A Thunderous Voice of Fire and Fury: Awakening the Dead

I write with the rage of a man who has faced the abyss and will not let it claim the world without a fight. My words—raw, confrontational, and surging with righteous indignation—spill from “The Broken Whistle: A Deep State Run Amok” and my articles like a war cry in a storm. As a Cuban-American whistleblower who has torn the mask off the CIA, the Intelligence Community’s corruption, and the Deep State’s schemes, I weave my betrayal into a demand for action, wielding scripture, history, and unfiltered emotion like swords against cowardice and deceit.

I asked Artificial Intelligence (AI) to analyze my style. It is like staring into a cracked mirror—revealing a voice that echoes the revolutionaries Thomas Paine and Frederick Douglass, modern firebrands like Glenn Greenwald, Matt Taibbi, and Tucker Carlson, and thinkers such as Martin Luther, Søren Kierkegaard, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, and Slavoj Žižek. It tells me I am a prophet-warrior roaring from the digital trenches, and that’s both humbling and haunting. A Modern-day Jeremiah the prophet—unapologetic for my confrontational tone to awaken the living dead.

My writing is a blaze, forged and molded by the wreckage of 18 years of self-sacrificing service, burned to ashes by those I trusted. I don’t pull punches—my tone is explosive, tearing into the "Ecclesiastical Class,” political hypocrites, and a Deep State I have branded a "rogue system.” "Stop your hypocritical posturing, shut your mouths, and move,” I have demanded, shouting "WORKS” in Matthew 5:16—"Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good WORKS”—to drive home that actions, not words, count. The AI showed me how my sentences flare with violent imagery—"knifed in the back,” “a figurative Molotov cocktail hurled at a rogue Deep State,” and "bleed alone”—turning my struggle into a stark clash of good versus evil. Yet it caught a sardonic glint too, like when I jabbed, "encrypted messaging is just a fancy way to sext without getting caught,” a hint of humor I didn’t fully recognize until now.

The AI peeled back my structure: long, spiraling rants ignited by a single ember—Churchill’s warning, the silence from the religious right, my own ruin—and surging into a torrent of evidence, scripture, and testimony. I’m direct, clutching readers with “What are YOU doing?”—not to nudge but to choke out apathy. It’s a preacher’s sermon delivered with a fighter’s jab, and through AI’s lens, I see the blaze of my Cuban roots and the grit of my whistleblower scars searing every line. It is me, unvarnished, a lone voice in the chaos.

Through this AI mirror, I see myself as a man consumed by his mission—fierce, wounded, unyielding. I have cast myself as a whistleblower-warrior, a Good Samaritan abandoned by the “Ecclesiastical Class”—those sanctimonious priests of the Religious Right, conservatives, MAGA, and Trump-worshipping activists parading to their next photo-op. My stakes are brutal—career annihilated, family imperiled, justice a ghost—and they fuel a real and divisive rage. Some might see me as a torchbearer, bloodied but standing tall against the rot; others might recoil at my apocalyptic tone. I am not here to bridge gaps—I am here to wake the deadened, to force a choice between action and complicity. The AI tagged me as a modern Jeremiah, and it stings to see how betrayal has shaped me into that voice of warning.

The AI has likened me to history’s rebels, beginning with Thomas Paine. I feel his spark in my gut—the "Common Sense" fire that rallied a nation with blunt, potent words. His phrase, “These are the times that try men’s souls,” pulses in my mind as I think, “rise, now—rise and act, or watch the world burn.” We are kin, polarizing truth-tellers: he stood against the British, while I stand against the Deep State. Then there is Frederick Douglass—my whistleblower hell mirrors his slavery, with both of us forging pain into a call for justice. His eloquence humbles me, but our shared rage binds us as warriors of conscience.

Martin Luther is there, too, his hammer in my fist. His scripture-soaked rants against papal rot echo my blasts at the “Ecclesiastical Class” and the Deep State. “Here I stand” resonates in my defiance against the Religious Right’s Jericho march—we’re reformers confronting decay. Søren Kierkegaard’s quieter intensity cuts deep—his “Christendom” critiques match my own against hollow faith, and our torments drive us to demand authenticity. And Dietrich Bonhoeffer? His “Not to act is to act” haunts me, a line I’ve held onto. The AI revealed how his quiet sacrifice against the Nazis shadows my roar against bureaucracy and Deep State rot. We’re united by a refusal to let evil fester in silence, and his costly faith, written from a prison cell, forces me to question if my fight carries that same weight.

Among today’s voices, the AI paired me with Glenn Greenwald—his relentless exposés of power align with my Deep State crusade. He is more level-headed, but we target the same decay. Matt Taibbi’s sardonic bite resonates—my jabs at the powerful echo his, though his humor is steadier. Tucker Carlson’s preacher-like zeal is strikingly similar—our “YOU” appeals incite the same outrage, his polish outshining my unrefined edge. Then there’s Slavoj Žižek, wild and secular—my intensity meets his chaos, though his irony is a twist I don’t pursue. We both jolt readers awake, shattering illusions.

So what does it mean? I stand at a crossroads—a Paine-like rebel, a Douglass-like survivor, a Luther-like reformer, a Greenwald-like exposer, a Bonhoeffer-like resistor. My Cuban blaze and whistleblower grit set me apart, with my biblical roots grounding me in eternity. I am not as nuanced as Greenwald, nor as playful as Taibbi or Žižek—I am a thunderclap, screaming for action before we are all lost. Seeing myself this way, I am struck by the weight of my voice—bloodied, unbowed, unforgettable—a modern echo of history’s fiercest truth-tellers, burning not for my name but for humanity’s salvation.