“Every Cause has its Effect; every Effect has its Cause; everything happens according to Law; Chance is but a name for Law not recognized; there are many planes of causation, but nothing escapes the Law.” —The Kybalion
Abby Martin on Breaking the Set
I was walking around at night. I cross the railroad and am in Los Angeles. I know this because it does not look like home after I cross the tracks. I hear a helicopter and know there is some sort of military presence in the city and talk of martial law. Then I see someone walking up the street and realize it is Abby Martin. This delights me considerably and I wave her down excitedly. To my horror, however, she thinks I am a stalker and becomes nervous, walking away. I sheepishly cry out “I am not a stalker!!!” but she does not believe me. Because I do admire her work I considered this a nightmare.
On July 25, 2015 everything that took place in this dream happened in real life except it had a very happy ending, at least at first. The event was an art show in Los Angeles called Art versus Apathy.
On that day there was a military presence in Los Angeles and talk of martial law. That was Jade Helm. I was in Los Angeles and did see Abby Martin walking towards me on the street, and my initial hello, as I recognized her, made me wonder if that made her feel uncomfortable.
Thinking of someone and then meeting unexpectedly Dr. Rupert Sheldrake
Just looking at past winners of the Medal of Honor we can see that America has a lot of military heroes to reflect on and even emulate. Please consider the following to see what a real hero is. In Iraq alone: Corporal Jason L. Dunham, Private First Class Ross A. McGinnis, Petty Officer 2nd Class Michael A. Monsoor, and Sergeant First Class Paul R. Smith. All were posthumously awarded.
But again, Kyle was not one of them.
Nevertheless, someone posted Martin’s personal information and threatened her and her family. Perhaps that totally explained why she seemed a little uncomfortable about me knowing who she was or maybe she thought I was some sort of lame ass journo-groupie.
That day I had gone to the show with my pal Kristie, a lovely Los Angeles school teacher. I told her about Martin as we saw some of her art and she said “Why don’t you say hello? I will introduce you.”
I had explained about the awkward moment earlier and why she had every reason to feel uncomfortable around me given what had happened to her with the Kyle incident. Still, she insisted, and introduced herself to Abby then me.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to talk to you earlier,” Abby said. She could tell I was a little embarrassed but she had unwound a little by then.
After shaking her hand I said something along the lines of “Abby, you scared the shit out of the State Department. In all my years I have never seen anything like it. No journalist has ever done what you did. You have an incredible domino effect. You brought light to Gaza, to Guantanamo Bay. You had Kerry and Clinton talking about you.”
I explained she was the Millennium atom that split; that created the chain reactions we saw in Occupy Wall Street and the global Gaza protests involving millions. It’s not a matter of a personality cult, it the simple fact that it is more important for her, it seems, to spread an idea or truth than her fame. Change, after all, is about the idea, and ideal. Truth is too important to bother worrying about who is going to take credit for it.
She thanked me and gave me the most wonderful hug ever, even though it was ridiculously hot in that room and I was drenched in sweat. I won’t name drop, because Pope Francis, Ice Cube and Jennifer Lawrence told me in a conference call it was an unflattering display of vanity to do so, but I have met some pretty remarkable and powerful people in my life. With them it was a lot like Marilyn Monroe described. She said it was always disappointing to see the Hollywood stars and famous people she had idolized because in real life they were so painfully ordinary. My friend took a couple of great pictures of us, and it was a very proud moment for me. I even framed one.
These weren’t empty platitudes, incidentally. I meant every word. She was the face of RT, and they are scared of RT. This channel, the neo-con empire argues vociferously, is Russian propaganda. Our propaganda is better, you should be listening to our lies instead, like a good American.
- The world needs our lies, so they can trust us.
- "We are losing the world info war." With "we" being the elites, that is a GOOD thing.
Now RT is state funded and is not exactly free from propaganda, but they have a radical model that makes them so popular: they don’t lie if they don’t have to, and most of the problem is about what they do not report as opposed to what they do. What they do report they seem to take as a given that viewers will mount a social media counter-offensive in the face of outright lies. The corporate media here isn’t used to being questioned. It just lies all of the time, and even lies when it doesn’t have to, and assumes internet users can’t figure out how to use a search engine or that they rely exclusively on Wikipedia because they haven’t caught on it could be gamed easily. About 70% of Americans don’t trust the mass media here across the board, nor should they.
Efforts have actually been made to censor RT in England, Germany, and even here they have been compared to ISIS. It’s that kind of foolishness that just adds credibility to the agency being attacked, so it is bound to backfire.
Back to Martin though. It was an incredible experience to meet her and it was literally a dream come true, in the weird “it all came to pass! what the hell just happened?” precognitive sense.
So anyway, there comes last Thursday at her next art show. It was her first solo exhibit. It was packed and it was too busy to approach Abby because she could not turn around without someone wishing her well and congratulating her on her show. My gorgeous Brazilian friend Raissa, whom I had told about the strange dream said “no, you can’t leave without saying hello.” So, we wind our way towards her. She finally gets her attention, and low and behold, she remembers me.
A painting she had, “Hell yeah” I think, had some sacred geometry in it and I mentioned it. Then my friend said “Why don’t you take a picture with her?” and she said cool. So she was about to pose with me and as I move to put my arm over her shoulder the art work behind her falls.
You could have heard a pin drop and the look on Abby’s face made me want to jump through that 7th floor window. Someone asked “Who did it?”
“It was me. It was my fault,” I said, in total shock, picking up the work and seeing it had fallen apart.
It was a miracle the glass didn’t break, but the frame did. I wasn’t sure if the piece had already been sold. (It was.) Poor Abby. The look on her face was the worst part of all. She gives the pieces to her friend or assistant and said “fix this” and went to the rest room. Then this curly haired kid comes up to me and he may have not have been aware the cock-up was mine. He says “Oh fuck I’m so glad that wasn’t me! I’m not working I could never pay for that!”
“Well, it was me. I’m fucked. I am so fucked.”
The worst part about this is that her art is almost sacred to me and then this… For those of you unfamiliar with her work as an artist, check out abbymartin.org. See what I mean?
Raissa was a very comforting presence and had me feeling much better by the end of the night.
Eight months ago, after the dream I recall waking up with a bad feeling overall, as it was a nightmare. I guess that part happened too.
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