REINER FUELLMICH

         https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NG8sAf_qBtw

   CHD The Persecution of Reiner  Fuellmich  -  ENGLISH

                                                                   An  update.

Window

Guess what.  I am all set to start a new chapter of my novel.

The central chapter was about a formal ball.

Millions of interactions happened.  The chapter is 100 pages long.

Well, 99.  If each page is calculated as consisting of 392 words.

There is one very important chapter left to write.  I already have the structure, the first draft.  But there is a transition chapter that must come first (unwritten). And a side chapter that is almost completely written (events that run parallel to the major chapter). Finally I'll have to write a final brief chapter that ends the blockbuster.

This novel has already changed me.  I had no idea it was possible to write such a story.  It's my War and Peace.  

Since April of this year I have been writing everyday.  Even if it was just tweaking (endless), going back to previous pages and adding or polishing.

I've changed the Title.  It's more poetic now.

Just two words.

Top Secret.

(No, that's not it, hahahaha.)

In my book of poems, Torbellinos en lo claroscuro (Whirlwinds in the Half-Light), in a poem entitled Aphorisms, it says:  "I write because my life depends on it".

Working on my novel has kept me sane. I go to bed happy.

It's my window on the marvelous world of the mind's creation. Oh enthralling paradox: my daily life of unremitting solitude and silence, advancing decadence (I mean in the sense of physical decrepitude, old age), broken dreams and failures that put paid to every material project I ever dreamt of achieving ... being a LOSER pushed me to my SEIN u. DASEIN.

What that is, God and my angels know.

I'm a writer of fiction.  I can say it now with 100% ownership.

                             Emotional _and_ psychological truth.

Thank you for reading.  Even if you are probably a surveillance bot.

                                                       you're such a LOSER!!!!

TO THE REAL AND BEAUTIFUL HUMANS:

Little boy helps to sweep away the mud flood that wreaked havoc in several towns and cities south of Valencia.

Have a good rest of the week.

👫👫👩👪👪👴👵👵👵👧👧👦👯👼👼

 

LISTEN TO THE SILENCED

 

You can watch the docu here, it's from Del Bigtree, The Highwire, wonderful people:

https://rumble.com/v6vo8wf-episode-431-follow-the-silenced.html?e9s=src_v1_eh_cs

AND:

READ IN APP   Forwarded this email? Subscribe here for more Brave Doctor Faces 35 Years in Prison For Not Killing His Patients During the Pandemic Dr. Kirk Moore is being prosecuted by President Trump's DOJ, but pressure could get this case dismissed. Died Suddenly News Jul 5  2025 Vero Beach, Fla. - Utah plastic surgeon Dr. Kirk Moore is facing thirty five years in federal prison for destroying thousands of vials of COVID-19 vaccine, giving his patients vaccine cards without taking the shots, and injectioore Jr., 58, who operates his practice Plastic Surgery Institute of Utah, Inc. in Salt Lake County, Utah, begins his trial on Monday, July 7, 2025, at the Orrin G. Hatch U.S. Courthouse, located at 351 S. West Temple, Salt Lake City, Utah.ng saline into children whose parents wanted them to believe they got vaccinated without risking the deadly side effects. Dr. Michael Kirk M

WHO WERE THE BEAT GENERATION?

This is a must-see docu on the Beat Generation, the precursor of the anti-war peace-and-love movement of the sixties.

Watch it.  

You'll see how the system commodified what it feared: the power of youth to change the world.

I learned that "Beatnik" was coined by the media; it had connotations of disparagement.

In Manila, the beatniks didn't exert any influence on Filipino culture, because deep, hard U.S. culture never reached us.  The civil rights movement, MLK, Malcolm X did not break through the mainstream media filters.  Elvis did.  The Beatles. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5iwxf3Crrcw

             SO THE VIBE WENT FROM CAFE GATHERINGS

                    AND THE  GREENWICH VILLAGE SCENE                                

                              TO  THE  COMMODIFICATION

   

Not visible in screenshot is the first line:

I'M   BORED.

I   THINK   I'LL

           FACT:  The Beat Generation birthed the                                                Counterculture.

            Really interesting how central music (jazz and folk) was to the Beat Generation, just as it was to the hippie movement (rock), because the hippies were the children of the beat generation.  

       The BG was more intellectual, more about poetry and literature.  Though the 1960's youth rebellion (BG and the Counterculture) were both about: 

                      (1)  Rejection of materialism

                      (2)  Rejection of conformity

And the intellectual vein of the beat generation morphed into the anti-war movement that ended the Vietnam war.

The CIA had both movements in its crosshairs.  It had created LSD, MKUltra mind control, mass surveillance, rock bands who sprang out of nowhere (well, their parents were military) and curiously were never drafted (check out videos about the bands of Laurel Canyon).

The hippies were shooting ducks.  The Beat Generation relied on a few individuals and once they had succumbed to alcohol or suicide, that was that.

Paris 1968 turned into urban guerrillas, which the system was very good at liquidating as well.

In all the countries, esp. Latin America.  The jackals and military dictatorships took care of reformist political leaders.

It's really so interesting to look back on it all.  Distance gives clarity.  The net offers docus.

EMILY DICKINSON, MARY SHELLEY, ANNIE ERNAUX

Annie Ernaux

Emily Dickinson

Mary Shelley and her Creature

The world of writers.  I love to watch videos of writers talking about their creative worlds.

Also videos of academics who are experts in literature, such as one I just saw on Mary Shelley's classic, Frankenstein or the Modern Prometheus.

And I learned about Annie Ernaux, French writer and winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature, 2022.  Fascinating woman.  

I also saw an interview with Nora Ephron, author of Heartburn and screenplays such as When Harry Met Sally.

GLAD I'M ME regardless -- RANT --

 

Just sent this e-mail to my beloved youngest brother.

Eighties Babe, eternally beautiful.

I'm recovering from flu.  Second week, but I'm just a human fire hydrant of mucous, it's cleaning out my system.

There's just the little detail of kerosene poisoning.

(Explained below... I use kerosene heaters and it's autumn - winter in Chile.)

I just saw a Renard video where a man who looks like a redneck is denouncing ICE for deporting a two-year-old.  Sounded like it was a forcible deportation.  Who would be in favor of that, it's inhumane, it's extreme cruelty.  And it's just one more.  We get this horrendous information nonstop 24/7.  No wonder so many people just don't want to hear, or know, like my d., everytime I've told her anything she says, "How do you know it's true?  What is your source?" And it just means, "I don't care where you heard it and what you heard. You're believing lies."

And she's got a point too. I could be deceived.  Though unlike the news from the redneck (and I'm sure what he says is probably happening), I'm sharing other info of a different sort: statistics on the abnormal rise in mortality rates, infertility, turbo cancer...  Even if I told her my trusted source, it means nothing to her who the source is, because she doesn't follow those channels, and she would not investigate either.  Because she doesn't believe anything other than what she believes.  She's leftwing and she doesn't pay heed to anything going on outside Chile.

It's a defense mechanism.

So much that is going on is too horrible to even think possible.  Most people don't have the stomach for it.  The Michael Douglas character:  "You can't handle the truth."

So it's like, just shut up, Liz.  Just don't talk about anything because nobody wants to know what worries you.  Nobody cares what you're appalled at/by.

And sure, I don't know/have anybody who has dropped dead, who's gotten turbo cancer.  My d. is having trouble conceiving, but even before the pandemic lots of women and men were already sterile.  I've only seen VIDEOS.  Why should I believe they are real?

Nobody else around me is concerned.  Yes, my fellow therapist J., but two years ago we had a falling out for a stupid reason and that friendship ended.

Despite our own differences, you are practically the only person I can talk to.  Who writes to me.

Ah, there's M. in Madrid, he's in an international volunteer group of doctors and lay people who are helping cancer victims willing to follow alternative protocols and they have been racking up rising numbers of recoveries.  But he just goes on periodic raves to me about that, it's his schtick.  I listen and applaud. In my case, though, I've known for decades that chemo and radio are scams.  But M. is not interested in anything else.  Sometimes I'll share a link with him but there's never any echo. I just sit in his bleachers.

They are doing something important:  not just denouncing,  doing something ---actually healing terminal cases.  Many of them are desperately poor in the Phil.

I've heard thousands of people on videos saying that their families don't talk to them, they've lost jobs, friends, etc. because they're conspiracy theorists.

I'm just the only person in Chile who is a c.t.   In the end, we all are screwed, no matter what we think or say. There is no relief, no solution in sight.  The world is fucked, and fucked it will stay, and we all share its fate.

That idea is abhorrent to me though.  So I just suck it up.

I stay in my corner and just play dead, play stupid, play happy. Whatever.  But I AM happy, I DO have my areas of happiness, thank God.  One is our friendship, our love.  Our echo.  My kids are another.  Most of all, THE CHALLENGE OF WRITING.  It gets me into a different head and heart space.  Yes, it's hard to drag myself into it.

Why?  Because peace and eternal time are rare in 3D if you are 71, live alone and electric heaters are too expensive. You have to use kerosene heaters.  (This is the teensy-weensy tip of my iceberg but you don't have to know the rest, nor do you wish to.  It's nothing, just the universal human condition on prison planet.)

3D rains down really stupid quandaries.  Like the old man in the gas station who filled my 2 jerrycans with kerosene, and didn't screw on the cap right on one of them.  It turned over while I was driving and spilled over everything in the trunk.  I've had to throw away two big sheets of plastic that have served me in different ways for about 20 years.  My car cover is also stained.  It's gonna rain hard again.  I've covered the car with it, inside-out, so the rain will at least wash that side.  And I've got to turn it right side out and cover the car again so the rain washes the other side too.  Inside the car, the fumes will remain for several months so I'll have to have it detailed.  Yep.  $$$$

And I have a bunch of plastic shopping bags that I must wash in the bathtub. All the time, my skin gets in touch with the traces of kerosene, absorbs them and my liver has to get rid of the solvent.

Enemas are in order.

One old doddering man in a gas station.  Still working.  And I didn't know better than to unscrew the cap and screw it back on properly.  Because I THOUGHT he fixed it.  But he didn't.  It still was screwed on crooked, but it didn't look crooked.

I had the flu, forced myself to go buy kerosene because those heaters don't fire themselves.  

3D is full of illusions.  Your senses give you wrong information all the time.  Worse when you are sick.

Well hon, just gotta get through this crap, right?

xoxoxox

(Sorry to ruin your day, but be glad you're NOT ME.)

Love You.

Liz

P.S. The nutty part is, I'm glad I'm me.  

Pure Beauty - Maison

  

I've just discovered this poignant song, sung by a beautiful young girl, accompanied on the piano by a wonderful pianist, both of them I believe are French.

Pure poetry.

Emilio Piano ft. Lucie - Maison

 

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/fyI3M65ypko

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VNLrCWCv38Y

 

Lyrics in French with video window:

https://www.letras.com/emilio-piano/maison-part-lucie/

 

Où va-t-on? Quand on n’a plus de maison? Les fleurs sous le béton Maman, dis-le-moi, où va-t-on? Est-ce qu’un jour on sait vraiment? Ou est-ce qu’on fait semblant, tout le temps? Où va le cœur quand il se perd? Dans les doutes et les hivers? Pourquoi les jours se ressemblent? Est-ce qu’on finit par voir ce qu’on assemble? Maman, dis-le-moi Au-delà De l'orage il y a De l'amour, de l'amour, de l’amour Quand le ciel s'ouvre Tout redevient calmе Et tout va bien Où va-t-il? Le bonheur, cе fil fragile Quand il vacille et se brise Maman, dis-le-moi, où va-t-il? Pourquoi le monde semble si grand Quand on devient un peu plus grand qu’avant? Que deviennent les rêves qui s’enfuient? Et les souvenirs qu’on oublie? Est-ce que j’aurai toujours des questions? Peut-être que j’en ferai des chansons Maman, dit-le-moi   Au-delà De l'orage il y a De l'amour, de l'amour, de l’amour Quand le ciel s'ouvre Tout redevient calme Et tout va bien

Where do we go? When you no longer have a home? Flowers under concrete Mom, tell me, where are we going?   Do we ever really know? Or do we pretend all the time? Where does the heart go when it's lost? In doubts and winters? Why do the days look the same? Do we end up seeing what we put together? Mom, tell me   Beyond the storm there is love, love, love When the sky opens up   All is calm And all is well   Where does it go? Happiness, that fragile thread When it wavers and breaks Mama, tell me, where's it going?   Why does the world seem so big When you get a little bigger than before? What happens to the dreams that vanish? And the memories we forget? Will I always have questions? Maybe I'll turn them into songs Mama, tell me   Beyond the storm there is love, love, love When the sky opens up All is calm again And all is well

 

Not Good

News from Singapore

A law was passed that penalizes citizens who refuse to take the jibby-jab with stiff fines and jail time.

BTW.

By the mid-19th century Manila was 

an international  entrepôt.

 Singapore was a backwater.

British companies were doing plenty of business with Filipinas and had offices in Manila.

Andrés Bonifacio worked in the warehouse of a 

British exporter of tiles.

The Brits later moved to Singapore.

They know a good thing when they see it.

So did the Americans (who moved into Islas Filipinas).

But the Americans who built the dark empire are pigs and turn what they touch into a pigsty.

Then they move elsewhere.

Good thing they haven't had the same luck they had in the Philippines (THEIR NAME for my country)

or Filapeens...

in Latin America.

Meaning: L.A. has still foiled their best-laid plans.

They were hella successful in The Filapeens.

(Mind you, GB is the U.S. of A. whore's mother.)

 

Poemario: Torbellinos en lo claroscuro

   

    Acabo de recibir los ejemplares de Torbellinos en lo claroscuro.

    Edwin Lozada diseñó la portada y fue el encargado de la publicación.  El libro está precioso, de alta calidad.  ¡Estoy emocionadísima y agradecidísima!

    El diseño de la portada es en realidad una manta antigua de Ilocos, una representación geométrica de, justamente, un torbellino.  Edwin posee una colección de mantas tradicionales de Filipinas y esta es una de ellas.

    Es el más hermoso de mis libros.  

    Muchas gracias al Consulado de Filipinas de Barcelona, a la senadora Loren Legarda del Congreso de la República de Filipinas, y a la Universidad de Alicante por el financiamiento de la edición.

    

Poems

 

What I learned I'm Learning

March 30, 1995

 

Life teaches you what it is.

To go with time and let it carry you

forward (always)

To absorb events

Let them pass through you

let yourself pass through them.

 

We learn from the unknown

not from the known

There is a different sort of gravity

that pulls us toward formlessness

in constant materialization

of our true knowing

(for what you know of the unknowable

is truly what you know)

 

IT is eternal flux

the stillness flowing all about us

and moving us

within it.

 

I suffer when I struggle

beat my wings in vain

make the stillness sing my name

attempt to fill it, move it

to my imperial designs

 

Life the simplest feeling

Love the simplest company

Immortality a way of being in the world

untrapped in matter

just passing through

 

My world was a wall

I wished to conquer

a massif of German geometry

In its very center lay

a forbidden, inscrutable City

I laid it siege

and was vanquished

again and again

Weakened, I revised tactics

but the Force could not be stormed

I wept in my despair

reflected  for centuries of sorrow

 

Many years later

I realize the 'wall' isn't really there!

It's an energy grid birthed by space

just as I am!

I have but one advantage:

to be malleable for myself

my vision can become dynamic

 

There are things in the world

that levitate

then vanish

then reappear

the unexpected

whose bizarreness is coherent

in a playful

sometimes silly continuum

as savage and placid

and fertile as the ocean

There's a vibrant thrumming

a background singing you may suddenly sense

 in your moments of thrall

and clear-seeing surrender

 

When you begin sometimes

to feel so light

for the briefest of seconds

when your

thoughts fly

and the dark

ceases to frighten

 

Know then you have begun

the journey to your heaven

 

The Power

E. Medina

 

 

Nothing remains

or stands still

Not the days, the places,

the faces I smile at

or kiss

Not the thoughts,

pages,

streets I walk over,

money I spend

But yes the faith,

affection

of those I truly love

those who care for me

and are ever there to share

all the above

 

Happiness grows with time

and doesn’t care

if we will ever die

or lose our way

It is the rudder

that never lies

or breaks

it is the sail

that lifts us up

above the reef

 

For a truer north

cannot be found

than joy within your heart

your essence’s

sacred ground

 

Though what is the path

toward the real, the true,

the loved?

When in this time it seems

none such is left

Humanity nothing but a shade,

a myth, a dream

Of all wisdom, pity, love

bereft?

Where to go,

toward whom,

how and when?

 

I will venture an answer,

but here’s the catch:

My response and yours

will never match

It’s not a word or words,

it’s not a sound

It is your true self

deep within.

It is your soul --

if you have got one.

 

When you were young

and if you are young still

If you’ve lost hope and failed

in your most

cherished dreams

If you are old

and ready to be born again

If you are weak and fearful

yet seize the second’s courage

and walk the plank

 

You may yet plumb the Power

buried, hid within

You may yet once again

be as a child

unformed, unspoiled,

pristine

You may pick up the swords

and turn them into plows

and shine the light of Life

upon the world

from your warm hands

and brow

 

 

But learn the difference ‘twixt

the simple world without

and your vast

Worlds

within

 

Look behind you

at the threshold

the timorous profane

can never cross

Listen: the codes you share

with your own people

are to their ears

a noisome dross

 

Do not believe

you are degraded

for never having wished

to gain their prize

And ever keep

this thought most present: 

 

Yours is another path;

hence must you go elsewhere

to other worlds you fly

Whereas they stay,

stand rooted to the spot

of their buried pirates’ treasure

or as statues of salt.

 

Thus far below and back

they shall remain

Their freedom

having chosen thus

To stay behind

in what is past and done

with what is dead, over, gone.

 

They cannot see

the treasure that you seek

though neither can you see it

But yes you sense, feel it

It is more real to you

than gold or diamonds

More precious than worldly wealth

and the pleasures, privilege it gets

So they think you mad,

unfortunate

for you are chosen by

a destiny

that opens such a trove only

to you

and others like you,

so chosen.

 

And they hate what they can never have

what they can’t destroy, coerce, defeat

they are hostile to you

you are a changeling.

 

And they are ruled by fear,

of worldly loss

by pain

by death

by nothingness

triumphant

 

But you chose

to be ruled

by Life                                                                                                      

and guided by

the Power.

 

San Rafael, California

30 December 2002

 Of an Evening

30 October 2018

E. Medina

 

 

Wax and wane

days weeks whoosh by

I am seasons

a door ajar

 

Last year’s grass cut

soon overgrown

my young cats

here a decade old

 

Birdsong evening blooms

incense wafts

Oropel[1] by and by

a figurehead quaffed

 

You feel expectant

you know not why

velvet flower

rippling sighs

 

Tabby fur

warms my shin

a shroud of mist

a dream-fed stream

 

Will let the morrow

bring me Spring!

 

---

[1] My late beloved gray tabby, her Spanish name means Tinsel.

Transgressor

May 2001

E. Medina

 

 

In a world

where the silent

are presumed strong

the mute sage

the blind loyal

 

Where silence means

nothing is happening

…nothing that must not be

 

Where only what is allowed

is named,

pronounced and stated

for approving nods

 

What shall I do

with my voice

brain

heart?

 

If I cannot sing

my understanding

state my doubt

declare my certainty

divine your name?

 

In an era of cripples

where all is a forward rush

pathetic, sinister pretense

of the All Important

and Unquestionable

 

What shall I do

if my heart knows

my brain keens:

they lie

they’re faking!

 

Their world is insane

I am besieged, surrounded

the only escape

my mind

my world of dreams

 

Where I am content

to be misunderstood

to serenade the deaf

receive the scourge

and erase the wounds

 

Run the gauntlet

laughing merrily

Impervious to the blows

 

Be a poem

in repayment of the taunt

and insult

 

But on no account accept

the muzzle

wear the blinders

trot, kneel, march on cue

 

No.

 

You will not break me

I cannot be broken

 

…NOT BY ALL FIVE BILLION OF YOU!

The Day We All Await

20 June 2005 

 

 

i suspect   will tiptoe in so quietly to our amazement but with fearsome finality of a raging ocean storming down centuries-old walls thick carpeted with vines and roots though to our eyes decrepit and tottering for so long yet remained propped up by great, black, granite monoliths guarded by mercenaries   but silent billowing waves will come crashing implacable over gleaming empty shells of skyscrapers steel beams and plate glass to split like matchsticks tear like cellophane left levelled, ripped, blasted into billions of singular atoms   we have witnessed the prophesies    it will all fall away ...in silence...   after the deafening terror of strafing and bombing   suddenly  ...the world will go quiet   they will be gone vanish without a sound   just as millions quietly exhaled their souls in the killing fields   their bombast will die down as the waves come to bear them noiselessly away   they will be gone   all trace of them blown north, east, west, south less visible than the finest brownian dust   yes   she will dawn   the day we all await   when what seemed immutable impregnable brutally eternal the golden-roofed necropolis above us crowded with teeming wealthy dead will become mythic as Atlantis   the grandiose prideful will fall with a crash so resounding so final but only we shall hear   and lifting our heads cease our laborious digging clamber up to the surface emerge from these rabbit holes where our dreams are safely hid like great bears in hibernation   it will be so strange to greet this feeling of return to life after an age of entombment.   the wave will have swept away the debris she will not even leave any bodies to rot   the earth will greet us pristine our true self will fly out to enfold us in her arms   what took you so long? we will both burst into tears of joy joy joy so intense we’ll need a nice, long Lie Down     Finished 17 April 2025