The Light of my Life

Aww, if you missed the poem by Howard Moss, it’s called Front Street. And it’s so hilarious how much it pertains to the NSA’s collection of peace lovers.

David Bowie is one of the many lights of my life. I wish to share another poem that I’ve read recently. It pertains metaphorically to a predicament that I see. If I had more data to upload a video of me reading the poem, I’d do it, but I lack some data requirements, so you’ll have to read this poem. I let you interpret your own meaning:

by Thomas H. Vance

The air of the museum
Warns “Do not touch.” Propped still,
The divine statues wear
Sleep that could spring and kill.

That sinewy warrior, king,
Has waked, and stares in stone.
His eyes are beyond fear.
He ages; his mind is gone.

With a dead tongue he cools
The whispering visitors;
Around his niche, his cave,
The riveted city towers.

Around his marble arms
That crushed the fierce demon,
How cold through finicking glass
The atoms of light pour down.

Fabulous, finished and stripped,
For a great fall he stands:
He held up state and sky;
Hard time is on his hands.

He sees his shadow, nothing,
Etched on the scholar’s book;
Pressed with the print of death,
He is praised, but cannot speak.

But yet his majesty moves:
Stealing, hidden and still,
When midnight melts the walls,
He slips his pedestal.

O now he leaps to life
In shafts deeper than rock;
In rooms no city roofs
This conqueror cleaves the dark.

Magnificent in the night
He slays his spectral foes,
He wastes the astonished earth
And wounds the still shadows.

Bent, blind, he walks in blood;
Striding in sleep, nightmares,
Beyond the darkest pole,
He freezes, but still endures.

His proud arms, perilous thews,
Stiffen in silent stone.
The slow light threads his hands
That thrashed the lost dragon.

— by Thomas H. Vance


My inspirational desktop. My bullies have made me strong.The light of my life lingers in the hearts of all souls, and my abusers know that I choose love and (eventually) forgiveness. I cannot be bought. The gods of all beliefs are with me on one thing: the power of love. I am not a terrorist, but I sometimes call my cat one…–when he knocks stuff off the counter…!

I am a mellow bringer of peace, and my fingerprint upon humanity lives forever;
within my words are truth and beauty. Our souls will live forever. Our dreams are ours.
My government knows me better than my family. What a terrible revelation, because
my government has been known to murder peaceful people.

Please google search: gang-stalking and no-touch torture.It is a terrible offense to our countries beautiful dreamers and wonderful thinkers. Our scientists, whistleblowers, and bloggers (me) have and are being subjected to this illegal technique. It is the biggest threat to creative peaceful people of our planet. All Occupiers are not safe. I am an American, and a dreamer of love in all actions, but I was still subject to this terrible practice. Because I called the head of NSA “my fuzzy puppet” among many other things. Essentially, it’s a form of psychological blackmail, and it is very difficult to prove.

Please educate yourself of this historically illegal technique. It is an insult to Democracy, freedom, and justice. It’s what they did to Martin Luther King Jr. and they’re still doing it, and with complete collection, due to the NSA, it makes it very easy to psychologically torture a target. These people will be forgiven whenever they decide to stop torturing good loving citizens. Until it stops, I fear for the soul of humanity. Our evolution is being hindered and our freedoms have been fractured. Celebrities are probably most aware of these illegal techniques, but anyone who speaks out about it is subject to the abuse.

…I speak out about it because it was the worst experience of my entire life, and if I had known the terms “gang-stalking” and “no-touch torture,” then I would have been better equipped to speak to the doctors and case workers I was subjected to during my gang-stalking ordeal. Instead, my medical files will paint me as something that I am not. I am not a psychotic. I am a functional creative being, and love my art and ideas. I just don’t follow through with every project I do, because I love to do so many different activities… I am supposed to be writing a fantasy novel, but because I was just recently gang-stalked, I am distracted by what I now know. And with a $24K medical bill, I am sad and feel as if I am living in a metaphorical Nazi Germany. I am afraid to be me, because everything I do is monitored.
It feels terrible to be afraid to share, because I love to share. We are at a Catch-22, because my government let me know they could kill me at any minute, but they don’t. But I am left with the realization that America is in the dark about just how much control the secret police truly have.

If I tried to run for President, they’d probably just kill me.
I’m still alive, but gang-stalking should be very much illegal.

Anewwe’s Search for Eudaimonia

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