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NEIL KEENAN UPDATE |
A Personal Perspective

JAKARTA – April 23, 2013:  Up front alert – this is not a news bulletin.  This does not contain the latest blow-by-blow between Neil Keenan’s team and the late not-so-great OPPT.  This is not a cunning stratagem doubling as an engaging dispatch from the front lines (though I’ve gotten rather fond of writing those).  You don’t need to read between the lines here to figure out which parts are Michael H. Dunn the choir boy and which parts Neil Keenan the warlord.

This is all choir boy – but it’s about my personal impressions of the warlord.

As perceptive readers will have noted (and as I candidly admitted early on), the “engaging dispatches” of the past two months were written by me, and vetted and improved upon (OK, let’s be honest – brutally toughened by) Mr. Keenan, with indispensable insight and editing suggestions provided by Jean Haines.  We are, after all, in a war (in the end-game of it, we believe, with the rewarding work of implementing global humanitarian programs just around the corner, but still for some days yet, yes, in a war), and there is an art to war, as the ancient Chinese strategist Sun Tzu has reminded us.

When at war, you do not tell your enemy what you are really doing.  Unless, of course, you want him to think you’re lying.  Nor do you tell your enemy where you really are.  (Do you really think we’ve been in Jakarta all this time?  Ha, ha, ha!  But, then….maybe we really are in Jakarta!  Or maybe we just hired a few dozen Indonesian extras to play the parts of prisoners and their families in a crowded courthouse holding cell, and flew them to the U.S. or some neutral territory so we could fool you all with a phony interview with Nelu Wibawa!  Seriously, folks – some people are now proposing this.)

By the way, we’ve moved our base of operations to Hawaii.

I wish.

For the sweet naïve folks who find all this art of war stuff terribly “3D,” and unworthy of an about-to-be-ascended “lightworker,” I can only say that if that’s your perspective, then the next time you play a game of chess you should immediately move your king into the most vulnerable position possible, to ensure the quickest possible checkmate, thus bringing a swift and merciful end to this brutal simulation of human conflict.

And if one of the many good police offers in the world answers your urgent 911 call, entering your home to apprehend a violent thief still on the premises, you really should immediately urge the officer (in keeping with your “5D” principles) to put down his weapon and call out to the violent thief to come meditate with you in your living room, in hopes of resolving this nasty conflict through the appropriate post-2012 method of mutual vibration-raising.

This analogy is apt, folks – the cabal is composed of violent thieves.  Violent thieves in suits, for the most part, but still violent thieves.  And Keenan is one of the cops answering the call to take them down – do we really want him to be a cross between the Dalai Lama and Mr. Rogers?  If he were, he would have been dead early on against the cabal – and a lot more of us would probably be dead by now too.

So, yes, a lot of these dispatches have had the art of war in mind.  Back in mid-March, when intelligence came to us from a high source of a credible threat against our team’s safety, I shared in one dispatch a snippet of dialogue from one of our editing sessions, in which Neil corrected my usage of the somewhat Shakespearean phrase “will have their throats cut” to what he informed me was the more plainly understood underworld terminology, “will have their throats slit.”  Yes, oh my goodness, mercy me!  Mr. Keenan knows the underworld!

That terrible man!  And he has friends in the CIA!  Heavens!  How can we trust him?

He grew up in Rhode Island and knows “good fellas” – and most of the time he sounds like one!  Shun him at once!  He is prone to making vulgarity-laced statements about picturesque punishments he would like to see meted out to those who oppose him – or even to those who merely annoy him.  Can we really allow such a low-vibrational being to be appointed guardian of the Global Accounts?  Surely, such a thuggish fellow must be merely a cabal front man, whose ultimate goal is to return us all to a rebooted financial slave system?

On the other hand (and this is probably news to most), he was also a friend of Pope John Paul II, has a highly developed extra-sensory gift, has been visited by the visible spirits of departed family, been blessed and chosen through Indonesian ceremony by high Elders, and is accompanied at all times by intensely vigilant white-faced guardian devas (who occasionally make themselves visible to him, which kind of freaks him out).  And he’s something of an authority on the ancient Thracian ruins of Bulgaria, and the voyages of Christopher Columbus.

Also worth noting is that he was one of the best basketball players of his generation in New England, setting numerous records in both high school and college, and playing pro ball in Europe.  His skills as a Golden Gloves boxer (29 and 0 in his day) recently came in handy on a street in Europe when he was attacked by knife-wielding assassins (with the help of an Army Ranger buddy whom God placed conveniently at the scene, the thugs ended up on the hospital).

One of my personal favorites among Neil Keenan stories is when George W Bush got on the phone with him, and Neil said, “Oh wait – I think I know you…aren’t you that cheer-leader from Connecticut?”

Dubya went ballistic.

Or when Queen Elizabeth II called Neil regarding an enormous cabal Federal Reserve note she was trying to steal, and Neil said, “Ma’am, you need to understand something.  You’re not my queen!  I’m Irish!”

And when Neil Keenan organized the epic “500th Anniversary of Christianity in the West” in 1992 in The Dominican Republic, he personally hosted Pope John Paul II, impishly daring to say things to His Holiness that make my still-Catholic hair stand on end, such as, “Hey, Father – stand here, would you please, and face the Caribbean Sea while you’re saying that blessing, ok?”

The Polish pontiff (who by this time knew Keenan was a loose cannon), rolled his eyes, and asked ‘why?’  To which Neil replied that he could then make a fortune by going down to the beach and filling thousands of little bottles with water, since the whole sea was now “holy water personally blessed by the Pope!”

And John Paul replied, “And what if I say ‘no?’”

Keenan didn’t miss a beat.  “Well, Father, then I’d have to sell “Pope on a Rope!”  “And that is?” asked John Paul.  “Well, of course, that’s just little soap figures that look like you, and then we put them on a rope for the bathtub, and people wash their private parts with them!”

As Keenan tells it, the Pontiff laughed long and loud.  And afterward, he invited Keenan repeatedly to visit him in Rome, and called him several times at home in later years, just to say ‘hello.’

So Neil Keenan goes through life pretty much laughing, joking, singing, flirting, or fighting – mostly fighting, these days, but walk through a Jakarta shopping mall with him, and it’s mostly joking and flirting.  But he’s an equal-opportunity flirt, calling out compliments to about two dozen different pretty shop-girls in a good-sized mall in one thirty-minute stroll.  Not a “swordsman” anymore – he just likes seeing them smile.

And when one of the Rothschilds calls us here in Jakarta (as happened last night) to tell us she hopes Jean Haines re-opens the comments on the blog so that this high cabal heiress can share her own Rothschildian thoughts with the world on our latest post, what does Neil do?

Flirts with her, of course…..

But the fighter comes out fast.  If we walk out of the mall to get a taxi, and he sees someone cut in line to cheat and grab a cab ahead of others who’ve been waiting, the unfortunate would-be cheater will be immediately subject to the warlord’s wrath, which is uttered with such force and such unconscious assumption of authority, that everyone on the scene just says “whoa!….let’s back off and do what this guy says, OK?”

Kind of like what’s happening with the Global Accounts.

And just what does Mr. Keenan actually say in his righteous anger?  Well, I’ll leave the exact words to your imagination, but it usually involves a threat to remove the offender’s head from his body, accompanied by a liberal mix of expletives, while dark scary rays shoot out of his black Celtic eyes.

And believe me, the offender obeys.  It’s kind of amazing to watch, time after time.  I mostly squirm during these encounters because (let’s face it) I actually am the diplomatic, poetic, peace-making, meditating, lyrical dude who all of Drake’s people think is diluting the ferocity of their beloved mad-man Keenan (not to worry, Drake and Co. – nobody can dilute this guy’s wrath, and every dispatch had his seal of approval….well, except this one, of course).

Or did it?  You figure it out….

To be honest, the guy drives me nuts a good portion of the time.  His energy almost never quits.  His joking almost never quits.  His goofy word-plays on our friend Inchul Kim’s various nick-names have been replayed for every taxi-driver and waitress in Jakarta for the last two months (“this is my friend Mr. Yuno – do you know Yuno?…you know?”), and if we get in a cab one more time and Neil tells the guy again to take us to Ethiopia, I think I’ll tear my hair out.

Well, for variety last night he did say “Sardinia,” so I guess I should be grateful for small favors.

These are all just my impressions, of course, and I’ve only known Mr. Keenan for a few months.  I’ve only read a few pages in that book, and I’m sure there’s many a private chapter of which I will never hear (and I’m not sure I want to).  But I’ve seen him at close quarters day in and day out under high stress for sixty days now, so make of it what you will.

If there’s a dominant impression I should leave you with, it is this: Neil Keenan is a winner.  He is a good guy who is determined to take down the cabal. He is smart, and cunning, and brutally tough, and he will not back down.  He is fiercely loyal to his friends, and possesses a killer instinct for finishing off an enemy that reminds me of Michael Jordan.  He does not quit.  He is totally fearless.  And he will win.

And so will we all.

Michael Henry Dunn

© 2013 Neil Keenan

1 Comment

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