OK, message received

I asked, and was answered. The Klausler’s set me on a different path. I am beating the climate topic to death, and on the other end people are thinking “We get it, we get it!” I got some nice comments, and Dave’s refreshing bluntness. OK, I got it. I got it!

What to write about? That’s part of the problem. Over the years, I’ve covered just about everything imaginable on this blog. For a while I was just revisiting, as I’ve got nothing new. But then I was not looking for anything new. BB King lit me up, and many readers too. I was not looking. He just stumbled it upon me.

Yesterday I had a long drive into Denver to meet with Travis Mateer, aka poet William Skink, a man who writes a blog about his home town of Missoula, Montana that is unlike anything else I have encountered. He has transitioned into a journalist, and is beyond blogging now. He does what most journalists do not do: He thinks, interviews, and investigates. Most of that profession do the middle thing, not much of the third, and nothing of the first because editors restrain them, and anyway, they ain’t that curious to begin with. That’s why they chose journalism. The brighter students choose something more challenging.

I had an experience in 1987 where a man broke into our home and raped my then eight-year-old daughter, a horrible crime, one of the worst on record in the state of Montana. To this date three sets of journalists have passed through, interviewing all of us, the latest in podcast version by Jule Banville, a professor at the University of Montana. Like everyone before, Jule missed everything important. I think it was the movie The Verdict, with Paul Newman where the repeated line about journalism was “It’s accurate, but not true.” My last message to Jule, snarky ass than I am, was “Did your Pulitzer arrive yet?”

That was the identical message I sent to a journalist with the Billings Gazette after I was blindsided by a three-part interview with my daughter where the reporter in question did not bother to contact or interview me. I got stuff I know that others do not, stuff in fact that only some people know. That was a crap story, and I know why it was done and who was behind it. Jule made it clear that while it was wrong not to interview me, certain things were off limits, one of them the actual truth of the event, my words, not hers. That’s journalism 101.

I should have backed out right then. Ego pushed me forward. I think I made it through (listening to) three of the eight parts of that effort before turning it off. I felt like Charlie Brown as Lucy held the football one more time, promising this time that he could kick it.

Enough. Never again, never will I be troubled by a journalist seeking a story, but not the truth. Someday, God willing, I will be able to divulge the whole of that story. I was able to share it with Travis, a true journalist whose situation is enough like mine that he has to STFU about certain aspects of his life.

I have a notion that I have been beating the same path too long now, and need to look at things that have been overlooked for many years. Watching Only Murders In the Building the other night, New York City had a blackout, which reminded me of 1962, and a blackout in the northeastern portion of the United States, including New York, Connecticut and part of Canada. That event crossed my mind as I suffered Denver 100 degree heat and traffic. Of course you cannot think about 1962. You were not alive then. I was. I was 12 years old. The event was a big deal, but I’ve never much thought about it since, and especially not then since I was so young. Is there anything about it suspicious?

There was a similar blackout in 1977, July 13 to be specific. I looked at that first, as numerology often tips us off that something is fake or contrived or deliberate with truth behind it hidden. The “13” made me curious, and in 1977 July 13 was the 194th day of the year, the ’94’ again representing 13. Often times fake or  contrived events are double-dipped, for instance, JFK being fake-killed on 11/22 (33), which happened to be the 326th day of the year (11) and Dealey Plaza sitting on the 33rd parallel, first shot fired at 12:30 (33). No one reading this save a few understand what I am saying, so I will put a journalist on it to ‘splain.

Here’s the journalistic answer: “Huh?”

Even so, while I get that 8, 11, and 33 are significant masonic symbols, I’ve never paid much attention to 13, thinking it just popular superstition. So I set the 1977 blackout aside, and went back to the one I remembered as a child, 1962. I looked for the date of the event … November 9th, 11/9. That is where I begin to do some work, as that date, also said to be the date that Paul McCartney faked his death in 1965, is in American custom (month first year second) 9/11.

Stay tuned. I am having fun again. No more climate change. If you see another post here about that subject, I beg you come to my house, knock on the door, and when I answer, render a dope slap.