Lockheed Martin's Q-53 Acoustical Cannon.

Our cleaning lady comes tomorrow.  Consequently I have to stomach a required amount of anxiety the evening before.  We have to clean up for the cleaning lady.  It is ludicrous really.  I appreciate her bi-weekly presence.  My toilet and sink get cleaned.  The tub is passable.  Mildew lurks continuously on the shower curtain and on the base of the pot.  It doesn't bother me, until I begin to think about how bacteria could be lurking and make its way into an open sore, between my toes, or on my genitalia.  Working on a cruise ship is far easier than life in America.  Cleanliness is a matter of survival in the industry.  Bone numbing blows to hour shins, elbows, and fingers are minimal.  Fayetteville is like a reincarnation of Disney's Bedknobs and Broomsticks.  In my home things fly around by themselves remarkably possessed by some other world force.  It is the only deterrent I have.  Because I have a brain and a certain amount of learned dexterity, cooking, cleaning, gardening, and repairs are simple.  Inside the house it is a different thing all together.  Simple tasks often seem insurmountable.  Fully well I understand any screw, nail, or nut I drop on the floor standing at a dresser inevitably will hit the floor and bounce directly underneath whatever piece of furniture in front of which I am standing.  I have learned this, and I have begun to watch.  Straight down it goes until it hits the floor, and then an accurate ninety degree angle it makes directly away from how I am facing.  Like magic the nut will cavort forward into this little two inch orifice like a fly going into a frogs mouth.  It is destiny at least in Amityville.  I have learned the drill.  If en electrical cord can wrap itself around something it will.  It will find the only protruding object and generate towards it like a snake.  Truly it is like evil searching for Eve.  When I garden the hose will find exactly the same protuberances.  If there is only one root in the entire yard, the hose will find it and become attached rendering it immovable to me.  Other than constantly stubbing my toe or banging my now fragile bones, I have learned to navigate this labyrinth.  I expect it.  I have not worked in the yard much lately, because it too is possessed.  It is not pleasurable to be outside.  Certainly manual labor other than the sheer physical exercise is not pleasant.  Once it was.  Once I could feel the soft breeze, smell the sweet aroma of herbs, and enjoy God's natural gravity.  Then I read an article in the Fayetteville Observer by Amanda Dolasinki.  Quote:  "The radar system, built by Lockheed Martin, is mounted on a five-ton truck.  It can be automatically leveled and remotely operated with a laptop computer or from a command vehicle.  It has an upgraded software that fine tunes tracking enemy fire.  The antenna array can be moved 360-degrees to give soldiers a full view of the battlefield as it searches for enemy fire.  Once an enemy fires, the system sends out sound waves to bounce off the munition.  The data is returned to the truck where soldiers can calculate the precise impact location and origin of enemy fire.  Whew!  The title of the article is, "Bragg soldiers first to use advanced radar system."  RADAR?  Since I have been living back in Fayetteville, I have experienced this firsthand.  When I perform necessary maintenance on my motorcycle trails in the woods behind our home I used to use an axe.  I have been doing this for years, and I enjoy swinging that heavy club into hampering saplings.  I am conservative in my approach, and never do I cut a tree that is not in the way.  At one point I had these trails looking like a local park.  I have removed vines, brush, poison, and fallen trees to make this an amicable green space for the neighborhood.  The time I spend riding in these woods has decreased, not only from my lack of interest but because new local neighborhood children seem to have a problem with a dirt bike riding in these particular woods.  Whatever.  Pretentious often racist sheltered elementary students yelling at me from the playground.  "Hobo!"  That is a common one when I am working in my own yard.  Oddly in the last few years when I would swing the axe and create that mightly thwack, almost instantaneously a small aircraft would appear.  Silence, no aircraft. Thwack!  Aircraft.  It was odd, but because I am not stupid I discerned that these surveillance aircraft were monitoring sound.  Later when sound waves began to show up in our home, I linked them to the howitzers at Fort Bragg.  When I would feel these infrasound waves guns would be booming.  Again I discerned that the military was using low frequency sound to guide their cannon fire.  It made sense, although I didn't like it.  French scientist Vladimir Gavreau has a treatise on the effects of non-lethal weapons based largely upon infrasound.  It is not pretty.  The effects of low frequency sound on the human body and psyche are well documented, although in America not well known.  It would be a miracle if our ignorant populace knew much of anything today, much less whether or not they were being monitored by sound waves.  There is a discrepancy in Ms. Dolasinki's article.  The title and description of the device say it is radar.  Radar uses radio waves to track objects.  She states that the Q-53 uses sound to bounce off enemy-fired munitions.  Which is it?