Symbols

Driving through the backwoods, I see signs in front of churches.  They have the name of the church with a stylized, insulting version of the Cross. 

Tonight I saw the third of what I consider a not-so-subtle mockery. 

The first Cross was a cheaply painted sign in blue and red.  The Cross appeared to be falling over.  As if to say “we are toppling your Faith.”

The second sign looked like a dissolving Cross.  It seemed to be disappearing from the bottom-up.  As if dissipating like a mist or vapour.  As if to say “Your Faith is fading.”

The third sign looked like somebody dipped a towel in blood and smeared a sloppy Cross.  Exactly like the graffiti left on the walls of the Tate-LaBianca murders.  As if to say “We can kill anybody we want and you can’t do shit about it.” 

There is no way I believe doper hippies killed Sharon Tate. 

A telltale bit I remember from the tidal wave of “news” on the Tate murders was how the Manson girls had carved an “X” between their eyebrows.  The media reported it was because they want to X themselves from the world.  A few days later Charlie and the Manson girls had appended the “X” into a swastika.  Why do you think that might have been?  Think about it.  And ask yourself who was really running that show.

Why did they demolish the Tate murder house in the 90's?  Is it for the same reason they spirited away scrap metal from 9/11?  "People often lie.  But the evidence never does." http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=0d_VMleF5Jw

The third Cross got me to thinking about Terry Sedlacek.   How he came busting into a Sunday sermon and shot preacher Fred Winters to death – right through the Bible.  The news jews gloried to write how Winters impulsively held up the Bible to shield himself from the gunfire and it went up like confetti.  How the terrified congregation was “screaming and praying.”  http://shpearson.wordpress.com/2010/05/27/the-preacher-killers/

Food for thought.  Those stylized mockeries of Crosses.  They should be noted as the countryside is riddled with “cold case” murders. 

The kinds of killings that happen after women get hit on by rich, powerful, half drunk men – who get burnt when she says a sobering “no thanks.”  Now she’s got bragging rights about who just hit on her.  Maybe it was her boss.  Maybe it was a customer at a high visibility restaurant.  One of those hook-up joints called a “bar and grill.”  A speak-easy where men go to score.  But not every girl’s a whore.  So perhaps they get stalked and killed by the predators they rejected.  Some of these dead girls were just working a job.  Waitress.  Bar maid.  Typical young chick work. 

Nowadays it’s a free-for-all.  Any woman who takes a job serving booze and chicken wings should get danger pay.

I think that is what the towel-smear Cross means.  It’s a gloat about how many recreational murders happen around here.  With perfect impunity. 

Questions to ask in any town:  Who owns the judiciary?  Who owns the police?  Who owns the coroner?  Who owns the embalmer?  Who owns the mason’s lodge?  Who owns the newspaper?  Who owns the media world-wide?

Symbols can be not so subtle.  Recalling my studies in Egyptology, the tomb of King Tut contained a peculiar pair of sandals.  The boy king walked on his enemies with every step.  On his soles were engraved faces of other races that had gone to war with Egypt.  So that each time he put on his sandals, his foes were looking up at him, waiting to be stepped on.  I recently saw a video that illustrates the King Tut sandal message.  I do not think the wearer of this t-shirt was aware of it.  But see for yourself.  Starting at frame 3:17 of this video, have a look at the front of his t-shirt.  The American flag superimposed on the bottom of a lug-sole boot:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=Q3hZPI_RFNY

In that vein, I recently walked past a hipster boutique at the mall.  In their display window, they had a peculiar pair of teen jeans.  On both ass-pockets there was an ornate rhinestone Cross.

Keep in mind that the number one enemy of the communist state is God Almighty.  Whether He comes from Islam or Christendom does not matter to the marxist.  The fear of God impedes the fear of tyranny.  That is what concerns the bolshevik.  Because God outranks a mortal tyrant.  Karl Marx, for example, is just as dead as any other jew under a tombstone.  The jews seem to not get that part.  (smiley face)  Isn’t that a hoot.  They go ‘round killing people as if their turn will never come.  Dude, whether you die of natural causes or with your boots on, what’s the bloody diff’?  Anton La -- great indulgence -- Vey sure knows what time it is.  He has learned that no amount of name changes can hide a jew from his Maker.  Smiley face number two.  Yaa punks.

Bible Belt News

Many people do not get the Word today.  That is because the Word is in print and their vicars are working for the enemy.

As a peerless orator once wrote, the masses seldom read, necessitating a speech-maker.  Hence the bent of plebeians toward a pastor, minister, parson, priest, chaplain, padre, man of the cloth, etc. 

Much is entrusted to these clergymen.  They supposedly deliver the Word of God to the humble, unlettered rustic -- from whose pure-hearted ranks have risen our great Saints.  Keep this in mind. 

It is not the purview of the rustic to write a magnum opus.  His craft is the goodly work of his hands.  As his wife’s is to “look well to the ways of her household.”  Together they are an empire of hearth and field.  A nurturing cradle for strapping sons from whose salubrious ranks have risen the Czar’s Cossack host, for example.  The sustenance and backbone of a nation are these people.  Today their empire is under siege.

The mouths of preachers have become the fount of falsehood.  Innocence is exploited in the pews.  Churches are now propaganda organs of the jews.

A windbag from the pulpit barked, “Muslims would kill you if they got the chance.”  His gullible flock drinking in the bombastic baloney as my stomach churned.  What a floorshow, this Hagee-wanna-be and his wife.  She had tears that turned off and on like a kitchen faucet.  

They were flimflammers.  Phonies.  A Sunday circus of anti-Muslim propaganda designed to cultivate fear and hatred among Bible Belt churches.  A wallop of lies to saddle up their sons and send them off to Middle Eastern wars for illegal squatters in Palestine – Eastern European jews who claim to be of the House of Jacob.  They even took up Hebrew over the centuries, these Yiddish-speaking Europeans. 

Bible Belt preachers are pitting Christian sons against righteous Islam who should instead be their brothers-in-God.  Shame on them for sacrificing Christian sons on the alter of imposters to the House of Jacob.  Shame on them for advancing the 9/11 bullshit story.  Israeli jews and their American cohorts did 9/11 – a sophisticated operation that took years to plan.

Sham wars are being waged for the benefit of bolsheviks in israel.  Beware of false prophets and purchased preachers.  Jesus of God warns you about them in * Matthew 24, Luke 21 and Mark 13 *.  Turn off your jew TV and crack the Word of God.  Your churchmen and statesmen have sold their souls to the synagogue of satan (Revelation 2:9, Revelation 3:9).

Smearing Kennedy

Listen bitches.  Why would a man go out for hotdogs when he's got this at home.

This Time the World

In this fast-reading autobiography, George Lincoln Rockwell educates, awakens and entertains.  You will be brought to laughter and tears by his eloquent pendulum.  You can count on this book having been suppressed by his killers for decades.  Rockwell exposes them by it.

He was a brilliant, albeit, secular man.  A Navy Commander whose last fighter cockpit was in the F8F Bearcat.  Oh hell yes.  Top that all you ground-pounding New York rats.  I dare you.

He was tall, talented, well-turned, well-bred and had all the right stuff.  The only thing he lacked was a God-fearing soul.  He charged into the fray of life banking only on his human abilities.  Sometimes a man needs more.  But I read in his words a hard leaning toward Jesus Christ.  Rockwell was devoid of hatred.  He was right as rain and good as gold.  He sang the praises of Christians from a secular mind -- in that an honest man cannot deny the fruits of their tree.  Rockwell was an honest man.  

A virtuous man on his path to God with too many irons in the fire.  Too many balls in the air.  Too many wild dogs snapping at his heels when he wrote this book -- to "be still and know that I am God" as the Word says.

This can be seen by the way life knocked him around.  He leapt out there, taking on the punches without a prayer.  Just his guts and wit.  His first wife was an ice queen.  His second finally collapsed under the pressure of his persecution.  He was survived by seven children.

After a surprisingly good childhood despite the Great Depression and a broken home, Rockwell entered Brown University in the fall of 1938.  A hurricane ravished the New England coast that year — tantamount to the covert, creeping communism.   He fast learned that President Roosevelt was a traitor and a liar.  And that Charlie Chaplin was a Marxist jew who changed his name from Israel Thonstein.  Rockwell wrote that Chaplin “…is so red [that] even our pinko State Department has banned him from the U.S.A.”

However, even an intellectual like Rockwell swallowed the lies about Hitler.  When Roosevelt’s jew-friendly war broke out, Rockwell rushed off to “come to the aid of his country.”  To save them from the evil Nazi’s in a fratricidal war fanned up by the jews for the jews.

Headlong into the U.S. Navy.  Back when “wooden ships and iron men” was still the motto.  Rockwell got a kick out of military discipline.  It was a good fit.  He embraced the dangerous life of a Naval Aviator with zeal.  Catapulted off USS OMAHA into blushing dawn.  Dreams still in his head.  Barely out of bed.  Yonder lay blue Neptune kissing Aurora.  Lip-lock to die for.  Oh the sight of that.  What a wake-up, aye, sailor-boy?

Five hours of wartime surveillance in an old prop-job with every drop of fuel measured to the mile.  One mistake in his calculations and he goes the way of Amelia.  Out here in the Fleet, it’s all pass/fail baby.  Saying nothing of trying to set ‘er back down on a pitching, rolling deck, bleary-eyed, sapped and woozy.  Can you find that little ship?

Rockwell sure as hell did.  The John F. Kennedy Navy hardened him for what would come later.  And like Kennedy in those days, boy was he good-lookin’.  Had his pick of the fillies too.  His accounts of women will make you tingle.  Where are men like that today?  Where are the gentleman in choker whites?  He was eighteen before he got his first kiss.  A Victorian to the bone.

All this in a man whose home life provided no church.  I can only imagine the spiritual edge that a good Catholic or Muslim upbringing would have given him.

Beautiful writing about his Navy days will bring you to your knees even if you never wore the blue.  He puts you there — flying stick in an old recon bird over El Caribe.  The adventures of which he would later recount to the “less heroic deck-apes.”  Lording it over the black-shoe Navy as they eagerly awaited reports from their pilots about what had been seen.  “I ached for a carrier and a hotter plane with more combat…”

He longed for a brand new F4U Corsair, “at that time the hottest and deadliest thing in the air.”  Make me break out in a cold sweat, fly-boy.  Dang that gull-wing thing.  With a monstrous cowling and a monstrous prop.  Surly blue to disappear into the sea.  I long for one too.

But next it was off to Pensacola and the P-38 Lightning.  Life gallops along at top speed.  A wife is taken.  A family emerges.  The war ends.  Civilian life begins.

In 1950 the Korean War recalls Rockwell as a Navy pilot.  This time as an instructor in the F8F Bearcat.  “The F8 is the hot-rod of the sky and how I loved it.”  He called it a bumble-bee.  He called it a hornet.  “It has so much power…  It’s like riding a lightning bolt.”

About this time Rockwell learns about a Senator from Wisconsin named Joseph R. McCarthy.  His awakening to the jewish problem thence began.  It hit him like a tidal wave.  As it does all of us.  Just in time for Harry Truman to fire General Douglas McArthur, Rockwell’s beloved hero.  The jews hated both McCarthy and McArthur, smearing them in their character assassination rags.  Hissing venom and vitriol, they shouted about how McArthur threatened to become another Hitler.

Rockwell wrote, “I found that Communism was not only Jewish, but the Jews boasted about its Jewishness in their books and papers!”  His new mission had begun.  Smitten with the clarion call of duty to rid our society of this menace who was “forcing integration on us, degrading our culture with their filthy art of chaos and pornography and, worst of all, spreading the disease of Communism…”  Once Rockwell heard the speeches of Senator McCarthy, his fire was ignited.  He tore into text like he did everything in life — like a tiger.

He devoured all the commie rags and mags.  The Daily Worker, New Masses, the Library of Congress yielded up its hidden treasures.  He learned how Communist jews planted their seeds in China before the 1949 overthrow of its government.  He read Henry Ford’s warnings from the 1920′s.  He read the Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion.

America was crawling with Communist spies in the 1950′s (all jews).  Some of whom were caught and hanged.  I bet you won’t read about them in the New York Times.

Rockwell writes that Jews were in charge of our atomic weapons and programs also.  Leave it to Lyndon to undo what Kennedy did in forbidding the newly-formed jewish state a nuclear arsenal.  Now look at the monster they have become.

All this Rockwell figured out before he got his hands on Mein Kampf.  Like Henry Ford and DeWest Hooker, the blinders were off.  He was wide awake, “I began to wonder why we had gone to war on the side of the Bolsheviks who had openly bragged for a hundred years of their plans to destroy us by force and violence, lies and subversion; while we completely wrecked Christian Germany, which never had a single highly-placed spy in our country…”

That was the pivot.  That was the turning point.  Then after he found a copy of Hitler’s magnum opus tucked away in the back of a bookshop, the big picture emerged.  “I could not lay the book down without agonies of impatience to get back to it.  I read it walking to the squadron, I took it into the air and read it, propped up on the chartboard… circling over the desert.  I read it on the Coronado Ferry.  I read it into the night and resumed the next morning.  … I studied it, thought about it and wondered at the utter, indescribable genius of it.”

And thus began Commander Rockwell’s fever to fix what ails us.  He tried doing this without a Nazi arm-band, but the news jews gave him no coverage.  So he started the American Nazi Party knowing damn well that now they would.

He drew fire from the jews something fierce.  They do the usual thing they always do.  Smear you in their crooked press.  Wreck your job.  Go after your marriage and family.  Yadda yadda.  If all that does not deter you then they pay someone to kill you.

Rockwell was picked off like Kennedy in 1967.  Oh well.  Better than dying in adult diapers at 97.  His book survived just fine.  In full Nazi garb, he was invited to speak at universities all over the country.  These speeches were filmed for posterity and can now be seen on YouTube.  Rockwell is all over the Internet.  You can download a free copy of this book here:  http://jrbooksonline.com/PDF_Books/This_Time_the_World.pdf