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Posts by FreeAssange
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2021-11-13 at 5:15 AM UTC in Kyle Rittenhouse: Am I missing something?
Originally posted by Wariat in addition to having way less strict assault laws overall and no enhancements for injuries? I mean america is a violent place with your gun deaths and gangs so maybe poland is doing it right and not america in this regard?
Can't compare.Nothing to do with assault laws.
Poland:
Domesticated chicks and well-behaved Poles.
US:
Feral nigs and spics and meth depraved proles. -
2021-11-11 at 7:07 AM UTC in Who remembers Snoopy?
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2021-07-30 at 3:04 PM UTC in THE MAGA PARTY!,,, the GOP is dead, republicans are going down with the dems,, get ready for THE MAGA PARTY lefty's
Originally posted by stl1 Business Insider
Trump called his acting attorney general almost daily to pressure him into investigate 2020 election-fraud claims, and was ignored every time, report says
tporter@businessinsider.com (Tom Porter)
Trump had replaced then-Attorney General Bill Barr with Rosen during his final 30 days in office, after Barr said the Justice Department had not uncovered any evidence of voter fraud on a scale that would delegitimize Biden's victory.
(((Rosen)))
That's one thing I truly don't get about Trump. You're a Manhattan real estate mogul. You grew up in New York City. And you appointed a jedi and expected fair play? Truth? Honesty? Patriotism? Are you an idiot? -
2021-07-28 at 8:31 PM UTC in THE MAGA PARTY!,,, the GOP is dead, republicans are going down with the dems,, get ready for THE MAGA PARTY lefty's
Originally posted by POLECAT The secret society referred to is the Illuminati, the globalist cabal which controls our media of communication. Their objective from the beginning is to instigate revolt against the institutionalized Church and to submerge the nations under a communistic one-world government and religion.
https://www.unz.com/book/douglas_reed__the-controversy-of-zion/ -
2021-07-25 at 7:49 PM UTC in Fatty Puerto Rican Abuela versus Hipster MOON PERSON Whiteboy Douche
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2021-07-23 at 10:43 PM UTC in lol at that chat
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2021-07-21 at 10:29 PM UTC in Your best ghost story
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2021-07-19 at 2:07 PM UTC in Your best ghost story
Originally posted by FreeAssange A Dead Body on an Empty Street
“Glenn never talked about it in all those times we talked about everything, but there was some shit that happened to Glenn, know what I'm saying. Glenn's girlfriend thinks Brian done it. Brian killed Glenn.”
“Really”, I exclaimed!
“Yeah, when they took his body out, the homicide detective, this Asian dude, know what I'm saying, talked to people on the block here and went around the neighborhood asking questions, but he didn't talk to her.”
“Huh”, I said.
“They said it was natural causes, but I heard Glenn arguing on the phone, really screaming arguing about money, know what I'm saying, one night right before he died.”
“Wow, that's interesting”, I said, and I told Harry about Brian's comment that Glenn had had money issues and was bad with money.
“Ain't that something”, said Harry. “Ain't that goddam something. Brian is the one that owed Glenn money. A lot of money, know what I'm saying? Ten thousand dollars, Brian owed him. And that ain't chicken feed, know what I'm saying? Hell, yeah”, Harry shook his head. “Glenn was bad with money? He owned these two houses that he paid for himself and he had his business and his car and Brian owed him money. Well, goddam, ain't that something”.
We talked for a time more; you could feel Harry's grief. “Well”, I said, finally, “Glenn sounds like he was a decent guy. But I'll say one thing, the man was no carpenter”.
“Ha HA”, The Candy Apple Man let out a yelp, “ain't that the truth! I walked in the house one day and looked at those studs. 'What the hell are you doing with these studs, boy' I said. 'They look like a blind man put 'em in.' Ha HA. They going every which way, know what I'm saying? You could be nailing into the stud and then you go straight down and put in another nail expecting the stud to be there. Shit! You pounded right through the sheet rock into nothing but thin air 'cause the stud ain't there, know what I'm saying, ha HA! The stud was like this”, and Harry held his arm at a forty-five degree angle. “Ha HA! The city inspector always come by and chew his ass good. You got pipes running this way and that way and up and down and crosswise, ha HA. Glenn says to me, 'Candy Apple Man, this house is costing me a fortune'! And I say, 'You gotta fix them studs, boy, you know what I'm saying, ha HA”!
Laughing, I bent down to take the leash off of Buddy. When I looked up, the Candy Apple Man had become very serious. “Let me ask you something, Craig”, he said.
“Sure”, I said straightening.
“Do you believe in voices from beyond the grave?”
I was so shocked at the question, I stood dumbstruck. Sherman and I exchanged glances and he, too, was stunned by the question. I looked back at Harry. He was waiting for an answer. So, I told him about the voice in the cabinet. I told him how the voice had seemed muffled as if far away, but, at the same time, how it seemed to come from within the cabinet right next to my ear. “So”, I finished, “I figured it must have been Will who yelled 'hey' through the wall from your house and my ears had just played a trick on me. It was the only thing that made sense”.
“It wasn't Will”, said The Candy Apple Man. “When I'm not here, no one is here, know what I'm saying”.
* * *
The next day, I called Baltimore homicide. I found out the detective who had been the lead investigator on the case was a Detective Chin. He wasn't in. “Maybe I can help”, said the detective who had answered the phone. So I told him I was inquiring about a death at 1622 N Port St in Baltimore that had occurred the previous June. He pulled it up on his computer. “Natural causes”, he said.
“Hmm”, I said. “There are some things about this that give me some doubts, like there may have been foul play involved”.
“You know”, said the detective, “we get these kinds of calls all the time. I'm not saying that this is the case here”, he hurriedly reassured me, “but lots of times people who maybe don't know all the details or something...”, he trailed off. “But we're pretty thorough when we investigate and if the autopsy says 'natural causes', it's a pretty good bet it was natural causes”.
“I understand”, I said, thanking him for his time.
But I couldn't shake the misgivings I had about the death of Glenn Swiston. There seemed to be the undeniable possibility that a monstrous crime had occurred on that empty street. As my uneasiness grew over Glenn's fate, I looked more closely at all the video cable running throughout the house. By all appearances, Glenn had been security-conscious to an extreme. He had had something like sixteen video cameras positioned throughout the house. They had been connected to his computer, presumably, in the living room just inside the front door, but they also connected to a monitor in the basement which had been set up in what appeared to be a “panic room” Glenn had been struggling to build.
The chances were good there had been a video recording of his moment of death. Had the police looked at it, I wondered?
I resolved to contact Detective Chin and ask him directly. I tried once, but he was again “out on the street”.
And then life distracted me and days passed while I did nothing.
Late one evening I drove to a local Giant store that was open until midnight. I parked in the parking lot, got out of my van, and walked around to the passenger side to roll up the window and lock the door, leaving the window open enough that Buddy could still stick his head out and remind me all the way to the store that I'd forgotten to take him with me.
Then, behind me, I heard a distinctive voice, “You've got some business to take care of”. Before turning around, I knew it was Harry. When I turned around and looked, sure enough, there was Harry's old beat up green Dodge mini-van with the wooden frame for holding candied apples attached to the roof. It was parked in the next row, a few spaces away. I hadn't noticed it in the darkness of the poorly lit parking lot.
I didn't see Harry, so assumed he was sitting in the car. “Yep, just stocking up”, I said walking towards Harry's car. “Wanted to see...”, and then I stopped. Harry's car was empty and he was nowhere to be seen. What the hell? I looked over at three teen-age boys who had been walking through the parking lot. They had stopped walking and were all three staring at me quizzically.
Not wanting to appear a lunatic, I started in the direction of the Giant. But as I walked, the impact of what had just happened hit me and, when I reached the door, I stopped, turned around, and walked back to Harry's car. The three boys, by this time, were far across the parking lot, but they noticed me walking back to Harry's car, and they, again, stopped and watched what I was doing.
I stood there, I'm not sure why, staring at Harry's car. Perhaps I was verifying in my mind that it really was Harry's car and it really was in the Giant parking lot. I guess I was coming to terms with the fact I had distinctly heard Harry's voice when Harry wasn't there.
I went back to the store and went inside, looking for Harry. I spotted him at the end of an aisle. After we exchanged greetings, I told him about what had just happened in the parking lot. “Well, goddam”, he exclaimed! “Ain't that something”?
“Here's what's so weird”, I said. “I knew it was you before I turned around and saw your car. I heard your voice. I turned around and your car was there but you weren't, and I know your voice. Those three kids were staring at me because, from their point of view, I had started talking to an empty car for no reason.”
“Guess you do have some business to take care of, know what I'm saying”, he said.
* * *
2
“Baltimore Homicide. This is Detective Chin. How can I help you?”
I introduced myself, told him where I lived, and said, "I understand you were the detective who investigated a death that occurred at this address last June.”
“Yes?”
“Well, I know the official autopsy ruled the previous tenant died of natural causes, but there are some things about this death that don't seem right to me and I wanted to talk to you to see what you thought.”
“What doesn't seem right?”
“Well, just some things that don't seem like he died from natural causes. The way his mother and brother acted about his death, and after talking to the neighbors and finding a couple of letters and some other things, I wonder if Glenn—the previous tenant—well, the neighbors think he was murdered”
“Murdered? Who do they think murdered him?”
“His brother.”
“His brother? You're calling me because the neighbors think the deceased was murdered by his brother? “
“Well, not just that. There were some other things. The brother inherited the house and they had a bad argument just before he died. Glenn's girlfriend thinks the brother did it. A bunch of things.”
“You have an issue with the brother or something?”
“No. Not at all. It's just— I mean, he was a healthy guy in his forties, who jogged. No drugs, not a heavy drinker, no medical condition, and he just suddenly died? And right after he had a violent argument with his brother. And he and his brother had money issues, and I found some letters...”
“Let me get this straight”, said Detective Chin. “You think the brother murdered the deceased because you talked to the neighbors”?
“No, I don't think that for sure. It's just that there are a lot of things—”.
“You sure you don't have a beef with the brother”?
“I already told you I—”.
“A homicide investigation isn't like what you see on TV”.
I took a deep breath. “Detective Chin”, I said, “I just have two basic questions. First, is it possible that the body was so decomposed that the autopsy finding was in error”?
“Let me ask you a question, Mr. Nelsen”, Detective Chin responded. “And I don't mean this to be sarcastic. But, do you have a medical degree”?
“No”.
“In Baltimore City, all forensic autopsies are performed at”, and he named the place, “but it's just a coincidence that they are performed in Baltimore City. That office also does the autopsies for Prince George's County. That office also does the autopsies for Anne Arundel County. That office—”
“OK”, I said.
“—does the autopsies for Baltimore County. That office also does the autopsies for..”, and Detective Chin slowly and deliberately continued until he'd named all the counties in Maryland for which that office did autopsies. “If the medical examiner says the cause of death was natural causes”, the detective continued, “you can be sure it was natural causes. You can be one hundred percent certain it was natural causes. You can take that to the bank. You have a good day”.
“Wait”, I said. “I have one more question. Glenn had a lot of cameras set up all over the house. Did the police take the cameras or view any video that captured his moment of death”?
“I don't have to answer that question, Mr. Nelsen”, Detective Chin responded.
“I'm not asking whether you have to answer the question, Detective Chin. It's a simple 'yes' or 'no'. Did the police view any video from Glenn's cameras”?
“I don't have to answer that question”, Detective Chin repeated.
“OK, I'm taking that as a 'no'”, I said.
“You have a good day, Mr. Nelsen”, said Detective Chin, ending the call.
* * *
It was the smell and the flies buzzing about the windows that prompted The Candy Apple Man to call authorities one day early in June, 2015. After the Baltimore Fire Department broke out an upstairs window, a fireman went down the stairs, walked past the rotting corpse in the sweltering non-air-conditioned room, and unlocked the front door. Glenn had been dead at least a week.
According to S Erin Presnell, MD, Professor, Co-Director of Medical and Forensic Autopsy Section, Department of Pathology, Medical University of South Carolina College of Medicine, “postmortem changes begin soon after death and progress along a time line…In most circumstances, autolysis and putrefaction occur in tandem. In temperate climatic conditions, they can result in rapid degradation of the tissues. These alterations may eventually produce great distortion of the body after death, hampering the interpretation of the postmortem findings but not ameliorating the value of the autopsy.”1
In other words, decomposition in a body has a negative correlation with the accuracy of an autopsy. The longer the post mortem interval (PMI) between the death and the autopsy, the less reliable a finding of “natural causes” as the cause of death.
A funeral was held on June 5, 2015, in Rosedale, Maryland, for Glenn Michael Swiston Jr. beloved son of Glenn M. Swiston Sr. and Eva Swiston (nee: Benik). Devoted brother of Bethany Berkowitz, Brian and Joshua Swiston.
The June 5 funeral means Glenn actually died sometime in May and spent the last week of May decomposing in his house on N Port St. The daily temperatures in Baltimore for the last week of May, 2015 were well above normal temperatures for that time of year, twice reaching the 90 degree mark. Twice during that week, a light rain fell. There was no air-conditioning in the room in which Glenn's body was found. Glenn's body would have suffered accelerated decomposition.
All the forensic pathologists with medical degrees agree—after a week of decomposition in such circumstances, an autopsy on a human body to determine cause of death faces severe limitations. The emphatic declarations by Detective Chin notwithstanding, Glenn's official cause of death was far from bankable.
Has a towering injustice been allowed to stand? My misgivings concerning Glenn's death have only grown deeper as time has passed. I think it's very possible Brian murdered Glenn, by strangulation would be my guess.2
The hostile dismissiveness of Detective Chin to my queries, and his indifference to a possible miscarriage of justice, was completely uncalled for and extremely unprofessional. He is a black eye for Baltimore's homicide detectives.
I printed out this story and sent it around to daily and weekly papers in the Baltimore area, posted it around online, and sent it to higher-ups in the Baltimore police department. There was no response. In fairness, what would a response even look like? I tried contacting a Wrzesien I found in the Baltimore area, also no response. I wish there were some way to do more. -
2021-07-19 at 2:06 PM UTC in Your best ghost storyA Dead Body on an Empty Street
I handed Brian the rent money and he wrote out a receipt for six hundred dollars and handed it to me. Then he handed me a plastic bag. "These are the smoke detectors", he said.
"Alright". I went back inside, got a step ladder from the basement, and set the ladder up in the living room under the empty plate attached to the ceiling where the previous smoke detector had been. I climbed up and inspected the mount and the electrical wire dangling through the center of the mounting plate.
This was going to be easy. I plugged it in and clicked the unit into place. Halfway back down the ladder a thought struck me. Stopping, I looked back up at the new smoke detector. Why had someone thrown away both the old smoke detectors, the one upstairs and the one down here in the living room? Who does that? Do smoke detectors go bad? Change the batteries, yes, but the whole unit? I'd never heard of that.
I stood there looking up at the white plastic of the detector with the slits cut into it: of course! Smoke detectors are a convenient location for hidden surveillance cameras. Whoever had removed all the other cameras located throughout the house had removed the smoke detectors, too, after the former owner of the house, Brian's brother Glenn, had died in the very room where I was perched halfway up my step ladder.
* * *
I arrived in Baltimore in early September looking for a place to do a short-term rental while my friend Sherman and I explored rehabbing houses in blighted areas for the Vacant Building Rescue League. One day, driving around one of the hundreds of neighborhoods in Baltimore, we saw a guy pushing a grocery store shopping cart rigged up to be a street vending display for various colored candied apples. I hailed him and asked for two.
As he made change for the bill I'd handed him, I asked whether he knew of any places around there for rent. He thought for a moment then said maybe the place next to his uncle's house over on Port Street was available. The guy that used to live there died and I don't think they've rented it out to anyone else.
“We'll check it out”, I said. He gave me the address to a modest row house. The row houses on either side of that house and the house directly across the street were occupied, but the row houses lining the rest of the block were completely vacant. There was plenty of parking.
We got out and knocked on the door. No answer. We knocked on the door to the left. This would be the candied apple seller's uncle's house. Again, no answer. We knocked on the door to the right and a woman answered the door. We asked about the house next to hers and she didn't think anyone was living there. It turned out that the landlord of the house she lived in and the owner of the empty house were the same person. “His name is Brian”, she told us, and gave us his number.
I called the number and spoke to Brian. We arranged to meet and that's how we ended up at 1622 N Port St a few days later waiting on the sidewalk while Brian Swiston unlocked the front door of one of the two houses he had inherited from his late brother. We stepped in and, despite the four month interval, the stench of death was oppressive.
The place was dirty and cluttered with cheap plastic tables, rolls of video cable, dirty dishes, and trash. Underlying the smell of the corpse was the smell of rodents. “He was sitting right there at his computer when they found him”, Brian said, pointing to an empty wall on one side of the living room. “He had been dead a long time. Heart attack”.
“Ah”, I said, “that's rough”.
“Yeah, homicide detectives investigated. No foul play. No drugs. Natural causes”, he said flatly.
We expressed our condolences.
He shrugged, “It happens”.
He showed us around—the basement, upstairs, the main floor. At every turn there were glaring construction failures. The steps to the basement, for example, were constructed out of wall paneling. The floor felt like you were walking on a sponge. Brian repeatedly pointed out the construction flaws, assuring us they were the handiwork of his dead brother and that he, himself, had tried to fix up the house properly, but had been consistently overruled.
When we stepped out the back door and onto the back porch, Brian pointed over to the back yard next door, which was full of brightly painted tubs and brightly painted tables and other accoutrements of a candied apple-making business. “That's Harry's place,” said Brian. “He's a good neighbor. He makes candy apples”.
“That's how we found this place,” I said. “His nephew was selling them on the street. They were really good, in fact.”
“He's the one who called the authorities when the smell got too bad”, Brian said. “They were tight”.
“I know what it's like”, Sherman said as we walked back inside. “I just lost my sister this summer. She was only twenty-four. It can be really hard., you know”, he gestured at all of the dead man's personal effects scattered about, “going through things. If it will make it easier, I can help... you know, make a list...”
“It's OK”, Brian said. “We got everything of value”. He locked the back door and replaced the jamb bar. “My brother was always talking about this collection of coins he had that were so this and that. We had to really look for them. We tore this place apart and finally found them”. He snorted. “They really weren't all that valuable as he tried to make them out to be”.
We walked back through the house and out onto the street. “Well, I'm interested”, I said.
“Really”? He sounded surprised. “The rent is $600 per month”, he said.
“I'll take it”.
As we got in the car, we saw Harry, the Candy Apple Man, a tall thin black man in his seventies, come out of his house at 1620 and begin talking to Brian, gesturing broadly at 1624. He had a distinctive voice that carried far and he was complaining about the trash the residents in 1624 threw into the back alley.
After we had turned the corner, I asked Sherman, “Did all that seem kind of weird to you”?
“Yes, very weird”, he replied. “Very cold”.
* * *
I met Brian with his mother, Eva, to sign the lease and get the keys. Eva produced a lease. I read it through and requested some changes. These were granted and initialed and the lease was signed. I handed over $600 in cash, and Brian wrote out a receipt.
The smell of her son's rotted corpse was still heavy in the house. “I'm sorry to hear about your son, Mrs. Swiston”, I said.
“Yes,” she replied impassively, staring at me.
Brian gave me the keys and they left.
Over the next few days, with Sherman's help, I aired out the house, hauled away the junk, and cleaned. I talked briefly a couple of times with Harry, the Candy Apple Man, and learned that he had, indeed, been fond of Glenn. “He was a good man”, Harry told me. “He used to sit out here on the back porch and we would talk about everything. I miss him, you know what I'm saying? I still can't believe he died. He was only in his forties, and he was healthy. Used to go running around the neighborhood. Jogging. Real athletic, know what I'm saying?”
Harry's nephew, Will, who stayed with Harry when he sold candied apples for him, also spoke well of Glenn, as did everyone in the neighborhood. Glenn was white, as I am, and the neighborhood is almost entirely black, so everyone I met in the neighborhood who knew Glenn assumed I was his brother. “No, no, I never met Glenn,” I would say.
“Ah, Glenn was good people”, was the typical response.
One night about midnight, I was alone in the house with my dog, Buddy, painting the kitchen cabinets. I was standing on a step stool, painting in the farthest top inside corner of the cabinets, straining to reach. My head was inside the cabinet, which was mounted on the common wall with Harry's kitchen.
Suddenly I heard a male voice say, “Hey”! He said it once, clearly and loudly. It was bizarre, because it sounded like the voice was right next to me inside the cabinet. But it was muffled, too, in some way. I pulled my head out of the cabinet. It must have been someone on the back porch, I thought, and looked out the window. There was no one there. Very strange. I looked into the back next door and saw Harry's car was gone. He's still out selling candied apples, I thought, so probably Will is next door in the house. He must have been the person who yelled “hey”.
Still, it was strange, because if the yell had come from next door, Will must have yelled into a glass held up to the wall, or something, for the voice to sound as if it were coming from inside the cabinet while my head was stuck in there painting.
I walked out to the back yard and looked at Harry's house. Everything was dark and quiet. “Will”, I yelled! No answer. I yelled again. Still no answer. I walked out of my back gate into the alley then into Harry's yard and up to the back door and knocked. “Will”, I yelled again! Nothing.
I went back to my house, perplexed.
Now, there are different ways a person yells “hey”. There's the short sharp kind of “hey” you yell if you catch someone stealing your bike. Then there is the longer “hey” you yell if someone is far off in the distance and you are trying to catch their attention.
The “hey” I heard was definitely of the second kind.
I decided the voice had to have been Will's or the voice of someone else next door—it was the only explanation possible—and my straining into the cabinet had played a trick on my ears. I couldn't otherwise account for the undeniable sensation that the voice had come from inside the cabinet just inches from my ear.
Nevertheless, the experience was so vivid and odd that I told Sherman about it the next time he visited. He listened intently and seriously. When I'd finished, I paused. Then I said, “I can't shake the feeling that it was Glenn trying to get my attention”.
Sherman let out a low exclamation and sat back in his chair, never taking his eyes off me. “You are not one to let your imagination run wild”, he said finally. “When it comes to things like this, like the unseen spirit world, or whatever you want to call it, you are the most skeptical person I have ever known”.
“I know”, I said, “and I still can't believe it. But I know what I heard, and I heard that”.
* * *
The mail was beginning to pile up in the mailbox. It was locked, and I hadn't been given a key. I called Brian one afternoon and asked whether he had one. No, he didn't have one, so I forced the box open and retrieved the mail. My new utility bills. Old mail for Glenn. Because there was so much of it, the mail was crammed into the box, so I had to push my fingers all the way to the bottom of the mailbox to pry the crumpled letters up. I had them all up, but there seemed to be one more still at the bottom of the mailbox.
I looked in, and there was a hand-addressed letter there at the bottom, really wedged in. Using my fingernail, I pried it out. It was a personal letter, addressed to Glenn. The return address indicated it was from his mother, postmarked just prior to his death. It had never been opened.
I called Sherman and told him about the letter. “Maybe that explains their coldness and the unnatural lack of grief about Glenn's death”, I conjectured. “Maybe this was the mother seeking forgiveness or something and he never read the letter. One of those classic tragic dead letter stories.”
Even though it was several days before the second month's rent payment was due, I called Brian and told him I'd found a letter that may be important, that it appeared to be from his mother to Glenn, mailed just before Glenn died, but never opened. If he wanted to collect the rent early, I told him, that was cool, in case he wanted to come get the letter right away.
“No, that's alright”, he said. “I know what it is. We mailed him a bunch of letters and when we first heard he was dead we were afraid maybe the letters had made him kill himself. But when we got to the house, they were all still in the mailbox unopened.”
“Oh”, I said, vaguely wondering how Brian had gotten into the mailbox if he didn't have a key.
“I'll be by this weekend for the rent, and I'll get the letter then”, he said.
“OK”, I responded. “By the way, Brian, you said you would be interested in selling this house. What would you ask”?
He thought for a bit. “Well, twenty thousand for 1624. I'll have to think about it on the one you are in”.
* * *
I had repainted the entire interior, save for the very front alcove window area. I was finishing that up one afternoon and was up on the step ladder painting near the ceiling when I happened to glance over at narrow kitchen cabinet awkwardly mounted on the living room wall. It was mounted high enough that the top of it would never be seen by anyone standing on the floor, but from my height on the ladder I could see there was another letter lying there. This envelope was unsealed and had the single word “Glenn” written with a masculine hand on the front of the envelope in black Magic Marker.
Brian's comment about he and his mother being worried the letters that “they” had sent Glenn had caused Glenn to kill himself had taken me aback. I had no compunction about removing the letter from inside the envelope and reading it.
It was a copy of an original, written in a large script and dated 1981—thirty-four years earlier. If Glenn had been in his forties when he died, then he must have been about ten years old when the letter was written. It was five pages long, each page but the first numbered at the top with a Roman numeral.
It read, in its entirety:9/12/81
Saturday, 1 pm
Beautiful afternoon
My Dear Son Glenn,
Today is such a beautiful day and I'm all alone, Daddy is out playing Golf and I feel so good, so warm and loving and I thought today would be a good time to write to you and tell you. “I love you Glenn” You are my joy, you have made life living for me, you and your kids have been a tremendous blessing to me.
I'm dying Glenn and when you read this letter someday, I will have already been gone.. Don't worry about it because I'm gone to Jesus. I have always accepted Him. The thing that you did was to make me aware of how He died & suffered for me so I could be free and have Eternal Life. Oh! how I await the day when I will be in His Kingdom free from worry and strife. Take care of yourself, be confident all the time because God has taken his Son and gave him to all of us so we could be free. I'm so glad you have made Jesus your refuge. God knows how much you suffered in life, how much you gave up.
All my life I lived a life of dreaming. Never living in the present. Never feeling the moment alway thinking of what other's feel about me. Never thinking hey! I'm Agnes I want to love everybody. Love me because I Love You.
Be my Glenn Michael Wrzesien Swiston and be proud that you made me a Christian. You have witnessed to me and made me Jesus's child. You have saved my soul.
I love you so much,
Mom
My legacy to you is Love. Love is so important. Love is the very existence of living. Love everybody even if they reject it, keep loving never give in to hate. Hate and Jealousy will destroy. My favorite poem will always be “If”. (Remember).
Bye Glenn Be good and careful
I Love You
Mom,
* * *
When Brian called to let me know he was coming over, I asked him again if he'd come up with a price for the house. “Not yet”, he said.
When Brian knocked, I opened the door, and he stepped into the house. “Wow”, he said, looking around. I had finished the painting, taken the coverings off the windows, and, with the cleaning, the place really did look better. A lot better.
“I'll be right back”, I said. “Just need to run upstairs to get the letter and the money”.
When I came back down, Brian had walked into the kitchen and was looking around. I motioned to a chair and as he sat down he said, “The only art my brother ever had up on the walls were those, you know, inspirational posters with sayings like 'When the going gets tough, the tough get going', stuff like that. He had them all over the place.”
I handed him the money and the unopened letter. “You know”, I said, “everyone I meet who knew Glenn speaks highly of him. He was well-respected”. Without responding, he opened the letter and read it silently, then put it in his pocket. He counted the money and began writing a receipt. Thinking he hadn't heard me, and that what I'd just said would be something someone would want to hear about their dead brother, I added, “Everybody has nothing but good things to say about Glenn”.
There was a flash of annoyance on Brian's face. “Look, there's one thing you should know about Glenn”, he responded sharply. “He had money issues. He was really bad with money. We had a business like one of those where you bid on the contents of abandoned storage units? Well, if something didn't sell, Glenn would just put it out on a table out front on the sidewalk and let people just come and take the stuff for free”.
He stood up to leave. “About the selling price for this house, I've been thinking. Considering all the work I put, and my brother put, into this place, I'd need to get forty thousand for it”.
“I see”, I said. After he left, I wondered what kind of art Brian had on his walls.
* * *
One afternoon, Sherman and I were out in the alley where Harry was making candied apples. The aroma was sweet and pleasant mixed with the autumn leaves decaying on the ground over which the rats were scampering playfully. The three of us talked over the fence for a long time and the conversation turned to Glenn.
We told Harry about the strange lack of grief on the part of Brian and his mother regarding Glenn's death.
“Glenn and Brian was very different people”, said The Candy Apple Man. “Glenn didn't laugh right away, know what I'm saying? He would listen and laugh when it was funny. He was better people than Brian. Brian laughs too much, know what I'm saying”?
“It's very strange”, I said, thinking of the enigmatic letter I'd found on top of the narrow cabinet. “Did Glenn resemble Brian? I mean, did they look like brothers”?
“I have a picture of him”, said Harry, and he went inside returning with Glenn's business card, which identified him as the owner of an IT company. “He was a computer genius”, said Harry. On the business card was a photo of Glenn, a remarkably handsome young man with a big winning smile. Physically, Brian and Glenn were not obvious brothers.
We told Harry about the two letters. Could Glenn have been adopted or something?
“I had a guy here one time working on the gas line”, Harry answered. “Glenn came home and walked into his house and the guy told me he recognized him. He said he used to do work on a farm up by Rosedale. He said Glenn was just a young boy at the time, high school age, know what I'm saying? He told me that Glenn lived in the barn.”
“Wow”, Sherman said. -
2021-07-18 at 1:46 AM UTC in Programming question: Creating a pseudo radio station out of local music collection
Originally posted by Volcano Vaporizer set to maximum with a bowl full of abv I don’t want to stream anything
This would play files locally
You mean like through your regular player?
when you say "tune through" are you talking about some kind of slider that, as you slide, you can hear snatches of audio files? -
2021-07-14 at 9:29 PM UTC in Why YOU Should Be A Democrat
Originally posted by the man who put it in my hood it costs less money to not arrest people than it does to make all those gay regulations and laws. Just take it off the controlled substance act and then FUCK OFF
The problem with legalizing weed is that our government only knows how to tighten the screws, promulgate new regulations, pass more laws. Every year there are thousands and thousands of new laws and regulations, many of them written by teams of lawyers to be purposely opaque but (these guys are professionals) but containing cleverly disguised money spigots for their employers or Israel.
Our politicians (the cheapest on the planet) play their role. But no one knows how to undo laws. It only works in one direction. Read Maryland's regulations on how to obtain a license to grow weed. It's stuff like:
II(a)(2)(D) In the event applicant has previously obtained authorization as described in Sec. II(a)(2)(C)(iii) for either of the Exceptions provided for in Secs. II(a)(1)(C)(i) or Secs. II(a)(1)(C)(ii) or any other subparagraph excluding this one in Sec. II(a)(1)(D), applicant shall notify in writing the appropriate Commission as described herein and, pending notification of Active Status from the State of Maryland and relevant local oversight bodies, attest and affirm that
(i) no cannabis plant is visible through any street-facing window in any structure in which said plants are grown if that structure is within 100 feet of any route commonly used by pedestrians;
(ii) no cannabis grower etc. etc. etc.
They can't just say, um, you know that law that makes weed illegal? Strike it. -
2021-07-11 at 4:53 PM UTC in Come for the design, stay for the message
Originally posted by vindicktive vinny japanese killed over 30m chineses tho.
I just used the same guy's figures for them all. I started to read his whole methodology. He has like eight books on the subject of all genocides. I got lost in his long explanation of the difference between genocide, mass murder, and democide and said fuck it and just took his figures as they were
I also left out the khmer rouge who killed my brother-in-laws father but didn't feel like redoing it -
2021-07-11 at 4:34 PM UTC in Come for the design, stay for the message
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2021-07-11 at 4:33 PM UTC in How can you spend $3500 on a suit and come out looking like this?
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2021-07-08 at 5:47 AM UTC in Frequently Overlooked Detail That Can Make or Break Your Genocide
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2021-07-08 at 5:46 AM UTC in Frequently Overlooked Detail That Can Make or Break Your Genocide
Originally posted by aldra Bronze Age Pervert > https://twitter.com/bronzeagemantis
I subscribe to his podcast even though I haven't listened to it in a while. talks like Borat about a lot of different topics relating to masculinity, tradition, classical antiquity etc.
Ernst Nolte is a German historian who doesn't directly 'deny' the holocaust but describes the persecution of J'ews as a response to J'ewish targeting of white Christians in the Soviet Union. According to him they shifted the paradigm from state warfare to 'demographic warfare' where instead of one state targeting another, the ethnic or tribal power base in one state empowers their tribe in another state to attack rival groups. It makes state borders secondary to transnational power structures, in this case ethnic ones.
Plus the actual attempted Bolshevik armed coup in Weimer Germany, for which two Judys were hung, and the especially brutal extermination of the Junkers--ethnic German members of the Russian aristocracy--caused a lot of fear in Germany. And Hitler, who fought in WWI, was probably just as indignant as other Germans when they discovered the role Judy played in bringing the US into the war . Does he give any examples of other tribes doing this? The Chinese show tendencies like this as do the Japanese to some extent. Nothing like Judy, though -
2021-07-08 at 5:38 AM UTC in Frequently Overlooked Detail That Can Make or Break Your Genocide
Originally posted by vindicktive vinny i mean why it is being supressed in the west.
the US only start to recognize it recently.
Originally posted by vindicktive vinny i mean why it is being supressed in the west.
the US only start to recognize it recently.
because western media is in the hands of the perpetrators/ makes preparation for the next one thT much easier -
2021-07-07 at 9:53 PM UTC in my 4th of July weekend
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2021-07-07 at 9:51 PM UTC in my 4th of July weekend
Originally posted by Kev i ate ice cream in my air conditioned room and played some vidya games, was hot as hell here and i aint even in phoenix.
One time driving west on the High Road to Taos into Chimayo, NM there was a house that had originally been a mobile home, and they had just started adding rooms until they had a whole regular house built around the original mobile home, which they still used as the main entrance. It was interesting as fuck and the way the highway approached, you looked dead on to the mobile home. I went to college in Santa Fe, and just now I hopped down the road on Google maps to find the house and got all nostalgic for those days, you know. I didn't find the house, but it was something like this:
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2021-07-07 at 9:07 PM UTC in Frequently Overlooked Detail That Can Make or Break Your Genocide
