A Personal Update

I’ve been down most of the year. I also nearly don’t write for around a year every time I move, ever since I became a poet at 9 (a teacher was going to type up a volume of poetry and never returned it; my adopted mother was furious and I took it as a compliment, and then we were on our way to Japan).

I don’t know why, except for a thing analogous to {German] “zeitgeist” although rather than ‘spirit’ or ‘essence’ of time it would be that of place. It didn’t happen with the (more or less) yearly trip down to Medford, Oregon from Oak Harbor, Washington at school break for summer and back up before school started again. “Medford” (actually Phoenix) was a ranch fairly high above the valley floor, atop a small hill (and which had a glen), 40 acres, temperatures of up to 110 Fahrenheit common in those dusty summers, two Labrador Retrievers, no other children to play with (which was almost totally welcome), my drunk stepfather wobbling around the outskirts and my [biological] mother vacillating between lust and hatred toward him–something it took me many years to understand. Oak Harbor was the place that to me was always chilly. It was also close to Seattle; lots of tv and radio stations, and on Whidbey Island. My adopted father worked at the naval station. The Dutch farmers pretty well hated that because before (with right of eminent domain) the government grabbed it, it was the most productive land in the world. Then between the temperature and the humidity (and whatever forests tend to do to the experiential atmosphere at ground level) there was a nearly magical quality to the place, most particularly at sunset and often at sunrise. Oregon is much different. It was Oregon Territory which was forced to become a state. The clay is apparent. Phoenix is in the Rogue Valley, and, no, Martha, there were no “Rogue Indians”. Rather a great many of the first settlers here had one thumb. I’ll let you look that up if you don’t know what it means, but it’s a definite indication that the person with the missing thumb was caught at something. When I was a kid the massive presence of the KKK was open; now it’s somewhat hidden. [Look up 1953, KKK, Grants Pass Oregon.] Hell’s Angel types are pretty common. You don’t mess with the police. The Sundowner law is still in effect, apparently. Oregon was and is economically depressed, especially Southern Oregon. The original settlers tend to have Southern accents.

Oak Harbor meant I was a strict Christian.

Phoenix more or less meant I was whoever the fuck I wanted to be.

Now I live in Medford (3 miles from Phoenix). I’ve spent 50 years in the Rogue Valley, basically, after having arrived here at 2.

October 9, 2021 at 2:47 am Leave a comment


certain dreams have, yes, failed

but all is

at one angle simple progression. life

is interpretation.

there is no

i find no

ending-place, or respite.

that sun-tortured city i wrote

has become mine, and i wander

its waterless passage-ways

to find that known

end. but there is

no end, no grand finale, with

curtains’ closing, rather

a fading (known in the moment

as gradual, though

in retrospect both sudden

and timeless).

both braveness and endurance,

as weakness

are often times’, not actors’.

September 29, 2021 at 11:29 am 1 comment



these forward progressions

are, of course, the past’s

quiet destruction

and there must be no doubt

that they are forward

and not circular

(and these are not echoes

through which i plod

by now no undoubted word mouthed, no

truly certain gesture, i–we–

have been abandoned by

true faith’s surety

whispered continuations

there was to be

i quite clearly remember

some marking to the road: these

lent definitions

weren’t to sum all, but merely

lend support toward


ah, lensed are my eyes, a

hearing-trumpet to my ear…i

can scarcely even feel, swaddled

by these ways to truly perceive.

and now,

when one bravely asks for truth

i merely

wash my hands

September 29, 2021 at 11:04 am Leave a comment


these ended ends made all

beginnings, what of

word unspoken, gesture-halted?

September 28, 2021 at 9:46 pm Leave a comment

Back out of the Hospital

This time, I broke my ribs by repeatedly pulling on something too hard. Mind you, I didn’t have any idea that could happen.

So I won’t even contemplate publishing poetry. It’s unlikely there’s time. My apologies to those who hate poetry…

Won’t be in regular progression but hopefully sequencing will be apparent. The bulk of my poetry will be recycled. There isn’t anyone who cares one way or the other in my immediate family.

This begins it:

slanted, distorted

views, yes: the learning

encompassed that: it even made no claim

to wisdom.

it was merely

that the progressions were not random.

the words lent were toward learning,


September 28, 2021 at 9:43 pm Leave a comment

A Moment, a Pause, and a Decision

I wrote nine novels. The first earned a personal rejection from the head editor of Scribner’s, and I was in the midst of a tailspin. Most of the other 8 were around and about that, but not the cause–of what is now called my PTSD–quite simply because of the warning I received when I got “out” of the Navy. There were 8 others there. The man talking was wearing dress Marine officer’s fatigues without insignia. I knew he was NSA. I encountered BATF (Secret Service) in my second week in Radioman “A” School (straight from the month’s leave after boot camp to there; I never was a Seaman Apprentice–more on that in a moment) about someone’s missing letter? check? package?–I was the mail clerk. I’ve never figured that one out and never investigated it; it was too weird. Anyway, on my DD-214 it shows he was the regional director of the NSA. And across from us on the island, I forgot to mention, were the other 3600 (I am not sure it wasn’t 36,000 but it just didn’t look big enough) enlisted men going from active to inactive. My record was sent to every police agency in the world, including Interpol. If I was to go within 50 miles of a communist border I would be killed by one of the hit teams. [No, you don’t want details or why he would have mentioned that openly to a group of people none of whom even had the clearance to have known about the hit teams…but then he was only looking at me. I had been doing–in my spare time, so to speak–intelligence analysis via third party abstracts. Well, for one thing.

It could be that someone would prefer I don’t continue at some point. There’s no particular reason they actually should except embarrassment. I probably won’t. Stop, I mean, unless by inducement of reward or punishment.

Soon after coming ‘home’–a volume unto itself–I began going crazy. It started with being hired the moment I talked to someone and the next day being told that I couldn’t be hired, and what in the world did I DO in the Navy? I had already figured out I couldn’t answer that question at that time. [I think they’ll try the reward, which would be enormously successful.]

People graduate from boot camp E2 except very rarely. When my (ex)-company commander saw me sewing on the three stripes I told him “No” and then showed him the papers. He already hated me, because his company was the first in the Navy to have no flags–awards of any kind. I’d inadvertently torpedoed that one flag the other company commanders were going to let him have. His problem with me began the day that the scores from the Stanford-Binet IQ test were released and I’d missed only one question (I don’t think he ever knew that prior to the boot camp test I’d answered all questions correctly (the control question was the one on the second test, of course)) and he hated smart people.

I’ll finish with this. I’m the only person to ever graduate from Navy boot camp unable to even tie a square knot. I have Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome Type 7 and that involves extreme sensitivity to bright light. Knot class was facing the setting sun. I would be asleep within 5 minutes from the time the class started (yes, and sleep upright). I wondered for years how the instructor could have missed that.

Then I stopped and thought–40 some odd years later. He didn’t. I had special treatment all the way through, although walking on raw feet from the second day on for 13 weeks did assist with the special treatment.

The last time I checked, the NSA service showed on my home VA page. It first appeared last year. I was separated in 1975. Prior to that time the VA stated I was insane to think I’d worked for the NSA.

September 9, 2021 at 6:16 pm Leave a comment

A Hint

I’ve been using computers since 1972. I started with DOS. No, not MS-DOS. At one time I had a vocabulary of a couple of thousand words of DOS; I liked it a great deal better than Windows. I’m somewhat known; I solved a problem with the touch screen on the Dell 2720 ONE before Dell or Microsoft could.

Recently I started having a problem with links and some other things on the screen directly related to SETTINGS. That would be about 6 months ago, I believe. If you have that, go into colors and advanced and make especially sure that neither system nor page can over-ride your settings and VOILA

you can read a whole bunch of stuff that had become nearly invisible.

I can’t resist this. Morons–and I am NOT talking about the users!

September 8, 2021 at 10:43 am Leave a comment

A Sidenote


Definitely an upper-class English type. Those were the ones we avoided in Hong Kong (USN/secretly something else…but practically everyone in the Far East knew who I was, which is ridiculous). The “commoners” were the ones we could get along with.

Interesting to contrast perspectives, hein?

September 7, 2021 at 6:58 pm Leave a comment

Finally writing again

The last couple of years were a bit rough. My wife and her daughter spent nearly a year trying to have me committed to Assisted Living [having me adjudged senile and then having most of the money to spend]. Toward the end of that my ex-wife said “I want a divorce”, waffled a bit and then said “I want a separation.” So for 11 months after that, she lived on in the townhouse and I ‘lived’ in motels. I lost a great deal of what I owned. However, every day announces itself a good one in that I don’t have to see her.

I’m living in a travel trailer right now. As of today, I started getting used to it. I was slowly organizing a lot of things and then my friend–in whose driveway trailer is parked–and his wife decided to clean up. They disconnected 5 computers and somehow in the midst (COVID-19 D) a lot of passwords got changed. Finally I’m recovering from all that.

More another time.

August 20, 2021 at 11:47 am 1 comment

To My Friends from the Vietnam War–Mostly Black and Therefore Mostly Dead

That sounds very hostile, although it isn’t. Our poisonous environment is more poisonous to non-whites because the white population has had more time to physically adapt to a progressively poisonous environment. We Vietnam veterans–the ones in range of Agent Orange, I mean, not “Vietnam era” veterans–also have tended to die younger. Quite probably I have epilepsy because I lived in military housing. Lead pipes in the water system affect some people more than others, and I have a progressive disease that prevents the body from manufacturing protein, Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (Type 7; extreme light sensitivity, fragile skin, easily bruised, many sprained ankles and wrists in childhood, hyperextension of course [that’s why the common types are grouped under “double-jointed” and don’t generally present much if any of a problem; modern estimates are that WAS–whites, more or less; the Dutch however for instance were not prone to it), hair half the diameter of the normal human’s, fragile fingernails and toenails…and at my age I’ve progressed to blood blisters; there are more lovely details if you wish to look them up and…I have every bloody one of them and I’m 67–the significance of that you can find by looking it up). World War 1 ships also had lead–and asbestos. The USS Oklahoma City (CLG-5*) ComSeventhFlt flagship in the Vietnam war was built in World War I. That’s why it had the conning tower (lookout for submarines, pre-sonar) that I climbed in a typhoon illegally and then was sent out on the ((awash)) main deck to dog something down that would have probably sunk the ship–I’ve also never been seasick and was basically the only person they thought could do it. Illegally, since I wasn’t a bosun’s mate and was under special orders.

*There have been quite a few “USS Oklahoma City” ships; I know one was a destroyer and another a submarine; ours was sunk in target practice. One reason may have been the ship’s log book (I used it for writing notes) that I threw overboard after finding they were photographing it, since I knew things I had no direct answer to except very complicated and complex thought, a level of thought previously thought impossible; it definitely wasn’t psychic.

They didn’t want you to know why I got that traffic checker job at 18, less than a year out of boot camp (I was E3 when I got out of boot camp; I was never a Seaman Apprentice, E2, and therefore could automatically go to an “A” school. They gave me four six year options that were mechanically-oriented. The two things I was never good at was mechanicking [obs. word] and math. I was in the top .1% in every other subject in high school, including those I hadn’t (formally) studied. The fifth was Radioman. The main elements to that were tuning radios (much more difficult then; as I recall SSB radar was just being developed and MOSFETs (a hybridized analog-digital power supply) had just been developed. That means a hybrid between solid state and tube-centered circuitry. Power generation also generates heat which solid state circuits don’t tolerate well) and typing at least 35 wpm. I was the fastest first-year typist Oak Harbor High School had ever had. My speed was 75 wpm. So when they introduced us to the class and the two main requirements, I started laughing hysterically. My father was an electronics technician who worked on machines no one else in the world can (hint; that’s why I was so eager for computer simulacrums of flying airplanes–my astigmatism is so bad I can’t)…yeah, flight trainers. In the mid-60s. Fun, but I couldn’t do instruments-only with no training and there really are what seems like a thousand gauges, switches, levers, handles and assorted paraphernalia in a crowded cockpit that was big. That also involved multi-band radios; I even had one so I could for one thing accurately check the time.

So my class took those two tests and failed them. Well, I didn’t. Most of the time I was supposedly in school I was doing what I wanted, including The Writings of Mao Tse Tung.[Anglicization spelling of ‘Tse’ has changed.] Someone transparently a spook and supposedly a student asked me about that and asked to borrow the book when I was done. The notes I left in the book indicated I was studying his tactics and prejudices. Prejudice is the step before judgment; it is the assumptions/presumptions/more accurately ‘a priori’s. A prioris if you prefer. Causation is the easiest one to indicate. It can’t be proven–it can’t even be tested, so it’s a hypothesis that lies at the root of all rationalist thought. Logic reflects the workings of the human brain with its associated lingual systems, not a necessary attribute of the outside world. I got drunk a lot. I got high a lot. Oh, one of the reasons I kept on reading that book during “A” school was that it required a Secret clearance; being in the Radioman Division of the Okie City required a Top Secret clearance; being a traffic checker proofreading the weekly state-of-the-war report [ComSeventhFlt–>CincPacFlt–>JCS–Richard Nixon] required a Top Secret Crypto* clearance. [Crypto is cryptography or encoding/decoding material sent in a manner designed to be illegible to outside interception of any given signal, in addition to any other method already in force; that particular matter I cannot address directly further. Still. I found that out when I realized I could force the government to reconsider my petition for compensation.

A lot but not all of you knew that. I was the one who stated at the end of 1972 “I don’t want any more racial incidents while I’m on this ship. If you’re gonna do it, do it after I’m gone or you’ll pay for it.” A cursory examination reveals that December 1972-August 1975 there weren’t any. I cannot say why except posthumously and for a number of reasons. I will give an example of why; the Navy decided to put in my service jacket, as accessible to the VA, that I was ‘suspected of using drugs.’ When they gave me the traffic checker job they told me I’d be followed in (nearly) every foreign port other than home port, Yokosuka. I was. I must admit I’m not sure about Olongapo, but I was in Manila. And of course I wouldn’t do drugs with that high a clearance. Well, unless they had told me I could and obviously they wouldn’t do that. For one thing, I’d have to know when the drug tests were going to happen, and even more obviously they couldn’t and wouldn’t do that. The NSA wouldn’t admit I worked for them until last year; both Vietnam and my enlistment ended in 1975 and I have had no means of accessing classified materials since then. I’ll also admit that I have knowledge of both old a current classified data, all obtained legitimately given that it’s accepted I’m a genius. Although I couldn’t find it (expectedly) on the internet, one person I know of answered all of the questions correctly on a Stanford-Binet Intelligence Quotient test correctly in 1978. I’d been noticed already because of the education tests I alluded to. My high school, as I recall, actually got reissued (a different version of) that test because of an anomaly. I also had read more books in the public and high school libraries than any other person had; a directive had just been used to tell the FBI about heavy readers who included in their reading material that might be useful to ‘terrorists or enemies’.

Two weeks before I took it, our sociology teacher told the class that all the questions on the Stanford-Benet could never be answered correctly because of the control question, which was developed by scientists using computers. To do that and answer all the other questions correctly “couldn’t be by chance.” It was a multiple choice test with 4 possible answers.

When I told him I was going to go take it (after he’d told me the only free way I could take it, at a military recruiter’s office) he said, “Glenn, be sure you don’t answer all the questions correctly!”

“Okay.” I thought he must be joking because it was impossible. When I told him he looked sad and a bit angry at and for me but didn’t say anything. “But I thought you were joking, I didn’t think I could! You said it was impossible” and he shook his head and walked away. He was the one who talked to me about the year when I deliberately got a “C” average. I never studied. I never took homework home with me. I did it at school except the few things that had to be done outside school (because they couldn’t be done inside, like the little book we were supposed to make using periodicals’ photo clippings and our own words. I kept putting it off. The teacher harassed me after a couple of weeks, so I did it in one night and showed it to her. She thought it was great. She was furious when I handed her what she’d seen as the project, because I hadn’t spent more time (although I got an “A”).

Put that together with I also went to boot camp for 13 weeks not 12 and it turned out when I got to “A” school that had it been 12 weeks I’d have gone to Vietnam to be a Marine radioman, the #! target in patrol squads (then medic then Lt. J.G.) and instead I went to the command ship for that war. It seems they were expecting me to go there for quite a long time. It was a Navy family, too, and my grandfather, adopted father, brother, brother in law all had TS clearances, although none as high as mine.

That’s why I seemed so strange, guys. And I couldn’t talk about my job other than the mechanics associated with it because I knew too much data, more than any other enlisted man in that war and probably more than anyone else in the world–by virtue of clearance, too, but more because I was allowed to use Navy communications to do research. That still astonishes me, because “Need To Know” is the first step in acquisition of classified data. That was what told me DIA and NSA were aware of me. Well, that and the message I sent to Kissinger and a 2 and 1/2 page ‘note’ that was sent up the chain of command. It contained what I thought needed to be done in communications (just one thing), observations on matters connected with the war, and how to placate Mao. Russia and the U.S. were terrified by them.

Almost everything I knew about the war would have been repeated if I’d told it, and I was the only possible source of a lot of it (most officers knew only a tiny bit of what I did, and Admiral Steele was well aware of me. Although I’d forgotten about it (when the admiral entered a compartment, “Attention on Deck!” and everyone jumped to their feet, but that alerted me he was there, so it only happened once when he entered Main Com and I was there) he used to watch me traffic check. My proofread/read wpm was over 3000 words a minute on single-column message drafts (the source for messages from a given officer to another military person, which then had to be typed on a teletype to generate paper tape which was what the input for communications radios was) and I at first could read a page of the draft and then proof an equal amount of data; however, it employed the second kind of short-term memory and burned it out, so it ended up being about a quarter of a page and even sometimes line-by-line.

So that’s the beginning of something I apparently need to write, and I cannot afford the assumption that I have enough time to seek publication. I’m (as I alluded earlier in suggested reading) on Nature’s death row. I’m also walking while having a disease that stops most people from walking at around 50. There’s simply no way to tell, except that blood blisters like I get are from ruptured veins. The usual COD is a stroke or heart attack caused by EDS (Ehlers-Danlos) 7 for those of us who have it.

I cannot write more at this time.

June 16, 2021 at 8:01 am Leave a comment

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