s much better. “Now, what did you want?”

“Why have you been communicating with our enemies?”

The President looked directly into the man’s eyes and said, “because Jesus said, ‘love thine enemies,’ and the more I practice that philosophy, the more I realize, I have no enemies, only misguided brothers and sisters who need help.”

The man radiated disgust. “Does that mean you are no longer abiding by our agreement?”

Agreement? thought the President. How do I know this man, and what was our agreement? “As long as we agreed to a harmonious nation and an evolving planet, I don’t see why I wouldn’t abide.”

The man looked slightly perplexed, “You really don’t remember…” He disappeared around the corner. The president heard the sound of rubber wheels rolling closer. The man pushed a metal cart into the doorway, arranged a small flat screen tv and turned on the power.

A video played…the President watched himself walk into a room similar to the one he was in now and sit down in front of a big screen. Other men he didn’t recognize sat around him. On the big screen played the Zapruder film of JFK’s assassination. After a quick transition, Martin Luther King came next, and then the killing of Bobby Kennedy filled the screen.

“All of these men were threats to ‘national security’,” said the man in the doorway. “If you want to remain president, you must protect our national security. If you choose to go against us, we will protect our interests and make sure you do not succeed. This is the way it always has been: your job is to protect the reputation of the government you represent. You must keep the People trusting us, so we may keep order. Without order, there is chaos. If at any time, you find yourself questioning the official narrative, remember your job…remember your family…remember your life and how lucky you are to be alive.”

The 23rd Psalm keep replaying through the President’s mind over and over: Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me…

Space & Abe tha' Babe - "Born by the River" (live at the Gramophone)

Space & Abe tha' Babe - "Born by the River" (live at the Gramophone) from lincolnelson on Vimeo.

[hook]
I was born by the mighty Mississippi in fact, where the
nation's most dangerous city is at, they say it's
home of where the guns, thugs and drugs is at, but thoughts of
my home, don't bring no bad memories back...[x2]

[Space the Cashdronaut]
They say it's
St. Louis Blues cause it's St. Louis, Misery, so
niggas off the court house steps, in my ci-ity.
Lemme give you history: built on the banks of the
shitty Mississi-ippi, cops watch the block so we
get our money quick-ily, if not you get popped, and I
do mean it literally. I'm talkin' to you straight, no
metaphors or similes, my peeps in Atlanta, New
York, I know you're feelin' me, dropped that lady in her own
spot, popped in '93, pitiful life, shot the
day before he tied the knot, widowed his wife, I know what
it's like. Forever peace, Katt, I still ain't speaking on
that, and fuck niggas who thought Committee'd be weaked by
that, just stronger, so now, we go harder, more
hunger, we stay at the table longer and eat like
boss, so we was taught no manners when we was brought up,
born as the nigga with the goal to get the dough and not
shot up (click, BLOW!)
[Abe] Put your sawed-off away Space!

[hook]

[Abe tha Babe]
When I heard the news, it was new to me.
Is it true? Not likely. Don't a-
gree what you see and less of what they write,
most importantly, don't believe the hype.
(Why?) I've seen my fair share of
crime yeah, asking crack-heads for a
dimebag, but it's really 'bout being
in the wrong place at the wrong time,
but if you're out in Kirkwood or
Webster or west of Lind-
berg and Manchester, I
bet you crime won't catch ya.
(Why's that?) I live in Brentwood, where the
neighborhood's been good, a little too
good. Cops make a livin' givin'
tickets for going 1 over the speed limit.
(Damn!) But I bet you think,
they might just let you drink,
in the streets since Budweiser
owns damn near everything,
that's cause they began in old bling,
so they can get those things,
well all except nose rings,
and a West County Metro Link,
cause that's a real danger,
for some under cover race haters,
suddenly your block's got strangers, and
Northside's practically a neighbor.
(Whoops!) Don't come 'round here,
unless you drive the truck that delivers beer,
and don't be queer, stay in the
Central West End and don't come near.

"I Owe My Soul" performed live by J-Toth from Hoth at the Gramophone in St. Louis, Missouri

Jonathan Toth from Hoth - "I Owe my Soul" (live at the Gramophone) from lincolnelson on Vimeo.

You load 16 tons of gold, that’s a lot, but
16 tons of rock is just not…

You load 16 tons of gold, that’s a lot, but
16 tons of rock is just rock…

Whether flippin’ burgers, or committin’ murders, yer
not getting paid ‘til you finish servin’…

When yer usin’ debit or pursuin’ credit,
some dude’s getting paid off you, cause he invented it…

What happens in the government stays in the government,
if leaks burst the dam, there’ll be no recoverin’…

It’s not surprisin’ the price of gold’s risin’,
Acquirin’ it cheap, now they want you to buy it…

The 10 commandments say ‘thou shalt not,’
unless yer in the military, it don’t count…

So yer packin’ guns just for havin’ some fun,
how long will it take ‘til you tag someone?

If you eat their food without readin’ the news, you’ll
probably never know what they’re feedin’ to you…

I owe my soul to the company…




Video by Jeremy Faust and Lincoln Nelson
BUY THE CD ALBUM OR VINYL EP OR DIGITAL DOWNLOAD at TheFrozenFoodSection.com

"Hold On" performed live by J-Toth from Hoth at the Gramophone in St. Louis, Missouri

Hold On (et tu brutes?) (live at the Gramophone) from lincolnelson on Vimeo.

The sky is falling,
that economic high is stalling,
the IRS is appalling,
at least political activism is sprawling.

My hairline is crawling,
the GOP keeps brawling,
just a bunch of old white men bawling,.
(knock, knock) Sir, the FBI is calling.

The election was a small thing,
especially that Ron Paul thing,
Romney wanted to be all king,
but the country was all me.

The NSA is trawling,
our own people of all things,
maybe their covert dawdling,
means our infrastructure needs some overhauling.

[break]
What would you do to save the day today?
There’s no excuse and no one else to blame,
but could you change?
Is there any other way?

We gotta have national security,
even though it's practically tyranny,
the TSA's tactical searching sprees,
alienate travelers currently.

The FED masters are perjuring,
themselves with their vanishing currency,
someone's on the take certainly,
I tried the banks, but "Mum's the word" it seems.

I shouldn't take it so personally,
secret service makes sure there's no hurting me,
but what if they don't work for me,
like Kennedy's men when they turned to leave,

and watched his limo turn the street,
that would be his last turn to breathe?
Did they even know they were murdering
the last man to try to change this murder machine?

[break]

Sorry for the perseveration,
but this man deserves commemoration,
some will forever hate him,
but they were probably in on his assassination,

or they didn't know his fascination,
with ridding our country of an aberration,
within our own government station,
it turned out, we had a status quo infestation,

we needed vaccinations,
to cure the sickness in habitation,
it's like a contagion,
that continues on inside my administration,

they make me look I'm complacent,
that change is one big fabrication,
we'll see by the next inauguration,
if I stick to my guns or fly off the reservation.

[break]

Never gonna trust them again…hold on.

“I run the military if you want that beef.”





Video by Jeremy Faust
BUY THE CD ALBUM OR VINYL EP OR DIGITAL DOWNLOAD at TheFrozenFoodSection.com

The US Stock Market in a Nutshell...

This is the Stock Market:

1st - Someone sets the pace, and that pace will be conservative. Let's call it one second (saying "Mis-sis-sip-pi ONE") very slowly. That is the equivalent a heartbeat on Wall Street. Now, when it beats like that, everyone who wants to play can get in sync with it and make money. How do you make extra money? Figure out how to be ahead of sync by 1/1000 of a second faster. Why? If you know things faster than the rest of the competition (insider info), you profit.

2nd - So now the pace quickens: (saying "Mis-sis-sip-pi TWO" but not so slowly). Then, just when everyone's getting accustomed to this newer upbeat rhythm, you take it up another notch: 1/100 of a second, and as long as you are 'in the know,' your business benefits with advance information.

3rd - NOW. The pace is speeding up: it's "Mis-sis-sip-pi THREE," but at a brisk pace, and everyone's excited because money is being made more quickly. THEN, you make the party more exciting, and you go all-in again: you stay ahead of sync by 1/10th a second: BOOM! You profit again, before anyone else (except your close buddies) can get in on it.

4th - WHOA. The market is humming. Money is flying back and forth, forth and back almost hypnotic-like...then, you go for broke, and change the rhythm again. Then "Mis-sis-sip-pi FOUR," is really a second behind your actual time: zero seconds.

5th - Uh-Oh...the whole world is reeling. Money is circulating so fast, no one can measure it in real time. People are becoming billionaires and then losing it all in a heartbeat when: YOU AND YOUR ASSOCIATES DECIDE TO PULL ALL YOUR MONEY OUT AT THE SAME TIME, BECAUSE THE CURRENT STATE OF THE ECONOMY IS GOING TOO FAST, AND IT'S NOT SUSTAINABLE...(coordinated so you make out without a loss, because you are 'in the know') so GUESS WHAT? It's time to reset:

Re-invest and repeat 1st step.

If you want proof, examine the Stock Market crashes from 1800s thru today. Notice the lack of crashes during Glass-Steagall, and notice the resuming of crashes after Reagan's deregulation. If they can be a beat ahead of everyone, they can capitalize before anyone else...but real time is still real time. They can't fake it for long, and once it's pushed too far, they have to reset. If you're not 'in the know,' it's best not to play.

Chapter 43

Thanksgiving at the White House was always special. Pardoning two turkeys wasn’t as funny as the President had hoped, although it certainly generated a whole new slew of Assange/Manning memes, that was something. Then again, he wasn’t feeling particularly humorous lately but, it was Thanksgiving, grey skies are gonna clear up…grey hairs, not so much. The girls ran through the main hallway laughing. They are growing up so fast, he thought. I’m glad they’re still young enough to enjoy this old house…maybe that’s what I need. He tore off after them.

“Your old man’s still faster,” he yelled gaining on them. They cackled with delight and split up taking separate routes. He was about to follow Sasha when he noticed one of his aides standing in an adjoining doorway.

“Pete wants to see you sir, he’s holding an important call.”

“I’ll be right there,” said the President. He back-tracked to the office and took his time, calming his lungs.

Pete was waiting, his face taut. “Vladimir Putin’s on line one, B. It’s almost midnight in Moscow. I don’t know what he wants, but he seems to be in good spirits. Might just be the ‘wodka’.”

“I’ll take it here Pete, thanks.” The President inhaled one last breath to compose himself. “Zdravstvuyte tovarishch, happy Thanksgiving. How’s mother Russia?”

The phone clicked and he heard some muffled sounds, then, “hello Mr. President.” It wasn’t Putin. “I trust all is well with you and your family. It’s just another day here in Russia. They don’t really do Thanksgiving.”

It was Snowden. Wow…talk about unexpected. Maintain poise. “Yes, well it’s a bit chilly, but the sun’s out. How’s Moscow?”

“Frigid, but my hosts are being as warm as they can be. How are your hosts?”

The President was unsure of how to answer. “What do you want?”

Snowden jumped right on in, “I want to prepare you sir. I have some information you need.”

“Oh?” asked the President. “You can’t relay it to my aides? It’s kind of a big day around here…”

“Your safety and the lives of Americans are in jeopardy. I’d rather not risk talking to another robot. Can I borrow you for ten minutes?”

The President sighed, “yes. What’s up?”

“If you hadn’t figured it out by now, the 2008 financial meltdown wasn’t an accident, it was planned. It started with the Reagan deregulation and Clinton’s repealing of Glass-Steagall, but during W’s tenure, it snowballed. The big banks avalanched into a kind of organized corruption we’ve never seen before. I know this because the NSA, the IRS and the SEC all did our homework and investigated it once you were inaugurated. We found extensive fraud, market manipulation, secret deals between the families, pension funds loaded with fake documents, and average people’s life savings sucked dry…all because ‘greed is good,’ right?”

The image of Michael Douglas’ latest PSA denouncing his role in Wall Street came to the President’s mind.

“Well, they went further,” continued Snowden. “After looting everything, they colluded for one last insurance policy, and withdrew all their money at the same time, taking a third of the world’s wealth with them. That’s blackmail Mr. President. If we were to prosecute them, they were content to let the system fall apart. Our bosses had to make a decision about what to do, and we backed down for the sake of keeping the system in place. We allowed these families to run game on us, and then we turned a blind eye out of fear.”

“Sure,” said the President, “but it’s all been fixed now.”

“No,” Snowden paused, “it’s not. Have you ever been in an abusive relationship Mr. President? Do know what bullies do? They win and you lose over and over, until you stand up to them. These families are going to do the exact same thing they did at the beginning of your presidency again, and soon. That is a fact. The question is: what are you going to do about it?”

The President was at a loss. What the hell am I doing talking to this kid? he thought.

“Do you think I’m a thief Mr. President…or some kind of spy?” asked Snowden. “Do you think it’s fair that I’m being hunted by the most effective killing machine in the world while these gangsters walk around free? Is this civilization, or are we still cavemen?”

“What do you recommend son?”

“Take a stand, man!” Snowden spoke passionately, “don’t let America be blackmailed again, call their bluff, they're going to do it again anyway, and if you give in to them again, you're just becoming complicit. They’re using their propaganda machine to make it look like it’s your fault. They’re using white America’s fear of color to shift their hatred of your virtue to the racists. They’re assassinating your character and making money off it!”

“It sounds so simple,” said the President, “but it’s not.”

“No,” replied Snowden, “but this is.” He shuffled some papers and continued, “I have something that might be of interest to you. Since the NSA, the IRS and the SEC wouldn’t prosecute these bastards, some of us decided instead to keep a list of those involved. We call it the ‘black book.’ It’s a collection of names, bank accounts, and all other pertinent info on the people who stole from the rest of us.”

The president felt a wave of heat spread across his face. “What good is that to me?”

“You don’t want to know who’s stabbing you in the back Mr. President?” asked Snowden. “You don’t want to know who’s robbing your children’s future? I can’t believe you are that indifferent.”

“I don’t mean to sound indifferent, but I don’t have the kind of power needed to bring this to the attention of the People.”

“Really?” asked Snowden. “With a few keystrokes, I can upload the black book online for every hacker, activist or con-man to take a gander at. Wouldn’t that garner some attention?”

“Yes,” said the President, cracking a smile, “yes, it would.”

Snowden paused. “I hope you know I’m a patriot by now Mr. President. It’s a sad day when those in favor of truth are persecuted by those with power built on lies…but lies are like sand…and it’s tough to build a strong foundation on sand, if not impossible. Eventually, you have to start over.”

“Yes,” said the President, “you do.”

“Happy Thanksgiving sir. I hope I can meet you sometime under better circumstances.”

“Happy Thanksgiving to you too, son. Stay safe, and stay alive.”