My Journal entry shows it was June 22, 1998. 11:42 AM local. I got there at the crushing plant just south of Canton, and was told by a rude lady at the office that I would have to wait an hour, because the crew was about to take a lunch.
I went back to the cab, ate some crackers, purple grapes and a can of Campbell's Chunky soup, (Corn Chowder), then rested for a few minutes, thinking about life. I found my self bored, so I got up, put my t-shirt back on and walked into the empty old plant. I saw it was a place that took in old books and with large conveyors, brought them up into a huge batch chamber, shredded them, then sprayed them with nasty solvents. After this, they would be brought down a shiny, slippery chute, and made into liquid, with bleaching and other factors added.
I came into a large room and saw a sloppy high pyramid of old books, waiting their turn for the ride. The shovel was a modified forklift with a scoop that could lift about 300 books per stretch.
I walked to the base, and lifted a book up to read the cover. "The History of Gold."
I threw it back on the pile and saw another one, "The Fundamentals of Prosperity." I looked around. No one was there. I looked up into the corners, and saw there were no cameras, so I slipped the small volume down the back of my butt, and made my t-shirt cover it up. I walked back to the truck and was stopped by a guard. "What are you doing here?" He wasn't friendly. I lied to him, and he let me go. I went to the truck, terrified. I closed and locked the door, got behind the sleeping curtain and opened the book to read.
I was sad to learn a fact about America. She was disposing of the wisdom of centuries, and replacing it with sizzling distractions. The pile of books was from libraries across the Midwest, small town libraries, and University libraries, too. I'd read the inside leafs of enough of them to be certain of it.
Without base wisdom, a civilization perishes. Networks cannot thrive without knowledge being broad-based throughout. The book I read tearfully was the one I will now post. I will start at a random page, then flip it, and take another picture. I have found that when I open a book and whisper, "Speak to me, Father." Then I am given a gift far superior to one that any man or factory or civilization can assemble.
Nothing is more sad than a people who are never going to continue the Grand Race toward Magnificence.
Death is so dark, cold and quiet. It has no clock. There is no You Tube there. Worthless people aren't happy in the end.
And there is no cemetery for a whole nation full of them.
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The Ride UTA website is being used for enemy communications today. I just hacked into it, and they are streaming codes. Get your preparations done. There is so little time left now.
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