Privacy – Something To Hide?

When I hink of privacy, I think of things like changing clothes, checking my weight and going pee when my brothers wanted to get in to the bathroom.

Privacy is respecting something that is not your business. What’s in my lingerie is frankly none of your business, unless I invite you for a share in dress-up. So, when my iPad snapped a pic at dusk one day after a visit to the US I was quite miffed. Exactly 30 seconds later it snapped again. Keep in mind the iPad was off, prepped with tomorrows alarm, and resting on the night stand. Harmless? Those photos were transmitted and deleted – no evidence. Hmm. Nobody on the other end of a program is going to get a chuckle at my privacy’s expense.

Then, after a trip to the US, my digital camera; in its case, in a book bag, dangling from my arm starts recording audio as I enter my front door and place the bag on a chair. There it rested for the remainder of the evening. I found the file months later as I noticed an unusual folder containing the file of exactly 15 minutes and listened. Hmm. Had I been using the OEM program, it would have never been noticed.  Uncomfortable yet?

Nothing to hide? I’m old and marred enough to scare children, so no, my privacy is not for sale.

Hmm, selling my privacy? How did that happen without my vote? When was I informed and where is the opt-out clause? Who do these elected and foreign officials think they are. By circumventing laws using legalese clauses edicts are being set forth for decades now. Funny how governments can change everything with an army backing a useless piece of paper willing themselves priviledge and power. Such a huge illusion woven over the centuries.

WordPress, Thank you. Taking a stand and assuring writers that you respect us is huge in these times. Now, help us go forward and assure the laws or edicts that infringe on our copywrights are battled on the larger front that is challenging the intent of our sovreignity over our creations.

Privacy is the first defense of our personal property – leading with Our Person. It is to be respected. Not hiding, just respecting.

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Buck Up, Sissies, Something isn’t rotting in Denmark!

Ever think Windows update KB890830 June ’17 is ‘them’ patching for a malware ‘they’ created to grab last minute funding for crypto before they crash that, too? (How much did they gleen from Project Paperclip as it became MK-ultra’s and the ilk?) Did E. Bernay-coached MS/Gates Foundation define the start of WCRY for further funding in the purging of Africa and sealing the Suez (oops, endgame…)?

Oh, I have so many more questions yearning to be spoken for the salvation of the Soul of humanity. (I am downloading the patch.)

So, if I’m only 80% organic, pickled, older and remember the library before punch cards went breath-borning internet-babies gaming in utero, I can I say I’m ‘in’ as naps of gestation are docked from my pay?

Are we asking enough questions as aerosol particulate clouds have been added to the CORE curriculum? And why don’t they just say they are mitigating gales off the Alaska coastine? Oh, they’ll have to admit they are the true cause of the California drought for the last 9 years…shhhh, don’t wake the Californians. They’re sleeping. Yes, I studied.

And, since the Danites swore to take the tribes of Israel/Abraham down from within, is that not what is happening before our eyes? The Zionist has killed Israeli to Serb to secure the canal. Now they are wiping out the white man – the only competition for their rule and the sole party to their destruction – however ignorant in our bliss.

No, the consipiacy did not start last month! The Danite, Khazarian, Zionist Banker/Queen and knight have dictated and written history as they steal our children, or just their minds.

Give my head a shake. I read the Illuminatus Trilogy by Robert A. Wilson (c. Berkley U) when I was twenty. Since I wanted to be a minister at 15 with my photographic memory(then) confirmed the fiction to be the ‘presentation’ of the intention of the elders that had to be made known publicly. JFK knew it. Trump knows it. Still standing there?

I took photos of this tP1040562rio of tomatoes this week. You tell me if this is natural. Sprouting out the side? Not rotting, molding, squishing? Whisky Tango Foxtrot? Are we still clear that Agenda 21 regemens, Iron Mountain edicts, WHO famines, UN anilhilations, FDA depletions, CDC infections, all…and CONFECTIONS sweetening the holocost of humanity. Notice the only options are pain pills or  anti-depressants?

Biblically taking us down from within. We’re just a genetic manipulation anyway with chromasomal fusion at hand that will lead us to a greater longevity in the same moment we are in line of the Alphabet Soup firing squad.

I’m forever a woman, testosterone sexy bred North American beauty and life has been full. I am thinking now we are due for the cull. For if you don’t see the dangers from DQ pulled pork to a plastic spork, far be it for me to elicit a smile. I’m just the one across the road refusing to do that again…

It ain’t pretty. The world is a mess. Lets try integrity and kindness for a start. Or maybe a rememberance (safety in numbers, leave no man behind).

Someone recently told me that it’s shit everywhere. Duh, I’m a greener grass kinda girl and it takes a billboard to get me moving on what I see going on around me…I’m moving.

Are you? How about a move toward something Great! Best pull up your bootstraps!

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No Neck, Political Correct

You’re politically correct, but you have no neck
and I’m at a loss how to help you.
For language, you see
Is not PC

Descriptors are adjectives
Words to describe
He, she and it
help us survive
Cannot refute
now made mute

You’re politically correct, but you have no neck
how can I ask to help you?

Powers that Be
Don’t want me to see
naught but the imperfection
When simplicity is
with love we give
not with judgment in words

You’re politically correct, but you have no neck
You’re at a loss how to seek me.

Confounding our herds
the “now of no words”
Born in this time
Best for mime
For language has died
by PC and lies

Time now to hide
A greater divide
Tearing our sharing down
Grunts and groans
We are back to whats known
As Precambrian tomes

You’re politically correct, but you have no neck
and I’m at a loss how to help you.

For words, you see
Can’t be used by me
Language has turned PC
PC limits, PC binds
PC occupies our minds
I’m Gay, I’m black
Cannot take it back

I have no boundaries,
I have no ties
No Family in life
I am anomaly and
a lot of me
run you blind
Unbind the bind,
old and feeble,
Weeblers all.
Here my call:

You are colour, you are plain,
We walk the same in our hearts
Not everyone is art
Grant freedom to those expleting
A greater meaning
Over beating me up

You’re politically correct, but you have no neck
and I’m at a loss how to help you.

By Cathy R. Taylor Croizier ©2017 All Rights Reserved 

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Change is the Only Constant

“Sharing is caring, and caring is nice.”

So said a co-worker many decades ago. I loved and adopted that quip. Many will remember me by that; and so much more.

An evening of honest perspective from an offended (growing) part of the population is enough to swear off walking – as not to kill a favourite garden creature. Oh yes, we can carry that one too close to the line and jockey for an imaginary position claiming our correctness.

We now offend other human beings in the name of all others and the species who chose manufactured expression and a society that cannot accept reality is bigger than the frame they choose to keep over their halo…that small portrait

Gimme your best, with plenty of room to ruminate. I’m a bit slow, but I can catch up.

Siriusly, the pain of those who suffer and those who whimper is blurred in perspective. Some whimper due to a birthday present being their favourite perfume instead of the ‘contemporary popular’ scent (me here as TSA stole 2 bottles of Paloma Picasso instead of dumping shampoo, duh?). Others whimper when the last straw is their only shoe or their only child. When its your only remaining child, what then? Oh, honour these beggars of spotlight as their feast. They have not found the expression that brings satisfaction – recognition. Maybe.

Why? When your reserves are drawn taut, does the test bend your knee? Why, in hopes they may join our collective humane existence. Sadly, humans are not necessarily ‘humane’.

Then, when you share your wounds, you are discounted for still being strong and ridiculed for seeing the greater understanding of your professionals, your confessionals and rationals. Betrayed confidences? Novices you all. So.

Look where the critics look. Look where you link, dream, and explore. You are there for answers. It will change you. You will change you. Keep going, Change IS the only constant.

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Tomi’s Call for Compassion and VA Shake Up

Watching Tomi Lahren shouting out final thoughts like she’s packing a six-shooter high upon a saddle has become a regular jolt to my long-time awake. She doesn’t miss much and will make you look as well. Her no nonsense logic calls your compassion and common sense to listen up!

Today, I saw the clip on the Veteran’s Administration neglect. And neglect is far too mild a word for the cruelty portrayed in one still photo. I have heard stories for decades of the abuses. My father, Grandfather, Uncles, Sweetheart, Sister, and Brother.

Here I must address the silent members of the wounded that are seldom in the VA. They don’t make it that far.

These are the proud, tough Marines that came home with little or no physical wounds to show. These veterans have been used as targets for mental, emotional, spiritual and chemical atrocities levied at the hands of the New World Order for 70 years. Sniper, Master Sargent: Korea, Viet Nam, Desert Storm, Iraq and now numerous places around the globe.

These men came home and swallowed their pain and suffered denials of symptoms all too real. The VA told them there was nothing wrong. All that was left was to self-medicate and survive. The cruelty of ‘ignore’ is heavily laced with discounting of soul. What happens then?

I’ll tell you, they lash out like small children with the cries of a broken heart without the words to make sense. Who do they turn to? Spouses, children, and any authority within inches of their rage.

We, in turn, become the casualties of war. We of little use against an invisible enemy.

The Military Industrial Complex sends these shattered, denied land mines into our homes and hearts without preparing us or them for the subsequent wounds.

When will the families rise and claim the necessity of tools for their own safety. Honoring the soldier, healing the wounds, protecting the families are simple things to ask for before watching a career, a marriage or a life end at the hands of the wounded soul.

We ALL still have something to offer, let us prevent the shrapnel from bringing the war to our American hearths. Please, stop the conflicts with no rules.

Heal the wounded from the wounded as well – we only wanted to help. And we still love them. We must change the legacy. Now.

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The Woman Who Wanted to Go Home

March on the coast was cool and cloudy. Isolated and damaged, she waited again for her sister to visit as promised for the last 3 years. Then the attack happened, internet intermittent and communications screeched to a grind. Her face hurt and getting away to safety was a priority. No one was coming to help. The limited times for communication were not used for trying to sell her furniture, there was seldom time to reach for help. The loss was substantial, but she believed that going home was going to be worth it. Family was waiting; or so she thought.

The voices on the other end of a newly initiated cell service was to keep her safe on the journey. Nerve wracking winds were the cause for a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. Home. Many with a brain injury became angry people. Not so for her. Scared, hurt, disappointed. Yes. Angry, no.

Arriving home was not what was expected or even intimated. She was immediately an imposition, ‘unwanted’ reverberated though her head. She was not well. But how could she tell them what was happening inside her head and heart. She had a concussion and trying to explain was difficult enough. Trying to look normal, she stuck to simple things to do and say.

Upon arrival in Illinois, her sense of loss was profound. Every African male had the same accent as the attacker. Even the emergency room was unsafe. There was not even a number to call her long lost aunt or cousins for safety. She fled. Back down the road she collapsed. Bed bugs in the dingy hotel, no one to talk her to safety.

The rational of the Ozarks won out. There was no assistance for her and she would only be a burden for her family. Financially destitute, even asking for healthy food and a dentist to fix the damaged tooth would have been met with disdain.But the process to speak up was so difficult for her. Too many slaps down can break anyone.

That is not how she wanted to be returning home, a burden. Already being informed that Sister was not going to be there very often, the sense of drowning closed in. She dutifully went away. Days later after receiving notice that the long separated cousins were connecting, she wept.

You see, years of being told to take her light to the den (her music) and finding that nobody knew that she had been hurt 5 years into a brain injury, was perplexing. How could being told she was loved compute? She was just a conspiracy theorist. They could not see the historian and researcher. Why bother, she would never be a paper-plate, pre-mixed, CNN devotee.

To this day, she believes that her skills and experiences can help others. But the voice of her sister is a deafening silence. Twenty-two hundred miles and now she is no longer called on holidays. The silence given by Aunt (never being told why or given opportunity to heal) now is given by Sister.

Oh, she was ready to be home. In spite of the lifetime of torture and ignore, she was ready to be home. She daydreamed of the possibilities even though a fear of being relegated to the back room, down the street or left alone was keen. She not only needed acceptance, she wanted to share so much love that had no where to go. Working for governments was over and seems her inventions would go unnoticed. Were they afraid of her rocking the boat and taking a morsel of someone’s attention? Smart was never wanted. She spent decades wishing she were small. It didn’t work.

Yes, she would have worn the pearls again. But just that question and ensuing silence took the wind. She will never have the strength of spirit to love, laugh or live now. She boxed them up in tears with a loving note that said to call and she would tell her which earrings were the topaz, etc. There was no call. Not even the stories of her jewels were welcome. How can a sense of self and value survive this loss. She wished someone would have said welcome, you belong here.

She is pleased Sister has found the cousins (too late for herself). Sister will need their support. Keeping her sense of ‘right’ intact. One linked her on Face Book, but not a word hello noting they were offering help as a way of life. She wished she was stronger after the long journey. She would have asked for help. She wished for the confidence of her Admin/IT career and moreover, the confidence of the poet, musician and inventor inside that knew she was lovable, smart and funny. She was just lost and unwanted from birth. Seems the love of a challenging God was all she would come to know.

Nobody will know her stories, they will just wear her stones. The sadness contained will wear away by sitting in Sister’s closet waiting to be passed to the many daughters that could never get to know the woman who wanted to come home.

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Red Radio Button

By Cathy R. Taylor Croizier ©2017 Casey Teeter All Rights Reserved I wake in cold sweat terror from the red of the radio button in front of me waiting recording my vote forever Sisters of Another M…

Source: Red Radio Button

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