spine_WINGS_chains_FEET_children_PRICHARD?_scars_E ARS_burns_HATED_man_TRAINING_barbaric_DAY_atonemen t

below is today's post on Mobile Audit Club website on Quatrains 8 page by
Kurt Brown,
alias Saint Ram Bone, surviving FDIC federal bank examiner

Mobile Audit Club

http://www.angelfire.com/zine2/democracyordeath/

and Youtube Saintrambone videos (some were edited by Youtube or federal
censors)

http://www.youtube.com/profile?user=saintrambone

Segment January 27, 2009:
spine_WINGS_chains_FEET_children_PRICHARD?_scars_E ARS_burns_HATED_man_TRAINING_barbaric_DAY_atonemen t

The day will come when all of the children who have been misused by those of
their species or other species will be reconciled in the creators mind, our
habitat. I make jokes about mankind being like spermatozoids in a nut, but
it is a mind in the outer sphere, I am certain of it, and if it is not a
mind, it is a cell superior to our minds. We will never make it there in
space exploration, it is impossible from what I can tell. Not I, not anyone
will make it, unless they or IT is meant to be there, unless this portion or
cell is ill or dieing, and that is unlikely.

I have some questionable things about myself, as I question everything.

When I was just a little boy in Prichard Alabama, I remember my ear was
hurting, not the inner ear but the external ear in its outer periphery. I
know that often in Marfan's syndrome type medical conditions, the ears can
curl up on themselves, as if never developed. But my ear had scabs on it,
and I told my mother that it hurt, and she said as we rode through Prichard
Alabama, a poor slum even back then in the 1960's, "I wonder what all they
did to you."

Ironically too, I had on my ankle a scar from a cut. My mother said I came
inside one day and my ankle was cut wide open. It was not bleeding and I
was not crying. The scar is still there. She said she did not know what
had happened to me and suspected I had jumped on a can top while playing
outside in the front yard.

Now I discover in my later life on my spine, small protuberances that remind
me of wings or remnant wings or perhaps even fin structures. Where does
all of this lead? Was this something from history and man made or something
from the nature of the universe? Why is the back of my head flat as if I was
laid in a crib and ignored. My mother was very attentive. I can not see her
allowing a head to not be massaged into shape. What happened? Was I
kidnapped? Transported?

Why was I held captive at the LA VA in Westwood and subjected to forced
injections and forced medical procedures in 2001, April 2001? I did not
know that the VA did forced experiments or I would not have parked there.
I did not know the military did forced experiments or I would not have
served. When I was in Long Beach California in the Navy in 1983 or 194 I
was butchered by a dentist while another stood guard at the door, and later
in Los Angeles an oral surgeon said I had unusual scar in my mouth that
reached from the gum line to the top center of my mouth. What were they
doing to me? Am I some sort of freak pawn used in a high stakes game of
warfare.? After all I was led into auditing not by my own suggestion but by
those in the Veterans Administration. I chose medicine before that and
should have been allowed to finish. I would fight for my fellow man, the
working class if I was given an international auditors job for the IRS in
San Francisco for which I have applied. They will not hire me, none of them
will now, after FDIC employment, that discriminatory horde, the IT most
likely. In 1992, after leaving LA after the riots, my wife and I came
back to Alabama. I should have majored in engineering and I encourage
young people with imagination to do so, major in something that matters.
The game of money is the game of ****. My father wanted me to major in Law,
but I fear those in the government buildings and want to go in with
equipment to protect myself and test for the enemy in power, finding out
what is fake and what is not, and I see their judges as pistol whipping
whores with no real caring for any one or any law. I know their claims of
justice are fake, just as their claims of piety are fake. In God We Trust.
They kill--Strike One. They bear false witness--Strike Two. They lie--Strike
Three. WE are taught by them, by IT. WE lose have of their losses, therefore
they are back at 1.5, always. Perhaps their genetic manipulations and murder
of innocent babies brings in another strike, minus one half for us allowing
them to do so. Then we are at 2. Where is the third strike? Adultery?
Covetness? In my world the body is the most material, trespassing against my
only possession was their fatal and final sin. I see nurses in Pensacola
wrecked with diseases and injuries and I see what will happen, nothing. We
do not even take care of those who do the opposite of harming us, caring for
us. I am considering a nut busting nurses union. A calling where my kind can
specialize in ripping their heads off when they get out of line, or perhaps
this is just an ugly town, an ugly nation.

When I was arrested for parking on LA VA Westwood property outside the
gate in 2001, I had no idea my life would turn into a living hell, and it
has continued to this day, forbidden employment, outcast, harassed, and
chided, continual post traumatic stress and people pushing me too damned
far, not only by the government, but finally my wife who pushed me out
because of her being harassed at her work by federal agents. I was simply
exercising one of many degrees, investigative journalism coupled with
auditing in a corrupt and closed fascist dictatorship that seems to enjoy
abusing us and treating us like game animals, not even allowed into the
building lobby. They or IT claims we are the threat. They used to make us
kill innocent Vietnamese people or go to jail for not doing so. Now they
have us kill innocent Iraqis and Afghanistan natives or be broke and
jobless. Or it seems that way for many I am sure. One gung-ho Joe I know
of in the US Army or Marines was a decorated war combatant in Iraq and his
mother in law lives in Pensacola. She bragged to me about him once, killing
some guys and taking their gun. I told her that nature has a peculiar
ricochet effect, and if the Iraqis did not get him, then those controlling
US society would once he returned. Perhaps making him an experiment of
medical procedure victim in the big game, the game of eternal war. She came
to me recently, drunk. She was in tears and could not talk of what had
happened to the soldier. He was shot I believe by an American soldier. I do
not know how. That is the nature of that stupid game.

But then again, I often ask what has God gone through to grow up, to live
eternal, and how many deaths before God was resurrected complete and total?
And I realize I am just one piece of the puzzle. I hate to see my fellow
people and relatives be subjected to the controllers torture and abuse. I
look down at a skeleton and see it has my eyes, forlorn, forsaken, forever
silent. No wonder the wandering Jews never take hold. Who wants to, all I
want to see is freedom also. All I can hold on to is a scar I can not
explain on my ankle, and a scar on my ear, and an aching spine where it
looks like wings on MRI, and I remember games by some, games in which they
would hold children captive, hugging them, playing, and I can not separate
the game from the trauma, likely suppressed in my memory, maybe in my
imagination. It was no joke when I was held by my apparent fellow veterans
who were employees at a VA facility in Westwood. All I wanted was a job in
LA, a real job, after being pushed out by the crime syndicates of the FDIC
in San Francisco

I was a very good wrestler in Jr. High, the best, undefeated, because when
penned, I went ape. Now, I often feel the same way, no matter where I stay,
I soon have to leave. I feel better that way. I have taken to traveling
triangles in the past. I never cross the same line twice. I look at it as
triangulating a fix, and strange things happen at the third point. That is
where the line from the first to the third, which I did not travel, and the
second to the third, which I did travel, intersect. I smell the air, sense
the universe, at the end of the second point after having traveled from the
first. I do not know where I will go until I get there. How would I, if I
had not started to triangulate the fix. 1+1==2. 2+1==3. Strange things
happen. Some times in the middle of the greater triangles stranger things
happen.

So as I sit here in pain, my spine writhing like a bee sting, and my mind
curling in on memories that may or may not have significance from childhood,
and I remember the torture I endured at the LA VA Westwood and LA County
Jail and the abuse I endured on probation, and the whole while, my mortal
enemies sitting in the judges seats acting as if they are doing me or
society a favor. They deserve what they get, a pant load premature. G-D
Damn them. G-d Damn IT. May their controller or controllers feel the same
squishing anguish. Never trust VA Healthcare. They have turned on us, on me
also.

Where did we or I become slaves to these M.F.'s? Why? Why? Harmony in
horror. I prefer instead of sequential death, the anonymous death in a
splattering in an instance of all so the suffering shall end. But I live in
my own nightmare world. Perhaps I know too much, or too little.

I prefer cinnamon toast over bagels yet I play with the girls who eat
cinnamon toast with their bagels. Yes, I see some things in dreams. Those
angels, and I know of them in life. Mothers are often good teachers if left
unabated with their young. Some things in sleep are like those things in
life. I fight with the devil every night and wear a mouth guard to do so.
Perhaps, I am asleep and so God has an eye on my shattered teeth brought
back from LA county Jail, my shattered life, somewhere on the remnants of
Heaven or Hell. From now on I frown on those who try to deceive me. As one
man told me at the FDIC, watch your back and cover your tracks. He was not
a criminal. Some of our bosses were.

This concludes today's post on Mobile Audit Club website on Quatrains 8 page
by
Kurt Brown,
alias Saint Ram Bone, surviving FDIC federal bank examiner

Mobile Audit Club

http://www.angelfire.com/zine2/democracyordeath/

and Youtube Saintrambone videos (some were edited by Youtube or federal
censors)

http://www.youtube.com/profile?user=saintrambone