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Outhouse Outlaws
And Privy Police 

By George Paxinos
11-10-8
 
"Revelation came to
Luther in a privy
(Crosswords have been solved there)
Rodin was no fool
When he cast his Thinker,
Cogitating deeply,
Crouched in the position
Of a man at stool."
 
W. H. Auden
"The Geography of the House"
 
Have you ever had the feeling you were being watched?
 
More especially, have you ever had that feeling whilst you were sitting on the lavatory, the classic place for thinkers to think, as W. H. Auden, above, well knew?
 
Recently, even the Seat of the Reformation, Luther's own lavatory-seat, upon which he undoubtedly cogitated deeply while formulating his Ninety-five Theses, has been discovered after digging into such things in Germany, as Germans are wont to do.
 
But who would interfere into these well-named privy places of privacy and thinking, and what would they imagine they might find there, other than the (almost) silent cogitator-meditator, quietly sitting in the universally-known Place of Peace, where one can simply be oneself, at ease and undisturbed, known as such a place even to schoolchildren in the limerick :
 
"Here I sit in silent bliss,
 
Listening to the tr*ckl*ng ... [&etc] " ?
 
Conceded, it was rumoured that Richard Nixon, when he was President, acting much like a Mafia Don, specifically ordered his FBI to dust the lavatory seats of student-demonstration organisers with Asbestos powder, the tiny, hard fibres of which got in under the skin and caused a semi-permanent itch.
 
Leaving paranoid-haemorrhoid voyeurism aside, who else might do this? Government security services from one's own country, or perhaps someone else's country, poaching on the preserves of local government goons and sickos who like to be Privy to Privy Process?
 
I am neither a spy, secret agent, nor belong to any Mafia-type organisation. I live off a tiny disability pension due to nervous burnout. All I currently do these days in any active way at all, is occasionally write an article or two which Jeff Rense is kind enough to post on his site, Rense.com.
 
And Rense.com always tries to bring out the hidden realities, the behind-the-scenes, back-stage, workings, no matter how bizarre or far-fetched, be they of World Poly-Ticks and other dark doings of derring-don't by goon-government, professional spooks, or of financial thugs and lap-dog wannabe-petted police flunkies to the parasitic bloodsuckers that run our governments.
 
Rense is not subversive, yet he and his site are constantly under attack by military-style professional computer hacking.
 
So, why do they attack Jeff Rense?
 
ARE THEY AFRAID OF THE PUBLIC LEARNING THE TRUTH?
 
Are the New World Order, Globalist Neo-Fascist, Big-Brother-World-Surveillance-State Jackboot-Government Wannabes, AFRAID of Jeff Rense and his site -- and willing interfere both there -- and in MY thinking -- and the place where I do it best?
 
Well, on US Election Day, November 4, I was sitting Where Thinkers Think and sagaciating salubriously and somewhat lugubriously upon the election's likely depressing outcome, when I had the distinct feeling that I was being watched.
 
As one usually does with such feelings, it was easy to shrug it off, but as I had already shrugged it off the day before, I decided to investigate, instead.
 
Having cleared my thoughts by clearing my body -- Life Forbid someone should tell me "You are Full of (you know what)!" -- and feeling somewhat foolish, but believing my gut feeling, I began inspecting the bathroom wall behind me from where I had felt I was being watched.
 
Nothing there ... except for a tiny brown speck almost but not quite matching the colour of the darker-brown,
 
1-3/4" glazed ceramic wall-tiles. The spot was around the size of the head of a large pin, and lay on the mortar joint under one tile about four inches above my head where I had been sitting, slightly to the left of centre, but extremely precisely aligned on the joint, top-to-bottom -- but that I only noticed afterwards.
 
At the time, I brushed my hand across it to wipe it away ­ but it would not wipe away. It stuck to the wall. I scraped at it with a fingernail, and it felt just like rubber cement, it stuck, with a sensation of elasticity to it.
 
I inspected it more closely : it was a brown spot, a miniscule black dot on its underside facing slightly downward, looking like dried rubber cement. I gripped it between two fingernails and pulled -- it lurched upward from the wall, slipped my grip -- and snapped down against the wall again!
 
Very odd! I had once re-stuck a toothbrush holder to the wall with rubber cement after its backing had worked off ... but ... would a fallen drop still be so elastic after some years?
 
Annoyed at the nuisance, I fetched my toolbox and took up a pair of fine-nosed pliers. I gripped the offending tiny blob and dragged on it. It came away from the wall, slipped the pliers' hold -- and snapped back onto the wall again!
 
I gripped it harder -- there might have been a tiny crunching sound from the little black dot? -- and hauled away harder -- and it came away from the wall on a ... STRING? -- it came out of the wall around an inch, on what appeared to be a string or thin cable of around 1/16" diametre, a smoothly uniform, greyish-white, very finely cross-woven string like a miniscule shielded cable that appeared flexible enough to offer some springy stretch as resistance ... or was it perhaps? ... spring-loaded??
 
At that moment -- I should have got a second pair of wide-nosed pliers or, better yet, a vise-grip wrench to hold the extended part of the thing -- but while I was doing a double-take, the tiny part I had gripped, the black dot that had perhaps slightly crunched as I gripped it, broke away and the string or whatever it was snapped back into the wall -- just like a mouse darting quickly back down its hole! -- and disappeared down the hole in the plaster!
 
I looked into the hole, but could not see it anywhere, nor even how deep the hole was! I looked for the back dot, but whatever had been left of it seemed to have fallen into the somewhat roiled cat-box under the basin or perhaps behind the cistern and I could not find it.
 
But the hole it had come out of was a precision-drilled, around 1.5 millimetre (1/16"), hole, precisely dead-centred on the very hard, 4mm-wide, dark-grey, mortar joint, drilled with such accuracy that it must have been done from a stable jig set on the tiled wall to assure a true 90° angle of the drill to the wall. Its rim showed only the very tiniest radius from spalling ; it must have been a very fast-spinning drill, and slowly advanced.
 
I did not have a piece of wire thin enough and stiff enough to follow it down the hole; I inserted a bradawl but it only went in somewhat over an inch or so before its girth jammed it. I guess I should have waited to get a suitable wire, but was disgusted at what had obviously been a bug of some sort and the idiots who had planted it, so got some wall-repair grout and filled the hole as deep as I could with a toothpick.
 
Next morning, I was so angry I tried to re-open the hole but I had done a good job the night before and could not find that fine-precision hole again. Figuring, I guessed that that part of my wall backed onto an access shaft carrying piping up from the cellar area. I went into the basement, which at the time stood open for heater repairs, but the shaft there went up only one storey and the rest of the access must be from the civil-defence area beneath our council building, inaccessible to me.
 
Whoever had got in from there must obviously have had some authority to do so, or be exceptionally equipped to crack locks which here in Switzerland typically have around 28 pins!
 
Next day, I phoned an old friend in another country, who used to boss up an institute distributing such things free to anti-government non-subscribers, and he confirmed the design : it WAS meant to snap back into the wall, it was spring-loaded to do just that!
 
I asked him about the dangers of finding the part of it on the other side of the wall (I myself should have booby-trapped it with explosive), and he sighed at my gross attitude toward life and said, No, it would be either poison or gas, no bang-bang, crass stuff. But he WAS astounded that someone had put one in a lavatory! -- THAT was new to him!
 
I thought, well, the Swiss are Professional Paranoids, which is why they make such good and secretive bankers : they start early, in familia, as it were : according to a book of a couple decades' back, translated I guess as "The Best-Kept Secret", about Swiss Incest, Switzerland led and perhaps still leads the world in that particular area of incomprehensible nastiness.
 
Figuring whoever laid it in my privy (pun intended) would soon enough send their Skunk Works Man to remove it, I have left it at that -- for the moment, anyhow.
 
I should dearly love to catch this Privy Peeper; I'd make him sing the famous Soprano Mad Scene Aria from the opera Lucia di Lamermoor, which should cool both his bothersome weenies and his voyeurisms.
 
To greet uninvited visitors, I have a giant meat-cleaver by my bed. I know it would be overkill for this sordid job, but, as I write for Rense, apparently considered a Deadly Danger to the New World Order, along with his Readers an' 'Riters, I guess I tend to overdo things anyway.
 
***
 
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