By Greg Grisham
It was a sunny but chilly day. I don't remember how many friends were aboard or even exactly which ones they were. None of that matters. If any of them ever read this they'll know who they are. We were half a dozen or so, because my sailboat, really it was my Dad's or the family's, measured 28 feet in length and someone always got in the way at the helm. For lack of wind we were motoring southward in the Intracoastal Waterway some 30 miles north of Cape Kennedy, or Cape Canaveral as it was called before NASA took it over. 10, 9, 8 I stopped the motor.
And "We have a liftoff!" sounded over the radio. The space shuttle Challenger was away and aloft. Just another launch like so many we had seen before, over the years growing up in the middle of the space race. In the '60s and '70s they were the Saturn V's on Apollo missions. In the '80s they gave way to the reentering and reusable Space Shuttle orbiters. The Challenger rose up steadily into the clear blue sky, appearing as normal as ever, leaving behind the habitual trail of billowing white smoke that solid rocket fuel produces. We weren't close enough to be able to actually see the orbiter vehicle itself rather its indistinguishable exhaust, visible for a hundred miles. All those aboard the Miriam, such as I, were children of workers at Kennedy Space Center. We were the "Apollo" generation and we were all very accustomed to seeing on a regular basis Saturn V and shuttle launches.
The Challenger ascended into the sky for about half a minute's time before it came into view over the horizon. After about a minute of flight, reaching an altitude of some ten miles, suddenly we unwittingly watched as it disintegrated. A large cloud of white smoke was all that remained of the Challenger as the two booster rockets spun out of control without their payload. We were all dumbfounded to see the midair catastrophe, like stunned football fans in a bar when the rival team suddenly wins the game on the overhead T.V.
Nobody said anything at all, until I cried out intuitively and naturally, like any normal teenager would or should,
- "It f---in' blew up. They're all dead."
My friends responded, literally angry with me.
- "What are you talking about, man? No way dude! What are you crazy? Come on man, what do you mean, it blew up? How's it gonna blow up?"
I never was a fan of professional sports. Like life itself, I enjoy playing sports but not watching them. So, I remained in a perfectly neutral and contemplative state, like a psychiatrist observing his patients in group therapy. I was not going to be intimidated. I kept focusing on the undeniable truth that we were seeing happen right before our eyes.
-What do I mean? Well just look at it. What does it look like to you? That big white cloud of smoke is, or was, the Challenger. And there go the two booster rockets spinning out of control. Come on man! This ain't the first time we've seen a Shuttle launch. Just look at it. I'm sorry. What do you want me to say?Houston we have a problem! You're damned right we do."
Everybody on board shared the same disbelieving (or believing) attitude and ridiculed me for merely commenting on my, rather all of our, own observations.We always put "Mission Control" on the radio to listen to the countdown.
- "Put the radio back on", I said. "You'll believe Mission Control if you can't believe your own eyes."
- "the radio is on", someone answered from the cockpit hatch, "But they're not saying anything."
Indeed, the cat had got Mission Control's tongue.
-"Well, what are they going to say? Like I said, Houston we have a f--king problem! What's with you guys? Do you have to hear it on the radio before you can believe what you're seeing with your own eyes? I can assure you, the seven astronauts on board sure as hell believe what happened. And they're never gonna hear it on the radio either."
In no time, Mission Control came back on the air. I don't remember exactly how they announced the news. What I do remember is that they avoided transparent words such as "it blew up". I believe "apparent malfunction" was the word or words. I also remember the faces of my friends, finally swallowing the bitter tasting truth. And I remember their pathetic "after-the-fact-Mission-Control-approved-comments".
- "Damn"! "I can't believe it"! "It's true"! Oh my God"!
I thought to myself, now they say "Oh my God". It's a bit late for that. I had to go through all the excitement all on my own. Not to mention, whilst fighting off the dogs. I might as well had come alone. Having to watch the Shuttle blown to bits whilst they all denied it. Even though it was happening right before their very own eyes.
My father, William Howard (Bill) Grisham, West Point graduate, former Captain of the US Army, inventor of the ROSAE and MIRIAH satellite constellations, then one of the top NASA contract scientists and engineers, now also a "9/11 truther", once told me, although I doubt that it's true, that the reason the U.S. dropped the second atomic bomb on Nagasaki was because Tokyo still didn't believe what had happened to Hiroshima.
That day, when we lost the Challenger, I also lost my innocence. At that moment, I saw how Mission Control controlled a lot more, much much more, than just the "mission". What would have happened had they said nothing went wrong, that the spacecraft successfully entered orbit, except for a small malfunction that some people thought looked like it had blown up? No doubt, I would still be arguing with my friends on the veracity of the facts. I would have insisted that what we saw is what we saw. No matter what Mission Control says. I can imagine what the trip back to port would have been like. I would not have given up and all my friends would have scoffed at me all the way back to the harbor like a mutiny of psychopaths.
A few weeks later I left on my sailboat, single-handed, to the Caribbean. I still haven't returned. Nor do I miss my friends.
Some twenty years later, it was a sunny morning in New York. Practically the entire United States was under the influence of a high pressure system and stable weather whilst a record sized Hurricane Erin skirmished northward off the east coast.
I was in Zafra, Badajoz (Spain). Now, also a Spanish citizen, married to a Spaniard, Elena del Arco Martín, and father of William Howard and Velma Jane Juniors. I was with my friends in a bar chatting away as always about nothing as usual. Suddenly the chef, who was accustomed to listening to the radio while cooking, stuck his head out the window, through which he would pass the plates of food to the bartender or waiter, crying out that a plane had just crashed into one of the Twin Towers in New York. At first no one thought much about the incident until later when the cook again stuck his head out, this time crying out much more excitedly, "A second plane has crashed into the other tower"!
The Bar "Tertulia" I think is the only one in all of Zafra, if not in all of Spain, that doesn't have a T.V.. That's why I always went there. I don't even go there anymore. Since there was no TV the whole gang went running to another bar, El Quijote, that did have a T.V., to watch take place what was clearly a spectacular terrorist attack. Or so it seemed. I don't think the Tertulia did much more business for the rest of the day. Catastrophes are bad for business for "Mission Controless" bars.
Later on, one of the towers collapsed, completely turning into a billowing dust cloud, similar to that produced by the Challenger's solid rocket fuel, that engulfed all ofManhattan and flowed like lava over the Hudson River reaching its banks in New Jersey. Soon after, the other tower also collapsed. Both collapses were identical, symmetrical, and very fast. Nobody, not even I, suspected that we were watching controlled demolitions produced by well placed and timed explosives. But that is exactly what we were watching take place, controlled demolitions. No matter what Mission Control says.
We all saw the images of the alleged plane that had been flown into the Pentagon in Washington. But something was lacking from the crime scene. In fact, the most important element was missing, that is, the airplane. Where was the plane? According to "Mission Control", it had impacted with such speed and force that it completely and magically vaporized. Nor was there any sign of an aircraft where another of four alleged planes, allegedly high-jacked with boxcutters, had allegedly crashed into a field inPennsylvania. And yet again, it had allegedly disappeared upon impact. Four planes and their eight flight recorders, protected in their notoriously indestructible "black boxes" had all magically disappeared. However, as logically contradictory as magical, Mohammed Atta's passport remained perfectly intact amongst the rubble of the micro-pulverized Twin Towers.
Eight hours later, what was in my opinion the most significant event of the day took place. Inexplicably, a third skyscraper, the Solomon Brothers Buildingor WTC 7, came hurdling to the ground. It was the most significant event, because no plane had crashed into the building nor had it suffered significant structural damage. However, it came tumbling down, at the speed of free fall, in 7 seconds, symmetrically, in a classic controlled demolition, again flooding Manhattan with yet another pyroclastic cloud.
(I would like to note that pyroclastic clouds are ONLY produced by HUGE amounts of explosive and calorific energies. In nature they are only produced by a volcano and artificially by hydrogen bombs and controlled demolitions. Buildings collapsing under the force of gravity, whether burning infernos or not, DO NOT produce under any circumstance, pyroclastic cloud flows.) Even more amazing is that three television networks, BBC, CNN and FOX, informed that the WTC7 had collapsed 20 minutes before it happened! This fact alone is ample evidence that there was foreknowledge of the events that were to take place. Nevertheless, none of those "journalists" were subpoenaed or charged by any "judge". On TV on September 11th, 2001, there were no moments of silence, such as was the case of the Challenger and Mission Control. And in the case of WTC7, Mission Control didn't hesitate to break the obvious news rather it anticipated the event by twenty minutes!
Almost ten years have passed since the most famous false flag event and mega-ritual in world history. "History" which for the most part is the history of false-flag events. History, which one might say, is a false flag in and of itself. The irrefutable evidence that completely contradicts the official version of 9/11 is more than enough to demonstrate that Mission Control indeed controls a lot more than the mission.
Instead of revealing the truth, which would probably end all wars to say the least, NGOs (Neo-Governmental Organizations) are subjugated and indoctrinated to covering up reality, not with lies but with half-truths, "dis-info-taining" us with PhotoShopped images of polar bears stranded on chunks of drifting ice. Today, Mission Control is an endless barrage of, excuse my Spanish, bastards and assholes that we tend to call friends. Their solidarity consists in covering-up the greatest crimes of the biggest criminals by supposedly helping their victims. They're bastards because all they do is more harm. And they're assholes because they too are their own victims.
No longer am I living the "American Dream" aboard a sailboat, rather I live aboard a house on dry land, in Extremadura, Spain. But, I still get the same ridicule from friends that are just as much bastards and assholes. Thanks to friends on both sides of the Atlantic, there is no peace in the world, nor in my home. I regret the discord that my children experience, but my "mission" as a Father is that my children shall believe what they see and not what they are told by Mission Control.
The "Crisis" is another false-flag-controlled-demolition. Maybe the crisis in our home is my fault but at least it's REAL. My children are not traumatized by photoshopped polar bears rather the uncomfortable reality that their father is branded a mad "American". I'm often called a Yankee, even though I always rebuke that saying, "I'm from Mississippi. That would make me a Confederate." Regardless, nowadays most children are traumatized anyway, but because of lies instead of truths.
Everything changed when I lost my innocence the day God accepted the Challenger's challenge. And hence I have not let up the fight against Mission Control and friends. I have remained analytically critical, writing as now, actively participating in the "wake-up" movement, organizing events, publishing and distributing pamphlets and DVDs. But I am not alone. I am part of an infinite team of mates rather than a limited clan of friends. And not only unmasking the official version of 9/11 but also the false-flag events of Madrid, London and those of long before. And not just war justifying false-flags but also the Swine Flu, AIDS, chemtrails, Global Warming, the monetary system, the Crisis and the seemingly endless list of New-World-Order-Mission-Control-false-flag-operations.
In the case of Swine Flu, for example, we at
What I have learned above all is that I am a trained soldier of sorts in a war of sorts in which the enemy soldiers are friends and even family. I have realized that that which Mission Control controls most, has nothing to do with aerospace, rather your best friend.
Youth is wasted on the young. George Bernard Shaw
Amongst friends and family what matters most is never to wander off from the herd. Friendship is much like diplomas, not for love of knowledge rather of the keys to the car and plaques on the wall. So youth is spent indoctrinating oneself, with outdated and censored texts and the perpetual fear of the next exam. The only "pandemic" that exists on both sides of the Atlantic is "Diplomatitis". There's no time for art because artists must become Phd's in Fine Arts. As well as going into debt to do it, or getting the government to make others, who can't make ends meet, to pay for it. Therefore, even atheists believe in the Mission-Control-God.
Although I was wedded to one, I hate teachers. Even though in those days a child could look out the window without being declared bi-polar, I was truant from school at the age of 15 hitchhiking across North America. My beloved Mother, Velma Jane Vento, may she Rest In Peace, often told me she loved me but she didn't like. She said then I was 15 going on 50 and today I'm 50 going on 15. By the time I was twenty I was sailing single-handedly in the Caribbean on a sailboat that my Father and I rescued one day from the muddy banks of the St. Johns River. I have traveled on every continent and I know much more of Spain than most Spaniards. I have dual nationality but I don't consider myself a "citizen" of either one of the military industrial complexes. I travel with my Spanish passport. My US passport is expired but I'm afraid to go the US embassy to renew it for fear I could be bound and blind-folded, loaded onto a secret CIA flight, flown to Guantánamo and water-boarded.
It's been so long all I know these days about the States is what shows up on my computer screen. I have noticed some Spanish vocabulary has infiltrated American English, such as the word cojones. I remember when I left from Florida I thought all Spaniards were bull fighters and danced flamenco. Culture is beautiful and varies very much throughout the world but people everywhere, for the most part, are more or less the same bastards and assholes. A big difference between the United States and Spain is that here I've never met, seen or heard of a single politician, including at municipal level, who did not have Hispanic surnames. I've never seen a black person in this country with a job other than selling pirated DVDs in the street or as a temporary-housing-bubble-construction-slave. Whenever I ever do see seemingly middle-class black people they are always American tourists and I don't know of any who have ever opted to stay.
Corruption knows no boundaries. Here is another key to Mission Control in Spain as well as I can imagine is true of anywhere. Since we crazy "conspiracy theorists" have been saying all along that truth is stranger than fiction, the "leaders" of the "opposition" or "alternatives" can not admit that we were and are right because then they would be the last ones laughed at. So, before they can loose face, and admit their mistakes, they must first find out how to save face by somehow stealing the credit for our endeavor. This is how Mission Control works. Not from the top down rather from the bottom up. Just so you can see, may it be of any consolation, how friends can be, and for the most part are, much more bastards than they are assholes.
So you see, if you don't let them stick it to you up the ass, they call you a chauvinist. Since everybody knows I'm from Mississippi I'm often slandered a Klukluxklan. The truth is I grew up with black friends as well as white ones and they were just as much bastards and assholes anyway. I had black teachers, I was arrested at age 15 by black police officers, and a black dentist drilled on my teeth. Now the US even has a black president (even though he's like an OREO cookie, black on the outside and white on the inside). But in Spain I'll always just be a guiri.
I think it's time to stop emailing and handing out DVDs to strangers. Like Michael Jackson was about to convince the entire world before his own family assassinated him, "This is It". Or like Bu$h said before assassinating half of Iraq, "Either you're with us or you're against us". As you could imagine I don't get invited to many parties anymore. I read in some book somewhere that, "You can't serve two masters" and "The Truth will make you free". So you see dear friends and family, This is It. Either wake-up or fuck-off. If we can't demand the truth from our friends and family how are we ever going to demand it from our Government? If we can not face our friends and family with the truth how then will we ever face God?
It's been a long time since I've written an article in English. Please excuse the profanity, Spain is different and here profane language it is an integral part of the culture. I never know whilst writing an article whether it will get sent out before the Internet gets taken down. Here we are, you and I, in the 21st century, on either side of the Atlantic. We seem to be patiently waiting like the day the Challenger blew up, for Mission Control, friends and family to one day come out and say, "9/11 was an Inside Job". Well, I regret to tell you, without our humble, however persistent insistence, at home, at work, in church or at the "party", it aín't gonna happen. Not in a million years. So before it's too late for us to resist the New World Tyranny, tell all your friends and family to turn off Mission Control and to stop being such bastards and assholes.
When I moved from Little Rock to Reston, VA, we joined a different Ecumenical church that was founded by a former member of my church in Little Rock. One of the members of our community group worked directly for General Colin Powell on the Joint Chiefs of Staff during Desert Storm. All but one of the astronauts survived the initial blast. The US center was talking to them all the way down and they even heard the hull crush when the water depth pressure became too great. The one was unconscious, not dead but may well have been in a coma or dying. They did not die until the ocean claimed them. It was horrible but there was nothing anyone could do to help them.