American Lie

newest book by Mike Palecek

One

Pleased To Meet You

“Just because I don’t care doesn’t mean 

I don’t understand.” 

— Homer Simpson

Did you hear the one about … Jesus, two popes and George Carlin walk into this bar … not this bar, that bar is across the street.

I was at that bar for a while, but they said I needed to come over to this bar.

Okay, well, anyway.

My name is Angel Krakowski-Leibowitz, of the southwest central Iowa Krakowski-Leibowitz’s, not to brag, but we do have the smallest ball of twine in Koufax County and also RAGBRAI twice a decade. 

Well, it was back in the 40s-50s, the prime-time of my parents or grandparents maybe … but, well, first ...

You ever have a dream where during the dream you really think you are getting some insight, things figured out, maybe a revolutionary idea, concept and you know you are going to remember it when you wake up and you know it’s still going to be amazing in the morning? It’s not really one of those “Is This Heaven No It’s Iowa” things, it’s different.

Well …

This is about an NDE, near-death experience, or, it’s about a dream. I can’t say for sure which, not sure we will ever know. The documents will not be released in your lifetime or in the lifetime of your grandchildren.

My NDE slash insightful dream happened one day when I was sleeping in the backyard. My dog was also asleep so we were both sleeping, braving the falling walnuts. 

I dreamed, I think, or I died and I was driving, doing the hand signals and singing Y-M-C-A and I look up and I’m in this red-light intersection and the electronic camera is like staring right at me and it sees into my soul ... and then ... I was working my part-time job that I was not even aware I had, as a Russian spy, dispatched from Tovarish Robata, a Russian spy temp agency. 

They had me switching out the grey sweat sizes at Walmart, mixing the small and XXL sizes in the bins ... and then I was standing in line at Walmart, maybe that same Walmart, and then, maybe not, and then I dreamed or I died on the toilet, and just as quickly I was driving again, now across Nebraska to Colorado to get Coors, and I was in a hurry because I was at a party, and there was this one girl who was kind of impressed that I was going to Colorado to bring back Coors ... and then I was in the living room after Thanksgiving dinner with Uncle Bill and we were both unbuttoning our pants to clear out some room and Bill leans back in the easy chair and says, so, Sparky, and I suppose we never went to the moon, either? 

And from that scene from my episodic dream-death throes, I was now flying without aid of anything just my imagination over main street at home in just my underwear, the whites, and everyone is there, cheering, so I must have done something right.

Since this time I have watched probably nine, actually seven hundred four, YouTube videos about near death experiences. 

Most people get clouds, vivid colors, meeting Zeus, Harriet Tubman, Joe DiMaggio, The Michelin Man .... inter-galactic travel, sensory up the ying-yang, feel-good, go back home, feel great, live great life, hugging every plant, dog, stranger for the next forty years.

I didn’t find it to be that, exactly.

What I got, like I said, was a vague, fuzzy feeling, wondering if I’m in a dream and wondering if it’s okay to like go-crazy, if you know what I mean, fantasy island who’s gonna know stuff ... but then again, if it’s not, or if this is heaven then I better cool it. I know, right?

And, as I mentioned I found myself sitting in The Good Bar, as Ray Wylie Hubbard might call it, the Cosmic Cowboy Bar, and got told I should leave and go across the street, which I did, still not knowing if I was here to discover the truth about, well, everything, my own theory of everything which was coming to me right now because I am me and I am special and always was, and just wow, wiping real tears from my eyes and my pillow even as I slept.

I sat at the bar and the bartender, a giant rainbow Labradoodle with yellow ribbon We Support the Troops pin and metal tag that says Ralph, shakes his head, very subtly, like, nah, I don’t think so, while nodding toward the window to the street and this shaky little metal table and shaky metal chairs with sharp edges. I go there.

Well, in comes ... it’s like the rat pack, you know, from Las Vegas in the day, Sinatra, Dean Martin, all laughing, having a great time, like they own the place and maybe they do, only it’s Dick Cheney, George Bush Sr., then Junior, Hillary, Bill, Dulles, Bernays, Lippman, Jolly West, Gottlieb, Big Brother, and the only reason I recognize them is I’ve been reading lately, which is not like me, at all, but lately ... Rothschild, Roosevelt, Reagan, Rockefeller, Rothschild, Rockefeller, J.P. Morgan, Jean Kirkpatrick, Jean Nuland, Clinton secretary of state, what’s her name, Albright? Madelaine, Robert Johnson, Lon Horiuchi, the guy who killed Che ... Felix Rodriguez, the guy who killed JFK, RFK, Frank Sturgis, David Morales, Sgt. Enrique Hernandez, the guy who tortured Sandra Serrano, saying she never saw the polka dot lady, which she did, the FBI guy who took Scott Enyart’s RFK photos and never gave them back, what’s his name?

Anyway, finally, they all pass by. 

The last guy in the door is, well, he looks like an F.B.I. agent. In fact, I’m sure he is an F.B.I. agent. How do I know that. Well, it’s my dream, I guess. He’s wearing a suit. He’s impeccably neat and self-possessed, at ease in his skin I suppose, good looking, tall, athletic, all that stuff, prom king, frat king, swim team captain, backyard grill master, football captain, chess team, motocross, best friend and neighbor, the works.

And this guy comes in, looks right at me, like he’s expecting me, kind of smiles, walks over, sits down at my table, drinks come, cigarettes come. 

Then he leaves for some reason. We will never know.

Now I got to thinking. I want to know all this stuff. If this is a dream that I am going to take back with me and then tell everybody the truth, or if I am almost dead, but not quite and I can ask whatever I want ... I want to know about the Kennedy’s. I want to know about King, about elections, climate change, what ever happened to that one guy from shop class who went to the restroom and never returned, or maybe he came back in another door and I just never heard, also the moon, my dad, Aurora, Mayberry, Columbine, Sandy Hook, Bedrock, planes on 9/11, Fluoride, the five-second rule, we’re all in this together, the Challenger astronauts still alive, bumpy earth, all those, so many, I’ll never remember them all, well, he no doubt has a copy of the list.

I reach for a napkin and into the pencils holder that is just there.

And, why am I here, anyway. That other bar was kind of perfect. It was like being back in the days of my parents, in the 1940s, kind of safe, with big-band music and baseball, even with, well, stuff happening out there in the world. Maybe it didn’t penetrate quite so much, so much right there on your sleeve, over your shoulder. Maybe you could sit in the backyard with a lemonade and just sit, enjoy the sun on your face and not worry the day away. Maybe that’s how it was. That was kind of how I felt when I was sitting over there just now. At least I think it was. I don’t really know. I can’t tell if this is a dream or I’m dying, or ... I’m already dead. This is how it was with everybody. And only some of us have to do the walk of shame, the perp walk, across the street, slog through the mud the blood the beer, to the other place, the bad place where bad people go.

How did those good people live, my parents and their friends, what were they thinking their whole lives? Probably good stuff, not bad stuff like me.

When another mailbox down the street rings out like a shot from the grassy knoll. 

How many hundreds of times had the mailman and others before him tromped across this lawn? How many other trivial events had taken place in this nameless epoch in this town that supposedly meant something, were leading toward somewhere, were part of the evolving of something now to something later, much greater. But what could the hundreds of coffee sessions at the cafe be harbingers of? Enlightenment?

What might the labors of the neighbor across the street be pointing toward? 

A new cosmic awareness? An understanding of parallel universes? Time travel? Is that where all this is headed?

How about the ferocious church attendance of most folks around here. Where’s that getting us? The comprehension of galaxies? Giving your money to the poor and following Him?

The meticulous, slow driving of old friends during daytime. Pinpoint bankbook accounts.

The securing of comfortable retirement.

Must be for something.

Or maybe it all ends here?

Would a lizard in the slime be content in knowing that from this ooze — this town, this swamp — would spring forth language and love and physics and microwaveable dishware? How could he know to just breathe.

“Where’s your list?”

He says when he sits down.

I don’t have a ... here.

Okay, so here’s what I gave him ...

List For FBI Devil:

(He reads that line and looks at me over the top of his Oakleys and I’m thinking ... Shit!)

— first cops at Boston ... when the old guy runner fell down and then two cops were right there in perfect position and the woman cop was beautiful. They pause, look all serious, pull out their weapons and dash off to save the universe, and the photographer for a major newspaper was right there to capture it all. And the old guy was wearing red, the cops were wearing bright green, perfect for the front page of Sports Illustrated. C’mon. Really?

— if judges …well, are they real? Are they in somebody’s pocket? They say the mafia had/has control of some judges. Would it be possilbe for the FBI or CIA to control some? If some, why not all? Just askin, cuz this is either heaven or hell and ... yeah. ... I mean, where is Atticus Finch?

— guys charging up hill, now one guy sitting in cop car

— who must check in? whom?

— two photos of kids in line - different photos

— interview with dead principal

— don’t have it fall on their heads? what does that even mean?

— if Netflix works with/for government agencies

— NFL fixed?

— what happened to Anne Heche? Does anyone remember Anne Heche ... Floyd, Babbitt, McVeigh, Epstein - alive? Not alive? ... who killed Terry Yeakey and why.

— were there planes on 9/11 and if not, who told or forced Bryant Gumbel and all the rest to act as if there were.

— how did a whole plane go into the ground at Shanksville and into the Pentagon without leaving a trace.

— why were the two supposed killers at Columbine killed, if they were and why. Who else was also in there shooting. Did they really kill kids to fit a political agenda.

— pretty much same for Aurora. What really happened there? Did people die in the theater? Why was Holmes all drugged up and non-responsive immeidately after the adrenilin rush of having shot up a theater?

— photos of RFK in pantry [Enyart]

— who was behind Grassy Knoll/who stopped others from coming up there (name)

— who told Rather to say what he did

— Jan 6, where is the script and can I read it/I’ll give it back

— how did Paul McCartney die and why

— are there aliens walking among us

— Bigfoot is real, why is the goverment trying to hide that fact and killing them, it’s logging, right? Money?

— who is behind, managing Obama? The fake tear, the fake Osama death viewing/snuff film?

— green screen and Anderson Cooper, what’s up with that and the owl drawing, if it’s nothing, okay.

— deep fake, clones, masks (names)

— Tienanmen Square Tank Man: some say the massacre never happened, that the tanks were actually leaving, that this was just another massive psyop by our CIA to frame the Chinese. ????

— Floyd - how many takes? Where? Mpls?

— Maui, did they burn it on purpose? How about California? ... Peltier - who killed the agents Coler and Williams.

— Waco - fire out of the tank? Then our/my government killed men, women and children, on purpose. Of course they would do that in Vietnam, Dresden, Hiroshima, El Salvador, Iraq and Afghanistan, but Texas? That’s kind of beyond imagination. Right? Right?

— 3 dazed and confused: Holmes, Cruz, Sirhan: they don’t know what is happening after their scene is over, why?

— Las Vegas, how get weapons in - looks like crisis actors - how could you have sucess from that far

— Orlando mother and Floyd teacher - same?

— Conn. mother and Charlottsville mother - same-same? Just askin’. It is fair and allowed to ask questions, in America? Am I right?

— Boston - who killed Officer Collier?

— Where did they hold the rehearsals for the Jan. 6 upstairs scene?

— who exactly is managing the voting fraud

-—who is managing/controlling the press? A name, please.

— how/why did Diana die/what happened to NPR anyway?

— Holocaust: Is it a lie to allow Israel the leverage to do all that it does.

— Pearl Harbor/I’ve read that FDR planned that to get the American people to go along with joining World War II. Please tell me that’s not true.

— The notes left behind by the Isreaeli art students in the towers, what do they mean? I know you know what i’m referring to.

— was Martin King smothered to death in a hospital by a doctor? Did Jesse Jackson set him up?

— who ordered the murder of Malcolm

— the Apollo 11 press conference … did you see it? Just wow. becuz they murdered Grissom and them ... right?

— the Challenger astronauts have been seen, alive, please explain

That’s it? 

That’s all?

I shake my head, slowly, like an overmatched gun fighter in the street with Matt Dillon, thinking how did I even get here?

Well, and ...

Bernie Sanders said that when he was on his way to winning the Democratic Party nomination, the people inside the Democratic Party decided it should be Biden and not him. WTF? The people think it’s them and their massive rallies and their votes and then it turns out that doesn’t matter at all? WTF!

He looks at me, waiting.

... what ever happened to Lefty in Ohio, nobody knows where he got the bread to go.

That it? 

I nod my head, mouthing “no.”

He says, some of these are Voldemort-Class, I’d have to get the okay.

And I’m thinking, from who? Aren’t you? ... Oh, yeah, [Hillary, Bill, Barack, okay, I totally get it.]

Why can’t I go back with the truth? the teacher’s edition?

Or, go back over to the Good Bar?

“The Good Bar?” he says. “Bless your heart. You think there is a ‘Good’ Bar.”

Four Reasons.

He holds up one finger and I’m thinking City Slickers, but I say nothing (then two, three ...).

“No. 1: Duh.

“No. 2. That is not how it works.

“No. 3. That’s not how the game is played. (very similar to No. 2, but still …)

“No. 4. Then they would not need me.”

Here he lays down his business card: 

“F.B.I.” devil’s horns, b/w photo J. Edgar Hoover

What’s puzzling you is the nature of my game.

I chug the oatmeal stout, look around for more. The Labradoodle has his head down, licking the bar. I smoke a cigarette while he ... and now I wonder what’s his name? Oh, okay, I get it, I get it ... while he is checking his phone, making gestures to Mr. Labradoodle with the top-knot behind the bar that I assume mean get the noose ready, unlock the torture chamber, get the oil boiling.

He looks up and I’m ready.

What about them, all these, I ask, extending my arms, do they know.

The look in his deep blue eyes say, they’re not going anywhere.

The look in my brown eyes says what about those who know the truth but don’t say anything, don’t do ... anything.

And the look in his now green eyes says, let’s just say we know where they live.

Then he says out loud, “we can teach you ... guitar, banjo, harmonica, French cooking.

“You still have a choice, you’re not dead, maybe you’re dreaming, I don’t know don’t really care. 

“You can sign this [car dealership form?], give me your soul and I’ll just knock out your list right now ...”

(Or you can boil me in oil, chop off everything choppable and make me do public speaking for the rest of eternity.)

“Or, you can go back, trust yourself without needing the devils of external validation, go with your gut.

“And don’t be afraid.

“Besides, as the song goes, who killed the Kennedys?”

The Labradoodle now leans into it, pushing over a clanky metal kart on uneven wheels, a karaoke machine in hell, my worst nightmare.

And SAC Hell raised his hands like a conductor to get me to (reluctantly, very, I hate singing in public) sing along, and we sang together, not loud ... when after all, it was you and me.

See, he said, that wasn’t hard, was it?

I said, to myself in a mumble, yeah, it kind of was, looked behind me at the sound of someone on a microphone, a loudspeaker, intercom, turned around, smelling sulfur and hand sanitizer, and there were two women in front of me in line with two carts full to the max, talking, but with great bazooms, but this is no-doubt post-dream slash death journey, cool my jets. 

I still had the echoes of the sing-song with the devil in my head and I turned to them and said ... 

“ … But that’s not satisfying. I wouldn’t have and I want like nothing else to know who did it and if I could sell my soul to remake that day in history, I would. I know, I would.”

“There’s another side to that, you know,” said the checker.

“Like what,” said one of the ladies while the other lady took out her phone and started filming.

“You know,” said the other lady.

Yeah, I know. Do I have to say it?

“Do you?” said the other lady.

We let them. As long as we don’t have any trouble ourselves, as long as we get our life, we can tolerate. Is that it? 

“Is it?” said the checker.

At the door I pause by the sign advertising free smallpox blankets with each twelve-pack of cherry diet-Pepsi to write a note on the back of my receipt. Using one of the pictures of missing kids for a desk I write:

“... why wasn’t the U.S.A. banned from the Olympics, because of Gaza, supporting the mass murder, and also of provoking the Russian invasion of Ukraine and the mass murder?” 

Just asking ... because I’m pretty sure this isn’t over yet.

... where did I put my baseball card collection, in the Keds box? ... how did I ever get home that one night? ... why was I always picked last? forget it, I get it. 

Why can’t Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny be true? It would be just so much nicer, less confusing down here.

Someone licked my face. I woke up in time to watch a giant walnut plummet from fifty feet and was able to catch it with my forehead.

I saw clouds, colors, Zeus.

Table of Contents

Chapter One: Pleased to Meet You

Chapter Two: Make Them Kill You

Chapter Three: I Know You

Chapter Four: Stranger in a Strange Land

Chapter Five: And I Laugh

Chapter Six: Mr. Postman

Chapter Seven: The Devil & Daniel Berrigan

Chapter Eight: Leonard Peltier

Chapter Nine: True Believers

Chapter Ten: Listening for the Revolution

Chapter Eleven: My Big Fat American Book

Chapter Twelve: Michael & Me

Chapter Thirteen:  Joe Coffee’s Revolution

Chapter Fourteen:  SWEAT: global warming, in a small town

Chapter Fifteen: One Day in the Life of Herbert Wisniewski

Chapter Sixteen: They Were in Prison

Chapter Seventeen: The Americans

Chapter Eighteen: Reflections from the Garage 

                                          on the Revolution

Chapter Nineteen: Fighting For Freedom

Chapter twenty: Freedom of the Press

Chapter Twenty-one: The American Dream

Chapter Twenty-two: President Peace Prize

Final Entry

Notes

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DFTLFG45/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2WSJ84LLEYLJ9&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.S14jV8GjQiXFiUDKTOI_PI33erakMl9IsihF_ReaoCw.hU_BN8g2Ilcj06B8ikIZus2IbBm77K_u2xslc-VdVOU&dib_tag=se&keywords=mike+palecek+american+lie&qid=1725105730&sprefix=mike+palecek+american+li%2Caps%2C154&sr=8-1

About the author:

Mike Palecek has worked on newspapers in Minnesota, Iowa, Nebraska and South Dakota. He also produced Penn Magazine, and was a co-founder of Moon Rock Books, along with Jim Fetzer, as well as co-hosting, along with Chuck Gregory, The New American Dream Radio Show. He has written several novels. Now retired after working for twenty years with the disabled, Palecek also served five terms in jail and prison for protests against U.S. military policy, and was the Iowa Democratic Party 5th District candidate for the U.S. House of Representatives in the 2000 election, receiving 65,500 votes.(Banned from Canada)

(Palecek video presentations)

Freedom of the Press False Flags & Conspiracies Conference 2020

https://www.bitchute.com/video/PBDaf07tMm5K/

Freedom of the Press False Flags & Conspiracies Conference 2021

https://153news.net/watch_video.php?v=WGDSDUSWSM78

Radio interviews, KPFA, Pacifica Berkeley, 

with Denny Smithson

https://mikepalecek.newdream.us/radio-interviews/

Archives for The New American Dream Radio Show

https://newdream.us