A friend of mine at the NSA has been watching over this discussion for the last week.
He thought I might be interested in a project they have been working on for the last few years. The group that disappeared in the last days of "remote viewing" actually carried on their work in Project Dreamscape. Remote viewing concerned observing the physical world remotely. Dreamscape seeks to look inside someone's head to record their thoughts, remotely. At the moment this is considered to fall under the same laws as electronic surveillance, so when a certain person was out of the country they were able to collect the following "intelligence". I asked if this means the subject considers himself to have been the hero in his past life. My friend said no. From previous contacts with this same person, they have decided it isn't the hero that is being mimicked but the author. They think the love of melodrama is the driving force. Since November the subject has been dreaming of The Wreck of the Hesperus.
Watch my children and you shall see
The midnight ride of John Kerry,
In '06 on January 25;
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.
He said to his friend, "If the neocons march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the upper arch
Of the Capitol dome as a signal light,--
One if by land, and two if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every American village and farm,
For the country folk to be up and to arm."
Then he said "Good-night!" and with muffled roar
Silently flew to the European shore,
Just as the moon rose over the bay,
Where swinging wide at her moorings lay
The Roberts, neocon man-of-war;
A phantom ship, with each mast and spar
Across the moon like a prison bar,
And a huge black hulk, that was magnified
By its own reflection in the tide.
Meanwhile, his friend looking for signs indiscreet,
Googles and searches, with eager eyes,
Till with the darkness around him he spies
The muster of neocons at the Capitol door,
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,
And the measured threat of the vote he decries,
Marching down to the Senate floor.
Then he climbed the tower of the Capitol Dome,
By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,
To the domed chamber overhead,
And startled the pigeons from their perch
On the somber rafters, that round him made
Masses and moving shapes of shade,--
By the trembling ladder, steep and tall,
To the highest window in the wall,
Where he paused to listen and look down
A moment on the roofs of the town
And the moonlight flowing over all.
Beneath, on the mall, lay the press,
In their night encampment on the hill,
Wrapped in silence so deep and still
That he could hear, like the union address,
The watchful night-wind, as it went
Creeping along from tent to tent,
And seeming to whisper, "All is well!"
A moment only he feels the spell
Of the place and the hour, and the spying threats
Of the lonely dome and the press;
For suddenly all his thoughts are bent
On a shadowy something far away,
Headed for the dome early Tuesday,--
A line of black that dares cast votes
For the rising tide, as the press takes notes.
Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride
On the opposite shore walked John Kerry.
Now he patted his horse's side,
Now he gazed at the landscape and the sea,
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened his saddle girth;
But mostly he watched for the results of the search
At the arch at the Old Capitol dome,
As it rose above the press near the hill,
Lonely and spectral and somber and still.
And lo! as he looks, on the dome's height
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
A second lamp in the dome burns.
A hurry of hoofs in a village street,
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet;
That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,
The fate of a nation was riding that night;
And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,
Kindled the land into flame with its heat.
He has left Davos near mountains so steep,
And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep,
Is the Alito, guilty of taking sides;
And under the alders that skirt its edge,
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,
Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.
It was twelve by the airport clock
When he crossed and the plane touched down.
He heard the crowing of the cock,
And the barking of the farmer's dog,
And felt the damp of the fog,
That rises after the sun goes down.
It was one by the village clock,
When he flew from Boston town.
He saw the gilded weathercock
Swim in the moonlight as he passed,
And the meeting-house windows, black and bare,
Gaze at him with a spectral glare,
As if they already stood aghast
At the bloody work they would look upon.
It was two by the village clock,
When he came by the bridge into DC town.
He heard the bleating of the flock,
And the twitter of birds among the trees,
And felt the breath of the morning breeze
Blowing over the meadow brown.
And one was safe and asleep in his bed
Who at the bridge would be first to fall,
Who that day would be lying dead,
Tortured by a neocon for making a call.
You know the rest. In the books you have read
How the neocons turned and fled,---
How the farmers gave them vote for vote,
From behind each fence and farmyard wall,
Chasing the neocons down the lane,
Then crossing the fields to emerge again
Under the trees at the turn of the road,
And only pausing to hiss and goad.
So through the night rode John Kerry;=
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every American village and farm,---
A cry of defiance, and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo for evermore!
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and watch to see
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,
And the midnight message of John Kerry.
