January 31, 2016
The White House
1600 Pennsylvania Avenue
Washington D.C. 20500
Barack Hussein Obama:
For nigh on too thirty years now the Federal government of the United States has for no reason found in any law intentionally sought my family’s destruction; in fact, contravening local, state and federal law, even the Constitution, to this end. This is not a groundless charge made by the inexperienced the records of this lawless terror are kept by the government. Moreover, an incredibly unusual file from a source unknown was sent to the FBI not long after that agency initiated hostilities against my family. This file confirms a second deleterious power monitoring and acting on our lives in decades prior to this event, this includes extended family.
When this waking incubus was brought to life I did what I could to confront my accusers, seeking advice from an attorney who sent a letter of enquiry to the FBI, and years later, another such letter was sent by the honorable Congressman Denny Rehberg’s office, but the existence of any investigation of the Swartos family has always been denied (in a display of naïveté I even complained at a city council meeting). We were at their mercy, and it was not forthcoming. The attorney made clear to me that there was nothing to be done beyond waiting for them to do something. What that meant in practical terms was we had no recourse to law, they could hurt us with impunity, and they did. (That advice would come from any competent attorney, so it was no surprise when Ms. Bazant echoed it in our one formal meeting. The Federal government, or course, has records of all those conversations.
So the Bureau’s weight descended and gave their sick machinations a vesicant life that has threatened our very survival. Thus, a now much older man, all too painfully aware of his glaring limitations, began with all the confidence of those whose lives have been choked off by oppressors and their lawless designs…to write. For all of these past six years I have in spite of my prostrating fear shamelessly pleaded in these letters for our deliverance.
Well we remember the butchering travesty of Montana’s recent past when the federal government in all its slithering malice with no credible solvent savagely murdered its citizens at Ruby Ridge over an invented misdemeanor. Despite the honorable refusal of state and local authorities to approve that massacre by participating, an innocent family was brutally sacrificed to the federal government’s god of slaughter. Remembering how these mutant “authorities” schemed and set themselves above the law; how they aggravated the situation by bringing a Bradley tank and rejected the pacific means of the local sheriff; how they created charges after the fact to imprison an innocent; and all this by the power of a government corrupted by its lies,* I cannot but write it is the last refuge of manliness and not to be surrendered to rabble, for we have by the corruption of our leaders been made “less than men because we are powerless against the dictates of our rulers.” –Tocqueville
For the memory of an innocent mother shot threw the head while holding her child; an unarmed child playing in the woods—whose 22 rifle, propped against a tree, was never fired—unguarded by law or decency, suffered mayhem then was shot in the back; and a man shot and suffering, who was guilty only of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, we remember.
History, properly understood, can point the way to justice. The saga of the Clinton’s will serve to advance the point. To the observers of character Bill Clinton’s rise to power came as a shock. From east to west his earned notoriety was noted. The difference being that whereas in the West this portended corruption, in the East it may have been noted with something like gratitude.
The Clinton’s were probably the most corrupt individuals ever to have inhabited the White House. Chasing down ex-occupants of that distinguished address to retrieve stolen furniture is not a historical commonplace. And in remembering Vince Foster we find their reputation for cruelty befits them. Shortly before Mr. Foster’s abrupt demise, Hillary is reputed to have viciously tongue lashed him before his peers for questioning the legality of something she wanted to do. Soon after he was found dead and quickly, and conveniently, pronounced a suicide. The moral of that story may be lie for Hillary or suicide. We now know once she catches scent and sight of a little girl’s underwear, bloodied from a gang rape, like a bitch on a blood trail her bubbly effervescence is quite irrepressible. As for her smiling Bill, he who would demand we make normative sex with children, in addition to oral sex, which he and his followers managed to do for adolescents, they are two peas in a pod: “show me the money” might very well be their foremost guiding principle.
For a time Bill found its source in his corruption. As president he secretly took Chinese cash and in return made sure they could challenge the United States militarily. Military experts who objected (and there were many) were silenced by force, and when that did not work their recommendations were secretly altered, rewritten.
This issue could involve the very survival of the United States. To silence criticism on such matters is a folly verging on criminal irresponsibility, and it is particularly ominous against the background of years of secret Chinese political contributions to Bill Clinton. [It has been] shown that money from the Chinese military establishment rescued Clinton at several crucial moments in his political career. (Michael A. Ledeen, Tochville on American Character)
Bill and Hillary Clinton love other people’s money; their foundation is a convenient conduit for their appetites. But Bill and his consigliere made themselves into Chinese agents. Time was that would have been disgraceful, I guess times changed.
It is no secret that the federal government would like Lynn and Gwen and Ashley dead. Nor is it a mystery that you and your nasty cabal are sweating. The shadows have descended on so many horizons. What’s a government goon to do when he or she is stigmatized by reality, not to mention their families? To think that your children, Joe Biden’s children (bring on the mighty Hunter), the Bush clan, the Cheney’s girls—and so on—would bear the whispered stigma of members who besides being, variously, rapists, torturers, and murderers, support raping children as small as toddlers, and so on. What’s a bigot to do?
So keep a record of this. I do not own, carry, nor am in possession of any weapons, whatsoever. To do so would be to give the “authorities” an excuse to shoot me or, rather, execute me. Moreover, experience teaches that when law enforcement makes an arrest and the arrestee is in possession of weapons that becomes a separate charge in spite of the subject’s (once upon a time) presumed innocence. I prefer they not do any of that, and so, have taken away that excuse. If at any time these shy authorities would like to talk to me, other than surreptitiously (remember the hefty fellow on the sidewalk near the University), that would be just dandy. Please feel free to call Lisa Bazant in Billings, who has, admittedly, dumped me as a client (I, alas belatedly, reciprocated by dumping her as my attorney), but nevertheless, she impressed me at our one and only meeting (except for one brief encounter in her office lobby surrounded by people coming and going), and may, if your sweating minions can remember their manners (I concede it is a long shot), and not soil her furniture (another long shot), deign to speak to you; consequently, may take an interest in this heretofore, technically, unknown case. If not, you may contact me and we will go from there. And wherever we go, rest assured, I, for my part, shall go very, very quietly (wouldn’t want a repeat of that Florida disaster nor the California tragedy). See you in court.
As you know, I am heading out to take up residence in another state. So your functionaries might want to pack their bags because I do not think I will be coming back. Missoula can grow tiring. Dodging irate feminists on the public buses (in Missoula one must be at least three seats away or they have a conniption fit) at the barbers (one of them thought I was a rapist because in making a point I recited a story of Robert Bork’s from Slouching… about a young woman, walking to class in a very short skirt, who was told by a flirtatious young man she had nice legs. What was he thinking?! She claimed she was mini-raped) and at the shelter where if you are upset staff might get right in your face, you then know that you are probably facing a feminist who is about to go off at the slightest perceived provocation and call up their menstrual wrath. An accusation being as good as evidence you are then, as they say, done. You will be part of the criminal ranks, not because you did any wrong but because they say so. Meanwhile they will defend the bumping and rubbing of those who enjoy a penis in their mouth, (a pirouetting Clinton, who you will meet in the attached letters, has been instructing the clients in gay preferences) and the groping and grabbing of gay women who force themselves on women who aren’t—and if you object a gay staff member will, presumably, call you homophobic. Dogs will poop where they will and yap incessantly, and heaven help you if you trust the evidence of your eyes, if one of the shelters retired people (on a full pension) tells you an animals being abused it is, or else. Smoke a bowl for the helpless, the goofy, and the deranged. I won’t miss the shelter, too many contradictions. They say what they don’t mean, and don’t say what they mean. You know?
I have submitted a number of grievances to them, supposedly to be answered promptly. They haven’t. I included them, take a look.
Sincerely,
Lynn Swartos
Missoula, MT
January 25, 2016
The Poverello
1110 W. Broadway
Missoula, MT 59802
To whom it may concern:
The evening of the 22nd I was eating supper between 5:15 and 5:30pm when a young woman parked her baby and stroller at my table. However, she had no chair to sit on. Despite the numerous entreaties by Poverello management not to stake a claim to empty chairs and to not even sit in the dining room unless one is eating the habits continue, thus keeping them empty or occupied by loungers while others wander the dining area searching for someplace to eat their meals.
So I got her a chair from another table, for this she expressed her gratitude and got on with the meal. But as I mentioned above, inconsiderate individuals refuse the balm of good manners. Before I could give the woman a chair I had to get one away from a man who was saving it for his friend. I explained to him what the shelter announces every night chairs are to be dispensed on a first come basis. Skipping over his reiteration of, “I’m saving it for my friend,” he eventually got to, “I’ll see you outside.” I believed it reasonable and prudent to believe that was a clear threat of violence. So I followed another of the shelters injunctions and informed the staff lead person, who said she would come down and talk to him. But she didn’t. So I went back to her and in a half-hearted attempt to blame shift told me that, “You didn’t give me his name.” I demurred, “I can’t possibly know everyone’s name that comes in here,” and then, “I’ll point him out to you.” She relented and I identified him.
Initially she instructed him to leave. He resisted, declaiming his good intentions for his friend who was now in a wheelchair (but accompanied by a mystery man). Why he would have needed to save a chair for a man in a wheelchair he never said. Methinks he wasn’t exactly forthcoming. I left him with the understanding that we were not going anywhere outside, whereupon he said, “You don’t have any witnesses that I said that,” and I said, “You sound like the criminal who tells the police they can’t prove it,” and left.
A little while later while walking through the dining room I saw that the man was still there. I took it to the staff lead who told me she had changed her mind because there wasn’t any evidence that the man had made any threat against me. At this point I had had quite enough.
A brief enumeration of my numerous previous requests for assistance that never came will elucidate. The objection to Troy striking and rubbing against me in the letter date January 11, 2016; to gay, straight, woman, bisexual, or whatever Clinton’s flip of a coin decides he is on any given day, at Troy’s suggestion, presuming to dance with me; Brian Holmes insistently touching me, listed in the same letter; and Tina’s disgraceful expulsion for objecting to being incessantly sexually harassed despite her many petitions for help (this includes putting off the woman who climbed into her bed and put her hands on Tina), also listed in the letter dated January 2, 2016.
Every night at check-in the announcement is made that staff is there to make the Poverello a safe place and that if we find ourselves in need we should seek staffs assistance. I did, and they didn’t. In spite of video evidence aplenty a preternatural silence has descended. Troy’s shenanigans demonstrate the results of this choking omission licensing malice. For instance, a man longing for a better life came to the Poverello and was greeted by Troy who with vicious, entirely unwarranted calumny knowingly spread fabrications that the man was a child molester. The man was not. The staff was informed. Nothing was done.
It might further understanding for you to elucidate how it is that a number of individuals are capriciously exempted from various requirements, also, why it is that so much personal information seems to leak to a privileged few from the front desk as to personal situations of clients.
Finally, reality frequently contradicts policy. Dogs threaten and lunge, they bite and they poop, wail and howl, all without consequence. They’re good. People are not so good, but for making a market for marijuana, which is done with resounding enthusiasm. (I have wondered if I’m the only one in this town that doesn’t smoke dope.) And proper sympathy seems to be on the wane. Dear Gail was reportedly told by staff not to sit at a particular table that has been homesteaded by a group of young flaneurs. She had offended their sensibilities by allegedly singing (this while they and others of their intolerant ilk can often be located on premises by the sound of their radios and movies that belie any courtesy they might extend to the people around them. This is also one of their reasons for not moving during meals. The show must go on). I suppose she may have, perhaps overcome by her condition, or in a modest attempt to fit in. But I have never known her to sing, much less to break into song spontaneously. Perhaps the source of this ire can be found in their selfishness or intolerance. Perhaps they were saving her chair for someone else, or they felt she fell short of their illustrious society.
But perhaps you are not aware of her dolorous circumstances. Gail apparently suffers from a disabling nervous condition. In spite of her best efforts she is compelled to wring her hands ceaselessly. Any attempt at conversation is difficult and thus brief for her lack of ability, and sometimes she does make little hooting noises, (though I have only rarely heard her do that at table. One need only speak to her so as to require an answer and she’ll come out of it). Because of her inability to communicate easily she has no real friends, she spends her time, even amongst others, alone. Thus she is quite sympathetic and inoffensive, not to mention defenseless, which brings me to the conclusion that whoever told her not to shadow the table of these habitual young bullies must have lost their mind (or minds).
A correct response would be to say that, “If you want to serve your self-interest it would be wise to do what you can to help her, thus improving yourselves as well as her.” To feed our self-righteousness at the trough of bad temper, to attack the innocent and defenseless, or withhold sympathy from the hurting, takes us farther away from progress.
Sincererly,
Lynn Swartos
January 11, 2016
The Poverello
1110 W. Broadway St.
Missoula, MT 59802
To whom it may concern:
Troy is back. I noticed this last night as he bore down on me in the dining room his malevolent eyes alight with visions of mischief to come, probably at my expense. I knew it (the sick feeling in my stomach was the tip off), then confirmed it at the desk with Samantha.
This is my position: the last time I stayed here Troy struck me on a couple of occasions by ramming into me with his shoulder. Once, maybe, on premises in the downstairs hallway by the lockers, once off property when I was accompanied by a witness and, moreover, on another occasion rubbed himself across my posterior as I was getting into my locker in that same downstairs hallway. And guess what?
It’s on video!
Since Troy seems to think he’s calling the tune to which he expects me to dance this shindig is over. I’m submitting the last two documents I gave you and this one to the police. If, or when, it happens again I’m pressing charges.
In the past I instructed Troy to “keep his gay hands off me.” In response I was told that was homophobic. Think again.
Sincerely,
Lynn Swartos
January 2, 2016
The Poverello
Missoula, MT
To whom it may concern:
The evening of 1/1/2016 between, I believe, 6 and 6:30pm in the downstairs dayroom Clinton was his typically spirited self, dancing about the room and, as usual, propositioning, on this eve, as is his habit, at least one man for a massage. (The individual is in locker #9, and I can point him out on the video.) Despite the disinterest demonstrated by his targets random assaults seem to be the entirety of his strategy—he can often be heard making this pitch—which is to simply keep randomly asking until someone says yes.
Resident Troy was in the room and, in what for him passes as humor, despite the fact he well knows I am not gay, suggested I dance with Clinton, who responded by standing expectantly in front of me. To this I responded by making it abundantly clear (among other things) to both of them, as I will now make it clear to the shelter staff, I do not dance with gay men, nor do I look forward to them putting their hands on me. (This occurred specifically when we were lining up to wait for check in the evening of 12/19/2015. Brian Holmes rested his hand on my knee as he seated himself.) These ideas, even more so as facts, are preposterous thus offensive. Furthermore, you cannot make me conform to such. You may label me homophobic, as a staff member did when I, in the past, forewarned Troy not to put his hands on me, but I will in no way allow myself to be humiliated by the acolytes of political correctness. I shall gladly stand with Tina who was rudely removed from the shelter because the staff would not prevent mortifying gay assaults (woman on woman) on her, despite her many cries for help. (I have enclosed a letter written originally in response to another threat of expulsion, to remind you of her character.)
I was once given what I took to be advice on surviving a gay gang rape by a survivor who had been dragged down by the side of the road by three strange men as he was walking at night. His advice was essentially to relax and let it happen.
This is, decidedly, not my position.
Sincerely,
Lynn Swartos
[Mr. Holmes just couldn’t take no for an answer, the third time he touched me, well after my written complaint about him, I went to staff and made it really, really clear to them they were to do something.]
December 26, 2014
The Poverello
Missoula, MT
Jesse [?]:
December 17, 2014 resident Tina was threatened with expulsion from the Poverello for objecting to her assigned chore in the kitchen that day. She was, she explained, tired. Tina can often be found working at various projects, habits of industry are part of her character—she is, in the vernacular, a worker. For example, Thursday she spent part of the day carrying mattresses down stairs to the day room. (Not bad for a woman who is about 5’ 2”.) In addition, the move from the old to the new Poverello, in which she had helped immensely had just been completed, when she claimed fatigue there was good reason to believe her. But there was to be none of that, it was to be work in the kitchen or toot-a-loo to you. One of the staff pronounced the ukase; no slackers would be tolerated and that was that. No options. No thanks. Get out.
All her many labors were forgotten, no other person could fill her shoes—not many can. She was to be summarily dismissed, to be shunned and bear this contumely while youthful larrikins and layabouts—some of whom regularly reek of marijuana—sat and ate, and ate and jabbered, chewing, eating and talking, saying nothing and making plans for naught but their copulations, their laughter frequent, their smiles as gaping as the lack substance in their conversation, “rather after the fashion of cattle,” Plato might have said.
These individuals could not be bothered. Perhaps, the vast majority of them having done nothing all day felt the need for their rest, to recline and talk a bit, watch a movie, play with their dogs (that periodically poop on the dining room floor) or slumber in one of the many rooms and on one of the many mattresses, some of them placidly watched Tina hefting, and to which after a meal they often find it comforting to retreat. No one could be bothered to help her out. Being idle and homeless can be exhausting.
Perhaps we should just go all the way with this silliness and rather than kick out someone who embodies a work ethic, instead make Tina the Poverello head mistress. She could set an example, tuck these misguided sojourners in at night (or after meals), hold their hands throughout their drama filled days, lite their pipes, and pick up poop after their dogs; or better yet motivate them to acknowledge their responsibilities, see to their duties, take care of themselves, and just maybe, if nothing else, ape a work ethic. It might catch on.
Sincerely,
[As far as I can tell, Google will no longer allow group emails]
