A slice of life , that is, fear, loathing, magick, and paranoia in the Deep State

My long-time friend – let’s call him Erewhon, or “E.” for short, to be a little cutesy – died a few years back.

E. was a remarkable person.  He was a master sergeant in the U.S. Army, who served in Vietnam from 1968-1973 and took a bullet more than once.  When he got out of the military right around the time the North Vietnamese took Saigon in 1975, he found himself mostly unequipped to handle civilian life, as has been the case with thousands, if not millions, of veterans over the past half century.

He had a pension on which he couldn’t live by himself (of course).  He married a fairly well-off woman three years later, had three kids, moved to the Kansas City suburbs, became a “Mr. Mom” while he finished college.  He did graduate in (I think) 1983, right around the time his wife left him for another man, used her social connections to lawyer up and basically deny him virtually all of her family assets, and of course grabbed the kids and left him in the lurch.

He then fell in with – shall we say – a “bad crowd.”  I don’t mean your average street thugs, or even your pride of respectable, but scheming-behind-the-scenes white collar criminals.  No, I mean “organized crime.”

Now what do we mean by “organized crime”?  Yep, when I use the word, you automatically think of Tony Soprano or, if you’re a little older, Vito Corleone.  I mean, somebody who talks like Marlon Brando with a handful of rocks in his mouth.

Or, if you’re a little more sophisticated, cosmopolitan, or multicultural in your tastes for capos, and you’ve watched both seasons of Narcos, you can bring the image to mind of Pablo Escobar (not at all a fictional character) and his antagonists in the Cali Cartel.  You’ve got this idea maybe of someone who, even when saying mass in the cathedral, is packing, and has no qualms about whipping out a Colt 1911 and shooting some acquaintance who happens to have said the wrong thing at the wrong time.

You would know how to do staging for a Hollywood production, but you wouldn’t really understand how “organized crime” works.

You see, “organized crime” is that most respectable and virtually untouchable company of business leaders, politicians, pricey lawyers, government bureaucrats, and (yes, this is true) even the people who run colleges and universities.  They’re the ones who have the money and the influence and the “soft power” and the impeccable public reputations to get away with murder.

Yea, they do order the latter if they can’t figure out any other way to get their way.  But they don’t do it themselves.  They hire sub-sub-contractors who can never be traced to them.  Have you ever heard the line: “so and so owes me whom is owed by so and so, and so on”?

Back to E.  He was the so and so who owed so and so.  The first so and so (let’s call him SOS1) further owed a favor to the guy who worked in the “off the books” part of the Deep State that doesn’t deign to break legs – they just make ’em disappear without a trace.  Let’s call him the Big SOB.

I think the Big SOB helped SOS1 get out of some financial mess with the IRS because he didn’t understand properly how to launder money from what SOS2 called his “love business”.  I don’t need to explain that.  Anyway, the Big SOB was getting paranoid about me, because he was concerned that I was “the man who knew too much” – about HIM.   And he was especially worried when a rumor got out that some FBI agents had made an inquiry to a friend of mine.

It wouldn’t exactly have been Pizzagate, but it could have had juicy and untimely political repercussions in 2012 (to be exact).

So the Big SOB gave SOS1 an ultimatum: Get Madigan!

Now SOS1 knew that I was a real bro of SOS2 (that’s E., if you’re starting to get a little confused).

SOS2 a.k.a. E. didn’t know it was me that the Big SOB was after.  So he gave him the name of another bro who as an ex-Iraq War sniper was very good at setting up and getting at his mark.  When E. figured out that moi was the mark, he became rather perturbed and put the kebosherie on the deal.  It’s not that he was such a good and loyal friend, but that he didn’t like being used that way.

So E. went to the Big SOB and made it clear that he was going to his favorite bruja and having a “destruction spell” put on the latter.  It wasn’t so much to protect me, but to protect E.  You see, the Big SOB, even though he’s good at pulling the levers of the Deep State/Organized Crime complex, is rather superstitious (in fact, most of them are).

If you’ve ever heard the legend of the occult Illuminati who secretly rule the world behind the scenes like the Grand Wizard Oz because they know the appropriate way of sacrificing iguanas and babies to force the world to turn out – magickally – exactly the way they want it to, now you know this is what the real story actually amounts to.

E. died suddenly of a mysterious intestinal ailment.  The Big SOB is hiding, I understand in a fortified compound in the jungles of Belize at the moment because SOS1 ratted on him about something to someone who could make his life miserable.  Or something.

But that’s a little vignette of life in the Deep State for now.  Are we entertained yet?





Everything you ever wanted to know about the “Deep State”…let’s get started

My name is Madigan.  That’s not my real name of course, because I’ve been when you sojourn, even for a short while, in the Deep State your name is changed…forever.  But it will do for right now.  In a week I might be someone else.

In this age which is hypocritically called “post-truth” (that implies previous ages were truthful, or people really cared about “truth”) it’s hard to figure out what to believe.  So the only way I convince you to take me seriously, let alone believe what I will reveal to you, is gradually and over time.  It’s not much different than entering into an intimate relationship with someone.  It takes time to peel off their endless layers of masks, and ironically to peel off your very own masks.  And even if you “know” them in the Bible sense right off the bat, you only get to know them over times.

That’s really why Denizens of the Deep State, as in all the popular spy  movies, are always jumping into bed with each other.

In the Deep State it’s all about trust, but trust has to be earned.  Now, I’m boring you with the obvious.  Let’s move on…

I am in the Deep State, because I was born into it.  Yea, you really don’t get recruited into it at the “entry level”, then work your way up, like in all the Hollywood thrillers, even if you end up going rogue.  You’re selected because someone close to you was selected in a previous generation, and so on.  Now, of course, just because your parent or close relative was part of it, that doesn’t mean you will be.  You have to be “tapped” in a moment of crisis.  Let me explain.

My “progenitor” was my father.  Until recently that was usually the case, but there are many cases of having mothers, brothers, and even aunts, uncles, and cousins.   The Deep State is no longer as waspishly consanguinary as it was as late as the last generation.   I’m not a WASP.  I’m mostly Eastern European with a little hidden Jewishness.  But that’s not really relevant at this point.

I’m pretty sure my father was bent on making sure I wasn’t selected.  He had this fantasy that I would never know what had gone on.  He wanted me to be innocent of it all, I suppose, like those Mafioso who had all girls and wanted to make sure their little “princesses” never knew about how their uncles and various male forbears had done the “blood in” thing across generations.   Unlike many of these “bloodliners”, my father as bent on bringing down the curtain once and for all.

Except that somebody wasn’t going to let that happen, at least for a while.   So when my father died at an untimely age, my “Dutch uncles” stepped in and, as far as I can tell, made me a “regent” for a decade or two until they felt it was time.

But I don’t want to spend a lot of time with my personal details.  How could you verify them anyway?  Especially since you don’t really know who I am.

What I want to let you know is that the Deep State is suddenly in crisis right now.  It’s sort of like those old Japanese movies where they drop an atomic bomb on an atoll, and some ancient, slumbering and horrendous creature is aroused from its deep sleep.  For the first time in almost half a century the Deep State was not able to manage the world the way it wanted to, and was caught off guard.

The kerfuffle over the administration’s supposed “Russia scandal”, and all the hot air that was sucked out of the balloon after the Comey hearing this past week, is just the latest dustup.  There is more coming, and you – whoever you are – need to be prepared.


Through the looking glass…and what Alice found

One thing was certain, that the white kitten had had
nothing to do with it:— it was the black kitten’s fault
entirely. For the white kitten had been having its face
washed by the old cat for the last quarter of an hour (and
bearing it pretty well, considering); so you see that it couldn’t
have had any hand in the mischief.

The way Dinah washed her children’s faces was this:
first she held the poor thing down by its ear with one paw,
and then with the other paw she rubbed its face all over, the
wrong way, beginning at the nose: and just now, as I said,
she was hard at work on the white kitten, which was lying
quite still and trying to purr— no doubt feeling that it was
all meant for its good.

But the black kitten had been finished with earlier in the
afternoon, and so, while Alice was sitting curled up in a corner
of the great arm-chair, half talking to herself and half
asleep, the kitten had been having a grand game of romps
with the ball of worsted Alice had been trying to wind up,
and had been rolling it up and down till it had all come
undone again; and there it was, spread over the hearth-rug,
all knots and tangles, with the kitten running after its own
tail in the middle.

‘Oh, you wicked little thing!’ cried Alice, catching up
the kitten, and giving it a little kiss to make it understand
that it was in disgrace. ‘Really, Dinah ought to have taught
you better manners! You ought, Dinah, you know you
ought!’ she added, looking reproachfully at the old cat, and
speaking in as cross a voice as she could manage— and then
she scrambled back into the arm-chair, taking the kitten and
the worsted with her, and began winding up the ball again.
But she didn’t get on very fast, as she was talking all the
time, sometimes to the kitten, and sometimes to herself.
Kitty sat very demurely on her knee, pretending to watch
the progress of the winding, and now and then putting out
one paw and gently touching the ball, as if it would be glad
to help, if it might.

‘Do you know what tomorrow is, Kitty?’ Alice began.

‘You’d have guessed if you’d been up in the window with
me— only Dinah was making you tidy, so you couldn’t. I
was watching the boys getting in stick for the bonfire— and
it wants plenty of sticks, Kitty! Only it got so cold, and it
snowed so, they had to leave off. Never mind, Kitty, we’ll
go and see the bonfire to-morrow.’…

Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass, and What Alice Found There (1896), 8-9.