KEN’S CORNER: Sandy Footprints At High Tide

KEN’S CORNER: Sandy Footprints At High Tide

Commentary by: TLB Contributing Writer: Ken LaRive

Yesterday, while waiting to see the doctor to get a blood test, I asked seven old men on their cell phones if they had seen the latest on Hunter’s laptop, and none were really aware of it. I explained it, but they all said the same thing, almost verbatim: There will be no arrests. Nothing will be done.

They left one at a time as their names were called, and told me goodby. Then a younger man about 45 sat down a few seats from me and I asked him the same thing. He said yes he had heard of it, but hadn’t seen much about it, asking me what I thought. I said, They have him dead to right … and he said: They aren’t going to arrest him, or anyone.

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Slowly, over a period of 15 years, I have grown to become the primary care provider for my two elderly neighbors, who has outlived their life savings, friends, and their only child. He is 99.9 and she is 93, under the yoke of Hospice now for four months. Hospice has done everything in their power to transition her to a peaceful death, and I do everything I can to keep her alive.

Last Mother’s Day I brought her a bouquet of assorted flowers, and her great granddaughter brought them three flowers from her garden in a mason jar, and a meal of crawfish. It’s grown complicated, as now I am his advocate at the Veterans administration, getting him a nurse to visit five days a week. I push back on Hospice, but that is daunting and constant… I’ve got her reading again… exercising, getting dressed and out of her bed, to keep clean, eating right, keeping a good attitude, but it’s like footprints on a beach, disappearing at high tide.

He fell twice last week, and he called me to help him stand up. It’s horrible to grow old. A mind that slowly sees the writing on the wall, and a body eating itself alive.

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After almost twenty years of doing research and writing about my findings, from newspapers, to several online sites, I’m dead in the water. I’m shadow banned on facebook, and the online newspapers I have been writing for, spin their wheels in spectacular and unrelenting ways to save America, and for no monetary payment. It’s for love of a country that is being eaten alive by an international conglomerate of corporations that has the ability to use our military to crush competition, to print limitless and unaccountable trillions out of thin air, and owning the media that spews their putrid propaganda from a black box and cell phone that gathers information, and feeds it all into an AI computer that can plan and implement a designed future, a one world order.

And no matter how hard I try, I look behind my life and see that the footprints I have left are gone, shadow banned… and those around me can no longer take the time, or have the inclination or concentration to read an essay. They are too long, too complicated, and no longer in vogue…

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I go the gym and work out with my wife. We see no one our age trying to build, but to maintain after some form of devastating health issue, like open heart surgery, a stroke, a new hip or knee, or diabetes. They give it a couple of weeks, and disappear. They give up. I push through the pain of a congenital back problem, and keep trying… I want to live.

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I took an old friend to lunch last week, listening to him tell me that America is finished, that the powers that own us, lock, stock, and barrel are too powerful to control, that this idea of Liberty is just an illusion. I see his points. I showed him my last essay and he read the first couple of sentences and quickly told me that I should consider correcting a word, that has two meanings. It wasn’t a spelling error, a concept error, I suppose, but inside, well hidden, it felt like an arrow had pierced my heart, and he didn’t continue to read. Three thousand words has no meaning to him after a word of two meanings… and I hated myself for being embarrassed.

I let it hit me again, just like it slaps me every day in my world of human beings, from a beautiful twelve year old girl wearing makeup and sexually active in my neighborhood, to the lady gossiper who spreads rumors for fun, to the people in a section eight house that has a gardener, water delivery, two new babies and no marriage, and a 13 year old son being home schooled, with no social or communication skills, destined to be on the dole, as fifth generation.

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I have tried. And as I dissolve, as I am dismantled, demeaned, ignored, and belittled, I’ll keep trying till the day I die, even when I can find no viable game plan to win. Why? Because I love you.

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Read more from KEN’S CORNER

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Ken LaRive

From the Author, Ken La Rive – We in the Liberty movement have been fighting to take back this country for less than a decade, peacefully and with the love of God and country in our hearts. Our banner has been trampled on and displaced by a multitude of distractions, further eroding our nation and the cause for Liberty. And so, as we are pulled by forces we cannot fathom, powerful entities with unlimited resources stolen from our future, unaccountable trillions printed out of thin air and put on our backs as debt, we must formulate the most pitiful of all questions any patriot might ask in the final hour: Are we going to fight for our master’s tyranny, or are we going to demand the return of our civil liberties and Constitution? Are we going to choose The Banner of Liberty, or the shackles of voluntary servitude? Will it be a war for corporate profit, or a war to regain our ability to self govern, as the blood and toil of our forefathers presented to us, their children, as a gift? I fear that decision is emanate. I fear that any decision will be a hard one, but my greatest fear of all is that the decision has already been made for us.

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