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Mike Palecek, author of many dozens of novels on Amazon and Lulu, has traveled across the USA doing readings and book-signings. Today, he travels digitally across the Atlantic, via Zoom, to Saidia, Morocco, for a reading and conversation on the Truth Jihad Podcast.
PS My favorite Palecek book is the JFK assassination themed Johnny Moon.
Mike Palecek reads an excerpt from ?
Palecek in Minneapolis. This selection is from a book of mine with a question mark on the cover. The title is implied. This is an ode to journalism, as it might be, should be. The front pages give mention to Dorothy Kilgallen, Udo Ulfkotte, Gary Webb, Michael Hastings, and the David Crowley family in Minneapolis.
Dedicated to those thousands of people in Biloxi, Baraboo, Barstow, Butte, Bancroft, and Brooklyn. Those people who, on November 22, or November 23, or November 24, 1963, or sometime during the following week on a long or short walk, are at the kitchen table pouring Froot Loops for the kids or for themselves.
Those first persons who sat upright in bed at 2.35 a.m. and said, this is bullshit. You know who you are. Also dedicated to those having escaped, now existing on the run, from the Paul Harvey Memorial Concentration Camp for the Journalistically Insane. Dan Rather, Tom Brokaw, Anderson Cooper, Peter Jennings, Walter Cronkite, Wolf Blitzer, Lester Holt, Katie Couric, Anderson Cooper, Bob Woodward, Christine Amanpour, Rachel Maddow, et al. You know who you are.
Chapter 1. Tell the truth and run. George Seldes. Where are the clowns? Send in the clowns. Don’t bother, they’re here. Thought to have been mumbled by God theFather on the seventh day, as reported by the Cloud News Network reporter Jimmy the Cub Angel, and in more recent times often attributed to Duke the Kook, known in the bars of Bethlehem and Nazareth as the conspiracy theorist apostle. The gospel according to Duke. Ha! The apostle Duke often made the rounds before or after preaching in the desert, or both.
After a few honeymeads at batshit Barabbas’ bistro bar and barbecue, where he was particularly fond of the all-you-care-to-eat loaves-and-fishes buffet, featuring Barabbas’ bottomless Bloody Mary, would often get to talking about the resurrection, claiming Jesus H. Christ had risen from the dead. It twas not, not snot, not snot, it snot, it snot. Finally he gets it, the opening to the icebreaker joke he liked to use for his day job, lecture-slash-preaching-slash-fundraising, where he often spoke from the third branch of an olive tree, snakes. Sometimes Duke would get quite the crowd because there were those people who wanted to hear about the grassy Golgotha. The Gethsemane compound and the infamous Manifesto on the Mount, and how that whole Pig’s Bay thing and the slaughter of the innocents were tied in somewhat like a mystery wrapped in a parable inside a honey cake, kind of. The Jerusalem, Rome, Carthage, Sparta newspaper said nothing about the so-called resurrection, as if it never happened.
And so the boys in the bar had a difficult time taking Duke seriously most times, even if he was from right here. Yeah, and that’s the thing, see? What does he know, you know? I knew him when he was a fucking kid in the neighborhood, right? There’s all these things, right? Conflicting information.
We’ll never know for sure the whole truth. Somebody would have talked. How could you keep something like that a friggin’ secret? Come on. The lawn signs in Bethlehem. One more catwoman for Pax Romana, mice out, we stand with Peloponnesia, said nothing about Jesus, his death or rising. The pundits on the street corners of Jerusalem pontificated about plans to send risers to the lions. One night after closing Barabbas’ and telling stories about how he was actually scheduled to testify before the Sanhedrin, he walked home and disappeared. A few days later, it was discovered he had crucified himself after bashing his head with two stones. A manifesto was found on scene, debunking the whole resurrection hoax.
Duke now returns to visit the last remaining newspaper editor, publisher, reporter to explain why he has been seeing the giant question mark in the sky. Why he is the last newspaper? Because nobody is buying what newspapers have been selling. Why newspapers are now as thin as the toilet paper in the county jail.
And that he is lucky in that he still has a chance if he can only bring himself to tell the truth. “The core of my writing is not art but truth.”-Philip K. Dick. Journalists are revolutionaries. “You have to fight to change the world.” -Gary Webb.
Please make as many copies of this leaflet as you can and distribute them. The White Rose. Thank you.
