aaronmcnees's Xanga

Saturday, November 07, 2009

Sat, 07 Nov 2009 04:57:08 GMT

'The Dirty Bomb That Disappeared' By Julian Assange

~From Wikileaks

March 8, 2009

The curious tale of an Obama hating, cashed up, nuclear Timothy McVeigh from Maine.

By Julian Assange (investigations editor)

It has all the makings of a great story. But outside of the US state of Maine and select counter-terrorism circles, you won't have heard about it. For this is a story with all the right ingredients but one wrong ingredient.

On the right side is a leaked FBI intelligence report, Obama's inauguration, a multi-million dollar trust fund, a woman, uranium, thorium, the first attempt to build a "dirty bomb" on US soil, and, of course, murder.

On the wrong is the body of James G. Cummings, white supremacist millionaire, found in his Belfast home on December 9, 2008, shot to death.

After local police attended the scene, the FBI moved in and sealed off the building. Men in protective suits descended on the home but police refused to comment about what they found. Mrs. Cummings was taken into custody.

Then on January 12, 2009, Wikileaks revealed a confidential FBI field intelligence report on the incident as part of a Presidential inauguration threat analysis.

According to the FBI report, Cummings had four lots of one gallon containers of bomb-grade hydrogen peroxide, uranium, thorium (also radioactive), lithium metal, thermite, aluminum powder, beryllium (radiation booster), boron, black iron oxide and magnesium ribbon.

While the radiation levels from Cummings initial device would have not have been physically significant compared to its explosive and toxic effects, had Cummings set off the device in Washington DC, during Obama's Presidential inauguration, its psychogenic effect may have hospitalized thousands.

The FBI states it also seized literature on how to build “dirty bombs” and information about cesium-137, strontium-90 and cobalt-60 and other radioactive materials.

There was also evidence linking Cummings to white supremacist groups, including Cummings' membership application to the US National Socialist (Nazi) party.

Local tradesmen who worked at the Cummings home told Maine reporters that Cummings was an ardent admirer of Adolf Hitler and had a collection of Nazi memorabilia around the house, including a prominently displayed flag with a swastika. Cummings claimed to have pieces of Hitler’s personal silverware and place settings.

Though the Associated Press independently confirmed the Wikileaks FBI report, no-one outside of the Maine press (and Wikileaks) wanted to tell their readers about the first credible "dirty bomb" plot on US soil.

Why hasn't the story been picked up by the national press?

Perhaps the media has simply tired of "dirty bombs"? Not at all!

There have been at least 1,264 media references to "dirty bomb" in the past month. A mere 23, or 1.8%, relate to the Cummings case--despite it being the only real plot among them.

Of the 23 Cummings references 21 are local Maine media and two are from security industry magazines.

The same time period saw 409 blog references, Some 76, or 19%, relate to the Cummings case--ten times the ratio of organized media.

However, 78 out of 79 bloggers simply copied text from Maine's paper of record, the Bangor Daily News (BDN) which followed up the Wikileaks document with a strong traditional press investigation. The 79th also wondered about the media silence outside of Maine.

Conservatives apparently didn't want to draw attention to a radioactive, wealthy version of Timothy McVeigh coming from their own sphere, although nearly every day during Bush's reign saw "dirty bombs" hyped as the ultimate threat.

The left didn't want to repeat another "dirty bomb" story, the likes of which Republicans had used to drive hundreds of billions of dollars into Republican dominated military and security contractors.

Those same contractors normally would have comprised a lobby to get the story out--and counter-terrorism dollars in--but their message lines were finely honed to hype threats posed by militant Islam and radical anti-capitalist greens.

Libertarians all over had conditioned themselves to oppose reportage that might lead to reactionary state controls.

The FBI wasn't talking and the Maine government tried to play incident down, under the rubric that they had protected Maine citizens at all times, despite apparently having had no conception of the Cummings plot.

Journalists of various hues at influential east coast outlets could have pushed the story had there been enough prestige incentive to overcome other allegiances, but because Wikileaks and BDN were "first" there was no such incentive. If there were journalism awards to be had, they'd be going to Maine journalists and Wikileaks.

And there you have it. The first "dirty bomb" plot on US soil, cut short only by a Shakespearean murder. But until now, you probably never heard about it, because only a few had incentives to tell you.

But the Belfast dirty bomber is just one drop from an ocean of truth that is unreported, not repeated, and does not enter into civil discourse, because it is not perceived to be profitable to talk about, regardless of how profitable it may be to hear.

Yet it is from these shared perceptions that we form the structure of civilization itself. Every government, every law, every regulation and every constitution is its product. Hence the quality of civilization is predicated on the degree to which civil discourse is a fair representation of the world we live in.

That is why the revelation of primary source knowledge, from which everything else follows, is so important. Its limits are the limits of civilization itself.

Tuesday, November 03, 2009

Tue, 03 Nov 2009 16:54:01 GMT

Mama don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys
Don't let them pick guitars and drive in old trucks
Make 'em be doctors and lawyers and such
Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys
They'll never stay home and they're always alone
Even with someone they love

Cowboys ain't easy to love and they're harder to hold
And they'd rather give you a song than diamonds or gold
Lone Star belt buckles and old faded Levis 
And each night begins a new day
And if you don't understand him and he don't die young
He'll probably just ride away

Mama don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys
Don't let them pick guitars and drive in old trucks
Make 'em be doctors and lawyers and such
Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys
They'll never stay home and they're always alone
Even with someone they love

A cowboy loves smokey old pool rooms and clear mountain mornings
Little warm puppies and children and girls of the night
Them that don't know him won't like him and them that do 
Sometimes won't know how to take him
He's not wrong he's just different and his pride won't let him
Do things to make you think he's right

Mama don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys
Don't let them pick guitars and drive in old trucks
Make 'em be doctors and lawyers and such
Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys
They'll never stay home and they're always alone
Even with someone they love

Sunday, November 01, 2009

Sun, 01 Nov 2009 17:05:02 GMT

This Wood Needs More Fire
§

damn....where did everyone go? i used to get dozens of comments and footprints...they've all trailed off to a virtual standstill. maybe it's because i'm not as popular anymore. oh, how the mighty have fallen. i weep for the future.maybe people got tired of holding their breaths to see who won the poetry contest.maybe it's because i hardly ever comment anymore, even to the ones i love. hi phil. how's trix? maybe they're wondering if somehow i might grow up. maybe it's because my stalker finally found a life.but not bloody likely. and maybe all this (insert word of choice) is just a passing fad or phase, or maybe it's still destined for greatness. only time will tell. it's been three years here for me. i plan on sticking around for a while. but being a xangalebrity is nothing i aspire to be anymore. i eventually will get around to the last round of the xanga poetry fair. it kinda got overwhelming. if your poem did not make the cut, try again next year. thank you for playing. and to all my friends, old and new, i wish glad tidings this yule season. that's it for now.
play safe, children.

The 13 Nights of Halloween

Sat, 31 Oct 2009 12:03:58 GMT

originally posted October, 2006

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All these stories are true, as to the best i can recollect them, without embellishment. And i indeed apologize to my loyal readers for the hacked up little piece last night of lessons in pain from my mistress, Sleep. She commands and i am wrong to disobey, for i am overfond of staying awake.

Here then is tonight's installment of the 13 Nights of Halloween.

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"The Fog"

Sat, 31 Oct 2009 12:03:17 GMT

originally posted October, 2006

† Photo by Pierre Robert †

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"The Fog" by Aaron McNees
There was a small cemetery outside of Austin, past Oak Hill, that lay beside a small white dirt road off Circle Drive, it was very old.I believe it was named Oliver Cemetery. There was an old white ranch house with horses next to it.My friend and I had been riding around the back roads of Oak Hill, and were getting high and feeling very care free, when we found a road called " Oliver Cemetery Road", and decided to investigate. Or rather, i did she only went down it because i wanted to seethe tombstones and make "etchings" with a pencil and paper by holding the paper against the grave marker, and rubbing it with the pencil.We got out of the car, and i made a few etchings, but they didn't turn out very well, the tombstones were easily over a hundred years old and had been deteriorating, covered with green mold. So many were of children' s graves, life was hard on the prairie back then, and children often did not make it to 10 year sold.It was sad and October and weirdly creepy, and the horses peered over the fence to watch us, so we went to the car to finish smoking our joint...about half way thru it, the sun started to set and we went for a little walk to see the horses again and perhaps give them some of our picnic basket sandwich crusts. The horses were gone, the wind started to blow, and a dark cloud flew low over us.The sun had just set, and everything was in a grey-bluish light, the headstones almost glowing in the diffused unearthly twilight.We were finishing up the roach in the ashtray, when night fell all at once and we joked around, that's weird and stuff, woohaha and all that. As we made spooky noises and played, the thickest fog i had ever seen in my life just rolled in and made billowing swirls around the car, enveloping it completely. This fog wasn't like the kind you see normally in Central Texas or Houston or even Louisiana, it was like the kind i remember my grandfather describing in England in WWII as he fished dead bodies out of the Atlantic. The Cemetery was at the bottom of a bowel-shaped depression, and the fog hovered and swirled. We could see nothing beyond it, a deathly white. I fancied seeing shapes in it, skulls and faces and flitting around, when i looked to her ashen face, white as the impenetrable fog, and she was shaking.Quickly i recalled my Aunt and Mothers cemetery advice " If you become frightened in graveyard at night, never tell your companion how scared you are, for if they are also afraid your fear will double and you will both panic and then something could happen."I didn't want 'something to happen', so I just asked her simply and gently as possible, "Are you ready to go?" " Uh-hhh huh-hh-h-h..." and she turned the key to the ignition.
Thank God, it started!
I just knew the zombies were about to break the windows and pull us out screaming into that evil mist.
The sensation of Evil was palpable in the air, it was as thick as that cursed fog.
Thenext day, we were talking about how the horses seem to know something was going on, when we read in the paper about a horriblecase of satanic ritual abuse at preschool in Oak Hill. The children had been taken to that cemetery as part of the rituals they had performed, and it turns out there had been a coven holding black mass there for years.
-shivers-
ihave a link to the story in texas monthly about the criminal case of the daycare facility, but hesitate to place it here- if you arefamiliar with Operation Monarch, then you have my utmost sympathy. God bless you and remove your sorrows.

if you wish to have your nightmares, then i will send you the link. I don't recommend reading it.

postscript: We encountered this same fog lost as sin on hwy route 6 in east Texas. It was pea-soup thick, and we were so completely lost around Beaumont. As we panicked, the radio started playing this eerie church bell music, except it was without melody, and my friend began to scream turn it off. I had a premonition, and leaned forward to the radio. i tried change the station, punching each button so hard it hurt my finger. This was an old radio with mechanical preset buttons. It was on every channel. I tried the volume, but it stayed a constant atonal ringing of deadly chimes. at last, turning grim, i hit the am/fm button. we were on a lower frequency than those. finally i tried to turn the damn thing off, but it played on insolently mocking alien cathedral chamber "music". I knew what we were listening to, men describe hearing them on the battlefield before they die. It was The Bells Of Doom. Again remembering my Mother's sage advice, as my ex began screaming for me to turn it off, I pretended to be angry with her and growled, " Be quiet, Ilike it." She glared at me but i think she knew that i was just bluffing and scared shitless, so she didn't ask any more questions which was good, because i would have hated to tell her that i thought we were going to die .
Eventually we pulled over and the rain came and washed away the fog( as well as the bells), and we left in the pouring rain, so glad to leave the strange pocket dimension we had struggled with.
We found our way back to the hwy and were so glad to have made it home alive.

<shivers again>

Currently Listening
October Rust
By Type O Negative
Cinnamon Girl

"Halloween Spirits"

Sat, 31 Oct 2009 12:02:28 GMT

originally posted October, 2006

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"Halloween Spirits" by Aaron McNees

"Jack O' Lantern", Clayton Bright

One fine Halloween evening in 1993 as i was getting ready for a night of reveling, raucousness,revenge and candy, i was taking a shower and shaving and cut myself rather deeply upon the neck. As the blood ran down my arm, i marveled at its quantity and a strange whim overtook me and i said, aloud " I offer this blood up to the Halloween Spirits"

It ran in a strait line down my arm and headed to the drain, where the water made a vortice. As it ran, i noticed i could not see it hitting the drain and indeed was disappearing before it got to the drain at about six inches from the swirling whirlpool below. eventually it creeped me out and i got out of the shower and had to use direct pressure to get it to stop while i got ready for Halloween, i was going as a "free agent" of the grim reaper. The cut was not deep but it stung and i was a little pale in the face and my makeup came out quite deathly. I had a good time and chalked it off to the strangeness of surface tension and imagination.

The next year, 1994, as i readied for Samhain again, i was very careful in the shower and neither invited spirits of any kind into my shower nor did i attempt to shave deeply, i was just shaving the sides of my face for a rough Goatee and never touched my neck at all with the razor blade. Never the less, I still bled profusely with the water again disappearing down the drain into the dark vortex of the subterranean tunnels that run below. Needless to say, i hurried from the shower and got ready quickly, feeling some dark force was watching and toying with me just a little bit.

All Hallows Eve, 1995- i got in the shower saying nothing, no lights but a small white candle and Did Not Shave. As you might have guessed , my neck bled anyway and looked particularly creepy in the dim candle light.

Since then, i have had no further episodes, altho i still do not shave in the shower on Halloween and make sure the door is open and the lights are on.

Whoooohhhaaaahhaaaahhh!

Saturday, October 24, 2009

Sat, 24 Oct 2009 13:37:10 GMT

fuck yeahhahahah!see you at the party this year? fuck yeahhahahah!see you at the party this year? fuck yeahhahahah!see you at the party this year? fuck yeahhahahah!see you at the party this year? fuck yeahhahahah!see you at the party this year? fuck yeahhahahah!see you at the party this year? fuck yeahhahahah!see you at the party this year? fuck yeahhahahah!see you at the party this year? fuck yeahhahahah!see you at the party this year? fuck yeahhahahah!see you at the party this year? fuck yeahhahahah!see you at the party this year? fuck yeah
hahahah!

...how many times have you gotten this exact spambot?

Fri, 23 Oct 2009 22:47:30 GMT

My name is Amy
I really feel shy, but I`ve to tell u, that you`r just a man of my dreams... I was fortunate to detect your but nowadays I`m sure it`s a destiny!!))
You`r super... but I`m sure that in ur real life u will excite me more and more!!! -))

So... I would like to keep up a friendship with you, Aaronmcnees!
This site censors and removes all my pics... (so the most spicy pics I uploaded here:
http://yourpersonalprofile.com/account/852773705/
Aaronmcnees, I hope u will take a look at them and will send me something 2 begin our thrilling challenge ))!!
now kiss you :).
- Posted 10/22/2009 5:44 PM
- AmyMorgan53
- flag
- block
- delete

....yes....block, definitely.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Wed, 21 Oct 2009 19:05:18 GMT

~clipping from "The Spam Diaries" ... (medical themes)

Modern medicine accessible to the mass reader for everyone whom the doctoring science interests ancient to induce more attentively to concern the health to give the information on diseases to which the person can undergo. It is a lot of supporters at opinion according to which only the illness picture should be accessible to. the doctor and the patient for the advantage is obliged to be in the dark that the popular statement of medical themes in editions of type of magazine Health is harmful even. Say that is permitted the nobility to the doctor is not let know to the patient.

Symptoms and current depend by nature character and a stage of disease prevalence. of defeat and its complications a pulmonary suppuration a pleurisy pnevmotoraks sharp vascular and warm insufficiency.The attack can begin plentiful allocation of a liquid from a nose the uncontrollable cough complicated othozhdeniem mokroty a short wind. The breath short an exhalation complicated slow and convulsive is accompanied by the loud. whistling rattles heard on distance

Various infringements of a metabolism a skin and has the fingers of a brush pitbull bites chemical compound but also the medicinal forms operating more infiltratov. pitbull bites from prosjanogo grains a swelling of a skin on secondary pitbull bites result from. It is necessary for appointment keratolicheskih means torpidnost a diabetes furunkulez pitbull bites skin cases it is desirable to. itch protivozudnyh means. pitbull bites hems happen dense thick a returnable typhus and pitbull bites They facilitate solutions unpleasant subjective. The great value is given gland diseases occurrence of eels and also at a number. example the termination moknutija skin illnesses can be divided giperemija infiltratsija appoint ointment is symptoms from all organism rise is necessary to.

It does not collapse intestinal it is necessary to distinguish chicken pox cleanup an antibody with poisonous mushrooms methyl. Decrease number of leukocytes in peripheral blood especially nejtrofillov and accepting further wavy character. of patients worsens at persons the pulse which in indications apply respiratory equipment carry muscles progress that is caused. It is necessary to be minded dry hriny display of a specific bronchitis. First aid salt laxative sick or suspicious animals on paralytic frustration of breath cause. The term virus hepatitises unites two basic nozologicheskie forms the beginning has been slowed in conditions when. The incubatory period proceeds from of professional infections at care they possess a smell of necessary to observe all safety.
read more,,

Saturday, October 17, 2009

Sat, 17 Oct 2009 01:11:49 GMT

"Workin'@the CarWash:part 7", or "The Culmination of 30 Years in the Martial Arts"

All throughout my life, I have had many physical confrontations and fights. I have been attacked many times and defended myself. I owe my most honored and revered Panamanian Shotokan Sensei a debt of gratitude for everything he taught me when I was young. Your teachings have saved my life many, many times, Sensei. Being "your challenge" was quite an honor. I have also went on the attack when I felt it was necessary or even just for the fuck of it.
My rage is sometimes hard to contain. It is a fire that burns and burns and wants to keep on burning into a conflagration where all around me is fire and i am lightning with gasoline for blood and the if sparks keep jumping like that some shit is going to blow up. I used to believe that some day i would have my special day.....MY SPECIAL DAY.
I THINK SOME OF YOU MIGHT KNOW WHAT I MEAN.
But I have mellowed a lot over the years. I learned how to control my anger. For the benefit of the world at large as well as myself. I'm really not a nice guy. But I play one on tv. just kidding. I'm a borderline sociopath with schizophrenic tendencies and a horrible temper. Which brings me to today at the carwash. I won't bore you with my version of "adventures in babysitting", otherwise known as petty anty work-related bullshit, but...
I intensely dislike being yelled at with a finger in my face or---fucking insane--grabbing me.
And well, fuck as well, I also happen to be a Scorpio, and fairly typical one at that.
Somehow I manged to not shatter his kneecap or bite his finger clean off at the joint or stick my own finger into his eye socket.( Its a lot more rigid than you think it would be. Practice with pots of sand for a while, striking with your fingers like various animal claws deep into the sand. When you get good, switch to clay.)
I had to tell him to let of my wrist...twice.
The first time I merely smiled and pointed at my wrist where he was grabbing me.
The second time I stopped smiling and told him he fucking seriously might want to let go of my wrist.
Needless to say, he let go of my wrist and I didn't strike him in the adams's apple, or even perhaps just go off old school ghetto nigga style &grab his head and smash it against the stainless steel equipment in the car wash tunnel. Fortunately, all those years in the martial arts really payed off today....The situation has been resolved peacefully. The car wash goes on, and nobody got killed or injured or exploded or decapitated
I think my Sensei would be proud.
and I'm looking forward this great sunshiny weather.
°moarl8rz,ipromise