Nu sunt suparat pe oamenii din US, in general sunt oameni buni dar sunt mintiti de conducatori, si corporatii - astea conduc de fapt America. Corporatiile sunt expresii impersonale ale lacomiei oamenilor.
Nu ma intereseaza masonii, evreii sau altii despre care de obicei se spune ca sunt in spatele conspiratiilor. Cine e implicat in 9/11 e doar un bandit, indiferent de rasa, religie sau gradul 50 masonic pe care il are.
Libertatea unui om nu depinde de lumea exterioara. Nici nu sunt suparat pe Bush si ai lui pentru tot ce fac, nu merita. Vad viata mai mult ca aici : http://www.rider.edu/~suler/zenstory/zenstory.html , nu mai sunt stresat de NWO.
Asta nu inseamna ca nu am de gand sa mai postez despre ce se mai afla ca planuiesc astia cu New World Order, aceiasi care au inceput totul cu 9/11, nu am nimic cu ei, nu trebuie sa judeci pe nimeni, dar lumea trebuie sa vada si sa scape din sistemul asta mentinut de ei si intarit cu fiecare noua stire in mass media : muncitor-consumator , ma supara cineva plec la razboi !, petrol, "economie mondiala" ,etc etc. Suntem mai mult decat atat
Nu trebuie sa gandim in "cutie" daca cineva ne da o intrebare si pune doua variante de raspuns - in viata reala nu la un test cu reguli de test, intotdeauna sa ne gandim la alte variante de raspuns , nu trebuie sa ramanem blocati pe ce ne-a oferit el hipnotizati ca sunt doar 2 alegeri si nu se poate altfel
Un soldat si experienta lui in Irak :
http://www.fourwinds10.com/NewsServer/Arti...ArticleID=13937
Joshua Key, 28, was a poor, uneducated Oklahoma country boy who saw the U.S. army and its promised benefits -- from free health care to career training -- as the ticket to a better life. In 2002, not yet 24 but already married and the father of two , Key enlisted. He says his recruiting officer promised he'd never be deployed abroad, but a year later he was in Iraq. Only 24 hours after arriving, as Key recounts in The Deserter's Tale (Anansi), he experienced his first doubts about what he and his fellow soldiers were doing there:
I was awakened at 3 a.m. that first night and told to get my ass up quickly because in one hour we were going to raid a house full of terrorists. Capt. Conde and some sergeants showed me and my squad mates a satellite photo of a house and a drawing of the layout of the inside. Our assignment was to blow off the door, burst into the house, raid it fast and raid it good -- looking for contraband, caches of weapons, signs of terrorists or terrorist activity, then rounding up the men and getting out damn fast. The longer we stayed in any one location, the longer somebody would have to put us in the sights of a rocket-propelled grenade or lob mortars at us
I hadn't been in Iraq more than 24 hours and already I was having strange feelings. First, I was vulnerable, and I didn't like it. Even with all these soldiers and all this equipment, I knew that anywhere, at any time, any Iraqi with a gun, a wall to hide behind, and one decent eye could pick me off faster than a hawk nabs a mouse. Second, with hardly one foot into the war, I was also uneasy about what we were doing there. Something was amiss. We hadn't found anything in this girl's house, but we had busted it up pretty well in 30 minutes and had taken away her brothers. Inside, another squad was still ransacking the house. I didn't enjoy being stuck guarding this girl under the carport, in the cool April air before dawn in Ramadi. Her questions haunted me, and I didn't like not being able to answer them -- even to myself.
Busting into and ransacking homes remained one of my most common duties in Iraq. Before my time was up, I took part in about 200 raids. We never found weapons or indications of terrorism. I never found a thing that seemed to justify the terror we inflicted every time we blasted through the door of a civilian home, broke everything in sight, punched and zipcuffed the men, and sent them away. One raid was far worse.
Then something happened that haunts my dreams to this day. All the women were led back inside the house and our entire platoon was ordered to stand guard outside it. Four U.S. military men entered the house with the women. They closed the doors. We couldn't see anything through the windows. I don't know who the military men were, or what unit they were from, but I can only conclude that they outranked us and were at least at the level of first lieutenant or above. That's because our own second lieutenant Joyce was there, and his presence did not deter them.
It struck me then that we, the American soldiers, were the terrorists. We were terrorizing Iraqis. Intimidating them. Beating them. Destroying their homes. Probably raping them. The ones we didn't kill had all the reasons in the world to become terrorists themselves. Given what we were doing to them, who could blame them for wanting to kill us, and all Americans? A sick realization lodged like a cancer in my gut. It grew and festered, and troubled me more with every passing day. We, the Americans, had become the terrorists in Iraq.
Joshua Key a dezertat din US Army in 2003 :
http://www.cbcunlocked.com/artman/publish/article_243.shtml
aaaa... cred ca exista si d'astia