One of Today's Posts on Quatrains 7 by Kurt Brown, alias Saint Ram Bone, of
Mobile Audit Club
website
http://www.angelfire.com/zine2/democracyordeath/

Segment June 25, 2008:
TORTURE_holocaust_EXPERIMENT_wheel_FAMILY_holocaust_CONCENTRATION_camp_USA_germany_UNKNOWN_place_REALITY

This was a dream? This was a reality? This was a stigma?

I remember someone who I recognized from Childhood who spoke to me from the
altered state or frame of mind. His face saddened and he said, "You do not
remember, you were too young, we were the children of the German holocaust
camp"

The truth was, we could not and can not discern the absolute truth.

I remember talk from the children of the German experiment wheel. But how
could this be as I was growing up with some German children, children as
friends. We had our misgivings and mistakes but we were and are just
children.

They said we never left the concentration camp. I felt them cutting on me
some time but I did not know what it was. They must have done something to
my mind as well. Perhaps I was in the experimental Hell, the worst part of
the experiment wheel, that part where the mind dies and is brought back to
life. But why was I chosen? Why were we chosen? I knew they had performed
experiments and procedures on me, I could tell.

The faces were distorted and the sky turned during the explanation. I felt
like a baby bird at times, a hawk, and I was either dieing or too young to
be born. My movements were feeble and shaking like a sick animal or one
just born.

How could God have forsaken us. We were made to do what they ordered and
did not even know it. Our lives tormented Hells from start to finish,
sometimes the bliss and delusion of being left alone was sheer laughter, a
sort of pain and anguish of someone with an affective disorder. But how
could it be the Germans, I was married to one, but she did not look German,
none of her family did.

The horrors done to me were also done to my children. Their deformities and
abnormalities part of the inner surface of the reality of the experiment
wheel. We were the wheel and we could not move. Then came the awakening,
the end of sorts. The wife who told me she had sent a woman to my home when
I was pushed out of another home. The irony of it, a child already there,
maybe more, just like mine, same in number and count and I dare not mention
inside the experiment wheel.

We were made to do things from a Hellish nightmare, or maybe we did not do
them at all. When the sedation began to wear off, it was obvious we were
led around by the probes of needles. How could God have forsaken us. He
said he would come to save us.

When I thought I traveled far away to see a relative, I was just on the
other side of the experiment wheel. The relative, strange to me, was not
there, but we conversed as in daily conversation, our minds turned to the
silent acknowledgement that all was not right, yet we did not know we were
in the experiment wheel, and I do not know if that relative was even there.

My father tortured and maimed I saw as drunk. He was feeble and ripped to
pieces long ago. I suppose he was my father, and my mother, in the tank of
the dream, was accused of trying to set things up in Israel and I was blamed
for the unmasking of her plan. She told me of the Mexican coming to pave
her driveway, to seal it, visiting twice, after she told him no the first
time. The driveway unpaved, unsealed, in her death less than a year
later. I watched her die this horrible death, and she did not know that we
were all in the experiment wheel. Or was I looking at my mother. They had
cut me horribly. I could feel the pain in my arm often and barely in my
groin. I did not know what they had done to me in reality, I did not want
to know. I wanted to die, one last time, to go home, to never return.

I was more like a bat than a hawk in my mind in the feeble moment of
consciousness but I did not want to be the bat. I wanted to be free of the
shake. Bats always shake.

The man I met who I thought was Jesus put his hand on my back and the pain
was eased. What had they done to my back. Was I delusional. Was I seeing
one of the holocaust camp doctors, and what of the burning. The Jewish girl
said I had been burned. She said they were savages. It was as if I was not
there but I was listening and watching like a bat that no one could see on
the ceiling.

My children, I worried about my children. Time had lost all balance and
swirled close in a continuum, like being in a tunnel or a vaginal canal with
walls of flesh. I thought of my true mother. The wife of God. That is
what I thought of briefly. I thought of serial killers and evil places and
people who had no feeling as I reeled away from them. But where they just
others in the experiment wheel, maybe doctors or inmates and I could not
tell.

My face began to swell. My frown became permanent and aged. Their
government I tried to enter. They said I was a danger. They said I tried
to defend myself and that was against the rules. My arms often flailed and I
could feel myself fighting back but I was admonished for doing so. I wanted
the drugs they were giving me to be administered again. I wanted to
disappear but they held on to me, lifting me up to feel consciousness so
they could determine the effect in the portion of my portion of the
experiment wheel.

I asked God why he had forsaken us. I lost faith in there being a
benevolent God. I turned to scripture, likely remembered and brought out
in the experiment wheel. The Nazis or whoever or whatever they were
ridiculing my typing as if an idiot or retard in a drugged state. I read
the scripture, just like I read the rows of pre-digested numbers in the bank
examinations we feigned. I did not have to write the report, as I babbled
to the end of it. It was Luke 7-49, "The other guests began to say among
themselves, "Who is this who even forgives sins".

I remember the singer PJ Harvey. She reminded me of the little girl they
called Anne Frank. Was she in the book they played to us or was she real.
She was not in the experiment wheel. But she had had a stroke, I could
tell. Perhaps she was a nurse in the psych ward. The government had put me
through hell, in the experiment well of the experiment wheel. I was
injected at the Los Angeles Veterans Administration, led around in chains,
and I likely never left the experiment wheel. I was being punished for
daring to stay alive, daring to be militant in the military, daring to even
exist. God, please make me wake up dead at your side. Do not let me slide
back into the experiment wheel.

I remember the music from the Youtube, the plug and play, as I recessed into
my mind in the experiment. I want a gun just like PJ Harvey.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W4kTMYhY2ds&feature=related

The calls are not returned and I panic. I see Sadam Hussein if he
exists. Uncle Ernie most likely. The Germans always lie. They are likely
not even Germans or humans for that matter. Kill me God please, kill all
of us I pray, if we are suffering in the experiment wheel or to suffer
further. Post haste. Kill all of us. That is the plea from the inner
portion of the experiment wheel. I need to travel but I sit on the hot side
and hope to roast.

This concludes One of Today's Posts on Quatrains 7 by Kurt Brown, alias
Saint Ram Bone, of
Mobile Audit Club
website
http://www.angelfire.com/zine2/democracyordeath/