Panning for Nuggets of Truth in the Fecal Stream of “News”

I have unanswered questions about the destruction, not just of the two iconic World Trade Towers, but also—and especially—about the curious collapse of WTT 7.  I’ve made no secret about that over the years.

I occasionally read with interest about unidentified aircraft or large hominids uncategorized by current science.  98 percent of UFO cases and Sasquatch sightings are probably hoaxes or misperceptions… but a small minority invites serious consideration and further research.

I know for a fact—I know with regard to a number of specific allegations—that the social conditions in the South immediately preceding the American Civil War are grossly and persistently misrepresented, not just in popular media, but even in most college classrooms.

To some people, each “intellectual apostasy” to which I’ve just admitted—and certainly all of them taken together—prove that I’m a crackpot.  No… they prove far more, and far worse.  A “9/11 truther” is a mere crackpot, a “conspiracy theorist”; a “believer” in UFO’s and Bigfoot should probably have his driver’s license and voter registration suspended; and anyone who would question that the South was a proto-Nazi operation, complete with wall-to-wall death camps called plantations, is a Fascist Holocaust-denier who needs to be on the FBI’s short list of dangerous lunatics.

All of this, mind you, because a) I don’t understand how a vast, squat building comes thumping to the ground story-by-story after an ember blows through a window; b) I know a man who witnessed the Phoenix Lights in 1997 and observed the same impossible maneuvers as did Governor Fife Symington himself; c) I’ve heard dozens of testimonies from people who have spent decades in the wilderness (including Canadian “survivorman” Les Stroud) concerning intelligent activity—sounds as well as sights—requiring immense strength and, sometimes, symbolic reasoning; and d) I pay attention to what old folks around me say and recognize rather than brush aside compelling material evidence that contradicts the proposition, “Every Southerner had slaves and beat them.”

In each particular case, I’m just trying to confront material fact and process it logically.  Even when I attempt to escape the academic/political environment and amuse myself with a sport like baseball, I appear to notice “too many” things.  I can prove that an art of hitting from a century ago has been lost in a cloud of cliquish, quasi-high-tech, hermetically insulated pedagogy whose gurus are making a mint of money and whose legions are pitiable old warhorses trying to hold a coaching job.  I’ve now published (self-published) two books on the subject; but, on rare occasions when anyone within the game acknowledges my presence, my evidence is ignored on the ground that I spent my career teaching literature—just as the honest woodsman who comes face to face with Bigfoot is assumed to have been drinking, to be mentally disturbed, or to mistake raccoons in the shadows for giants after fifty years of hiking experience.

I suppose it’s always been this way.  Why, the very idea that something as massive as our planet could not only be spinning, but also moving about the sun!  The very idea!  Of course, we’re supposed to have left those “Spanish Inquisition” days behind (and I confess to knowing less than nothing about the Inquisition, since my “knowledge” is based on popular assumption).  It’s really quite irritating how cocksure we are that “science” has lifted our vector well out of the incurious, group-think trajectory of old.  I haven’t added “climate change” to my list, since I’ve followed that game only from a high bleacher along a far sideline; but esteemed climatologist Patrick Michaels’ explanation to Mark Levin (on the latter’s October 21 broadcast) of the quid-pro-quo, research-grant-for-political-ammo racket sordidly motivating that entire “debate” (or “debate shutdown”) mirrors the pattern that I have observed so often elsewhere.  One side is declared—or declares itself—“science”; then the accumulation and analysis of solid evidence that characterizes true science is permanently terminated.  No, we no longer burn people at the stake.  We only torch reputations, incinerate alternative theories, and intimidate curious minds.

Does anything I’ve written above clearly designate me as an ideologue on one side or the other of the aisle?  Not to accept “climate change” the way a good Muslim accepts Muhammad as God’s prophet is to be a “climate-change denier”, and hence a racist Nazi.  Well, we already knew that I was of such a stripe as soon as I raised doubts about the South’s being one big slave camp.  But wait a minute: these wackos who claim to see little gray aliens in the sky and big hairy boogers in the forest are New Age, leftwing types—and my hesitancy to recite the official 9/11 catechism proves that I’m a communist operative!

If you will entertain for a moment the notion that I have no political axe to grind, then perhaps you will believe me when I say that the “reporting” on would-be bomber Cesar Sayoc’s high jinks last week made my head throb purely from truth-starvation.  To this instant, I await an explanation from some quarter—any quarter—of how one addresses a package to the likes of Bill Clinton.  In my days of trying to interview black ballplayers who immediately followed Jackie Robinson into the big leagues (for a manuscript assembled almost two decades ago), I had virtually no luck whatever in obtaining functional addresses.  Over the intervening years, people have grown exponentially more jealous of their personal information—especially people whose public activity didn’t involve wearing a uniform, but playing with billions of dollars not their own.  So how does a male stripper ferret out the home addresses of multi-billionaires like George Soros or of highly controversial public figures like Eric Holder?

As near as I can tell, the packages were directed after this fashion: Jerry Jones, Dallas Cowboys Owner; Texas Stadium; Irving, Texas.  So… so can you picture the scene as a lackey comes running breathlessly out of the penthouse elevator?  “Mr. Soros, Mr. Soros… this package arrived just hours ago at one of you five thousand corporate headquarters!  They rushed it over here.  There’s no return address.  Would you like a letter-opener?”

I heard political hack Sean Spicer sententiously intone the other night that he “could not imagine” the anguish that must have coursed through the souls of the “victims”… victims, that is, of unopened-and-untouched (by them) envelopes rumored to contain explosive devices—devices, by the way, that tamely endured the mail-cart mixing bowl always guaranteed to crumple my book orders from Amazon.  (Another classic scene: Unexploded Bomb expert in khaki crawls up to package, sweating bullets and dagger in teeth, after the mailman dunks it into the box like a basketball.)

Please, Mr. Spicer, sir… please stop smacking my intelligence across its metaphorical face!  Anyone with a few dozen millions in his investment portfolio does not open his own mail in this age of subtle white powders; or if he does, then his pulse should accelerate every time he handles an envelope that looks ordinary.

I mention Spicer by name because he’s a Republican, and I’m truly not picking sides here.  The entire incident seemed perfectly timed to rebut the embarrassingly well-justified charge that “mobs” had taken over the political initiative on the Left.  The temporal coincidence is quite sufficient to make an impartial observer wonder. Yet the Right’s mouthpieces instead huddled together and decided upon a strategy of vigorous condemnation rather than further processing of the evidence.  Left: “See there?  One of your guys tried to murder a dozen of our guys! You’re all a bunch of fascist assassins!”  Right: “No, no.  We deplore his actions.  Here, we’ve already made a noose.  Bring him to the tree and we’ll hold the rope.”  Commentators like Ben Shapiro who are somehow supposed to have held the pliers as Sayoc activated the fuses were the first acrobats on the “dazzling spectacle of moderation” tightrope.  “Mass murderer here, mass murderer there… we all have our mass murderers.  Both sides just need to calm down and be level-headed.  Try your best to imitate me.”

Spin, spin, spin on both sides.  No interest in the truth.  No energy directed at any effort other than the one to occupy a position three bridges up the rhetorical road.  Meanwhile, those of us left plodding along that road are drowning in crap.

And meanwhile within the meanwhile… did anyone notice that October 1 was the anniversary of the Las Vegas shooting—an actual mass-murder event—wherein 58 innocent bystanders were butchered and 851 wounded?  The “news media” didn’t exactly trumpet the memorial.  In fact, the suspicious “security guard” who fled the country to Mexico after offering contradictory accounts has disappeared utterly from the news cycle like a pebble in the deep blue sea.  You’ll never hear another word about him… or only from “conspiracy theorists”.

Author: nilnoviblog

I hold a Ph.D. in Comparative Literature (Latin/Greek) but have not navigated academe very successfully for the past thirty years. This is owed partly to my non-PC place of origin (Texas), but probably more to my conviction--along with the ancients--that human nature is immutable, and my further conviction--along with Stoics and true Christians-- that we have a natural calling to surmount our nature. Or maybe I just don't play office politics well. I'm much looking forward to impending retirement, when I can tend to my orchards and perhaps market the secrets of Dead Ball hitting that I've excavated. No, there's nothing new (nil novi) under the sun... but what a huge amount has been forgotten, in baseball and elsewhere!

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