Sunday Edition Criminal Chase

Remember down at Shady Acres

Where the grass was over grown

Ring Ring Ring went the sound

Of a rotary dial

It’s your Daddy on the phone

I asked you to take care of them

My children and my wife

You ate instead the bread I gave them

Took my very life

Little Nate he understands

He’s doing very well

Though he bears the marks your sins have given

In the blood in which he fell

The incorrectly ordered man

Is deadly to himself

And my daughter writes in place of me

That book upon a shelf


Bits & Pieces of it, Another Phone Call from Heaven

I can see him in a green shirt, someone forcing him to sit down. A rough voice orders him  “Hang  up the phone.”

He tells me last night in a dream, as if with what has become my favorite country song. As he explained it to me, this image:

do you know how long I’m waiting for your touch?

do you know how much you mean to me?

(I do now. I did. I always do. I always knew in my heart, my hidden pain, it was for you all along  Daddy. I’m so glad God turns it into joy)

I know.

Ive never loved anyone so much.

Do you see

how happy

you are making me?

starting to see it

Im eating popcorn, off the back of my hand

like walls so high

they climb the impossible


to build houses without end,

a vision in a garden,

a prisoner in release,

they build a brand new tower,

(the Master’s?)

a bridge,

a store,

a shower,

so the young

can live in peace.

My favorite country song (below).  This is not my father singing.  My father’s voice was taken away from him when his neighbors who he thought were his friends assaulted him. I am giving my father back his voice back, I hear his silent voice in my mind when I sleep,  to avenge his death and honor him as the saint I know who is in heaven, because this is a miracle, that these things can happen, that I know all these things.

I also want to honor a miracle I attribute to the intercession of a little Mexican boy martyr a priest at the Spanish Mass at Saint Joseph’s in Martinsburg, WV  honored and told me to simply call Jose. It was through this little boy’s  intercession who died shouting Long Live Christ the King that I realized how to expose a fraudulent priest.  They are the ones who may preach the most beautiful sermons you have ever heard, in the name of God, yet outright refuse to say the words “Long Live Jesus and Mary!” just for the sake of saying it, before they hear your honest confession, or allow themselves to hear the words of your honest story.  They are the very ones who show up for your confession as if in a sheriff’s uniform (rather than a priest’s) and when you come to their clerics and deacons or prelates,  to expose how you have been abused, they say do not take your angst here, that is not church business.  Go straight to the police. Some perhaps well intended, like Deacon Dave at Saint James the Greater, stress that they have actually been trained to respond to you that way.

Then these priests say they are worried about you.  They say you are troubled. These are people who would then call your psychiatrist, talk behind your back, and/or warn people against you. They will not stop until the whole town has turned against you and/or your business, and it like your honest reputation is put up for sheriff’s sale.

As for me, I  will not stop writing and running my mouth off until I have exposed the whole damned corrupt system that hides these criminally unrepentant sinners, those who fraudulently claim to be The Catholic Church, and all those who implicate themselves by connection, in the sins of their guilt.  For all the other broken and compromised systems are the very means by which they get away with their crimes against men, women and children. I include evidence below of the few who have already gotten but are still for some reason hiding in the church.

Perhaps in your confessional, or mine.

And this one (below) my Daddy dedicates to my mother, that he never stopped loving through it all, despite the horrible things she unwittingly did to me and him.  He is helping me to prevent her from dying in medical neglect, in the now unwitting and witless hands of my brother. I think he saw me cleaning out her closet.

Little Shepherd Cuisine does not believe in recycling.  It’s time we take out the trash. For at Little Shepherd Cuisine, the buck stops here.

Hey are you on?

Another phone call from Daddy.

Hey are you on?

Hey are you on?


Write Vicky in the name of Virginia  [Vicky is an old friend whose mentally ill ex shot her little son to death in a double “suicide” to get them both to heaven because he thought the end of the world was coming, or something like that,  and Vicky got a call from her little boy from heaven in the middle of the night. Virginia is my former first “employee” who had had struggles with cancer but as far as I know is alive and well.]

There are mountains on the journey

[happy feeling]

[I see in my mind Christ in Mary’s hands like in my picture of Our Lady of Perpetual Help. I understand his meaning.  He means the sometimes light sometimes heavy weight of Jesus in her arms]

Holy (l)ann(d?)

Chinese emblem

down a path with no name

The Korean War started it

the color issue

just light

it up

the nodeem [phonetic spelling] prayer

only issues John May eating a celery stick [I previously dreamed I met John May in heaven eating heavenly made vegetables in an abundant harvest. that he had piled up in his own wagon]

talking the Jews who reject Christ

in your shoes

in your shores [? Oppenheimer has a Jewish father, Anglican mother]

Realize a gun never fails to do its job

laughing hard

I can hear your laughter now

see it

feel it

[oh Daddy]

[I am glad]



know it

see it

feel it


[Are you happy?]


riding laughter

like the waves

that rock the shore

[Please help me]


[Love you]

Good night


I saw it

“savings bonds”

in the box(?)


cash it

[I will]

[thank you]

good night

[she said it was “pencils”]

to write on checks with


merit award badge

please list me

as fiduciary

of the estate


[I will]



see I love you

I was always there too

[thank you Daddy I love you]

I knew it

even when I lied

about the checks

come in

let me tell you something

[please help me. I can’t understand]

shut the door

I started to see it

military uniform

hanging on the door

There would be war

between the sexes

It was right there

on the chair

in my room [my father had a small quilt made with emblem patches sewn to reflect his military career and life journey that used to hang on the back of the chair I’m sitting in right now typing this into my computer that now sits on his old army issued desk.]

on the floor

in the hall

on my wall [felt this meant my wall]

like a cobweb

paying my bill(s)

for sins past

not amended

[I love you dear Bell anyway]

I know it

a handgun like flowers extended

instead of a rose

would be offered to a child

instead of a woman

to shoot her mother

in the head

and leave her

lying on the cold hard floor

[dear God it’s true]

I knew you wouldn’t do it

but Larry would

please stop him

before he cleans

up the mess

in his own blood

in his own house

all over the floor

like cobwebs

on the walls

the ceiling

the floor

the Manchurian candidate

never rises


this time around

Go type.

Eating french fries

and pizza

with everything on it

the trash can pizza

with Frank [my Aunt Millie’s deceased husband who my father was always buddies with]

Good night.

Love you.

[Love you too]

[Hangs up the phone]

*Note: my mother and brother act like they’ve both been brainwashed. My mother has expressed on many occasions in his home and her home she’d be happier dead, even though when in treatment and stabilized , my mother fought against both suicide and euthanasia for the elderly and mentally ill. She was literate and very vocally, publicly and through her Catholic faith and in her heart opposed to such things.  My brother allows her to live in isolation in his home, untreated for her sometimes extremely well hidden mental condition, administer her own medication,  so she’s in complete psychiatric medical neglect.  My brother feels a compulsion to report to the Berkeley Country sheriff, as if he’s heard the opposite of everything I’ve told him, about who is responsible for persecuting this family and stealing from his father and mother’s estate, and that it was LeMaster’s officers who told me to wait until I find her dead on the floor (a crime) before calling 911 again.

(Former Father/Dom ) Daniel Oppenheimer mentioned several months ago he was still receiving calls from my mother, who would often “report in” with false information about me in the middle of the night to persons unknown.  I have one such call recorded on my cell phone, but do not remember when it was recorded.  In the background there is an oxygen machine, so it was either when she was in the hospital, or when my father was still alive, or when she still lived at home and my Aunt Millie was visiting. I also have a video of her dark bedroom where you can hear what sounds to me like a creepy voice saying “black witch” in Spanish, but I couldn’t swear that’s what’s being said.

Please those who can help my family:  Get my mother Hospice.  I was also told in the night that Hospice IS Home, in a happy dream, for whatever that’s worth. (I think a lot, though I don’t necessarily understand the entire meaning.)   And they can check in on her and administer her medications, so she doesn’t take the wrong “drugs”.  My POA is recorded in this blog.  I think in home registered nurse elder care specialist Mellis Eidson would be great as a team member, although that would probably be impossible. Maybe as advisor? Of course never by herself. She is the one who warned me my mother intended to kill me in the night and understands how dangerous my mother is to herself and others, but than my mother threatened her with physical violence and so she had to leave. She also witnessed the criminal behavior of the criminal justice system against my mother and I at the mental hygiene petition I filed in a fruitless attempt to get my mother back into treatment.  LOVE YOU MELLIS!!!

P.S.  Hey, isn’t it funny how Ralph Brown wanted me to use his wife or someone to assist my mother and he kindly put that lock box on the door of my business so “workers” with the code could get in and out?

Please note that my father worked at the military hospital in West Point, NY for part of his military career.  He was a sergeant major there.