I returned to First Christian Church two weeks ago after an absence of several months.  This morning, Pastor Chuck Blaisdell told me before the service that I would not be allowed to speak over the open mic when everybody else was invited to share a “moment with God” because I had been “manipulative” of the opportunity the previous two Sundays, but I was allowed to attend for the service.  Last Sunday I shared a word from Jesus Christ which was timely because of the upcoming election: “You can’t believe what I believe and be a Democrat.”  The week before, I shared with them that I had received a word from the Holy Spirit and two and a half years ago I told the city council the city would be destroyed and they didn’t listen and the Waldo Canyon Fire in late June, the worst fire in Colorado history, was a fulfillment of the prophecy.  (Click here)  Immediately prior to the open mic was a big promotion for Ecumenical Social Ministries after which they passed the plate for donations; I followed with my personal testimony to the effect that I had been thrown out of ESM for no reason and was looking forward to a cold winter this year; the pastor reassured us all that he would personally look into the matter.  Beyond that, there was no response to these words of truth until this morning.

Last winter I sent an email to the pastor to introduce myself, indicating what he might expect from me and my ministry.  He replied by email that we had some basic disagreements.  I chose to attend there because the Salvation Army homeless shelter, which ideally opens to all on subfreezing nights, throws us out at 7 a.m. and the soup kitchen serves breakfast after 8:45 on Sunday; the church is located nearby and their 8:15 service is conveniently scheduled to bridge the gap on a cold morning.  Take up your mat and walk.

They call themselves “Disciples of Christ” but I won’t be returning, and here is the reason why.  Before service, when he verbally tied my hands, I said okay, but that it was the word of the Lord.  “No it wasn’t,” he flatly declared.  There is nothing I can say that can’t be contradicted, nothing I can do that cannot be condemned.  But Jesus Christ always has the last word and his prophets are top of the food chain.  During communion toward the end of the service, I received two words, “He will be cut off” and “He rejected the word of the Lord and God has rejected him.”  This is a twelve word message.   I wrote them on a piece of paper for my blog and thought to ask God if I should give it to him.  He said, “You might as well.”  I did so as I left, saying I closed out my Hushmail account–actually they closed it after three weeks of inactivity when I was thrown out of the library for two weeks and had no access to a computer (click here), but Jesus had told me to “get out of Hushmail” anyway.  He asked me this morning if I had received his email of last week and that is the reason I hadn’t, I said.  I also got a word, “Now that the church has closed” which may relate to this incident.

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I was the song of the drunkards.  6091
A bad tree cannot bear good fruit.  You can cut it down and use it for a Christmas tree.  If it bears no fruit, you can decorate it with shiny colored balls.  Fasten it in a lamp stand with lights and tinsel if there is no intrinsic light.  Water it to keep it green and invite the neighbors to see it.  Like moving Pikes Peak one rock at a time, some things are simple but they are not easy.

The deli department at WalMart often has little morsels set out in little microcups for free samples.  Barely worth going out of one’s way for, but I got lost one day and there they were in front of me.  So I took one, a small stack of liverwurst and cheese in tiny little squares.  The clerk confronted me, “Freeloading, is it?”  I replied that I was merely partaking of God’s abundant provision for me, and that he prepares a table before me in the presence of my enemies.  Would he overlook my insubordination?  When I was living under the bridge, a tramp appeared pulling a roller suitcase.  He said his name was Freddie, obviously a mocking reference to Red Skelton’s character, Freddie the Freeloader.  He interrogated us and I never saw him again.

The Springs Rescue Mission had a little wooden bench out back but they took it out because people were sitting on it.  They like to make us white folk stand in line outside in the sun in the usual record high heat until 4:30.  An associated ministry, the Resource Advocate Program, ostensibly puts the homeless in housing; I wouldn’t know.  At dinner at the mission, someone asked Sarah from RAP for a sleeping bag because the flood swept away our camps.  She responded that they didn’t want to give anybody anything that would enable him to live outside.  On the third Thursday in October is the standown for homeless veterans.  On the fourth Thursday, the city sweeps through the camps and steals what was distributed the week before.  Ken Freeman, the ostensible ombudsman for homeless veterans in the city, stated some years ago that no sleeping bags would be available at the stand down because it would promote homelessness.  When confronted by Robert Moran, the pastor of the Street Church, he promised to have them the following year, but never did, according to him.  I have written about a small fraction of the infractions at the shelter, but I can’t understand why a Christian ministry would put decidedly non-Christian people in positions of authority.  Gary was released from Memorial Hospital and returned to the Salvation Army homeless shelter after curfew with paperwork in hand, but they would not allow him in and he returned to the hospital to have his feet removed, I am told.  Colorado Springs has what I call the “Golden Triangle”: the soup kitchen, the homeless shelter and the county jail, but the gold plate is thus tarnished.  The Agency Connections bus shuttled poor people to where they needed to go; some were crippled, some were opposed by the weird weather here in the Springs, some had long distances to go for help because the city covers so much area.  It followed a set course and joined the charitable services together about four times a day.  Suddenly it was eliminated, for budget reasons.  Nothing replaced it.

The city of Colorado Springs followed suit with its unconstitutional war on poverty.  The sine qua non was the passage of the camping ban ordinance in 2010.  The free shuttle was eliminated, which ran up and down Tejon from the park and ride at I-25 to Colorado College every ten minutes.  This amenity was too useful for too many.  And the homeless rode it–I was one of them because I camped under the Nevada bridge by the park and ride.  They had just replaced the old shuttles with expensive new ones and I wonder who profited from that cost-cutting policy decision.  It wasn’t funded by the city anyway, at least not in its entirety.  Or is it the Washington Monument Syndrome?  The restroom in Dorchester Park by the park and ride, which I and other homeless people used–the only toilet in a two mile radius–has been shut down for years and all but two picnic tables and the grill have been removed.  And don’t open a beer unless you like gunboat diplomacy, a show of force from the great white fleet.  In Colorado Springs, drinking is a capital offense punishable by death; ask the drunks who can’t get into the shelter on a cold night and count their fingers.  The solution is to panhandle more money, which is against the law, to get sufficiently snockered to qualify for a police escort to detox.  God forbid they should be too drunk for the shelter and too sober for detox.  After I spent a good deal of time sitting on the bench at the bus terminal with my large bags, it was redesigned with a large security office, heavily armed and ample security staff and numerous large security signs prohibiting such nonactivity, but they offset the cost to the city by raising fares, reducing bus service and removing the service counter, replacing it with a series of route maps on placards.  And caveat emptor: Mountain Metro no longer recognizes damaged bus passes.  Jesus says, “The beast comes in through officious procedures.”  My hope is that we can lock down this whole city by simply living responsibly within our rights.  Ironically, rumor has it that many homeless are relocating to the Springs from Denver because of the draconian tactics there.  Hasn’t anyone in this Christian city ever read Ezekiel 16?  Sodom and Gomorrah were destroyed because of their lack of care for the poor, among other things.  As I type this, the guy at the next computer is making snide remarks about deodorant, or the lack thereof.  The Holy Spirit counters with the word, mustard gas and moon gas.

The Pikes Peak Grill hosted a men’s Bible study on Friday mornings in a ritzy part of town–was it Mountain Shadows?  It was comprised of pompous Fred and 15 or so of his apparently blessed and successful friends from First Presbyterian Church.  Russ and I were the token Lazaruses: we were invited by Suicide Mike McCartney, now deceased, who drove us in one of his BMW 7s because my car was stolen years before when I was falsely arrested and imprisoned.  The wealthier brethren ordered nice breakfasts for themselves.  Finally, the waitress came around to us and graciously encouraged Russ to sit there for the meeting, but soon lost patience.  She repeated my order to me, that I was not allowed on the premises if I couldn’t pay for the privilege.  That’s the last tip I ever get from her:  I never returned, but Russ continued on every week, as Mike offered to buy us an order of toast on subsequent visits.  Let them eat cake.  I told Mike they would be thrown out if they threw me out and the Peak Grill soon went out of business (click here); the Bible study relocated to the Olive Branch downtown, which subsequently closed its doors after 32 years in business (click here for details) so they moved across the street to the Over Easy.  God smuggled me in at the end of a meeting and I asked them to pray that pastors would allow the word of the Lord to go forth in the churches, prompting an agent of the Inquisition to scurry out.

On the subject of Suicide Mike McCartney, now deceased.  He led a Bible study five mornings a week at Restoring Hope Church, which was very handy for us homeless during the winter because there was nowhere else in the city for us to go.  Like Jeff, he drove an expensive car to the homeless meeting and sat there with his laptop computer.  He seemed to have it in for me personally for some reason; other homeless slept there overnight, for example, but I never felt comfortable on the premises, nor was I allowed to sleep overnight, and I know Mike left a note for Jimmy, the “security guard”, singling me out for more abuse and accelerating my departure.  One morning, Mike was teaching and I looked at him in the spirit and received a clear word, “He’s going to have a stroke.”  I repeated the word to him and others, which was my responsibility, leading to more persecution.  Another pearl I threw to them was about the destruction of the city.  The Lord said, “I’m giving you a suicide,” and on July 28 2012, Mike hosed himself with carbon monoxide; rumor had it he and Brenda were separated, but his death came about a month after the Waldo Canyon fire, which clearly validated my prophecy.  He threw me out and God threw him out.  The Holy Spirit said God was going to prove me true and it might hurt some feelings.

I ran into a champion here in the “City of Champions”.  A champion of the Colorado state sport, called “Beat the Pedestrian”.  No one fusses about jaydrivers, but dare to step on a crosswalk and one is trespassing on the personal private property of every motorist in the vicinity.  Early Sunday morning I walked north along Cascade to First Christian Church on the corner of Platte.  How few times may one push the button to ensure the walk signal will come on?  I have yet to find out.  But there was no one on the streets and the little man was already lit up and so I had, I thought, the right of way, looked both ways and stepped into the crosswalk.  A big truck, diesel, I think, roared a wide right turn in front of me and the driver started cursing me, don’t you look? and so on.  I was dutifully obeying the laws of the land, but my best is never good enough.  Americans believe that might makes right, but Christians believe that right makes might.  Americans don’t play fair, and Daddy will take away their toys.  Those who drive irresponsibly seem to gravitate to me.  Perception is reality.  I brought this word to the gang at the erstwhile Restoring Hope Church: Your hatred of me will be your downfall.  Their insolence to the man of God will be punished.  Seems appropriate here, too.

Something similar happened a while back.  It was a cold winter night and I was returning to the shelter to grab a mat for the night.  Again, there was little traffic on the roads…fewer witnesses.  I was walking, as always, south on Tejon and was clear to cross Cimarron. As I proceeded into the crosswalk, a big, shiny new pickup truck, a diesel I am sure, snuck up behind me and made a right turn into me.  Great honk!  I stopped, turned toward the driver, looked him in the eye and raised my arm up over my head.  Jesus said, “Rocket launch!”  The next morning, I was walking south on Tejon again and a big, shiny, red fire engine snuck up on me as I started to cross Colorado, with the light, to make a right turn.  Loud siren, noisy horns and klaxon, flashy Christmas lights.  Carbon copy of the night before.  I ignored it and continued apace across the street.  I wonder how many houses burned down.  Jesus Christ says, “They think they’re above the law.”  I know the fire department is complicit and culpable in these things; they tried to wreck me with an ambulance on Union south of Constitution during rush hour.  Just as I have come to see these judges as nothing more than senior law enforcement officials for the New American  Inquisition, so too have I come to regard the fire department as the provisional wing of the police department.  How appropriate, then, that God should answer by fire, putting them on the front line in the war against Him.  They like to show up in disproportionate numbers at my Bible studies and to marry my girl friends.  Then there are the Cabbies On Patrol (COP); you haven’t lived until you have been swarmed by a fleet of zombie cabbies.  These COPs often outcop the cops in stalking, menacing, lurking and other violations of our rights.  But ultimately, such heroes share one characteristic with the common man: an innate susceptibility to the harmful effects of ionizing radiation.  Interesting graffiti in the stall at the shelter; must have been an angel drew it or someone with a lot of talent:  a big moon in my face and CSFD written below.  The message was clear: they’re asking for it.  (I wrote this before the fire.)  January 2, 2o14 I was sitting in the park and got two words which can only refer to these fires: “Well, now you have three in a row” and “I can tell you exactly where we’re going with this.”  The Lord had previously said, “Let’s not jump to conclusions about where we’re going with all this.”  A camera team came by but they moved on when I gave them the word in this matter.

Hear what the unjust judge says

Restraining orders are nothing but judicial derivatives, loosely related to legal fundamentals.  This option is a contract that gives the buyer the right, but not the obligation, to have someone arrested for no particular reason on or before a certain date.  But options are inherently risky; these investments are not for everyone, and past performance is no guarantee of future results.  You can’t turn a good man into a bad man by jurisimprudence.  My public defenders threatened to adduce evidence against me, but God told me they were lying and I stood my ground.  I asked them if they were working for the DA and they froze.  Jesus said, “Chamber around.”  He said, “Shoot himself in the foot.”   In the courtroom He said, “Cut them to shreds.”  He said, “On the 27th trial for trespassing, they finally won.” I answered it was self explanatory that the plaintiffs with their agenda were the criminals here and they were playing them all for fools but they didn’t know it.  I told justician Michael Feeney point blank the whole thing was a Rodney Dangerfield one-liner: I went to the nursing home to visit my mother; they arrested me for trespassing!  They did, however, promise to drop “mutiny on the high seas” should I plead guilty to a lesser charge.  I told them I don’t negotiate with terrorists and they let me go.  After my exoneration from trespassing God said, “Can the restraining order be far behind?”

I had the opportunity to read John Grisham’s The Innocent Man, which I found compelling given all of this.  If Grisham liked Ron Williamson’s drama, he will love mine.  Ashley, from the nursing home, was the notable horn against me.  There is a big red book in the law library called Bad Faith by Ashley, probably no relation.  Ashley on the stand: “You were trying to force your mother to write you a check!”  Me to court: “Maybe what she meant is that my mother was trying to force me to write her a check.”  Ashley: “You had something in your back pocket!”  I had a checkbook in my pocket at the time.  Me to Ashley: “Is it a crime to have something in my back pocket?”  I turned to Feeney: “Is it a crime to have something in my back pocket?”  Feeney momentarily recused himself, complaining he couldn’t answer because of his workload.  This was ironic because he clearly had too much time on his hands.  See Parkinson’s law.  I told him what he had told me: “That’s your problem.”

I heard a voice in the spirit, “It’s problematic whether justice was done.”  I was never, in any of my many trips to the courtroom, allowed to bring anything with me, let alone something I could use for my defense, like a Bible verse on a scrap of paper.  My accusers appeared against me in the morning, when everyone was fresh and happy; I was kept in a holding cell and fed a slice of baloney and a small, desiccated orange for lunch before judgess Hansen extended to me the privilege of defending myself in the afternoon.  Nor was I ever read my rights at any of my arrests.  My public defender asked Ashley, the only witness against me, “Do you have any personal knowledge of any wrongdoing on Mr. Tone’s part?”  “No.”  That was enough to convince a jury of my peers of my guilt.  I immediately identified the jurors as Eliphaz, Bildad and Zophar and their understudies.

While in jail awaiting trial, I was slapped with a fraudulent restraining order (FRO) by the nursing home.  Jesus said, “Seven counts of first-degree perjury.”   For this, there was a pre-Enlightenment style “hearing” in the Star Chamber, but no trial, no crime, no defense, no witnesses, no evidence, charges, jury nor justice; only me, the plaintiffs and the judge.  Feeney tossed the FRO aside, saying the nursing home couldn’t do that and there was no basis for the FRO and certainly no reason to make it permanent.  The women immediately arose against me: “Crucify him! We need that restraining order!” and he called me back into the courtroom ten days later to reverse himself without explanation in a clear example of double jeopardy.  Who put the bug in his ear?  I heard a voice in the spirit: “We don’t have the resources to handle your case but I’m counting on the fact that it’s double jeopardy.”  I had a vision of a man sitting at a desk.  He was shaking his head, his hand on his forehead, and saying, “This restraining order is unbelievable.”  The Lord added his assessment: “The restraining order is not to be believed.”

When asked, they gave me an illegible copy of the FRO.  The date entered for the “incident” was more than a month after I was actually arrested.  What tactics might they have employed had I actually done something wrong?  But everything made sense when I learned I couldn’t have a gun with an FRO.  (Click here for a reference)  It was all a routine violation of my constitutional rights. This type of legal harassment is gang stalking COINTELPRO boilerplate.  Daniel’s enemies knew he would break the “law” by worshiping the living God and my enemies knew I would break the “law” by visiting my mother.  Starch Amber, from the public defender’s office (Get the justice you deserve), the one who told me the word on the street was that I am crazy, asked me why I didn’t simply request a hearing for a reconsideration of a restraining order.  I asked the obvious question: “How am I supposed to know there is such a thing as reconsiderations of restraining orders?  Did I miss the memo?”  I thought that was their job.  She accused me of getting angry; I answered I was indignant, that there is a difference she wouldn’t know because they didn’t teach her that in law school.  After my release, I walked across town twice a week to visit Mom until she died, anyway.  Fuck their god damn restraining order, and I want my car back, too.  If people stood up for their rights, this whole system would collapse.  Excuse me for spitting.

The Volunteers of America’s Laurel Manor nursing home was testing the fire alarm system one day while I was there.  You’ve been in nursing homes; you know how it is.  All the residents were subjected to these alarms; no precautions were taken to protect them.  A clear case of elder abuse.  This went on for a while after I managed to ask above the racket how much longer this would be taking place.  When I found out, I went to the desk and shouted my best, “This is unacceptable.”  Next thing you know, my presence at the nursing home was unacceptable and punishable by imprisonment.  I was unanimously convicted by a jury of my peers of violating their permanent fraudulent restraining order (VPFRO).  Judgess Karla Hansen asked me: “If I let you go, will you go back to visit your mother?”  “Of course.”  She said, “Then I have no choice but to give you the maximum sentence of one year in jail.”  The fire department again.  This has been a very bad year for wildfires here in Colorado.

When we first put my parents in a nursing home, which has since gone out of business, I went one day to visit and noticed my father’s wedding ring was missing from his finger.  He was inarticulate with dementia, although in a moment which did primogeniture proud he said, “I’m putting you in charge because you know more about it.”  I informed the staff at the desk and was met with the same old stonewall, not a word.  Soon after, I went on a quotidian visit to East Library and the director of the nursing home was sitting there in the coffee shop, obviously wanting to talk to me.  I should have done so and will never know what he had to say.  Then, after they were transferred to the Volunteers of America Laurel Manor nursing home, I was talking to my mother and one of the nurses was standing right there to spy on us as usual and Mom said she wanted me to take care of her wedding and engagement rings for her and took them off her finger and when she tried to give them to her first-born son, the nurse started swatting the heir, I mean air, and would not allow her to pass them on.  I reminded her she was a mere hireling, to no avail.

If my sister were speaking to me, I might ask her if she knows where the wedding rings are.  As it is, I shall ask the Lord of the rings.  She works at Penrose Library and I see her every day.  Mary was there when my father died and I want their deaths investigated when God gives me the leverage to do so.  Even Kay said something which led me to believe there was foul play, but I am out of the loop.  More recently, I stood in line for a sack lunch from Howard one recent Saturday and sat down on the curb to partake.  As I peeled a banana, a well-wisher sat down next to me and pointed out another stranger and said, “Do you know him?  Don’t trust him with anything!  He’d steal the ring off his dead mother’s finger!”  I felt like I was eavesdropping on some weird game of Chinese telephone, party line edition, for the spiritually brain dead.  I wouldn’t mention it but for the gang stalking overtones.  Jesus said, “The devil’s been lying about you big time!”

Early this morning, our little camp chickadee cried out near my tent: “Hee diddit! Hee diddit!”  I remember greeting Holly.  She responded by donning a T-shirt which read “SNITCHES GET STITCHES” and featured a large bore revolver pointed right at me.  Joe told me in May 2017 that she is dying from cancer with a few months to live.

Saturday at 11 a.m., the Street Church pulled up to Antlers Park with their van and I walked over to talk to Robert, the pastor.  As I approached, he cried out, “Here comes trouble!”  Ha, ha.  I quoted to him Elijah’s response to Ahab:

17 When he saw Elijah, he said to him, “Is that you, you troubler of Israel?” 18 “I have not made trouble for Israel,” Elijah replied. “But you and your father’s family have. You have abandoned the Lord’s commands and have followed the Baals. (1 Kings 18 NIV)

Then Sunday morning, I took the long, daily walk from my camp by the sewage plant to the soup kitchen for breakfast.  Beautiful, quiet morning, with very little traffic, foot or otherwise.  I walked up Tejon and crossed Las Vegas and heard one word: “Trouble!”  I turned back to see Bookworm walking on Las Vegas toward Tejon, not that I answer to that name as a rule.  “Whenever I hear that word, I know there is a gang stalker around,” I explained.  He is a nasty, dessicated old drunk who has lived under Tejon bridge for years and hangs out at Dorchester Park by the liquor store and for whatever reason, he didn’t have much else to say as we walked north.  His mind was admittedly elsewhere; we parted at the first ashtray as he took off to hunt snipes.  The first time I remember this sort of thing was some years ago outside King Soopers #53, in the parking lot, when a stranger rolled up and called out “Troublemaker!” and drove off.  Some say I have a persecution complex, but Jesus said, “Why does everybody hate him so much?  The closer you come to perfection, the greater the persecution will be.” 

Jesus said, “This little guy here can tell you what you need to know.”  I seem to have flushed out a duck.  Bookworm and I are nodding acquaintances, but we both kept to ourselves.  The day after I published the preceding paragraph, I exited the library and Bookworm, who was standing by the door with two security guards and CSPD, came up from behind and started physically pushing me around.  I told him to keep his hands to himself.  He said, “I try to be nice; I even hold the door open for you, but…” “I don’t appreciate it!” I finished his sentence for him.  I have often wondered who would be the first Dutch boy to pull his finger out of the dike.  I can say without fear of contradiction that Bookworm never read my blog; the only explanation for his aggressive behavior is that someone snitched.  I mean, there was a leak.  A memorial service will be held today at Dorchester Park. (_click here_)

Mike Draper recently told me a story about his trouble in the Navy as a SEAL.  He was thrown in the brig, he said, for throwing oranges at his commanding officer.  More Mike.  More cowbell.  But, then, I had blogged my dream about throwing that nasty little orange at the wall in the deputies’ office when I was incarcerated at CJC, which was followed by the actual closing of the Minimum Security Ward.  Another hint that another unlikely fan had access to my blog information.

Shelter Shock deals with another close encounter of the weird kind.  Carl tipped his hand, too; you can read about that here.  The Bible requires only two witnesses; I offer you these three.

I walked to the soup kitchen today and a fellow who has caught my suspicion  recently was walking toward me.  I don’t know his name.  This is a busy area; if you’re doing street theater, you aim for the widest possible audience.  When he saw me, he looked intently at his cell phone (they like to show off their cell phones because I don’t have one) and walked directly toward me, angling across the sidewalk in the process.  When we were about to collide, I said, without breaking stride, “Watch where you’re going, guy.”  A few steps later, I heard a loud voice a right behind me: “The word excuse me comes to mind!”  When I brought the word of the Lord at the Street Church open mic about the destruction of America, he followed up with a nonsense “word” to obscure what I had said.  He likes to stand in line behind me at these homeless feeds and gently bump into me, preferably with a dirty plate.  Wickedness from the wicked.  Another example: at Springs of Life Ministries, I told Patricia the pastor that I had Pete pegged as a trouble maker for quite a while.  He never came to the church after that, nor have I seen him since.  He is the one who accosted me during a service at the Mission and shouted out to standers by: “He is a thief and a liar!”  There were two big guys standing with their backs to me facing him who may have been angels.  Though the wicked join hand in hand, they shall not go unpunished.

Shortly after I told the leadership at Springs of Life Ministry about my suspicions regarding Peter–not the security guard at First Presbyterian–as troublemaker, and his public slander against me is not the only indication, Patricia and Tawnja brought a blank, new greeting card to me and told me Peter was in jail and would I like to sign it.  I haven’t seen the card since.  Some years before, a stranger came up to me in WalMart and put a big blank greeting card in my face, saying it was for Tom, the case manager at the shelter who was always throwing me out from my upper bunk onto the street after my two weeks were up, and who had, he said, suffered a heart attack, and would I like to sign it.  I did and he walked away.  Never saw the card again.  Tawnja, the outreach minister, brought in a little plastic container to church and asked if anybody liked seafood salad and I said yes and she gave it to me but she had already eaten all the seafood out.  The coleslaw was okay, though.  At the soup kitchen, seafood is rarely served.  Once they had shell fish and I though “Oh, boy!”  They put a half-scoop of shells on my plate, but the meat was missing.  Another Friday they served up “fish” but all I got was a scoop of bones, fins and scales; they must have had it set aside just for me.  I recently had a vision; a plate was handed to me and the food at the near end was jumping around as if alive.  I saw Jesus go into the kitchen and tell them, “you’re doing more harm than good.”  He also said, “The thing about meat is that it has to be kept frozen.”  One kind old woman put a half scoop of food on my plate and said, “We have to keep you people healthy…I don’t know why!”  Grace Be Unto You, a black church, served us sausages one night and I thought the one they served me from off the top looked dubious but I ate it and it made me very sick.  That was the church where they served me turkey neck bones for Thanksgiving and I have written about God’s judgment against them elsewhere.  Everybody always thinks he’s the first SOB to come along.

Early this morning, May 21, 2012, I awoke to a vision.  I saw Pikes Peak Ave, the small extension which runs up the hill between Antler’s Hilton and the Penrose Library and opens onto Cascade.  Particularly, I saw the ascending sidewalk next to the library as if from the Hilton parking garage.  I got the word of knowledge: (I’m) “not allowed to even walk along the outside of the building.”  So, if I must discontinue my blog and Twitter and such things, you will know the reason; I have no computer of my own.  We have been warned!

At CJC I was in the hole or maximum security, I can’t remember which, Jesus said, “The righteous will be given over, too; it won’t just be the wicked.”  I was attacked by a 211 (bk, or black killer) thug  in the ward who loudly demanded to know if I was in the KKK.  That was the rumor du jour but was a lie nonetheless.  I told him that people should look at the evidence and decide for themselves.  That infuriated him all the more and I saw what looked like a hole open up in the atmosphere behind him and he was pulled back into it before he could attack me.  Then I saw him being bounced around on an inmate’s knees.  Don’t ever think there aren’t angels in jail.  Everyone always thinks he’s the first SOB to come along, but we can do them worse than they can do us.

In a recent dream, I was walking along the street and suddenly I was surrounded by construction equipment which started dumping on me.  I asked the worker, “Don’t you have respect for anybody?” and he replied arrogantly, something about sweeping the streets.  I said, “Well, fuck you!”  We’ll see how that plays out.  Jesus said, “(He) can be every bit as nasty as you.”  When my parents and I were living at Palace and Imperial, there was a time during the routine harassment when they blocked off our apartment building and turned all our water brown.

Matt and Jim had a camp along Shooks Run.  Now that Matt has left town, Jim has moved in to pastor Doug Anderson’s Restoring Hope Church, the one that won’t let me darken their door.  They attended Jeff’s weekly Bible study at Pikes Perk.  Jim is a surly cuss who once was a top grocery manager at King Soopers store #53 where I also worked back in 1990.  I said a little prayer for Jim when he came to Jeff’s Bible study and Matt told me later he was very offended, cursing God.  Some people don’t seem to understand that church is for Christians; I think he came for the free coffee.  Matt always called me “the horned one” and Chris Twitch was “the excellent one”.  He often expressed an interest in my food stamps and their ability to buy food for him and his friends who spent prodigious amounts on alcohol and associated pastimes.  In fact, I just passed Jim at the ATM before coming here.  Matt hung around waiting for me until I told him I wasn’t going to 7-Eleven and then he suddenly had something else to do.  We talked about the Bible.  He was a homeless vet and wore camo, for old times sake, and a black beret that said, RECON.  He was sniper.  He was also a Phi Beta Kappa level student and a member of Mensa and worked as an engineer at Los Alamos but had some difficulty reading Scripture.  Maybe that was camoflage, too.  You meet the most interesting people on the street.  At the Mission one evening, he sat across from me and asked  if a bully ever beat me up and stole my lunch money and I said, “Not till you came along.”  He shrugged and said, “It’s my job.”

I drove my parents to a senior lunch at a community center in a quiet, residential neighborhood.  The building was located in a park.  They went in and I parked the car and waited for them.  Some activity behind me caught my attention so I put my thick glasses on and watched in the rear view mirror.  The impressive big, new, shiny, black pickup truck with black windows, which was parked across the street directly ahead, rolled away, which only goes to show that it’s not polite to stare.  I recently got this word in the spirit: If you’re spying on me, God will put your eyes out.

11 Then they struck the men who were at the door of the house, young and old, with blindness so that they could not find the door. (Gen 19 NIV)

23 May their eyes be darkened so they cannot see,
and their backs be bent forever.  (Psalm 69 NIV)

11 Now the hand of the Lord is against you. You are going to be blind for a time, not even able to see the light of the sun.  (Acts 13 NIV)

I was sitting downtown in Akacia Park and a skinny young dude strutted by in black Gothic attire and brightly colored Mohawk.  The Lord said, “Servants rule.”  If servants rule, what must rulers do?  I was praying at the World Prayer Center and there was a plastic ruler on the table.  I picked it up and Jesus said, “We believe there’s a ruler in our king.”   He said, “Your reign of fear will come to pass.”

10 So do not fear, for I am with you;
do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you;
I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

11 “All who rage against you
will surely be ashamed and disgraced;
those who oppose you
will be as nothing and perish.
12 Though you search for your enemies,
you will not find them.
Those who wage war against you
will be as nothing at all.
13 For I am the Lord your God
who takes hold of your right hand
and says to you, Do not fear;
I will help you.
14 Do not be afraid, you worm Jacob,
little Israel, do not fear,
for I myself will help you,” declares the Lord,
your Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel.
15 “See, I will make you into a threshing sledge,
new and sharp, with many teeth.
You will thresh the mountains and crush them,
and reduce the hills to chaff.
16 You will winnow them, the wind will pick them up,
and a gale will blow them away.
But you will rejoice in the Lord
and glory in the Holy One of Israel.

 

Click here to read this important post.

Make me not the scorn of fools. They that sit in the gate speak against me; and I was the song of the drunkards.
But now they that are younger than I have me in derision, whose fathers I would have disdained to have set with the dogs of my flock. Job 30:1

The closer you come to perfection, the greater the persecution will be. –Jesus Christ
Have mercy upon us, O Lord, have mrcy upon us, for we have had more than enough of contempt. Our soul has had more than enough of the scorn of those who are at ease, of the contempt of the proud. Psalm 123:3,4

Moving mountains is child’s play. The city council was debating the fate of homeless campers along the creek and God led me to say a few words. Click here. The chamber was SRO and the media were lined up along the wall with their cameras rolling and recorders calibrated. This large turnout of concerned citizens was due to the fact that council was also debating legalization of marijuana. I identified myself as an apostle of Jesus Christ and told them that God said the ill will of my neighbors was the worst he ever saw, linking them in with Sodom and Jerusalem*, and that the city would be completely and utterly destroyed because of the wickedness of those who dwell therein. I looked at the mayor and said I had two words right from the throne itself and he set his face in a mask and the camping ban ordinance was voted in 8-1. Mayor Rivera was not the dissenting vote, Tom Gallagher was. Tom is no longer a councilman having lost the next election. Council president Scott Hente expressed his fear that his house was lost in the Waldo Canyon Fire, but I will leave the interpretation, if any, to the imagination of the reader. From the least to the greatest, all have responded with the Springs Stonewall. Maybe they think I’m nuts. John 10:20.

Whenever I comment on an article at http://www.Gazette.com, I make it clear I am a prophet and am speaking for the Lord. But I am always unanimously condemned it seems, perhaps because I use P. D. Files for a screen name so they want to punish me for being a pedophile. They make a man an offender for a word. But as long as the police continue molesting the children of God with impunity, I will use the moniker. When I was incarcerated at the Criminal Justice Center (or, Cookie Cutter Justice) for visiting my mother, Jesus said, I don’t recognize the sheriff’s authority. Nor do I. There are too many posse-bilities. He said I was kidnapped by local regulars. They’re the enemy. They denied you your rights. What do you owe them? You don’t owe them anything. You just sit there and let them come and get you. How can you lose? Time is vengeance. They’ll be eating their own shit, won’t they?

  • When I was in 24 hour solitary lockdown in the “hole”, he said, Believe it or not, there are some things humans won’t eat.
  • When I was in 24 hour solitary lockdown in the psych ward from Christmas Eve until New Year’s Day for exercising my Fifth Amendment right to remain silent, he said, What they’re doing is against the law.
  • When I was in 24 hour solitary lockdown in administrative segregation, he said, Why are David’s glasses in your drawer?
  • When I was in isolation in the “cooler”, he said, They aren’t listening to you.
  • When I was in medical isolation, he said, I have witnesses. Every time I was arrested, they wanted to give me a TB shot; I was never at large long enough to contract it. That’s four shots in all. Consumption be done about it?
  • When I was in maximum security, where I spent most of my time, he said, Ask them to prove it.
  • When I was in general population, he said, They’re lying to you.
  • When I was face down on the floor in my birthday suit during the shakedown, he said, Happy birthday!
  • I heard a voice in the spirit: I had the audacity to think everybody in here was guilty. I replied, You are a fool.
  • When I was bound and dragged into court, he said, I can’t resist.
  • When we approached the courthouse, he said, He who believes in me will never be put to shame.
  • When my car was in impound, he told them, You need a search warrant to look in there.
  • When the police told me I would get what I wanted if I ever returned to the nursing home, he said, The beast comes in through officious procedures.
  • When the nursing home filed a restraining order, he said, Seven counts of first-degree perjury.
  • When the nursing home took me to trial for trespassing, he said, Cut them to shreds.
  • When the nursing home’s trespassing case was thrown out because I insisted on justice, he said, Can the restraining order be far behind?
  • Jesus said, All you have to do is pull the trigger. I fired off a few rounds in the spirit and he said, Where’s the other gun?
  • Jesus said, This is what I think of you, gentlemen! I heard them in the spirit: It had to be him, but how did he do it? how can we prove it? I’m in a lot of shit because of him. He also said CJC would owe me a lot of money.
  • When they gave me an apple, he said, systolic, diastolic and applestolic.

But The jury is still out. I told Judgess Karla Hansen that, as an ambassador of Jesus Christ, I have diplomatic immunity, implying that her persecution of me was an act of war against the kingdom of God. She is the one I threatened with calling my mother on Mother’s Day in a ransom-type note composed of pasted newspaper words. Talk about a hornet’s nest. In the movie The Lincoln Lawyer, defense attorney Haller must overcome difficulties in proving a defendant’s innocence. He says, The most scary client is the innocent man. All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to the judge of the quick and the dead. Who shall lay anything to the charge of God’s elect? He said, Because you have been a companion in tribulation and bonds, I will give you the desires of your heart. Here is exhibit A: an hour after I spliced in this paragraph, I found this article featured on Gazette.com about a pedophile CSPD officer. (Here’s another.) Jesus said, What’s normal is weird. How weird, then, is the weird?

Jesus said, “The assassins will be assassinated.” And, “I’m throwing you to the wolves.” I was always singled out for abuse at CJC. In maximum security, or Charlie, I was placed in a cell with a convicted murderer. The man of God was given the upper bunk as usual, but I don’t think it was intended as a courtesy. I was upper bunk restricted, you might say, until I reminded the deputies that they had a policy to put older inmates in the bottom bunks; apparently they forgot. As it turned out, it gave me the high ground, in more ways than one, over my tormenter. The young punk–now this is not the same one who told me everything I wanted to know about making meth–bragged to me about how a schoolmate had insulted a girl so he beat him senseless with a bat and now he sucks his thumb and wears a diaper. He went on and on as he paced back and forth about how he was going to do this to me and he was going to do that to me. I had perfect peace, of course, as the Bible promises, but I was intrigued to see how the Lord would give me the victory. In the end, I had a vision. I ran him through with a sword. He fell to his knees in shock, which I have been told is a “death fall”, with what looked like rapture as much as shock on his face and I said, “That’s more like it, don’t you think?” Next thing you know, he was pacing back and forth rubbing his stomach. “Tummy ache?” I asked. He screwed up his face in affirmation. Pack it up! They took him out and I never saw him again.

Pedophilia was the same excuse my expulsion from First Presbyterian Church was predicated upon. They threw me out immediately after I was thrown out of the Express Inn, around Easter 2010. Maybe it’s nothing. But then, Jesus told me “there are no coincidences” and “they’re all connected; all you have to do is prove it.” He told us we would be slandered in every possible way. I challenge my enemies to prove their accusations. Everything in its time. I prayed there every day in the Upper Room. I was the only person who ever showed up who didn’t seem to have an ulterior motive. I was standing at the elevator during holy week when Peter at the pearly gate, the ad hoc security guard, jumped in front of me and told me I was not allowed to go up there because there were children on that floor! Some people don’t appear to know the difference between doing their job and doing what they’re told, but eventually they will have to earn their pay. I asked the pastor, Jim Singleton, about it later and he affirmed his concern for the children and excommunicated me from Daddy’s house. [11] “Blessed are you when others revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account.” (Matthew 5:11 ESV) Jesus says, People will go to any length to make the man of God look like a fool. They threatened to have me arrested for praying in their church. I mean, where do they get this stuff? I told Peter, maybe God can find a reason to throw the pastor out of the church; he said, “You never know.” The church then split and poor Pastor Singleton resigned from the ministry and hired on with Gordon Conwell Theological Seminary where he teaches others how to be pastors just like him.

2012 – In April 2012, First Pres voted to leave the Presbyterian Church USA in favor of a new denomination, the Evangelical Covenant Order of Presbyterians (ECO).

2012 – On May 6, 2012 Graham Baird offered a candidate sermon and was called by the congregation to serve as the new Senior Pastor at First Pres. He arrived in July of 2012, and a few weeks later Jim and Sara Singleton moved on after more than seven years of faithful service and ministry at First Pres.

June 23, 2012 the Waldo Canyon Fire started.

A year later, Peter’s legs and hip were crushed under an 800 pound gate. 8 And he smote them hip and thigh with a great slaughter (Judges 15)

	I have seen the fool taking root,
		but suddenly I cursed his dwelling.
	His children are far from safety;
		they are crushed in the gate,
		and there is no one to deliver them.

(Job 5:3-4 ESV)

Maybe he’s a pedophile–a real one. I recently told Michael (see below), “Not everybody sucks up to the government” and his automatic reply was, “Look at all the charges they brought against you!” How would he know?

While I am updating the blog, I want to point out that during Holy Week 2013, what remained of Castor Pooper’s Abundant Hope Nazarene Church was razed. Nothing left but a vacant lot, a pit in the dirt and a scooper. I was also told that the Express Inn, now a desolate ruin, is being demolished three years after I was ignominiously thrown out. I told them at the time I would ask God to look on their sins to requite.

express inn 300x182-2beac81cd71d4f75d308d32b64ce7426

Gazette photo

The late Express Inn, Gateway to Colorado Springs

The Dave and HAL show

A prophet was recently told, “The apostolic which is below you will soon be on top of you.” Back in the late ’90’s, they ganged up on me at Springs Harvest Fellowship. Jesus said, “The Harvest is going to be over; I’m out of that game.” Pastor Dutch Sheets claims to be an apostle himself. Every Tuesday at noon they had a prayer meeting. There were three of us who showed up regularly: Bruce Armstrong, who was the head of the men’s ministry and prayer, myself, and a tall, lanky stranger with little to say despite his regular attendance. Everyone else lost interest. Ominously, the stranger’s name was Hal, as in HAL 9000.

He said he was retired from the Night Vision and Electro-Optics Laboratory in Ft. Belvoir where he had worked as a physicist. Just like me! I was incredulous. What a small world. I plied him with questions about 6.1 , 6.2 and 6.5 and about the Cooler Lab project where the temperature of far infrared (FIR) detectors was being lowered. I said, “Those weapons can be used against the righteous.” He replied, “Smart weapons.” They were all lined up against me when I said, “You can’t throw me out of this church.” Bruce said, “Why not?” “Because I was never in it.” Never mind that I had attended for years before any of them arrived. The undercurrent of hostility built up and soon I was told to leave the building or I would be arrested. They always want the Romans to do their dirty work. I said, “You will know that a prophet has been among you,” and left. I took the prophetic mantle with me; it was hanging by the door. Bruce subsequently got throat cancer. The church relocated and changed its name. When the rumblings of trouble started, I read to them Luke 6:22, similar to the above in Matthew:

22 Blessed are you when people hate you,
when they exclude you and insult you
and reject your name as evil,
because of the Son of Man.

23 “Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, because great is your reward in heaven. For that is how their ancestors treated the prophets. (Luke 6 NIV)

They threw me out on Leap Day.

I started attending Crossroads Church because it was near my camp. Pastor Bob Goad. In the guest book, I listed my home church as “the church of the firstborn whose names are written in heaven.” (Heb 12:23) It didn’t take long to discern a desire among the few members to put me in my place. Perhaps my worship was too intense. One of them asked me if I had a place to stash my stuff and I said no, but he was just teasing. A missionary to Nepal and his wife were visiting and they wanted me to give them my two new pairs of size-8 Birkenstocks which my heavenly Father had blessed me with at the Springs Rescue Mission. When they discerned I was not profitable to the ministry, I was further marginalized. Then it was the personal history registration form which suddenly had to be completed and submitted by all in attendance for membership. It was optional, but no one could take part in the ministry, especially to children, unless he complied. I figured the cost of membership in the state church exceeded the benefit and left. I wonder if they still require the form as a prerequisite now that I am gone.

Memorial Health Care System has a mission statement which is crystalized in the form of a sculpture in the lobby. First thing you see upon entering the hospital is Jesus Christ nailed to the wall. A crucifix without a cross. Are they holding him up or letting him down? Put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ may be equivocal to some, but many forget that he can put us on, too. As I wrote in my poem, Was the Lord Jesus Christ putting me on? The Bible calls it, “crucifying Christ afresh.” Reminds me of a word of wisdom from the Holy Spirit: Jesus didn’t pay for his cross. Memorial is owned by the city of Colorado Springs and provides indigent care. Reminded me of Dad strapped down in intensive care, fighting for his life, chest cut open, begging me to save him. Reminds me of the Scripture, how men will seek death and not find it, shall desire to die and death shall flee from them. But the real Jesus is not there; he’s on the throne and Memorial may be the biggest crisis the city has faced. They’re desperately trying to sell the hospital because of the unfunded liability for pensions, estimated recently at about a quarter billion dollars. Everybody wants the assets but nobody wants the liabilities. You mess with the man of God, the man of God will mess with you. (Correction: I think it is actually Penrose Hospital that has the statue and where dad was operated on.)

It was Holiday on Ice when I visited my mother at the Volunteers of America Laurel Manor nursing home. Not that they were glad to see me. When I walked into the dining room, the staff swarmed in to protect the vulnerable geriatrics from the dangerous criminally insane desperado. Wheelchairs twirled like bumper cars as the serenity of the victims was replaced by evacuation procedures. They had to make me look bad in order to implement their COINTELPRO strategy to criminalize me. They repeated the tactic with perjury in the courtroom, the fraudulent restraining order (FRO) and the false arrest for trespassing. The police told me if I ever came back, I would get what I wanted. [Though] hand [join] in hand, the wicked shall not be unpunished: but the seed of the righteous shall be delivered. (Prov 11:21) I have often said that if we violate the New Covenant, we default to the Old. It’s the Law of Christ or the Law of Moses, which is a schoolmaster to lead us to Christ. Deuteronomy 19:19 and Proverbs 19:9 describe the punishment for those who violate the Ninth Commandment:

16 If a malicious witness takes the stand to accuse someone of a crime, 17 the two people involved in the dispute must stand in the presence of the Lord before the priests and the judges who are in office at the time. 18 The judges must make a thorough investigation, and if the witness proves to be a liar, giving false testimony against a fellow Israelite, 19 then do to the false witness as that witness intended to do to the other party. You must purge the evil from among you. 20 The rest of the people will hear of this and be afraid, and never again will such an evil thing be done among you. 21 Show no pity: life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot. (Deut 19 NIV)

9 A false witness will not go unpunished,
and whoever pours out lies will perish. (Prov 19 NIV)

Michael chums around with me when his schedule permits, but he’s basically a late middle-age man of mystery. Professional rugby player in South Africa. Bush pilot. Wife in Bogotá. International raconteur. Houses in Aspen and the Broadmoor. Wealthy construction contractor. Successful commodities trader. Influential connections. Snipe hunter and soup kitchen connoisseur. We met about five years ago. We talk a lot about religion but he thinks I’m crazy because I hear from God. His gospel is a three-point sermon in beastly boilerplate: 1. John was not written by John. 2. Daniel never existed. 3. God is willing that none should perish. A nonstarter for Bible study. Yesterday, he told me I was under arrest for impersonating a human being. Today he gave me a XXL T-shirt in felony orange. The Lord said, The devil is a cheapskate. About him. When he called me a spy, I said, Satan has spies, why shouldn’t God? Ursula Major, a fat-ass, loudmouth bitch, sat down across the table. She spread her legs so I couldn’t join them and caught herself up on his email address: gmanshort@xxxxxxx. Because, he explained, he once bred German short-hair terriers. Right.

D-cubed says “Mikey” is pretentious and suffers from a brain lesion on his right temporal lobe. Mikey says D-cubed suffers from BPD. I call him “D-cubed” because he obviously suffers from acute Disorder Diagnosis Disorder. I can see him thumbing through the DSM to find that one. He would call me “Factoid” because he prefers an understanding of reality to factoids about fancy. I got him to concede that there are things which our five senses cannot detect, but he would not admit that God was one of them and insists that anyone who hears voices is delusional. He himself is not delusional; he knows God is but a figment of his imagination. But his insults are lubricated with a hearty laugh. His field of expertise is “cognitive neuroscience”, no touchy-feely clinical stuff for him. It’s hard science and sounds best if said with an air, which I am teaching him to do. I found him a nice new butterfly net at the mission. When I first met him, his favorite specimen had Oppositional Defiant Disorder. Now that the slanderer has reemerged from his studies to join me, Mikey and Bob Hale at the soup kitchen, it’s Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and schizophrenia and high-functioning and anal retentive and ADHD and frequent urination. Like Data’s evil twin in Star Trek: First Contact, his cognitive and communication subroutines have been activated. I asked him how he developed his immunity to delusional thinking; he said, “By talking to you!” Some don’t suffer from insanity; they enjoy every minute of it.

On hot summer days I sometimes doze off in the library, which is against the law, so I visit Akacia Park. There is little shade to sit and relax in Colorado Springs; people have houses for that. I sat on the planter wall by the Uncle Wilbur fountain. I turned my head back only to see a fat dumpy scold, let’s call her Marcia Garcia, with her hand on her hip in my face.
“What are you looking at?” she barked. “What are you looking at? Are you looking at those children?”
“Who are you?” I asked.
“I’ve been watching you! I’ve been watching you for the last couple of days. There’s a police officer right over there.” Where else would he be?
I said, “Call him over,” because I wanted her arrested for stalking and harassment and felony menacing and criminal mischief and indecent exposure.
At that, she feigned repentance and tendered a mock apology. She said, “I just heard some things.” That was the salient point.
She asked if I found a cool spot and I said I had nothing more to say. She said, “Fair enough” and melted into the crowd. She has since taken to carrying a baseball bat.
I prayed, “Stick her and stick her good.” I know it will be answered; there is a right way and a wrong way to address the king.

IMG_0040

Akacia Park Visitor Hub

Akacia Park is where an “artist” was selling his “art” by the fountain. The Uncle Wilbur phallic fountain is an artistic monstrosity itself; the dog runs around the pole and pisses in the tuba which sprays all over everyone. But it gives the city an excuse to panhandle for donations every year. A muslim woman dressed all in black from head to foot knelt down and bowed to the ground and prayed to it, so I guess it’s good for something. I said, Nobody would buy that art except out of pity. He must have overheard me, because he immediately attacked me. I don’t think I got your name! and so on. I sat on a bench and he sat beside me. I asked him if he were a gang stalker, because, I said, he fit the profile. Jesus says, Inferior men judge by their own standards. I never saw him again, or his so-called art, so the city owes me a debt of gratitude.

God led me by a vision to move to Dorchester Park in June 2007 after the Church of the Lord of Glory stole everything I had and threw me out on the street with nothing. I camped there for a few weeks until the welcome wagon surrounded me early one morning and threw me out and I moved under the bridge. When they threw me out of Garden of the Gods one night three years earlier when I was sleeping in my car, Jesus said, It’s not too smart, throwing a hunter out of the park. I’m sure the same applies here. A busybody arrived one night to crash the housewarming party. Squatting by the bridge, he demanded to know who was under there. He said a young girl had been violently raped and he had good reason to be there to punish the guilty pervert. I doubted the veracity of his story, for some reason. It’s not my first time around the block. There was no girl and no crime of any type; it was merely a ruse and a pretext, an excuse to violently rape the man of God. Jesus said: The unfortunate thing is that you chose to violate the man of God. In such an instance, I shall show, even a Dake Study Bible cannot cover your ass. But, some men will do anything to provoke the Almighty to wrath. He angrily warned me that he had many agents all over the place out here. I yawned and sat up and said, So does the Lord. That stumped him. He left after a moment of silence and I went back to sleep. The wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of God. James 1:20

Never a penny, always ascent

This morning I sat in America the Beautiful park and ate a salad and drank some berry juice and read some scriptures. I was on a bench in a remote location at the end of a cul-de-sac. The gang stalkers started coming in with their ubiquitous U-turns. I didn’t keep track, but an old lady came in with her headlights on and parked some twenty feet away, got out with two big dogs and walked by my bench and turned around and walked back by the bench, giving the dogs a second chance to sniff me out. Not a word. A police car with a P(E)RP license plate followed her in and turned around and exited. A couple came in with two other big dogs and walked across in front of me and did a U-turn and walked back across. There were the usual bicyclists and the red truck which parked at the entrance to the road which was also followed by a police car. Another police car passed on Cimarron a hundred yards away. An unmarked police car swarmed in from the trail, across the field and out onto Cimarron. HSS security made a cameo appearance on the trail in unison with the We Fix Things truck. One pig made an exaggerated gesture as he drove by in his high-powered cruiser as if to say, “What stinks in here?” But if the wicked won’t let me wash, can I be blamed for smelling nasty? Probably three or four other vehicles came in for the turn around within a half hour period. But the biggest coincidence of all is that there are so many coincidences, especially since Jesus told me There are no coincidences. D-cubed showed up as usual to remind me again that there are government programs available to help people like me get off the street and into the asylum. I mean, system.

Take out the trash

My name is Fear of God. I am a prophet of the Most High and apostle of Jesus Christ. Think of me as a counterinsurgency specialist. I am sent to prophesy final judgment and the end of the world. We are working in tandem to selectively destroy the city. If we don’t get satisfaction, Colorado Springs is doomed. But don’t believe me. Jesus Christ said, The city will be completely and utterly destroyed because of the wickedness of those who dwell therein. Twenty percent will survive the initial explosion. Why? the ill will of my neighbors is the “worst I ever saw.” Have you seen Mike’s radiation burns lately? I have instructions to devour CSPD. Click here. [9] Only do not rebel against the LORD. And do not fear the people of the land, for they are bread for us. Their protection is removed from them, and the LORD is with us; do not fear them.” (Numbers 14:9 ESV) Let’s see how long it takes them to figure it out.

5 Let his faithful people rejoice in this honor
and sing for joy on their beds.

6 May the praise of God be in their mouths
and a double-edged sword in their hands,
7 to inflict vengeance on the nations
and punishment on the peoples,
8 to bind their kings with fetters,
their nobles with shackles of iron,
9 to carry out the sentence written against them—
this is the glory of all his faithful people.

Praise the Lord. (Psalm 149 NIV)

4 The Lord works out everything to its proper end—
even the wicked for a day of disaster. (Prov 16 NIV)

21 Evil will slay the wicked;
the foes of the righteous will be condemned.
22 The Lord will rescue his servants;
no one who takes refuge in him will be condemned. (Psalm 34 NIV)

* In Acts 4, Peter discusses the pending destruction of Jerusalem which was prophesied by Jesus and the prophets. In verse 27, he describes what happened and in verse 28, why it happened.

27 Indeed Herod and Pontius Pilate met together with the Gentiles and the people of Israel in this city to conspire against your holy servant Jesus, whom you anointed. 28 They did what your power and will had decided beforehand should happen. (Acts 4 NIV)

The story of Sodom can be found in Genesis 19.

4 Before they had gone to bed, all the men from every part of the city of Sodom—both young and old—surrounded the house. 5 They called to Lot, “Where are the men who came to you tonight? Bring them out to us so that we can have sex with them.” 6 Lot went outside to meet them and shut the door behind him 7 and said, “No, my friends. Don’t do this wicked thing.” (Genesis 19 NIV)