Rev Dr Jude

Witchcraft comments from past haunt Christine O’Donnell

Dear Online Friends,
September 18, 2010, 2:52 pm
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I have a friend who has been making a million dollars a year doing this before when they were just travel!

You may know that I’ve been investigating opportunities to make money on the internet for some time now. Most of the networkmarketing schemes seemed to be just that; me selling you an opportunity to sell your friends this thing that is nothing but a scheme. I could not get behind any of them….. until Zamzuu!

I am now the proud owner of my own Revolutionary, multi-million $$$$$$$ website!
In the last 8 years, E commerce as been a real “game-changer”! 85% of people are now making their travel plans, including airfare, hotel and car, and shopping for groceries, business supplies, tools, clothes, jewelry, insurance, books, art, concert tickets, flowers, etc., all online!
Welcome to Thomas Creek!
At my new shopping mall you get cash back on purchases you are already making at over 600 of the same stores!
Check it out!

But why stop there! I am a broker; which means I now have
a license to give YOU a website for FREE! Yes! FREE for LIFE !!! Earn 30% of the commissions on any travel booked on YOUR site and any online shopping done through YOUR site at over 600 major chains, includingWal-mart, Target, Best Buy, Home Depot, Macy’s, Barnes & Nobles, etc!!!!
To get your own free shopping mall online go to:

If you really want to generate a substantial income, there is an opportunity for you to be able to give away an unlimited amount of websites to help the people you know!
To buy a broker license, go to:

I hope you, my online friends, decide to join me in this exciting new business opportunity and the future of shopping!
Love, Jude
Rev.Dr.Jude Arnold

Take Action: Protect America’s Arctic
September 14, 2010, 9:31 pm
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Take Action: Protect America’s Arctic.

Birthday Message from Leonard Peltier
September 14, 2010, 12:15 pm
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September 6, 2010

Sisters, brothers, friends and supporters,

I wish I could sit across the table from each of you right now. We’d share a meal and reflect on changes in this world over these 35 or so years. Yes, I pay attention to things on the outside (as much as possible). I know the world is in turmoil and I ache for the Native people who languish in utter poverty on reservations and in inner cities across America.

As a young man, all I wanted to do was make a positive difference in the People’s lives. I’ll turn 66 years old next week and I still want that. It’s difficult to have an impact in my current circumstances, though. That’s a constant source of frustration for me. On the outside, given the chance to roll up my sleeves once again, I suspect I’d still be somewhat frustrated. All that must be done is more than any one person can accomplish. I’d still like the opportunity to do my part.

Thinking back to those days on Pine Ridge, what I remember is the funerals. There were so many funerals… So many families lost loved ones.

There was a powerful force at work on the reservation back then, one with a single purpose—to stamp out the last resistance of the Lakota people.

We (the Oglala traditionals and members of the American Indian Movement) stood up because we were trying to defend our People. It was the right thing to do. We had—have—the right to survive.

The land was being stolen, too… used for mining mostly. No thought was given to the disposal of toxic waste. The rivers were full of poisons. Not much has changed, I hear.

In those days, though, the reservation was torn apart by a tribal dispute and the federal government armed one group against another. The result was a long line of tragedies for the People of Pine Ridge… and for the People who were there that day in June 1975.

I honestly understand the pain and anguish suffered by all concerned and I have been part of that suffering.

I have watched people lie on the witness stand countless times and felt the doors closing on me.

I have heard judges admonish prosecutors for allowing false evidence in and, in some cases, for participating in the falsification itself.

The government hid evidence, too.

Or manufactured it. Literally.

The courts say none of this is even in dispute anymore. So I wonder, if the American standard of justice is still “beyond a reasonable doubt,” why am I still here?

Some people have had their convictions overturned because of one constitutional violation. The number of constitutional violations in my case is staggering. Yet, I continue to wait here for the same justice to be applied for me.

I hope that someday someone can put it all on the table and show the enormity of the railroading I have been victimized by.

Last year, as you know, my parole was denied. That was a disappointment, but I am not defeated. My fight for freedom—for my People and myself—is not over. I am a pipe carrier and a Sundancer. Abandoning The Struggle is not—never will be—a consideration.

I am an Indian man and proud of it. I love my People and culture and spiritual beliefs. My enemies like to suggest otherwise and seek to rob me of all dignity. They won’t succeed.

When I look back over all the years, I remember all the good people who have stood up for me, for a day or a decade. Of course, many have stayed with me all along the way. I think of the hundreds of thousands of people around the world who have signed petitions for me, too… people on the poorest of reservations to the highest of political offices.

As we have learned over these many years, my freedom won’t come quickly or easily. To succeed, the coming battle will have to be hard fought. Please continue to help my Committee and legal team as you have always done. Your support is more important now than ever before. When freedom comes, it will be due in no small part to the actions you take on my behalf.

Again, thank you for remembering me. You can’t know the comfort you bring to an innocent man locked away from the world for so very long.


Leonard Peltier
US Penitentiary
PO Box 1000
Lewisburg, PA 17837


Launched into cyberspace by the
Leonard Peltier Defence Offense Committee
PO Box 7488, Fargo, ND 58106
Phone: 701/235-2206
Fax: 701/235-5045


Remembering 9/11
September 13, 2010, 4:02 pm
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Thank you, Kil Ja Kim, for this posting today. (Info on donations in Marilyn’s memory is at

Marilyn Buck

September 11, 2001 before morning-slow I move Julan hollers come come see the world trade center’s exploding she’s not serious no one would make that up would they? maybe live on TV video mantra replay: plane crash replay: collapse slow motion, dying morning no, not a made-for-TV movie not a disaster film not Hollywood special effects one tower falls the other follows do chickens come home to roost? enormity crashes dazed disbelief (chickens won’t roost here again pigeons either) I, a political prisoner, can conceive why but
comprehension is not complicity I look around me I know nothing I know too much there is no answer in death nor in dying I know soon others will die dark smoke spreads cinders of wrath rise the eagle’s talons spread hungry for revenge (eyes locked on the shocking scene a Muslim sister whispers they will blame the Muslims) I know many will feed the eagle the Palestinians? (Palestinians are always suspect: they suffer) Muslims? Arabs? many will die red upon the land I can’t comprehend men who commit suicide taking civilians with them (a u.s. postal worker Columbine high school boys a man at McDonald’s all-American suicide killers) civilians used as
warheads I shudder and walk away from death to my cell Bich Kim runs in if there’s a world war three they will shoot all the prisoners, won’t they? I shake my head I don’t think so but you, political prisoners like you, won’t they? I hope not (question marks the corners of my mouth: what do I know about the fine print) I turn to sweep the floor find rythms of the ordinaryThe Order: 9:00 AM PDT a tap I turn a guard come with me I won’t return today I stand before the captain we must lock you up for your own safety (not for my safety) you’re intelligent you know why I speculate, no not for my safety you must be locked
up just for your safety I am stripped naked ID card confiscated everything taken I need my glasses! keep the glasses I keep a neutral face handcuffed behind the back clad in bile yellow for isolation and flip-flops I keep outrage wrapped within my fists I swallow anger metal clangs swallow sound the concrete cocoon swallows meThe “SHU”: Special Housing Unit “there was an old woman she lived in a shoe” what did she do? 9/11 no prisoner may speak to you you may not speak to any prisoner 9/12 overheard voices there are terrorists here who are the terrorists? silence, everyone behind her door listens 9/14 a legal call small relief: it’s political — Washington —
not something i did 9/17 no more calls no visits no mail until further notice incommunicado i hang from a winding string winding in this cocoon i breathe deep the air isn’t good here (from outside the walls Susan yells you are not alone) i breathe deeper Sunday i get a radio: KPFA lifeline Sikhs dead, detainees disappeared political prisoners buried deeper incommunicado i remember another September 11: Chile ’73 more than 3,000 dead tortured assassinated disappeared a CIA-supported coup (the WTC bombers not-yet-born) many people there still mourn let us mourn all the dead and the soon-to-die i worry about the prisoners isolation sucks at the spirit i am
furious: inferred association held hostage in place of men with u.s. weapons and CIA training an infernal joke the puppet masters laugh i laugh to stay sane before i explode in irony’s flames we are hostages to blood-thirsty oil men ready to splatter deserts with daisy-cutters their collateral damage dead mothers and children dead mother earth dead daisies (hasn’t this happened before? u.s. cavalry and smallpox blankets special forces and blanket bombing) (Susan is back she taps on the wall: you are not alone) i walk around the edges how many walk on edges? what edges do the Palestinians walk? cold radiates whitewashed walls press against my edges suspend animation
no butterflies to break out no silken thread to weave sweet dreams panic rises in my throat thick white choking cold so cold i swing hope on a thread a transparent sliver it crashes against the cinderblocks i drop frozen chrysalis cold into a coffin boxNight i lay down on suspect blankets a Cyclops light pins me onto the metal cot an altar for vengeful gods metal restraints for hands and feet “just in case” the suicide cell has ghosts desperate women lain here chained four-pointed to command composure sacrificed to voyeur visions through the glass starkly through a burqa window i don’t want to think of i i meditate i think of other politicals behind wires and walls i
remember the assaulted the accidental the collaterally damaged killed, corrected, coerced i remember: the u.s. funds the fundamentalists Muslims Christians Zionists self-righteous missiles of mayhem and retribution i remember Afghani women held hostage inside indigo cocoons cells smaller than a confessional box my veil is this cellDispatches from a Political Prisoner i will put on no other except the veil of sleep the light, damn the light the Cyclops spies i toss between the tomb-thick walls how long will this go on? will my bones break into ice shards or will they desiccate stranded in this dark cocoonat last i doze till dawn the Cyclops watches clanging keys, slamming metal
traps shift change daylight creeps inside i rise: i must seek cycles inside without clocks or mirrors without all but iThe Weekend a glacier, daylight advances imperceptibly a plank of light teeters on the edge of board-faced windows travels obliquely across then it’s gone warmth fades fast the food trap opens cold eggs the color of our clothes plunk — weekend brunch i swallow in silence silence flees before sudden cacophony two women beat plastic bowls on metal doors we want rec we want rec the sun is out we want out my head is wrapped in metallic clanger bang bang bang i stay silent i bite my lip hours pass: shift change 2:00 the sun drops fast behind the wall finally: who wants recreation?
I do me too let me out first voices reach through the metal doors food traps clank handcuffs click one by one women are led to wire cages joy rings louder than the chainsi wait no guard comes i break silence you didn’t ask me disembodied denial echoes through the walls you can’t go with the others wait not my decision i will miss the sundrops”Perchance to Dream” night comes i fall exhausted into sleep i dream of Dresden Hanoi Baghdad whistles scream walls fall apart in waves Dali deserts watches tick waterdrip dream shift: swords of steel glint against the sky a swarm and puffDispatches from a Political
Prisoner dark blood drops bituminous birds bank spread-eagled free fall ashes ashes they all fall down dark flashes cherry splashes on concrete Babel towers collapse in crying heaps a curtain rises gray covers gladiators draped across the stagei wake cold-throated what time is it? my limbs locked beneath a concrete rockslide is this my tomb falling on me? my chest is piled rock-heavy bodies rise from the shallows of my breath graze my eyes and flee across the desert scape shadow prints dissipate am i awake?the Cyclops stabs my eye i must be awakei wrap a scratchy towelaround my facei escape electrified night into sightlessness a ghost voice wails what time is it? a deep male boom 1:24, go to
sleep no, turn on the radio, talk to me no! no! please no, my eyes blink inside their blind little Brueghel men dance wooden-shoe notes ruthless on my sleep sound streams woman’s babble pools beneath the door i hunker under the winding sheet does she stop talking or do i descend? i don’t remember shift change shift change guards come and go officials pass by peering into our crypt-cages taking notes, verifying our “safety”Monday, September 24 the captain appears we may release you today after 2:00 2:00 comes and goes the shift changes i wait and wonder: will other politicals be released today i wait hope is the moment’s thief don’t wait at last: Buck roll out i leap a jack-in-the-box ready ready the metal key clangs just before the
4:00 count i gasp relief and hurry through before the gates slam shut and i am left below Eurydice whom Orpheus glimpsed a moment too soon i step out a four o’clock unfolding, fuchsia in the shading light back into the routine prisoner’s plight
Marilyn Buck (December 2001)

MARILYN BUCK is a political prisoner serving an 80-year sentence in the Federal Correctional Institution at Dublin, California. She was convicted of helping Assata Shakur to escape from prison in 1979, and a series of other political actions protesting U.S. government policy. While in prison, Buck earned a B.A. with a focus in psychology, and is currently working on a Master’s degree in Poetics. Her chapbook, Rescue the Word, was published in 2001. Her poem, “Too Dark,” was awarded first place in the PEN prison writing competition. She is also the author of several articles of political analysis. “Incommunicado” and other writing by Buck appear in Joy James (ed.), Imprisoned Intellectuals.

MORE: MARILYN BUCK made her transition from this life on August 3, 2010, after being buried in the tombs of this government for over 33 years and receiving medical treatment too late for it to be effective.

5 Minute Management Course
September 10, 2010, 10:39 pm
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Lesson 1 :

A priest offered a Nun a lift.

She got in and crossed her legs, forcing her gown to reveal a leg.

The priest nearly had an accident.

After controlling the car, he stealthily slid his hand up her leg…

The nun said, ‘Father, remember Psalm 129?’

The priest removed his hand. But, changing gears, he let his hand slide up her leg again. The nun once again said, ‘Father, remember Psalm 129?’

The priest apologized ‘Sorry sister but the flesh is weak.’

Arriving at the convent, the nun sighed heavily and went on her way.

On his arrival at the church, the priest rushed to look up Psalm 129. It said, ‘Go forth and seek, further up, you will find glory.’

Moral of the story:
If you are not well informed in your job, you might miss a great opportunity.

Lesson 2 :

A sales rep, an administration clerk, and the manager are walking to lunch when they find an antique oil lamp.

They rub it and a Genie comes out. The Genie says, ‘I’ll give each of you just one wish.’

‘Me first! Me first!’ says the admin clerk.. ‘I want to be in the Bahamas , driving a speedboat, without a care in the world.’ Poof! She’s gone.

‘Me next! Me next!’ says the sales rep. ‘I want to be in Hawaii , relaxing on the beach with my personal masseuse, an endless supply of Pina Coladas, and the love of my life.’ Poof! He’s gone.

‘OK, you’re up,’ the Genie says to the manager. The manager says, ‘I want those two back in the office after lunch.’

Moral of the story:
Always let your boss have the first say.

Lesson 3

An eagle was sitting on a tree resting, doing nothing.

A small rabbit saw the eagle and asked him, ‘Can I also sit like you and do nothing?’ The eagle answered: ‘Sure, why not.’

So, the rabbit sat on the ground below the eagle and rested. All of a sudden, a fox appeared, jumped on the rabbit and ate it.

Moral of the story:
To be sitting and doing nothing, you must be sitting very, very high up.

Lesson 4

A turkey was chatting with a bull. ‘I would love to be able to get to the top of that tree’ sighed the turkey, ‘but I haven’t got the energy’

‘Well, why don’t you nibble on some of my droppings?’ replied the bull. It’s full of nutrients.’

The turkey pecked at a lump of dung, and found it actually gave him enough strength to reach the lowest branch of the tree.

The next day, after eating some more dung, he reached the second branch..

Finally after a fourth night, the turkey was proudly perched at the top of the tree.

He was promptly spotted by a farmer, who shot him out of the tree.

Moral of the story:
Bull Shit might get you to the top, but it won’t keep you there…

Lesson 5

A little bird was flying south for the winter. It was so cold the bird froze and fell to the ground into a large field.

While he was lying there, a cow came by and dropped some dung on him.

As the frozen bird lay there in the pile of cow dung, he began to realize how warm he was.

The dung was actually thawing him out!

He lay there all warm and happy, and soon began to sing for joy. A passing cat heard the bird singing and came to investigate.

Following the sound, the cat discovered the bird under the pile of cow dung, and promptly dug him out and ate him.

Moral of the story:
(1) Not everyone who shits on you is your enemy.

(2) Not everyone who gets you out of shit is your friend.

(3) And when you’re in deep shit, it’s best to keep your mouth shut!

A Call for Religious Tolerance!
September 10, 2010, 4:36 pm
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Sept. 10, 2010

Dear Jude,

As we mark the anniversary of the 9/11 tragedy and remember its victims, the signs of a renewed backlash against the Muslim population are everywhere.

In New York, a cab driver was stabbed and slashed after a passenger asked if he were Muslim. Also, a man urinated on prayer rugs at a mosque while shouting anti-Muslim slurs.

In Jacksonville, Fla., a pipe bomb exploded in an Islamic center occupied by 60 worshippers.

In Tennessee, an arsonist torched construction equipment at the site of a planned mosque.

These apparent hate crimes, and others, have come amid an ugly debate over whether an Islamic center should be built near Ground Zero. Unfortunately, reasoned dialogue has been drowned out by incendiary denunciations of Islam itself, creating a dangerous situation for millions of Muslims in the United States and, as General David Petraeus has pointed out, for U.S. troops overseas.

Although most recognize that any religious group has the right to build a place of worship at a place of its choosing, some — Newt Gingrich among them — actually contend that Muslims should not be allowed to build the Islamic center near the site of the 9/11 attacks in New York. Many more pay lip service to religious freedom but condemn its exercise in such vitriolic terms as to create an atmosphere where violence is all but inevitable.

With all the constant vilification, one has to wonder about the peace of mind of the hundreds of thousands of Muslim children — American children — in our nation’s schools. As they hear their religion condemned and their patriotism questioned, they surely are experiencing an increasing sense of isolation and fear. They must wonder whether their classmates are turning against them. They must wonder whether they and their families will be safe in their own communities.

For this reason, our Teaching Tolerance program is urging educators to commemorate 9/11 by using this opportunity to help students overcome misconceptions about Islam, confront stereotypes and deepen their understanding of different religious beliefs. We’re offering lesson plans for every grade level to address these issues.

It’s important that we not only think about the impact of our words on our country’s children but that we also engage them in a dialogue so that they can lead the way toward a more respectful society.

In the days following 9/11, President George W. Bush delivered a speech to Congress in which he defined the terrorists who attacked us as radical extremists who reject the peaceful teachings of Islam. He punctuated his speech with calls for religious tolerance. “No one should be singled out for unfair treatment or unkind words because of their ethnic background or religious faith,” the president told the nation.

It’s a reminder, not just for our nation’s school children, but for all Americans.