What you are reading now is a recollection of events. More importantly, if you are reading this now then there are only two outcomes to what ultimately happened. The first scenario is that I somehow made it out with my life. The second is that I am dead and someone else has written this, most likely fabricated my story for profit. I suppose the real truth in this recollection resides in the mind’s eye of the reader, because whatever the outcome to my life, either alive or dead, one fact remains certain: no one will ever see me again.

I won’t go back too far, say when I fought in Iraq or when I was at the F.B.I. I won’t get into too much about why I left the F.B.I., but the cliff notes are this: the laws don’t apply to everyone equally. Let’s just say that this little moralistic and ethical tidbit has been jockeyed to accommodate those at the very top and by “very top” I mean all those smiling political mugs you see on TV every day. God’s honest truth is they pretty much have carte blanche to do what they please, regardless of law. When the top of the very top all work together to protect each other, rules and laws only give the illusion of a level playing field. There is no level playing field and this is how the top 1% own most of the wealth in this country. That’s really how this story came about, because after leaving the F.B.I. I was hired by a myth, a legend, someone that no one was completely sure really existed.

My boss is William J. Stanton III and no one knows exactly how rich he may be. What I do know is that William J. Stanton III has funding government revolution type money. He has – take a trip to the moon and back type money. He has – buy a bunch of islands and a few small countries type money. He could bailout most any major America corporations just by writing a check, but he probably wouldn’t because he is part owner of most major corporations in America. From food to tobacco to too many to count, he is old money and he is ten thousand times richer than his Great Grandfather, who was a 1%er in the 1930’s.  

People ask me if I can get them a job working for the mysterious, legendary eccentric multi-billionaire and my response is always the same. “If he wants you he will find you.” That said William J. Stanton III did not climb this fiscal summit without making a few enemies and to be honest that is why he hired me. He pays me to keep him alive and the worst of all is, he trusts me. That last part, the trust thing, well I might be the only one to hold that title, because he never even trusted anyone, not even his own Uncle Bill.

The last time anyone has ever seen me alive was thirty miles under the Earth’s surface, under a military type base in an underground city the size of Toledo in scope. There are roads. Cars. Buildings. Homes. Offices. Stores. The last time anyone has seen me was in a cement cell somewhere in this vast underground maze, where I was water boarded daily for information. The key to survive being water boarded is to want to die, to welcome death with open arms. If you were like me, where I was, you’d have welcomed death too and when you’re not afraid to die, there is nothing anyone can do to you. I was in that Hell on Earth, because I broke William J. Stanton’s first rule, which was this: Don’t upset the establishment. Mr. Stanton III is also a well known “eccentric,” which is a rich way of saying he’s slightly insane so I wasn’t sure what to believe. He had a way of turning the world upside down and had me questioning everything. The most insane of ideas and information can often turn out to be the sanest.

History books are filled with assassinations and questionable deaths that would correlate this notion. What they teach kids today in high school is more like the public relations version of America, the sterile façade of historical facts that are told and re-told on a surface level. Those who don’t delve deeper into history, those who don’t continue to learn after high school no matter the subject are the main targets for manipulation by the Media. If only the world was so cut and dry. The truth is not too many people know what I know and if it ever got out, it would change the landscape forever. It would reset everything as we know it today and millions upon millions of average Americans would storm the gates of Government with pitchforks. This is why I wasn’t going to see my 34th birthday.

See, they come at you from platforms, shiny, impeccable platforms that for decades had been the standard for respect, guidance, entertainment and information. These platforms have been woven into out very existence and will continue on into our children and children’s existence. This how they operate and it isn’t by chance. They come at you crimped, primped, well dressed and rich. Their smiles are bleached white, their clothes immaculate. They spare no expense and their words are carefully chosen and mulled over to deliver the exact desired message and effect. Their hair is perfect and for decades they have been telling you what’s cool and what’s popular and what news is. As you get older you will slowly start to see through this haze of misinformation and propaganda, but by then it’s too late.

See, everything you see, read and hear in the Media is run by four corporations. Four. These media corporations have employees who are artists, reporters, producers, actors and these talents influence a nation, but what people don’t really bother to know is that these media CEO’s and owners also give major sums of money to a certain political party, one party and one side of the coin. So it’s part political and truth, which is really why I am here now. Where I am now, I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. God has nothing to do with this, but maybe this is a good time for a little religion. See, despite what is written in The Holy Bible…if you ask me – the meek will inherit nothing

Every day false prophets wear expensive attire and prophesied their theories and ideological suggestions upon three hundred million sets of uninitiated eardrums. You know that old saying? – Don’t believe everything you read or see on TV? Well if experience has taught me anything, it is that.

Looking back on it now I should never have went to Los Angeles. That’s where Mr. Stanton III sent me, because he never leaves his estate. But I went to Los Angeles to negotiate on his behalf. He wanted to buy a company, a media company and he sent me there with instructions and a check. The check was more a big number, in the billions and the media company was one of the Big Four. It wasn’t so much the meeting itself, but it was what happened afterwards that turned my world on its skull.

In the cement cell they would pipe in Pavarotti on an extremely high volume to keep me awake. They didn’t feed me for six days. My body ate itself. Every so often a voice would pop in through the Pavarotti and ask me if I was ready to talk. I usually flipped off the camera in the corner. When you there is a camera in the corner of the room that feeling of being watched was really the worst torture for me. There’s much to be said for privacy, but we often take it for granted. The same could be said about food and water, because when you don’t have either you truly appreciate it more. For some reason I thought I was in Alaska, but I wasn’t too sure. Honestly, I could have been anywhere. The hood of my head was tough to breathe through and sweaty and it took a long damn time to get here. I lost track after nineteen hours of counting the seconds.

So this was the end and if you’re reading this then either the establishment fabricated all of this, because I am dead or somehow I made it out of an underground city with my life even though I prayed for a quick death.

They water boarded me again and frankly I’m getting better at holding my breath yet acting like I can’t breathe. Maybe I’ll write a pamphlet on how to escape water boarding for our military one day. I remembered my back was to the camera, Pavarotti was on full blast and I was ready to die. I remember thinking that this all started when I went to Los Angeles. I hated flying, so I drove cross country in my old supercharged white Ford Galaxy. That three day drive through the heart of America, over its long highways surround by this glorious majestic majesty was spiritual. The thought and memory of these days was what kept me alive. I am convinced of that. , That was the last time I truly felt free and soulfully took in the wonder, grace and greatness of this country…