Esta es una democracia de mierda
Como en los mejores tiempos del post-franquismo
La Ertzaintza ha retirado esta mañana de la txosna ‘Txori Barrote’ los carteles con las fotos de presos de ETA y pegatinas por orden de la Audiencia Nacional.
El juez de la Audiencia Nacional Alejandro Abascal, en funciones de guardia esta semana, ordenó este sábado la retirada de fotografías de presos de ETA de esta txosna instalada con motivo de la Aste Nagusia de Bilbao.
La Asociación de víctimas del terrorismo Dignidad y Justicia facistoide había presentado una denuncia previa en la que solicitaba la retirada de dichas fotografías al considerar que constituía un delito de humillación a las víctimas y de enaltecimiento del terrorismo.
OTRA VEZ UTILIZANDO EL MISMO TEMA
Para tapar sus propios errores y despropositos y haciendo un guiño a las derechas, el
posible gobierno sosiata resucita el negocio del terrorismo, (no de Estado)…
Pedro Sánchez sabe que después de los debates fallidos para su investidura será difícil llegar a un acuerdo con los de Pablo Iglesias. El cisma creado entre el PSOE y Unidas Podemos es demasiado grave como para tener alguna esperanza de lograr un milagroso entente que evite ir a elecciones.
Por ese motivo los socialistas han tomado la vía de lanzar guiños a la derecha para pedir al menos una abstención que les permita dar arranque a la legislatura. A partir de ahí ya se buscarían acuerdos con unos y otros para que la legislatura fuera lo más larga posible.
Con esa idea gentes como Ábalos o Calvo han comenzado un periplo veraniego por los medios lanzando esa proclama a los cuatro vientos para concienciar de que esa sería una buena salida para desbloquear la actual situación política española. Y también para que determinados poderes económicos presionen a PP y Ciudadanos en ese sentido.
Pablo Casado y Albert Rivera no están por la labor. Saben muy bien que quien diera ese paso probablemente perdería ventaja en su particular carrera por monopolizar el espacio del centro-derecha. La única fórmula para evitar ese escenario es que ambos aceptaran el acuerdo para investir a Sánchez. Pero es bastante improbable. Y más por parte de los naranjas, que tienen entre ceja y ceja ocupar el hueco de los populares.
Así que Sánchez lo tiene bastante difícil para mantenerse en Moncloa sin utilizar la herramienta de las nuevas elecciones. Aunque entiende que volvería a superar el envite también sabe que eso es jugar a la ruleta rusa. Y lo más importante: no le garantizará tampoco una mayoría suficiente para gobernar sin ataduras.
¿Que pasa con la ley mordaza?
Nowadays zombie films are common. Zombies even show up in t.v. shows where you’d think you wouldn’t find them. Game of Thrones is only one example.
Game of Thrones, Theon Greyjoy, and Mind Control
Why? We’ve turned into a nation of zombies.
No wonder. Not only are people brainwashed under MK-ULTRA, but, since the 1950s, CIA has implanted us with cybernetic technology.
Aaron and Melissa Dykes have made an excellent film on the subject, The Minds of Men, from which you can watch a clip below. It shows Dr. Jose Delgado implanting Americans with cybernetics, using mind control to overcome their will, and turn them into zombies.
If you just look around, or watch the television, you will see people acting like zombies all the time. It’s not an accident.
Sometimes they even speak in unison, saying exactly the same words, especially when they are delivering the news….
How long has this been going on? Nicola Tesla, who developed the surrounding technology, seems to have been implanted, as does Adolf Hitler, the grandson of a Rothschild, who served the New World Order. You can hear evidence of forced speech, done by what the army calls voice to skull (V2K), in Hitler’s speech below, which radically alters as his masters control him.
But how about the references to zombies in popular culture? The first zombie film was White Zombie, starring Bela Lugosi, who later played Dracula, a work that heavily suggests rape.
If you don’t believe Dracula is about rape, watch the following scene from Werner Herzog’s Nosferatu, where Klaus Kinski, playing Dracula, invades the bedroom of Lucy Harker, played by Isabel Adjani. The vampire fondles her thighs, cups her breasts, and sinks his fangs into her neck–while his victim lies hypnotized, helpless, and sexually responsive.
Herzog’s Nosferatu the Vampyre is a stylistic remake of F.W. Murnau’s 1922 film. You can watch the full movie, Nosferatu, in its entirety below.
You can also watch the full movie, White Zombie, in its entirety below.
Before the Hays Code, films could get pretty crazy. In Hollywood, precode movies depicted drug use, prostitution, violence, homosexuality, and miscegenation.
King Kong, which has been remade twice, strongly implied rape, as you can see in the following clip.
Here you can see King Kong begin to strip Ann, played by Fay Wray, naked.
It’s the kind of thing that underground comics still pick up.
No wonder. CIA uses MK-ULTRA to lead people to rape, and they use Hollywood to do it. It’s the sort of thing described in Clockwork Orange.
Back in 1932, White Zombie was the first horror movie that was not a silent film. Hollywood really put it forward.
As you can see from the poster, White Zombie involves the sexual enslavement of a woman who performs her master’s every desire. The method is not much different from the techniques used by the CIA, and the Illuminati, to enslave us today. Cisco Wheeler, the daughter of General Earle Wheeler, Head of Joint Chiefs of Staff, describes those mind control techniques, for turning people into zombies, in the book she wrote with Fritz Springmeier: How The Illuminati Create An Undectable Total Mind Controlled Slave.
Some of White Zombie involves the use of a date rape drug to enslave a woman. That’s the same technique CIA uses today through hypnotic sedatives like rohypnol, scopolamine, or others, which was well documented in congressional investigations.
Chloral hydrate is a hypnotic sedative used for mind control. It is not taken recreationally. Anna Nicole Smith died with large amounts in her system after her nonagenarian husband died, transferring one billion dollars to her, which later went to her child by one of the Rothschild Family. Doesn’t she look like a white zombie?
Marilyn Monroe was a “presidential model” beta sex slave under MK-ULTRA, weaponized against President Kennedy. She died with large amounts chloral hydrate in her system. Tell me she doesn’t look like a white zombie.
Many Playboy Playmates, like Monroe and Smith, were drugged, raped, and programmed at the Playboy Mansion, where Hugh Hefner and others turned them into white zombies.
The Illuminati love sick jokes. Is it really a coincidence that Norma Jean Baker, who was clearly a mind controlled sex slave, changed her name to Marilyn–the name of the white zombie in the film?
Hypnotism plays a part in White Zombie, where a woman is sexually enslaved by a hypnotist. That’s the same technique the CIA uses in MK-ULTRA, a technique advertised in the pulp comics that shaped sexuality.
White Zombie depicts not only date rape drugs, and the use of hypnotism to get women to do what you want, but also the zombie grip, an unusual hand gesture.
The Zombie Grip predominates, but the film may contain other hand gestures, such as the Eye of Horus.
The Illuminati and the Freemasons love hand gestures, from the Pillars of Wisdom to the Devil’s Horns.
Those satanic gestures are picked up by Rob Zombie, who named his heavy metal band White Zombie, writing albums like Soul-Crusher, Make Them Die Slowly, and La Sexorcisto: Devil Music Volume One.
White Zombie takes place in Haiti, where CIA, the Deep State, and the Clintons run the show, taking in fourteen billion dollars from gullible or corrupt donors, while they traffic human beings for organs, to be torn from their bodies, or a lifetime of sexual slavery.
Almost none of the fourteen billion dollars stolen by Bill and Hillary Clinton helps the people of Haiti. It’s as bad as the boondoggle of “aid” and the atrocities committed in Ethiopia. People never learn. But don’t believe me: listen to the President of the Haitian Senate.
And how did we get to invade Haiti? CIA, NSA, and USAF used HAARP to start an earthquake. Here’s Dr. Nick Begich on the subject.
The Clintons are as bad as the Bushes–only the Clintons rape girl children, but the Bush Family rapes boys and girls.
White Zombie may also suggest homosexuality, as Bela Lugosi tells a male target that he fancies him.
That suggestion is picked up in Ed Wood, where Johnny Depp plays a film director who idolizes the morphine addict, Bela Lugosi, while he wears women’s clothes.
When I watched Ed Wood, years ago, I was reminded of J. Edgar Hoover, a homosexual who wore bras and panties, while he served as head of the Federal Bureau of Investigation for roughly forty years.
J. Edgar Hoover, the head of FBI, was a traitor to the United States, as are other criminals in the FBI today. He was a racist, a homosexual, and a pervert.
Like the degenerates in the Department of Homeland Security (DHS), the National Security Agency (NSA), and the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), who are rapists, child molesters, and perverts, the traitors in the Federal Bureau of Investigation seek to corrupt, blackmail, and destroy American citizens. But don’t believe me: listen to a real FBI Agent, Ted Gunderson, who exposed horrific sex crimes and satanism within the Deep State.
At its peak, J. Edgar Hoover’s file on sex deviates encompassed nearly ninety-nine (99) cubic feet and more than 330,000 pages of information. From 1977 to 1978, the traitors at the FBI destroyed this evidence, covering up their own crimes.
You can bet those files contained information on Bela Lugosi, Marilyn Monroe, and other white zombies. Especially since you are visiting this site, FBI and other agencies may keep files on you, regardless of your sexual proclivities.
FBI kept an enormous file on Eleanor Roosevelt, the First Lady of the United States, who helped so many Americans.
The perverts at the FBI also spy on our president, Donald Trump, as I mention in my article below. I wrote that last week when a black helicopter showed up, hovering over my white upper-middle-class neighborhood.
Meanwhile, as I wrote this article, my computer was repeatedly cyberattacked by the Deep State, crashing several times, while this website continues to receive hits from foreign enemies, such as China, with whom CIA, FBI, DHS, NSA, and USAF collaborate. They are traitors!
Unlike Rob Zombie, of the heavy metal band, White Zombie, I will not “Let Sleeping Corpses Lie.”
I have no choice.
Please retweet or share as many articles as possible.
Our enemy depends on silence.
“Do you want to come stargaze with me?” I was already headed to the lake, and my plans were to spend the night under the stars alone. Staring at the twinkling lights imagining what the constellations should be rather than what the astronomers claim they are. I had been thinking of the stars since the moment our group had mentioned camping. About a week ago my group of friends had planned a camping trip to go to the mountains.
My first thought had been about the last time I went camping, which was about four years ago with my father. It had been a few months before he passed away. That night when the sun had set my dad led me up a hidden trail further up the mountain so that we could be closer to the sky. He laid out a picnic blanket for us, and we spent the rest of the night talking about constellations and astrology. My dad liked to talk about light pollution too and how he wished he could see the stars all over rather than only in the mountains. He was passionate for the environment, and always had a vision for the way he wished the world could be. Star gazing had become somewhat sacred for me since then. And it was now a mandatory part of camping for me.
Seeing the stars clearly was the part of camping that gave me the most joy. And made me feel closer to my dad even though he was gone. Staring up into the night sky glittered with balls of gas made me feel more important and vastly miniscule all at once. I loved being lost in my thoughts and in the idea of mattering without mattering. It was relaxing and it was the only time I felt completely comfortable with being alone. Even though I wasn’t. Not really. The stars were the only company I could ever need.
But then I saw him, and his golden brown eyes locked with mine. So the words came out before I could process them. It was an impulse. Potentially a mistake. I thought I had decided to stop asking before thinking. Hadn’t I learned anything from my past decisions? Clearly not. Hadn’t I promised myself to allot this time to honor my father? There was something about him that made me make all of the wrong decisions. But they never felt wrong, because every conversation we had made me feel right. Talking with him made me feel safe. Like I could be myself. He made me feel like I could relax. And nothing bad would happen.
He stared at me. And for a moment I thought I would need to repeat myself. Had he heard me? I opened my mouth to ask him again, but then closed it before the words could come out. Maybe I should not have invited him. Before I could turn away and continue walking, he nodded.“Sure!” His shrug betrayed the enthusiasm in his voice.
We walked together. The vibrant green grass swished between my bare feet. I loved the feeling of the blades of grass between my toes. It was the only time I ever felt grounded. Wholesome. One with the earth. Nothing between me and the minerals of the planet I loved more than life itself.
Our footsteps were louder than our breathing, but I could hear him sigh every few seconds or so as we approached the sand tucked beside the lake. The sand crunched softly under his boots as we reached the space. And his hands brushed against his jeans.
Strangely, the potent silence between us was comfortable. It always was. We never needed words to communicate with one another. I learned that during our first date, which had been a hike.
Even when he said nothing, I could hear him say everything. Sometimes I felt he said more when he did not speak rather than when he did. I could tell what he was saying now. He was happy to be invited to spend some time with me.
I swallowed hard when we came close to the spot in the sand I wanted to lay on. There was something on my mind, I wanted to talk to him about. He watched me as I unravelled the large pineapple towel I had been carrying and spread it out on the sand. Somehow I felt more at peace with myself, having him near me. I felt safer under his gaze, knowing he would protect me from any dangers that might appear in the night. My towel was a family beach towel. Large enough for four people. Too much space.
I sat, then sprawled out on my back on the left of the towel. When I was in a comfortable position, I looked up at him. Then I patted the empty space beside me. Beckoning him.
“Join me.” My invitation sounded more like a question and I wished I could loosen the strain in my voice. Reduce the yearning. He sat down beside me, and looked straight up. It took him a few moments to get comfortable. He seemed nervous for some reason. He crossed his legs in front of him and laid back on his hands. Then he came down to his elbows, still facing the water instead of me or the sky. Again, he adjusted himself to one side. His back to me, and his torso aiming at the water behind our toes. He settled on an upright position, criss crossed and leaning back on his hands.“It’s easier to stare up when you are on your back,” I mentioned. My eyes were fixed on the sunset, but I knew when he looked over at me. I could not meet his gaze. My heart was racing, and looking at him would only make it worse.
“You clearly have plenty of experience with this,” he said, I could not place a name to his tone. I never could. It was always distant and present all at once. Deep and monotonous yet light and interested. It made me feel strange inside. Hesitant but confident. Somehow I knew every word I said to him was heard and considered which gave me assurance, but it also made me slower to speak. More of a listener, less of a talker. I knew that was his character all the time. It was only who I became when I was around him. After a few more adjustments, he laid on his back, maintaining an arm’s distance from me. I laced my fingers behind my head creating a pillow so my neck could relax.
“This is the best part of camping,” I said.
“I disagree,” he told me plainly, shaking his head at the sky.
“Hammocking,” he scoffed, “there is no contest.” He assured me. His passion for hammocks was an entity I wished I could bottle up and carry around for important conversations.
“I’ll take your word for it,” I smiled as the sky faded from a pale blue to a deeper and darker blue. The stars were on their way.
“You still haven’t hammocked?” He noted. I remembered telling him this as we had been hiking Cheyenne Canyon before the summer had started. It felt like eons ago. I told him so many things that day, it had brought us so close together yet pushed us miles apart all at once. I remembered replaying that day in my head, over and over as the summer passed by. I remembered thinking that we could never be together. I remembered feeling so strongly for him, yet nothing at all. He was a mystery I desired to understand more than the stars. Could we ever happen?
I shook my head, teetering it between my fingertips. “Not yet.” I wished he would come closer to me. His respect for me bordered disinterest, and I could never tell his preference. Distance from or closeness to me. Either physically or emotionally. I stole a moment to inch closer to him. Why did I want him so bad? The possibility of us was something I felt I only desired to prove to myself it could happen. What was this? What were we? Friends. I wished this did not suffice as an answer to the question. “Maybe soon,” I hoped, we were still discussing hammocks. Boring.
“You need to,” he advised, scooting closer to me by half an inch. My guess was that he was straining towards my body heat. A cool breeze had danced over us, and the blanket beside me would soon be a mutual necessity. His thin jacket would not keep him warm through the night.
“So I have been told,” by too many people. Friends and family alike. It was an obsession of those who resided in the mountains. Hammocks. What was the appeal of dangling from the air and risking falling to the ground? It sounded more terrifying than anything else.
“Do you not think so?” He asked me. But the stars had arrived, and hammocks stopped mattering. The conversation was something we were using to hear each other’s voices. But I didn’t mind letting it fall away as the stars stole the attention from both of us.
“If you could live in space, would you?” I never had any problem abruptly changing the subject. And I said it before I could think of any reason not to say it. He had a way of removing my filter without any effort whatsoever.
“Like as an astronaut?” He asked, entertaining the idea. “Could I come back to earth whenever I wanted to?”
I shrugged. These were questions that did not feel relevant. My answer would be an automatic yes. Space was serene and vast, full of emptiness and curiosities that have yet to be explored. More important questions to ask would be, where could I go? And how long could I stay? “Yeah, like an astronaut. And sure, but space would be your home.” I answered.
He nodded, and considered. “Yes.” He decided. “Would you?” He countered.
“No doubt.” I said, because it was where I wished I could be now. “Do you believe in aliens?”
He hesitated. “Maybe,” he answered. What I wanted to ask him next was whether he believed in love. Because sometimes it felt like he did not. I was leading up to it. Aliens and space and love on their own seem to have nothing in common. But to me, they are all related.
Aliens are talked about. Written about. Thought about. Seen. Believed in by most. But have not yet been fully proven. Most claim that because they have never seen an alien they don’t believe in them. But how could we be the only ones in this universe? Space is so vast and so hard to understand, but it is all around us. It exists. It’s real. Love is the same. It’s hard to believe in love if you have never seen it before, or if you’ve never really felt it. Love is so vast and all around us. Yet we never think about it, because we all breathe just fine without any thought of it. But if you have never heard of any of it or learned about it. Then how could it be real? How could you believe in it?
I knew he believed in God. We both believed in God. God is love. But romantic love was a species all its own that seemed increasingly difficult to interpret or understand.
The longer I was around him, the less I believed that our friendship could ever become anything more than a friendship.
So maybe he believed in love the same way he believed in aliens. Maybe.
“Maybe.” I repeated. “What makes you unsure?”
He shrugged, turning to one side to face me, he props himself up on one elbow. “What makes you so unshakably sure?” He asks me.
I hesitate, because his question is too cocky. This side of him made me nervous. But I propped myself up on one elbow to mirror him. Our eyes were leveled. I noticed there was something missing in his. When I realized what it was, my heart panged. “Do you really think God would glitter the sky with trillions of stars for one planet? Do you think the whole universe could exist for a species of only a few billion ungrateful human beings? And human beings alone?” I asked him. My questions sounded more like accusations, and I was unsure where my passion was rising from. My uncertain feelings for him might have had something to do with it.
He grinned, and came down to his shoulder, propping his fist under his chin to look up at me. “I’ve heard of crazier things,” he says eerily while tracing a circle with his free hand on the image of a pineapple filling the space between us.
“I doubt that,” I retorted, annoyed by his unwillingness to counter my questions with his own. We had many conversations like this one. But there was once a time when he would battle with me like I wanted him to. Not this time.
“Sure I have,” he said with a shrug. I returned to my back, and returned my gaze to the sky.
“Like what?” I asked him. Still annoyed.
“Like love.” He said. My heart lurched. The word love rolled off his tongue in the same way people say floor. Like it was something too ordinary to get worked up about. Like it was nothing special. Love was nothing ordinary. I nearly gasped.
“You think love is crazier than the potential existence of aliens?” He read my face as I turned to him and then chuckled. No matter how hard I tried, I could never get my face to shut up. I was sure my expression had told him exactly how crazy I thought he was for saying such a thing. I hoped he had a profound explanation for his comparison. He nodded at me, still grinning.
“Sure,” he said as though it was obvious. I wanted him to say more. I told him this with a nod and the raise of a brow. Explain yourself, I urged him, with the tilt of my head. Around him, I articulated better with my body language. He grinned broadly and I could tell he was either going to be vague or inciteful. “Think about it,” he started.
If only he knew how much I thought about it.
“Love is so far off and out of reach, and not meant for everyone to find. Everyone likes to talk about it and sing about it. But when it comes time to show it to one another, no one is willing to take a stab at it. That sounds pretty crazy to me.” He told me. “And on top of that, there is hardly any proof that it really exists.”
I’m not sure why, but my eyes started to water, so I sat up and wiped at them. I blinked profusely and stared out at the water beyond our feet, hoping he would not mention my change in demeanor.
“Are you okay?” He asked me, placing a hand between my shoulder blades.“Was it something I said?” He asked. I took a deep breath and shook my head. There was the answer I had been looking for. Yet there was still a question I wanted to ask him. But my words were stuck in the back of my throat. And I was confident I already knew the answer. The tears were still welling in my eyes, and my mouth was dry. At least I understood.
“Can I tell you something?” My question was a whisper under my breath. But he heard me.
“Sure. Anything.” He said. He had moved to sit closer to me. His arm was around my shoulders. He was comforting me the way a brother would comfort his younger sister. I hesitated. I already knew I would regret the words before I could say them to him. But something made me believe that he needed to know. I deserved to tell him. I deserved to understand.
“When we went hiking together, and then you bought me lunch,” I started.
“I remember,” he said. I nodded.
“There were a few times that day when I felt like,” this was the hardest part. Getting the last part out. Being vulnerable. Telling him the truth. A tear slipped down my left cheek, and plopped on the towel. He rubbed my back, as though he could soften the words out of me. It gave me enough confidence to finish. “I felt like I could love you,” I admitted. His hand fell away from my back. I could not look at his face, because for some reason I sensed that I might read a look of betrayal when I had done nothing wrong. He leaned back on both his hands. I knew he was thinking. So I kept quiet. We stayed silent for a while. I took several steadying breaths. Centering myself as I relaxed into the reality of my situation. The moon was reflecting on the water. The water was still and the moon was so bright on the water. It was amazing how two things could seem like they were together. How two things could seem like they go so well together, but be impossible for one another.
I was the moon. Bright and open-minded. He was the water. Still and vast. We were not meant to be. Him and I did not belong together. But if there could ever be a chance, it would be beautiful. We would be magical. Full of possibilities.
“But you don’t,” he said at last.
“I am sorry?”
“You said you felt like you could love me, romantically speaking,” he explained, “but you do not,” he recognized. This was true. He was right. Hearing him say it made me feel light inside. Like I had no reason to be crying in the first place because nothing had gone wrong. I could not mourn the loss of something I had never had. My disappointment was in myself, not in him. I felt silly. And self-conscience. I tucked a curl behind my ear and smiled to myself. I shook my head as it became apparent to me.
“No,” I said. “I guess I don’t, at least not yet. And not in the ways I thought that I could,” I realized. I sounded happy, almost. “Not yet, anyway,” I muttered.
“And that’s alright,” he said with a shrug. He sat forward again, and wrapped his arm around me once more. This time he leaned in closer to me so that our faces were inches apart. If he turned his head in any direction, he would kiss me. “Love is not something you find with every person you meet,” he told me. His breath tickled my face as he spoke. It smelled like peppermint. “Love is sacred and beautiful. And I know from being your friend that you are an amazing woman fully capable of finding and sharing such love with someone special.” He paused. And for once I couldn’t read him. But deep in his eyes, I could suddenly see what I thought hadn’t been there.”When the time is right, you will meet the man you are supposed to love. And he will treat you the way you deserve to be treated.” He turned away from me then. All hopes of him kissing me collapsed in on themselves. “So try not to be sad about the fact that the man you are meant to love is not me.” He finished. And when he smiled at me, I felt like a bird whose owner had just unlocked the cage and beckoned it out. I could spread my wings and fly away. But I didn’t want to. I wanted to dig my claws in and stick around. Just for a moment longer.
“You are such a good guy,” I said, wrapping my arm around him reaching under his arm to pull him closer. My heart ached as I thought of how wonderful we might be. But his words were reassuring and accurate and exactly what I needed to hear. And I would not there to be an us. I did not want him in any other way. This was right.
“Thank you,” he said, and I tucked my head in the crook of his neck.
“I am so glad God gave me a friend like you,” I said.
“Me too,” he said, and I smiled.
Maybe the moon and the ocean could not be an item. But they could cherish the moments they had in each others midst. And the moon always had the stars. And the ocean always had the sand.
Romantic love is a beautiful thing, that totally exists and is not meant for everyone. But platonic love is something that is vastly underrated and in need of attention. And it is just as beautiful. Show your friends some love. Cherish what you have with them.
Julian Assange and WikiLeaks Deserve Our Thanks for Making Governments More Transparent
The world is a better place now that it’s harder than ever for governments to keep secrets.
A lot of people are dunking on WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange now that he’s been arrested by British law enforcement and will likely face extradition hearings to the United States on charges that he conspired with Chelsea Manning to «commit computer intrusion» on a U.S. government machine. Assuming the British authorities do go forward with extradition, it will almost certainly be years before the matter is settled (and there’s a strong argument that Assange might walk in British courts). In the meantime, Assange has effectively traded exile in Ecuador’s embassy in London for a jail cell in the same city. As Robby Soave notes, prosecuting Assange for publishing leaked documents—something that media outlets do on a regular basis—would be very bad for press freedom.
Regardless of how you feel about Assange as a person, there’s no question that WikiLeaks, founded in 2006, has been central to starting a salutary era of forced transparency, a time when state and corporate actors have much more trouble keeping secrets. Forced transparency is bigger than WikiLeaks, of course. It’s one of the defining dynamics of our time, riding the same technological wave that gave us Napster and other innovations that disperse power and information in all sorts of unauthorized ways. But let’s give credit and praise where it’s due. The world is better for the fact that it’s harder than ever for governments to keep their own secrets.
Early exposés by the organization included documents from the Church of Scientology and East Anglia University’s Climate Research Unit. In 2010, the organization came into its own by publishing a trove of documents given to it by Chelsea Manning, then an Army intelligence analyst. Among the things that came to light:
- graphic video of a U.S. Apache helicopter killing Iraqi civilians and two Reuters journalists;
- 90,000-plus pages of military memos, now known as the Afghan War Diaries, that showed that the Taliban and the Pakistani government were in regular contact and that civilian casualties were far greater than the U.S. officially acknowledged;
- 400,000 pages of documents about the war in Iraq, including revelation of 15,000 unreported civilian deaths and brutal reprisals by Iraqi forces;
- diplomatic cables that showed a wide gulf between the U.S.’s public positions and private analysis.
In 2016, of course, WikiLeaks also released hacked emails from John Podesta, Hillary Clinton’s campaign chairman, which unmasked various bad-faith dealings within the Democratic Party establishment.
There are legitimate questions about WikiLeaks’ relationship with the Russian government, but it’s the worst sort of whataboutism to argue that WikiLeaks’ revelatons about the United States government should not be taken seriously until it releases equally damaging material about, say, the Putin regime. The information it has shared about the United States is widely understood to be accurate; calls for some sort of geopolitical balance doesn’t make the group’s revelations about our leaders any less true.
In 2017, FBI Director James Comey said that WikiLeaks trafficked in «public intelligence porn.» Mike Pompeo, then CIA director and now secretary of state, went so far as to condemn Assange and WikiLeaks as enemies of the state. «We can no longer allow [Julian] Assange and his colleagues the latitude to use free speech values against us,» Pompeo declared at the Center for Strategic and International Studies. «To give them the space to crush us with misappropriated secrets is a perversion of what our great Constitution stands for.» Such talk was reminiscent of The Wall Street Journal calling Assange an «enemy of the U.S.» who should face the death penalty.
Such backward thinking is absurd. We won’t be «crushed» if our actions are defensible. Assume the worst about Assange, who was first taken into custody in relation to sexual assault charges in Sweden that have since been dropped. We don’t need to praise the man to recognize that governments’ radical loss of control of secret knowledge is ultimately a very good thing—and one that isn’t going away anytime soon.
From 2010, here’s a Reason video in which four experts grapple with the question, «Is WikiLeaks a Force for Good?»
Por todos es conocido que la obesidad se ha convertido en un importante problema de salud pública; sin embargo, un estudio realizado por la Universidad Brigham Young en Utah (EE. UU.) sugiere que hay dos amenazas más grandes que la epidemia de obesidad que sufre el mundo: la soledad y el aislamiento social.
Dos metaanálisis revelaron que la soledad y el aislamiento social pueden aumentar el riesgo de muerte prematura hasta en un 50%.
Mientras que la soledad y el aislamiento social son términos que se utilizan a menudo indistintamente, hay diferencias notables entre ambos. El aislamiento social se define como la falta de contacto con otros individuos, mientras que la soledad es la sensación de uno mismo de sentirse emocionalmente desconectado de los demás. En esencia, una persona puede estar en presencia de otras y aún sentirse sola.
Hay dos tipos de soledad:
la personal (ausencia de una relación íntima con alguien), es decir emocional, o ausencia de una relación intensa con otra persona que nos produzca satisfacción y seguridad.
la social (carencia de amistades), supone la no pertenencia a un grupo que ayude al individuo a compartir intereses y preocupaciones.
Puede tener origen en diferentes causas: como la propia elección del individuo, una enfermedad contagiosa, hábitos socialmente no aceptados u otras como la situación social o laboral del individuo.
Debe hacerse una distinción entre la soledad física y mental. Un individuo puede buscar soledad física para eliminar distracciones y concentrarse o meditar más fácilmente.
Durante períodos cortos es a veces valorada como un momento en el que trabajar, pensar o descansar sin ser distraído. Puede también buscarse por privacidad.
El hombre es un ser social que necesita de los demás para hacerse a él mismo. Y no sólo para cubrir sus necesidades de afecto y desarrollo personal, sino también para afianzar y revalidar su autoestima, ya que ésta se genera cada día en la interrelación con las personas que lo rodean.
Tres características definen la soledad:
Es el resultado de relaciones sociales deficientes.
Constituye una experiencia subjetiva ya que se puede estar solo sin sentirse solo o sentirse solo cuando se halla en grupo.
Por último, resulta desagradable y puede llegar a generar angustia.
Estar solo es un hecho común para todos. No siempre se está acompañado. Esta experiencia de soledad se puede disfrutar mucho y suele ser muy constructiva.
Se puede no hacer nada y sentirse bien, descansar, disfrutar de la naturaleza, tomar sol, caminar, meditar o simplemente hacer lo que nos gusta sin interferencias de otras personas.Sentirse solos es diferente, porque uno se puede sentir solo también en compañía.
Cuando desaparece de la vida alguien a quien se ha amado o que ocupaba un espacio en la cotidianeidad y era apoyo para afrontar la vida, nos invade una particular sensación de soledad, un vacío que nos sume en la tristeza y la desesperanza, con una dolorosa percepción de orfandad.
Ha de intentarse que la carencia de alguien no se convierta en una carencia general de relaciones. Esta soledad es dolorosa, pero puede convertirse en positiva si se interpreta como oportunidad para aprender a vivir el dolor sin quedarse bloqueado como si de una debilidad o incapacidad se tratara. Y para generar recursos y habilidades para continuar transitando satisfactoriamente por la vida. Quien sabe salir del dolor está preparado para disfrutar a plenitud en momentos venideros.
Salvo excepciones, es una experiencia indeseada similar a la depresión y la ansiedad, refleja una percepción del individuo respecto a su red de relaciones sociales, bien porque esta red es escasa o porque la relación es insatisfactoria o demasiado superficial.
Cuando la habilidad para relacionarse es deficiente, aumenta la probabilidad de quedarse solo ya que las relaciones que mantiene son menos entusiastas y empáticas.
En general, las personas con problemas de neurosis se muestran convencidas de que no resultan amables ni dignas de ser apreciadas, y rechazan cualquier tipo de amigos potenciales con el objetivo de protegerse a sí mismos del posible rechazo.
Está muy relacionada con la pérdida de relaciones con ese conjunto de personas significativas en la vida del individuo y con las que se interactúa de forma regular. Se tiende a vincularla con estados de tristeza, desamor y negatividad, obviando los beneficios que una soledad ocasional y deseada puede reportar.
Hay también soledades indeseadas, como esas a las que se ven abocadas personas mayores, amas de casa, o quienes muestran una orientación sexual no convencional, o quienes sufren ciertas enfermedades, incapacidades físicas o psicológicas o imperfecciones estéticas.
Esa soledad no deseada puede convertirse en angustia, si bien algunos se acostumbran a vivir solos. Se revestirá esta actitud de una apariencia de fortaleza, autosuficiencia, agresividad o timidez. Y todo, para esconder la inseguridad y el miedo a no ser querido o respetado.
El sentimiento de soledad está relacionado con el aislamiento, la noción de no formar parte de algo, la idea de no estar incluido en ningún proyecto y entender que a nadie le importas lo suficiente como para pertenecer a su mundo, conlleva a la depresión, cuando además se siente culpable de su propia soledad.
Es una situación que hay que aspirar a convertir en transitoria y que conviene percibir como no forzosamente traumática. Puede mutarse en momento de reflexión, de conocerse a fondo y de encontrarse sinceramente con su propia identidad.
Hay un tiempo para comunicarse con los demás y otro en el que es conveniente optar por la soledad, para establecer contacto con lo más profundo del ser. Equilibrar los momentos en que se expresa y atiende a otros, y los que dedica a pensar, sólo, en sus propias cosas.
La de quien apenas habla con su familia, compañeros de trabajo y vecinos; es una soledad muy común. Ese sentimiento de incapacidad de contar con un mínimo de confianza en quienes lo rodean, miedo al rechazo. Plantando un muro alrededor, encerrado en un pequeño espacio en ocasiones, unipersonal y vive el vacío que él mismo crea y justifica con planteamientos como «no me entienden», «la gente sólo quiere hacerte daño», «para lo único que les interesas es para sacarte algo», «cada vez que confías en alguien, te llevas una puñalada».
Al verme al espejo
La mirada perdida
Anuncia el alma vacía
De una carencia de vida,
Cuántas vivencias sin sabiduría
Que dejan en desconcierto
Antes de mi partida
Pido perdón a “DIOS”
Por no vivir con alegría,
¡Tanto tiempo perdido!
Frustrado/a y en agonía,
Me lleva hasta el final
Aún con energía,
Cuántas veces perdí la fe
De no darle sentido a mi vida
Perdiéndome en mis sueños
De alas atadas
Siendo el tiempo nuestro peor enemigo,
En el camino recorrido
Hay palabras que duelen
Hechos que no tenían que ser vividos
Momentos no compartidos,
¡Hoy decido olvidar el pasado!
Cuánto lamento no haber “vivido”
¡Hoy decido renacer!
En este maravilloso universo
Encontrándome nuevamente de pie,
Mil bendiciones a todo lo bueno y lo que no es
Solo toca ser nuestros propios héroes
Ante lo desconocido
Cada día que me queda contigo
“Gracias por hacerme reconocer lo positivo
y lo negativo que he vivido”.
No es la primera ni la última vez que nos encontraremos con un caso de discriminación racial, pasa en todo ámbito de cosas: deporte, trabajo, vida diaria, etc. Pero si podemos partir por nosotros y empezar a cambiar. Mira este video y aprenderás una gran lección. Si te gusto compártelo.
Los peores experimentos con humanos realizados por EE.UU.
En el pasado de Estados Unidos abundan los experimentos inhumanos que afectaban tanto a otros países como a sus propios ciudadanos.
Mkultra, Subproyecto 68
El proyecto de la CIA MKULTRA, que pretendía encontrar métodos para controlar la mente, pagó al doctor Donald Ewen Cameron, quien encabezó experimentos en el marco del Subproyecto 68.
En su Instituto Memorial Allen en Montreal el doctor sometía a los pacientes ingresados con depresión bipolar o trastornos de ansiedad a una ‘terapia’ que les dejó serios daños y alteró sus vidas de manera irreparable.
Entre 1957 y 1964 Cameron sometió a sus pacientes a una terapia electroconvulsiva, que sobrepasaba en 30-40 veces las normas.
Ponía a los pacientes en estado de coma inducido por drogas durante meses y reproducía cintas con declaraciones simples o ruidos repetitivos una y otra vez. Las víctimas olvidaron cómo hablar, de sus padres y sufrieron amnesia grave.
Todo esto ello se perpetró contra ciudadanos canadienses porque la CIA probablemente consideraba demasiado arriesgado realizar estas prácticas en estadounidenses.
Para lograr de que el proyecto siguiera financiándole, Cameron involucró a niños en los experimentos y en una ocasión indujo a un niño a tener sexo con un alto funcionario gubernamental. La grabación de esta escena la utilizó para realizar chantajes.
A medida que se intensificaba la investigación de las armas químicas en los años 40, el Gobierno de EE.UU. no vaciló a la hora de involucrar al personal militar en sus experimentos.
Para probar la eficacia de las armas y métodos de defensa, se utilizaba gas mostaza y otros productos químicos que dejaban quemaduras en la piel y arruinaban los pulmones sin que los soldados lo consintieran o conocieran el experimento.
Probaban máscaras antigás y ropas de protección encerrando a los soldados en cámaras de gas, una práctica que evoca las imágenes de la Alemania nazi.
Entre los agentes utilizados se encontraba la lewisita, compuesto que fácilmente penetra la ropa e incluso la goma.
Al contactar con la piel, el gas inmediatamente provoca un dolor extremo, picor, hinchazón y erupción. Grandes ampollas llenas de líquido se desarrollan 12 horas después de la exposición en forma de quemaduras químicas sumamente graves. Y eso solo en el contacto de la piel con el agente.
La inhalación del gas provoca un ardor en los pulmones, estornudos, vómitos y edema pulmonar.
Lo que se refiere al gas mostaza, sus efectos son asintomáticos hasta aproximadamente 24 horas después de la exposición. Sus efectos primarios incluyen quemaduras graves que se convierten con el tiempo en ampollas llenas de fluido amarillo.
El gas mostaza tiene propiedades mutágenas y cancerígenas que han matado a muchas personas expuestas. Aunque hay un tratamiento disponible, las quemaduras del gas mostaza se curan muy lentamente y son extremadamente dolorosas. Las quemaduras que el gas deja sobre la piel son a veces irreparables.
Las Fuerzas Armadas de EE.UU. y la CIA realizaron una serie de simulaciones de ataques químicos y biológicos contra varias ciudades estadounidenses a mediados del siglo pasado para entender los efectos qué se deben esperar en caso de un ataque real.
Se llevaron a cabo los siguientes ataques aéreos/navales
– La CIA dispersó el virus de tos ferina en la bahía de Tampa, usando barcos. Como consecuencia estalló una epidemia de tos ferina, que dejó 12 personas muertas.
– La Marina de guerra roció San Francisco con bacterias patógenas y por ello muchos ciudadanos padecieron neumonía.
– El Ejército soltó millones de mosquitos portadores de la fiebre amarilla y el dengue sobre Savannah, estado de Georgia, y Avon Park, Florida. El enjambre produjo a sus ciudadanos muchos problemas respiratorios, fiebre tifoidea, y niños nacidos muertos.
Después de estos ataques, llegaban militares disfrazados de trabajadores sanitarios a las zonas afectadas. Mientras estaban ayudando a las víctimas, su intención secreta era estudiar y registrar los efectos a largo plazo de todas las enfermedades que padecían.
El Gobierno de Guatemala ha determinado que más de 2.000 personas fueron infectadas con sífilis, gonorrea o cancroide sin su conocimiento (según otros datos, más de 5.000 guatemaltecos) en los años 40, mientras que EE.UU. sitúa la estimación en algo más de 1.300 personas.
El objetivo de estos experimentos, dirigidos por el médico estadounidense John Cutler, era averiguar si la penicilina podía ser usada “para prevenir enfermedades de transmisión sexual” y para ello emplearon a prostitutas, exmilitares, enfermos mentales, huérfanos y presidiarios.
Los experimentos, que nunca fueron publicados, se conocieron en 2010 después de que la profesora de la Universidad de Wellesley, Susan Reverby, se topara con ellos por casualidad.
No se ha encontrado ningún informe sobre las conclusiones del experimento, pero sí hay datos personales de los pacientes y cuadros médicos según los cuales hubo al menos 83 víctimas mortales.
La CIA realizó entre los años 1953 y 1964 experimentos con miles de civiles y militares estadounidenses con la droga alucinógena LSD y otras sustancias sin que supieran lo que les estaban haciendo.
Según una reciente filtración de documentos confidenciales de la agencia, además del Ejército, algunos experimentos se llevaron a cabo en playas, bares y restaurantes donde los agentes supuestamente colocaron el narcótico en las bebidas de los clientes.
Durante una década, la CIA llevó a cabo sus experimentos clandestinos, persiguiendo a sus ‘blancos’ y observando su conducta. Algunas de las víctimas que participaron en las pruebas sufrieron convulsiones y paranoia, mientras que otros murieron.
Además de usar ampliamente como defoliante el producto tóxico durante la Guerra de Vietnam, que produjo varias enfermedades y mutaciones genéticas en generaciones subsecuentes, el Gobierno estadounidense probó el ‘agente naranja’ en presos voluntarios de una cárcel de Filadelfia, haciéndolo pasar por una «investigación dermatológica».
Los experimentos, que se realizaron entre 1951 y 1974, fueron encabezados por el doctor Albert Kligman. Los presos recibían pagos por permitir la aplicación de inyecciones de dioxina, uno de los componentes del ‘agente naranja’. Entre los efectos que sufrieron los presos estaban las erupciones (cloracné) en las mejillas, detrás de las orejas, axilas e ingles.
Δελφοί – Delphi – ancient Greek city and the temple at the foot of Parnassus, 13 km from the Gulf of Corinth, on the road from Termopilów on the Peloponnese. Currently, Delphi, is the name of the archaeological site and the name of the municipality, distant 165 km from Athens.
There was no doubt already in the Mycenaean era, as evidenced by numerous excavations. He knows Delphi and honor Homer, who, however, calls them Pytho. The town of Delphi matter was not ever, all the fame owed oracle. Slowly he built here the whole county of worship, because almost all the kingdoms of Greece wanted here in the holy land of Apollo have their temples. The center of the sacred circle was a temple of Apollo built approx. 600 BC After the fire of 548 BC in the approx. 525 – approx. 505 BC temple was rebuilt with money Alkmeonidów, with the considerable help of Pharaoh Amasis. In the year 373 BC again destroyed by an earthquake and by fire, it was rebuilt by Amfiktionów, without recovering however the former importance as a place of pilgrimage.