Monday, February 18, 2013

Criminals at remote tried to hijack my isp acct today

I am posting because criminals at remote locations tried to hijack my isp account today. I got it back by acting quickly to call telephone company. I tweeted to notify the FBI of the telephone number of the cybercriminal who broke into my account to get their help. I do not have a boss and have not had a boss since 2003. No one else is authorized to log into any account of mine but me.

To change to a more pleasant topic, here is an oil painting I painted recently and titled it "look at me, Mommy" . I hope you like it. It is not quite what I wanted to achieve [too 2 dimensional] but I will probably do more sketches, try again later. I have a two yr old grandson, [and several more grandchildren, sort of young still] but this pose of trying to get his mama's attention was one my real grandbaby did when he was about a yr old. Oh, the white streak is there as documentation that the phone I photgraphed this with was broken into by criminals. who put a black bar across the top to try to ruin the photo. I deleted the hateful black mark of the cybercriminals and it left a white blank streak. I suspect it was those who hate tiny humans who broke into it to ruin it. I tweeted about that to the FBI, also.

Also, here's a photo I hope you like, of an orchid in bloom. I photograph flowers every time I see them. I started photographing flowers to learn how to paint them. They are the hardest subject for me to paint, because they are so thin and delicate. Then, I learned I like photography a lot and continue to photograph. I have photographed probably ten thousand or more photos since about 2008; using an assortment of cameras I own including cell phone cameras also. . And have I put some some of them in Picasa albums I created long ago. Before I moved from Colorado in Oct 2009, I had uploaded 2 GB of photos to what was then mozy and all of them were stolen from me. But I have the originals backed up in about 3 places. I am the same white christian woman who owned the domain of, until my computer was broken into in yr 2011 by cyber-thugs and after someone tried to run over me with a vehicle.

I paint and I photograph and I blog and I write prose. I am adding in a prose I wrote on another place for you to read here:

This is what I wrote this morning, few minutes ago to mark the occasion of Memorial Day in the U S for the U S Military:

The Fighting Men

by Gloria Poole

The fighting men

who fought;

some died.

Others left body parts

on foreign soil.

With weapon in hand;

and courage in heart,

they face the enemy,

sometimes eye to eye;

sometimes not.

At times, a rustling noise,

or the whizzzzz of a grenade

flying through the air with pin pulled

are the first clues

of enemy approach.

They put their lives on the line.

At their duty stations,

they are sitting ducks.

and on their walkabout patrols.

The enemy watches too.

Watches for a lapse

in faithfulness, or

a split second in time

when the path is clear

to lob a grenade;

or put the X sight on the heart or head

of the watchman.

What does fear taste like?

A metallic dry mouth, so I am told.

What does fear smell like?

The smells of the battle:

of blood,smoke,fire,dirt,dust;

sometimes rain.

The fighting men;

who volunteer

for the life changing event

of U S Military,

are men.

Not wimps.

Not sissies.

Not cry babies.

Not mama's boys.

but men.


who know that somebody's life

might depend on them.

That maybe a whole lot of nobodys' lives

depend on them.


Men who learn

a super diligence

to watch every movement;

assess the land quickly,

with an eye for an escape,

and a back up plan,

if the first plan fails.

Men, who know they

must have backbones

like a steel beam.

Men who learn that when confronted

with enemy combatant, they must not blink.

They know they may have only one

chance to save their own lives.

Men, who know they cannot risk

the idle mind, or the wayward thoughts;

or the distractions of

sound making devices;

or chatter.

Men, who know that every day

could be their last on earth;

that their next breath

could produce blood;

that they could slip into eternity

via assassin's bullet.

The fighting men,

who with their lives

secure the freedoms;

and underwrite the cause

of the land of the free

and the home of the brave.

We, the people,

of the United States,

owe them a debt

that cannot be paid,

with mere money or perqs;

but requires the heart

of the nation,

covering them with prayer.

Making intercession to THE ALMIGHTY,

pleading for the innocent

before GOD,

the maker of all,

on bended knees.

The Memorial day

when wreaths are laid;

and speeches are given;

and fly-pasts occur;

to set aside a time

to remember, to thank,

to adulate;

the fighting men.

This is my tribute of praise

to the fighting men

around the world;

who daily recommit

to the nation;

to the First Amendment;

to civil liberties to live,


that which is immoral;

and injustice.

I salute you,

fighting men of the U S A.

Gloria Poole; @ my apt in Missouri; 18-Feb-2013; 9:18 pm