This is not actually new, Gentle Readers. Actually it's been going on all my life. I've only recently awakened to it; you can trace part of the awakening in this blog.
Because I'm blessed to live in a fold of the hills, not close to either a paved road or a railroad, my animal friends and I have been much healthier than we would have been if we'd lived in one of those "convenient" places people are always blathering on about.
In junior high school I remember wanting the "convenience" of living right beside a paved road, in a house where I might even be able to bring friends home. The parents had a lot of junk to sell and wanted to rent a house they could run as a junk store. So we rented a house near the railroad, and I had asthma and my sister had sick headaches and my brother, who was never ill, became surly and bad-tempered and failed two classes, and there was no question of bringing friends home. When we were healthy enough to feel friendly, which wasn't often that winter, we could tell that that was a result of being away from the junk store, and did not want to inflict the junk store on friends.
I remember how many times I had anything from hayfever to what appeared to be "a cold," with laryngitis and fever and all, as my brother and I walked to our family friends' general store. We liked trading; we liked being allowed to choose toys or candy as a reward for doing errands--but sometimes walking that way made us ill, and often I was ill enough that adults noticed. Funny, when nothing was going around at school...until I remember that the store was right beside the railroad track, which used to be an asset back when the store was built, and poison was sprayed on the tracks at night then too.
And all those visits to Florida where my favorite aunt lived..."Aunt Dotty" was a grand aunt, in the sense of a wonderful one, long before she became a grand-aunt. I liked her husband and daughter and even their friends, too. They always provided lots of fun when we visited them in Florida. I was always a Weepy Weed who reduced the fun, if I didn't spoil it, for everyone else, by having "colds" from the first morning in Florida until the car or bus rolled into Atlanta. Every time. All the time. Poison was sprayed in the lakeside parks, and along the beaches, to keep the mosquitoes down...and Aunt Dotty may or may not have had breast cancer in 1970, and if she did it was the rare non-fatal kind, because she perked along, tutoring kids and renovating houses and buying everybody prezzies in aid of her forty or fifty favorite charities, for another thirty-five years, but she had migraines and all sorts of miseries. I wonder, now, whether a chart of her bad days would have corresponded to a chart of what was sprayed in her neighborhood.
I remember some seasons in my life where every living thing around me seemed to be failing or suffering or dying, and I wasn't feeling well myself. The summer of 2012 was when I first saw a connection...
Once you've noticed these things, the question becomes how it's possible not to notice them.
I had a runny nose for like maybe half an hour on Wednesday evening. I didn't even smell the spray. Wind and rain kept most of it away from me.
But on Thursday afternoon Serena-kitten was sick. Not badly sick; she was bouncy-pouncy as ever in the evening.
On Thursday night I didn't sleep well because the inflamed tissues (which don't have nerves of their own) and spastic muscles all through my midsection were quite uncomfortable. I even had sharp twinges around the kidney zone.
Friday morning in the market I was tired. Well, I hadn't slept much, duh. I have a lot of things to do this weekend. All of them are things I would normally enjoy doing. All of them felt like heavy labor.
People were saying what a beautiful day it was. Oh, this whole summer has been gorgeous in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Overnight lows in the fifties--last night I actually felt a need for two flannel sheets. Bright sun, fluffy cloudlets, merry little breezes.
And they were saying, "Flu season."
Hello? It's August.
And they were saying, "I started to come out, and then I had to run back in to the bathroom, because I felt sick. I've not been well yesterday and this morning."
And they were picking up books--it's quite a thing in my home town these days--and opening them with looks of pleasant anticipation, and then putting them down wailing, "I can't read." They mean by that that they're between glasses...only some of these people have bought books, other weeks this summer, and been able to read them and talk to me about them. Their vision was worse than usual that day. The loss of vision associated with aging is so strongly linked to kidney function that people have become blind, and recovered their sight, "miraculously," when they developed and then recovered from kidney disorders.
One retired teacher came into the market, with her sister, and picked up the few Christian books I still have on the display. (Despite this web site's pacing itself with only one Christian book review a week, we've done a brisk trade--the flea market display is almost out of them! I acquired about a quarter of the books with which that poor old gentleman was trying to stock a Christian-friendly bookstore, just before he died, four or five years ago. I've been reading and reviewing them here, yes. I've been selling them at a faster pace than six "secular" and one religious book per week.) They looked at a book by Patsy Clairmont. They looked at a book by Thomas Kinkade. They looked as if they were about to cry, and as if one of them had a pain.
And where was A, who always buys drinks for resale at the shop? He called later in the afternoon. He'd been late to work, because he'd blacked out and lost track of what day it was. A has been known to ingest other unhealthy things in addition to poisons sprayed around his house, but the timing was suspicious.
And what about B, who wanted the hat for the little boy?
(This is the basic hat pattern to which I applied Naomi Parker's "Typo Mosaic" stitch.)
B always comes to market, unless she's ill. Nobody saw B in the market. And likewise C, D, and especially dear old E...
And F, who was walking without a cane last week, was leaning on a walker frame this week. And G, H, and on through Z...it's not really my business what's wrong with these people, but why were all of them showing it so much more this week than last week?
And one of my father's favorite cousins...was over ninety years old, but nevertheless he died during the fourth round of poisoning, earlier this month. Though very intelligent in some ways, this cousin never would admit that poisoning his farm (when he was actively working it) and garden caused him to feel worse than normal. In his eighties, after poisoning his garden he'd feel so low he took naps in the daytime--obviously for many people younger than he that's normal, but for him it was a symptom. For him ninety was not especially "old."
He had a son...in his eighties the cousin who died this month could, and routinely did, work his son into the ground. Poor fellow doesn't have the celiac gene--none of Dad's relatives has it--but he had similar symptoms from "Crohn's Disease." Crohn's Disease existed before glyphosate did. What causes it remains mysterious, perhaps because similar symptoms may have multiple separate causes. I've often suspected that my living cousin's "Crohn's Disease" is glyphosate poisoning, entire and alone. Subtract glyphosate and perhaps other 'cides from his environment, and he might be actively farming after age ninety, like the relative who looks like him and did come to agree with Dad about the 'cides.
There is this gene, or set of genes, that both sides of my family have in common. Some of the relatives have lived so long and seemed so healthy that it was hardly even decent. Sometimes they could even seem mean about it, in the way people do when they've buried a lot of relatives who were younger than they are, and might as well laugh as cry. I don't believe any of them ever intended to be mean. "Look on the bright side," said Great-Aunt Oily McFilthy when Aunt Dotty's "depression" was thought to come from breast cancer, and "Don't slouch," she said, looking down on Mother, who has lost a few inches to osteoporosis, when Great-Aunt Oily was ninety-eight. "Is X feeling his age--at fifty?" said Great-Uncle Vito slyly, from the hospital, keeping track of who had and hadn't visited him there by way of planning his hundredth birthday party. "He ought to be able to finish that job, but he's not," said the cousin who died recently, of his son, and "Wheat is good for people," he said to me, and, "Roundup only works on weeds," when I mentioned the effects it was having on his wife. People like that weren't taught to understand these things the way we do today. No member of the active generation has any excuse for saying some of the things those people said.
Friday afternoon I made four trips to the bathroom, two to lose blood. I'm a celiac. That's the way people with the celiac gene react when we ingest wheat. I DID NOT EAT ANY WHEAT!
Once again, I'm being used as a guinea pig in a corporate experiment with glyphosate, without compensation. I always feel very grumpy about this. I hope whoever did this to my town is feeling at least a thousand times worse than I am. Sometimes I have sadistic fantasies...Why do we not want to hang these people up above toilets, by their ankles, and ram sprayers up their throats and force glyphosate through them till the blood spouts?--Because that would pollute the water supply downstream. Apart from that it might be fun.
I suspect many of the guilty parties are feeling much worse than I am, though, and the trouble is that they have no idea why they are. Until they're forced to stop poisoning themselves they'll go on babbling about being "old" or having "allergies" or "something going around."
I get sooo tired of repeating this: There's no proof that anything is the sole and whole cause of cancer. There's proof that some things promote cancer. Glyphosate is one of them because its effects on humans, which may or may not be significant enough that the affected humans notice them at first, include interfering with the immune-boosting, cancer-fighting activity of the liver and kidneys. Sunshine, celery, exercise, and sex hormones can also promote cancer if they're not balanced by healthy doses of things that fight cancer, like vitamins from fresh unsprayed raw vegetables. Good genes and diet can counter the cancer-promoting effects of many things, even tobacco.
Going by the documents that have not been suppressed, that have been submitted to the EPA, here...
https://priscillaking.blogspot.com/2018/03/this-web-site-loves-vegetables-here-is.html
I see a basis for the claim that it's not yet been proven beyond all doubt that glyphosate causes cancer in humans. Yes. If you really want to be as vile as the tobacco industry lobbyists, you can still debate that...but I don't recommend it, because conscience-karma can bite hard enough in this life, and does anybody even want to think about what happens to those who prolong inhumane experiments on fellow humans after this life? It has been proven beyond all doubt that glyphosate does measurable harm to most humans and intense, unreasonable, torturous harm to some humans.
I think our government should step in about now. Use the Internet by all means. Call out anyone who does agree with the statement, "Celiacs are only a small minority of humankind so it doesn't really matter if something that's convenient for us to use is doing harm to them. Celiacs are mutant freaks after all." And government shouldn't even spend the money to lock them up. Name their names. Let the whole world know who the living spiritual heirs of Hitler are, and where they live. Make those vermin crawl on their knees at the gates of the prisons and mental hospitals and beg to be locked up, because the living heirs of the men who volunteered to fight Hitler know where they are. Celiacs are mutant freaks all right, different from other people, just like observant Jews, can't share food with the majority of humans, yarrayarrayarr, but if you think that means you can get away with genocide, you're wrong. Payback time draws near. Make the relatives of the poisoners sign over houses, land, yachts and cars to get the poisoners locked up!
'Cos y'know that blender-like mechanism that Monsanto ought to have been building into cute little button-sized weeder robots before now? One way to experiment with the technology would be to attach it to the robots used in colonoscopies. Blood for blood, tear the strips off the same place, and funnily enough the part of my body that's being repeatedly shredded by glyphosate poisoning happens to be located in a place where the female body has very few nerve endings, but the male...when a man has the kind of reaction I've been having, either you can hear screams from outside the building, or we're talking about somebody like John McCain. Think about it, Monsanto guys, and see if you don't prefer to subscribe to this statement: "Even if only one person on Earth had ever had a celiac-like reaction to any product we made, we would never knowingly release anything remotely like that product, ever again. No one who would release such a product has any right or reason to live."
Because, do you really want to find out whether that will be done to you through all eternity, as the Catholics believe, or only until all the celiacs on Earth have watched you suffer as long as we cared to and Infinite Mercy has allowed you to be eternally consumed by fire, as the Seventh-Day Adventists believe?
I got through the weekend better than I expected, thanks to God, the prevailing wind, and the people who allowed me to ride in air-conditioned vehicles instead of walking along poisoned roads. I felt only mildly grumpy, had only mild hayfever, was able to button my fat clothes around my badly inflamed waistline above my still trim hipline, was able to bend over with only occasional twinges of pain, even did some work around the house.
On Saturday I was in town briefly and saw AA, who has been one of the younger, livelier, more gossippy old parties in the retirement project. The last time I saw AA walking around town, she was walking with a couple of other women between the ages of sixty and eighty; they don't walk far or fast but they move at a reasonable pace. Now she was leaning on a walker frame, bent double (but that might have been partly because she was far too tall for the frame someone had hastily dug out for her), shuffling painfully along with the best-preserved man in the crowd steadying her elbow. No, it was not your usual stroke; both hands and both feet were working, though in a shaky manner. AA had been very ill. Her face, which had been well-preserved with a permanent deep tan, had not just gone saggy and baggy, but shrivelled--one could even say "crazed." Her much-envied slim figure had become gaunt. She had an oxygen tube taped to her nose.
On Saturday night Samantha-cat vomited, but seemed to have brought up the sick grasshopper in time not to require charcoal. I was glad. My supply is still low.
On Monday somebody came to the house. Somebody anticipated a pleasant hike up a pretty natural trail, but Somebody had spent the weekend at a house near a paved road, with no wind blowing most of the poisonous vapors back toward the highway. Somebody made it up the hill all right--but the wind was gusting, blowing the vapors from the highway back and forth, the same way it later blew the smoke when I cooked dinner in the front yard. On the way down the hill I sneezed, and at that moment Somebody said, "I have to sit down. I feel sick." Somebody looked it, too; not ill, but sick. (Somebody is younger than I am, and has a different, genetically influenced medical condition that's also known to be greatly aggravated by glyphosate.)
Just another beautiful summer weekend when everybody should have been enjoying the weather, and was, instead, miserable, and most of them still don't want to let themselves see why.
I've not read this new book either. Perhaps some Gentle Reader has, and will send it to me. If it's biased and misleading, it can hardly overbalance the biased, misleading garbage Monsanto goons have been bribing a few poor fools to keep spouting. Whether or not glyphosate causes cancer as such, it most definitely causes a lot of pain, and needs to be banned...and when anybody trots out that idiotic line about "But the other 'pesticides' we'd have to use are even worse," we need to prepare to reply, "They're banned too. Until the corporations can develop safe weeder robots, the way we control weeds is with shears."
Here's another link, to an article that cites Gillam's research:
https://foodrevolution.org/blog/monsanto-lawsuit-dewayne-johnson/
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