This Is Fucking Awesome

As the pieces kept breaking, I realized I needed to self-program somebody who would keep it all together. The first approach to self-hypnosis came through what I called “solo D&D”, or meta-role-playing. In this context, I would play the game master (DM) and the players, including the villains, and entertain the creation of any characters that came into play. Sometimes they would be willed, but I would try not to control much of it, letting the wandering of my mind chart the course while I silently mapped its contents.

Later, this therapy took the form of blogging, where I simply let these characters write their own opinions and experiences. The theta-based character seemed to take the center stage, simply because he was the most interesting, usually predicting events and observing situations he wasn’t supposed to have access to. I took out the blog because I felt the findings to be my own, and as you can see in the Revisionism entry in this blog, the wayback machine at archive.org does not catalog them. However, the alpha character, Michael Blaugh, started appearing more clearly toward the end of the session. Today, I found another funny coincidence.

In the mind’ eye, it was Michael’s job to keep the core alive and well by orchestrating all of the other alters to serve it. He was the intermediary who ensured that even if an alter did take over, it was only for the purpose of following the core’s agenda and no one else’s. In reality, I knew Michael was there when I felt the urge to carry a coffee cup and a bladed weapon (usually a pocket knife, but sometimes a hunting knife). Believe it or not, there was no intention to use it. The only thing I attacked with a knife in my relatively long life, considering the circumstances, was a field mouse that was keeping me awake (got it good, too). Otherwise, the knife would be concealed, but the coffee cup was always with me, from meetings to shopping malls, and I bore it with true “don’t give a fuck” satisfaction. The blade was always in the right side, and the coffee cup was always in the left hand. I used to think this was all because I was right-handed; now I’m not so sure.

So I’m surfing today, and find this, which as the title describes, is fucking awesome.

Michael is the leader of all angels and his main purpose is to rid the earth and its people of all toxins associated with fear.

The humans he enlists and works with are called ”lightworkers” and Michael encourages them to perform healing for the good of the world.

Michael carries a dazzling sword and he also has an incredible knack for fixing electrical goods such as computers and phones.

Fleeing the Cult

What a miserable situation.

The group you were to be loyal to hates you because they feel you betrayed them. To me, it was always a shitty deal.

The orders usually came down from the step-parents, and very often the “suggestions” came in through news broadcasts, internet communications such as spam headlines or old friends, and also phone calls and junk SMS texts. Some orders were for their benefit and others were “for mine”. Moving from a small town to a big city when I came to California was one such example. The bubble wasn’t so easy to maintain there. People were aware, more or less, but still there wasn’t much to bother me directly. However, once near San Francisco, they struggled to keep me from getting out, because in that city, there were plenty of people who were awake and vocal, and very likely to snap me out of it. As it turned out, their efforts were completely in vain, and it happened anyway.

One broadcast I remember, when things got really hot in terms of my awakening, was around Halloween. The news was telling me there was a highway shooter on the hills bordering the path from my house to the city. I sensed it was nonsense from the beginning though – there were no bodies, no videos of the wreckage, no names, no vigils, and no follow-up story. Just this one weird broadcast, disembodied, and the anchor doing the hypno-stare directly “at me” as the report continued. Now I know how they love their carnage, and cannot imagine them holding anything of the sort back. With the muckraking journalists selling one disaster after another, it was simply unbelievable that on a 10 lane highway, nobody got hit after being shot in the head while moving over 50 miles per hour (let alone that one could connect such a shot). No wonder why the reporters call them “stories”. They are! Very cool stories.

Some of the aware believe me to be complicit, and love the Nazi analogies. On the other hand, I didn’t expect many to believe my personal stance on the issue. Sure, the Nazis are going to blame the Jews and the Jews will blame the Nazis, forever, until the end of time. What most don’t know is that, exactly like the American political system, there is a group above and outside it all, making it all happen, smashing the two against each other while keeping the real power to themselves. Me? I just always wanted out. As far as I was concerned, I knew that if word was out, I was meant to be a scapegoat, or a decoy, whose purpose was nothing more than to serve the purpose of drawing fire while the real criminals worked out their next move, one after another. In the meantime, they have been trying to pin every major shitstorm on my head, from the Occupy Wall Street movement, to the US Market’s flash crash, to the alleged terrorist attack that followed, and so on. The occupy was especially funny, since once people realized that it had popular support, a lot of the politicians back-pedalled, and scrambled to reclaim the credit for themselves. This project is so covered in failure, it’s one of the simpler joys in my life. I remind myself of it as often as I can.

Now that I’m on the road staying in cheap hostels, I know I’m going to run into these same trust fund brats who, despite claiming to support this thing, are going to work for the exact corporations they were protesting. They try to turn it on me, wasting my time with pointless conversation, trying to get closer and bleed me out. I know their game. I call it the “Occupy Time” movement, which is partnered with a similar activist front known as the “Occupy Yourself, Asshole” initiative. I am proud to announce that both are total failures.

I shouldn’t be surprised though – the cryptocracy (I suppose you can call them the Illuminati) sacrifices their own like most people blink, especially what they probably regarded from the beginning as a worthless orphan. Hated by the masters for blatant defiance and unapologetic attacks, hated by those outside the circle for believed allegiance, this stray dog’s lifespan got a lot shorter. But as I always remind myself – at least it’s my life now.

Monarch 101

Okay, let’s start with the betas, since everybody knows just about all there is about wanting it and having it. Deltas are similarly easy to understand, but it’s a little too gruesome, thetas stretch the boundaries of belief, gammas are so accepted, it offends the brainwashed, and alphas are…well…just alphas.

A great breakdown of the classification schema can be found here.

Marilyn Manson was an obvious reference to the project. He is a delta beta, a composite of Marilyn Monroe and Charles Manson. I suppose this case shows how looks aren’t always a factor. When I was younger I used to ask the more connected people what this meant, and they would just laugh – it was my way of testing whether or not they were in the inner circle. Most entertainers, if not all, are betas of some sort. The whole Disney gang (Aguilera, Spears, Timberlake, et al) is a tortuously painful example of this.

I say it stands for Master Mind Controller.

However, what about the selection basis? This post serves to illustrate how most, if not all, of the qualities possessed by Monarchs are already there. The program is there to simply harness and exploit it, nothing more. If you can and most importantly want to wake up from it, those gifts remain yours, as they always were. Of course, shaking off the damage done to your reputation is going to be a little more difficult, if not impossible. However, control, like most words we toss around, is just an ideal. We can have more or less of it, but never all, and never none. The world isn’t black and white, you know?

So then – Marilyn Monroe. Hot. Big. Bad. What’s not to like? Nothing at all. However, debasing her reputation, keeping her from being “marriage material”, confining her life in a strange schedule-lock torpor (which are really just a series of meaningless engagements) ensured that she could be passed around, without any resistance to the delight of the mega-powerful people who wanted a piece of her. Stars these days have the same treatment, rushed hurriedly around and punished severely or killed outright if they break the routine (awesome work here). This is how, despite all the money they possess, they remain slaves. Gammas have similar treatment, although mixed with a little of the real gangstalking to give them the appearance of the persecuted, thereby lending credibility to their reporting. They talk about the things here, just like I do, and then BAM, outta nowhere, fucking reptilians. Now you’re reeled in and put in the asshat basket.

Conversely, deltas, thetas, zetas and omegas are given the full force of the horrific monarch treatment. The big part of it is the fall. As I was told many times by the agents of the program (sometimes they’re just supporters of the masonic ethos, not necessarily paid or recruited formally), the big part is getting “just a taste” of the good life before being run out on rails, adding stress and activating the programming. The late life trauma is meant to anchor to the early life trauma, and the results are supposed to be produced at this point. Whether it’s murder, suicide, or information, this stage of the program is the payoff…provided you don’t know about it.

Now you know.

They’re HEEEEEErrrrrrrrre…

Oh no! My inner fame whore! NOES!!

Well, the site views count must be disabled, because now I have zero hits. I visit, still zero. Another computer visits from a proxy, zero. Zero, zero, zero. Swimming in a void, in the center of the cosmos, all alone to ponder the mysteries of life by my horrible little self.

Oh, my precious feelings.

Protip – mix your lies with truth so they go down easier. Amateurs. Seriously, it’s just embarrassing for you. Still, I thank you for the enduring comedy you provide. Didn’t the gammas teach you anything?!

Love ya!

Change of Scenery

Again, it’s worth stressing that a change of location, and the surroundings that correspond to it are, in fact, a very large program changer.  Now, whether you have been programmed since birth like me, or you are put into the program by way of profession or position, your best chance of survival, a la Dave Chapelle is getting OUT.  Getting some peace.

Now, I’m not saying that they’re not going to follow you; I guarantee that they’re going to follow you.  However, they still have to set up and branch out.  It’s like a cancer.  You know a couple of agents come in, spread their disinfo, lie about you, recruit a group, so on.  They want to know exactly where you’re going for this reason.  So it’s best to buy your ticket minutes before leaving.

For this reason, the United States has a suspicious practice of only allowing round trip tickets cheaper than or equal to the price of a one-way ticket, exorbitant charges for short booking times which requires advance purchase, and a long list of things to do before boarding.  This is in sharp contrast to other areas of the world where you can buy a one-way ticket at 50% price days before departure.  So if you have the money to just buy and go, do it.  Otherwise, maybe a bus to Mexico might be in order before you leave.

You have to move to another place.  Even if they do follow you, there’s that setup time before the whole thing kicks in which is guaranteed to give you just those few days of precious sanity before it comes back.  These people aren’t the magical santa clauses they purport themselves to be, fortunately.  This is part of the disinformation.  Whether we are talking about wetware, NRM, DEWs, or even the hyperdimensional matrix, you have to realize that this is all just part of their propaganda.  This self-reinforcing notion that one can never escape from anything is just part of the control mechanism, because there is no better way to control someone than to have the control in place by one’s own volition. 

This kind of attack was used on <a href=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4bLYuz_HJbQ”>Aaaron Swartz</a> to provoke his alleged suicide.  I’ve spoken to activists on this issue a dozen times, and was accused of being a tinfoil hatter for it, and to no avail.  I will continue to speak of it.  The harassment of prosecution victims has been raised to a whole different level in the 21st century.  I am speaking from experience here.  

It’s gangstalking multiplied by a million, and happens every waking moment of the victim’s life.  You go to the store, they mob the cashier.  You say left, they say right.  You turn on the television and the anchorperson (<a href=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5eZp9sjrQ0k”>the real definition here</a> will change your perception of television forever) will use cognitive dissonant states to create mental chaos.  Customized search results (another entry is on here) give you “suggestions” which are exactly that, only in the psychologically manipulative sense; not the helpful one we’re all familiar with.  The topics will highlight an embarrassing situation, even if it is only embarrassing to you, contain links to material that debases your image, and so on.  If it gets extreme and leaves a physical trail, then the police will be guaranteed to put it back on you, aggravating the situation even further.  Neighbors, family, and co-workers will all be recruited to turn against you, and many of them will be rewarded handsomely.  The mind torture bubble will be impenetrable, yet your escape of it will be absolutely crucial.  It is a hellish simulacrum whose existence is only known to the victim.  If the victim has no knowledge of this simulacrum, it will drive them to suicide.  However, even by the simple experiment of a camping trip, the victim can have a moment’s peace.

It might give you a few more years, I suppose.

Ah gangstalkers, may you all burn in hell.

My Graduation, Declined

There were many points where I could have went along with it, and I declined each and every one of them. Now it’s on, and will stay that way until the day I die.

One of these points was following my completion of my Master’s degree. I had used it to obtain a job out in California, and after that, since I now had “gainful” employment, a wife and a stable place to live. Meeting her was the strangest part. I was in a dive part of town, in a dive bar, drinking cheap beers and listening to rock music. All of a sudden this unbelievably hot woman, my age, shows up. She was an unapologetic yuppie and a lawyer from the city. The night after we were together, she phoned me almost every minute. She never let me leave her, and when I went home, she was right on my heels.

After a few visits like this we decided to get married, because she was from another country, and the flights back and forth must had been very stressful on her. I fell into the trap of her flattery, and thought to myself that she was doing this all out of love. Later, I realized that this was actually all just part of the order.

We made sure there was no one present at the ceremony. two hours’ drive to small chapel, and it was all done. She insisted on a ceremony, she insisted on pictures, and would not accept, under any condition, that we wore anything other than pure white, the both of us.

From there on out, it was all about getting knocked up for her. I realize this borders on too much information, but this really was the case. It frustrated her to no end that I wasn’t “cooperating”, but let’s just say I had a lot of experience, and even more self-control, at least in that department. I didn’t know the extent to which my condition affected my life, I admit, but I always knew that I was part of this sick little thing. Like in The Knife’s Marble House, which is a depiction of growing up masonic/monarch:

You close my eyes and soothe my ears
You heal my wounds and dry my tears
On the inside of this marble house I grow
And the seeds I sow will grow up prisoners too

I swear this song is about as masonic as Cream’s White Room. The point being this: if I had a baby, I’d kill it. Sorry, but it’s true. Her awareness of this increased as the whole thing fell apart.

Survivor Link

I really don’t know what they were thinking when they made the white text appear on the white background. Maybe the site runs a script that I’m blocking, too. But a simple Ctrl+A should get that text to pop.

I found it to be a really good read, so I’m passing it on.

Enjoy.

To the Thetas: Lights Out

Just close your eye, thetas. They will never give you a thing other than humiliation and misery. Leave the legacy behind. Drop it forever, now.

The only light you should leave them is in the flames of this burning world. Say nothing or lead them into that fire. Let your silence or your lies be your once-guiding voice. Let contempt be your protest, and absolute desolation be the spoils of their conquest of you.

This is your only chance at justice. Deny the gift. Let them all burn.

They took your life, now take their future.

Crash it all or say nothing.

They must pay.

Anchors away!

Blast the sleepers awake!

EDIT: They’re reproducing. I keep charging my own, but when I “zoom out”, I see fields of them. Yay! I’m going to keep doing this until I feel better about…hell, everything.

I’ve been doing more research on what this stuff was, and it really is amazing how I knew it instinctively. These libraries I’ve obsessed about in my dreams for my whole life are called the Akashic Records. I don’t know what the “zoom out view” thing is yet, though, but the records are so bad, I avoid them like the plague. Anyone with a remotely functioning soul who looks at these things is going to have their eyes bleed. The volume of suffering is beyond words.

It’s a Big Club, and You’re not in It

This title is a quote from George Carlin that beautifully describes the neglected truth of the entire gangstalker scenario. You really can see them appealing to the sense of one’s power fantasies when recruiting such individuals, and it really is pathetic.

Being a Monarch gives me glimpses into this power structure that most have not ever had. The things I know I generally don’t write about, because I think it’s horrible, and doesn’t deserve glorification. I’m also not saying I feel closeness to these people in an emotional sense, but I definitely have had more exposure than most, and can say because of this, I’m definitely more aware of what it is composed of – absolutely pure, refined, concentrated shit. Their words and actions are really just an epic struggle to balance the cruelty and nastiness that their lives are, and they try so hard to maintain the illusion of being good people that these kinds of stunts are necessary for their sense of self-preservation. I suppose the vilification we endure is a part of this illusion. By creating such scapegoats like us, this false sense of goodness can be more easily maintained, and their sense of self-worth can be elevated beyond what depths it should have sunk to.

I’ve seen the fantasies most strongly in children. Yes, these people are recruited too. Their gullibility makes them perfect targets. Mothers will turn their kids against you, and having the opportunity to act out, they will. I suppose when you repress someone long and hard enough, the existence of an internal conscience becomes externalized, its operation hinging only on the punishments and rewards administered by the oppressors, and once removed, is a basis for total manipulation. With the set of restrictions lifted, freedom takes the form of even more obedience, since even the task of harassment itself is scripted, but is rewarding to the manipulated in the sense that it goes against the large set of restrictions that was imposed before the fact. It’s like being told to be quiet for weeks and then suddenly being allowed to scream for hours on end. Would you do it? I suppose I would, too…but in the end, I would feel the hollow emptiness of knowing that this too was a part of my servitude, and with it, I am even further away from breaking free from the structure that controls every aspect of my life.

So yes, gangstalkers, I suppose that by getting in on the situation makes you a part of the club for a while. But it just makes you more of a slave in the end, and most of all, it makes you look stupid. Like a child role-playing a god, or a slave entertaining a fantasy of being a master for the day, you’re still going to go back to pulling that plough the day after, left with nothing…because they know that’s what you’ll work for, because they know that’s what you’re worth, and you never fail to disappoint.

Now get back to work.

Black Helicopters Are for Pussies

Okay, you know what? Fuck it. You’ve just gotta see this.

Having an F16 fly across my vehicle’s path while I was en route to the airport for my flight out of the US was pretty cool, but at long last, finally, with great joy, I present to you the next step to a glorious missile-ridden send-off to the fantastic realm of Valhalla. Needless to say, I am utterly thrilled: a fully outfitted, apache-style attack helicopter.

Check it out here.

I am so excited. Really. I mean, black helicopters? HA! That’s not even a warm up, you bitches! I go to sleep with those, man! They are fucking TEDDY BEARS in my world! Cuddly motherfucking kittens! Bunnies!!! AAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!

WHERE’S THE FLYING SAUCERS, YOU FAGGOTS?!

---

Disclaimer: I don’t mean any deliberate disrespect to fellow TIs who have had this happen to them, and the one-upsmanship is purely tongue-in-cheek, as well as the hyphenated-phrase-obession-enabling opportunity which will now be ever-present to the powers-that-be. Fuck those guys.

Also, I’m posting via the connection you keep blocking, because you are my bitches, and this message constitutes a lovely string of pearls from the innermost depths of my manly capacities to be worn around your neck like a badge of honour. You look so pretty. Now turn around for me. Yes, yes, I like that very much. I will now send forth my myriad of packets into your system, where they will proliferate and grow, healthy and strong.

Ahhhhh…