Changing The Cartridge

By Judy Andreas
Lately, I have been receiving a number of letters from people inquiring as to why I have not written. (They are referring to my essays rather than a personal "hi, how are you?" letter.)
Quite frankly, I am never sure why I do not write, I am too busy figuring out why I do. It's not that I haven't been touched and deeply disturbed by recent events. Believe me when I say that although my mouth has been enjoying a quiet summer vacation, my eyes and ears have been hard at work.
"You haven't said a word about the London bombings," an Internet friend wrote.
This friend was not privy to the email I had written to a relative in London after the bombings occurred. The response had been, "Can't you ever believe that anything is just the terrorists?"
"Well, shut my mouth!" A voice inside my head whispered. And "shut it," I did. However, all the while, I kept my eyes glued to my favorite Internet truth sites and my ears close to my favorite Internet radio shows. Yes, there was a great deal to say about the London bombings and people were saying it very well. I sat in my room applauding one of the kings of courage, Alex Jones, as his voice bellowed into a megaphone in London, spreading truth to the gathered throng and startled passersby.
Aside from circulating videos, I have adopted a "one to one" approach. Every unsuspecting repairman who enters my home, even the acupuncturist working on my lower back, has seen me climb up on my soapbox.
My "one to one" philosophy has brought me many pleasant surprises. The man at the Auto Body Repair shop was knowledgeable about the New World Order and we talked for quite sometime. No, I did not get a discount on my bill: there was no method in my madness.
The car salesman who sold my son his car was also an agreeable and informed audience.
The man repairing my bathroom, on the other hand, terminated the conversation with a simple sentence, "I like Bush." I tried to spin a Bohemian Grove story in an effort to trim the presidential shrub, but this man was not buying. And since I did not want to find any surprise leaks in the plumbing, I wisely decided to plug up my mouth.
Last week my aching back urged me to take a trip to an acupuncturist. As she needled me, we easily slipped into a conversation about medicine and health. She remarked that all medicine is toxic and affects the liver.
"The doctors are taught poorly," she continued.
I heard the knock of opportunity. It was a quick trip from the "holes in the medical education" to the faux terrorist attacks in London, and an easy connecting flight to the official lies about the WTC collapses.
Our conversation was as painless as the treatment and I left the office feeling unusually optimistic.
It has been a brutally hot summer and everyone is New York is complaining about the heat and anxiously anticipating the time when they can begin complaining about the cold. And so, on a sticky August morning, I turned on the local radio station to see how much longer I would have to wait until I started breathing again.
It was not yet time for "traffic and weather" and a lively discussion about the wisdom of searching people on the subway was underway.
"Anything that stops a terror attack is a good idea," was the general consensus.
"Better check that elderly lady's purse," I thought. There may be a bomb in her pillbox.
My dialing fingers took a more aggressive approach.
"Our next caller, Judy from Suffern"
I broke into a tirade about the London attacks, the drills that were going on simultaneously, the bombs exploding from the floors of the buses, the surveillance cameras that did not work, the Mi6 asset who masterminded the whole enchilada, and that was just the beginning. My rant led me to Scott Ritter's comment that we had planned to be in Iran by the beginning of July. I squeezed in PNAC, Operation Northwoods, and even got into the 911 anomalies. I knew that much of my audience thought their radio dial had drifted into an audio presentation of Mel Gibson's movie "Conspiracy Theory." My mouth had reached the speed limit and my mind was racing for I knew I was competing with the arrival of the 8 a.m. (ahem) news.
After the traffic and weather, the phones at the station began to ring off their proverbial hooks.
"Where does this woman get her information?"
"Why haven't we read about it in the paper? The papers print everything"
I searched for my blood pressure cuff.
In the midst of my foray into the mouth of madness, the voice of an elderly gentleman caller brought me back to planet earth.
"That woman was 100% right. I hope she will call the station and leave her phone number. I would like to buy her lunch"
John is a man in his 80's who fought in the Second World War. His credentials as a Vet gives him credibility among the station's listeners. After picking up my remains, he continued where I had left off. He talked about how our country had been tricked into the wars. He talked about Pearl Harbor. He talked about a great deal more as I basked in the validation of my sanity.
I was able to make a phone connection with John.
"I want to buy you a big Italian meal." He expressed his gratitude for my courage.
John hails from that imaginary place we have come to know as "the right wing" whereas I am a "recovering leftie." And yet, in these troubled times, the present is all that matters. Our minds meet in a common arena. We are two human beings who know that our country is in trouble. We know that we are being manipulated and lied to. The left/right, divide/conquer paradigm has no place at our dining table. It is merely a weakly penciled illusory boundary, sketched into our collective psyche, which is in dire need of a large erasure.
I wish I could say that my lunch with John filled me with hope, but I cannot. That part of me has, I'm afraid, waved good-bye to optimism. There may be an awakening taking place but it is moving too slowly. Time is a luxury which, unlike oil, cannot be replenished. Has it run out? Have we let a cold blooded, calculating cabal pull our strings while we obediently and blindly walked off the cliff of survival?
Forgive my lack of optimism, but life is the only reality show in which I have any interest. And therefore, deluding myself is a habit which I have struggled to break. The possibility that we are about to become extinct is moving into the realm of probability.
Are we standing at our deathbed watching as humanity gasps its last breath?
Copyright: 2005 Judy Andreas



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