For DSA and ASDnet: The Confessions of a Stalinist Angel

["Hunter Gray" <hunterbadbear@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>]

Bored.

In a word, I'm an Angel -- a supernatural entity, immortal, reasonably wise.
Furthermore, I can move in and out of both dimensions, the earthly sphere
and the spirit world, smoothly and easily.  But it is, I must admit, a bit
more complex:  I'm a Stalinist angel, pure and simple. [No problem at all
with the unyielding expectations of the League of the Militant Godless.  Not
only does one's perspective change a bit following Transition, but
immortality doesn't necessarily have to imply a Deity.]

Periodically, about once a month or so, Papa Joe and I have lunch on a nice
green, sloping lawn.  Often it's borsch, sometimes something he calls
ZZST -- a Georgian dish.  I consult with him on how DSA and ASDnet can
[continue to] be transformed into something properly and tightly organized,
decisionally prompt, and militarily effective in the war between the Proles
and the Others.  We're slowly making progress on this important
Comintern-type task, especially since there are people in DSA and on ASDnet
who muddy the reddening waters with all sorts of false and bizarre
allegations [just like the Other Joe, the one from Green Bay.]  I've made
contact several times with the redoubtable Michael Borodin, the legendary
Comintern [ CI ] Rep to the Far East in the '20s especially, but since he
died at the beginning of the '50s in one of Joe's rehab camps -- and
especially since the great fictional figure, James Bond, has now been
modeled after him -- he's not too interested in joining us for our monthly
sup on the lawn.

In The Spirit, our Redbadbear discussion group is now soliciting members.
[Its symbolic critter/colour connotations and implications are obvious --
but do check our home page for one of the more unique Red Flag logos
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Redbadbear/


Hunter Gray  [Hunterbear]
www.hunterbear.org
Protected by Na´shdo´i´ba´i´
and Ohkwari'


In our Gray Hole, the ghosts often dance in the junipers and sage, on the
game trails, in the tributary canyons with the thick red maples, and on the
high windy ridges -- and they dance from within the very essence of our own
inner being. They do this especially when the bright night moon shines down
on the clean white snow that covers the valley and its surroundings.  Then
it is as bright as day -- but in an always soft and mysterious and
remembering way. [Hunterbear]