October-December 2001
The standard response to claims like mine are standard for good reason - "no one will believe you" mostly because the implications of those crimes are so terrible we would rather take the official cover-up stories and march on with our lives undisturbed rather than face what is really happening here, never knowing what the world would have been like had it never happened. People like me are therefore constantly referring to events that are objects of mass public denial for this reason, such as WTC 7, as evidence for this tendency. Faced with the decision between fighting for the truth or fighting for the lie, most of us take the easy route. It's a hard thing to choke down, but in this respect, horribly true - we are all cowards, mostly saving face, enabled by the powers that be to give us the alibis.
I really don't care who believes what at this point, though. I just want it written down, to be seen for what it is despite the lies that are constantly told to and about me. Similarly, these lies live because the truth about this life is actually a lot worse, not better, than anything I think anyone has ever heard. In total honesty, I'd much rather be a junkie, a thief, or even a pedophile, because these are personal problems that one can personally manage - but unfortunately it's not the case. I am a disobedient delta-theta - an MK killer who refused his missions and is being punished for it, as by the Order's decree. Earlier, I mentioned delta, but only focused on theta, because I see only virtue in finding truth. This one...well...not so much. So here, we'll up the ante, and talk about it.
This is probably one of the hardest things I've ever done. I've thrown out about five introductions to this post over the past year, mostly stalling, in an effort to block it out completely. Today is the last day this happens. I just won't do this anymore, and after all, there's nothing they could do to me at this point. So here it goes:
I decided to move into the city to be closer to my job. I consulted the local free paper, the Chicago Reader, to look for leads. I don't know how much of this was contrived, but there was an advertisement for the perfect apartment. Right down the block from my workplace, and unbelievably cheap, I called and reserved what was to be one of many applications for the spot, and was greeted at the door by none other than an old college friend. This is what got me in.
Shortly afterwards, I had a bunch of random encounters with people who kept having strange conversations with me. I was told that the building was overlooking Harpo Studios, where Oprah Winfrey filmed her show. I could see the parking lot from the front windows, and was reminded of this view. Later someone else mentioned to me that was supposed to kill her.
In these encounters, I have trouble remembering what was said, probably because they were approaching with a series of trigger phrases to activate certain parts of me that I didn't have access to at the time. It started with a general comment about how we all hated her show, which was not a difficult thing to agree with. These days, I think anyone dumb enough to take her seriously simply deserves the piles of brainwash she routinely dumps on her audience, but having had the wisdom to stick around longer and get deeper into it, I now see that it is just about anything. The choice for this target, when reflecting back on it, seemed racially motivated. Every meditation or projection has me running into this feeling, and I am certain it's true. Nevertheless, it was not the basis for my disagreement, and my dislike of her certainly had nothing of the sort of motivation in it that would have brought me to the decision that this act was worthy of giving up my own life for. A couple of lines stick with me, though. As I stalled during this request, not knowing if the guy was serious or not, I recalled the process I went through during the many hunting trips with my step-father, and noted that in Illinois, one of the strictest gun control states in the US, a separate license was required for any firearms ownership. Without this card, purchasing anything was impossible. I told him it was a hassle with a sarcastic nonchalance in an attempt to match the humorous suggestion which I deliberately assumed in my defense.
"Oh, the form is really long. I don't think I can really be bothered, you know. Sounds like a lot of trouble."
Furious with the failure of the programming, he stared me in the eye and demanded, "Fill. Out. The FORM." His emphasis on the final word conveyed the duplicity of his expression. The second, less obvious, was made of flesh, not paper. The second was to be me as the delta.
I immediately repressed the entire thing, and decided as most do - to throw a flaming, blatant, shameless pile of hedonism at it. Parties were immediately scheduled, and mostly due to the location, were always successful. We had a view of the skyline from the "back porch", which was really just a factory rooftop from one of the old stockyard buildings, still used for packing meat from the train shipments that came in since the late 19th century. The building itself was fairly modern, but the operations really were that old, which is ancient history for Americans, I guess.
My gift of aggravating situations to the point of relentless explosion did not fail me here. Even more irritated by my reaction, the Order sent a reminder after the first event we threw.
Winter came, and I think one of my three roommates at the time caught wind of what was being attempted there. Using the cold as a pretext, they installed a clear plastic wrapping on the inside of the building along the frame, and told me that "it keeps the heat in". I actually had no problem with this. Even assuming that I had it in me, there are far more people in this world far more worthy of death than her. This is, of course, resting on the assumption that I actually give a shit about anything, which is weak at best. Give me a couple of good video games, and I'm pretty happy for the most part, but what happened next caught my attention as it was meant to.
One day when coming home, this clear plastic wrap was torn from the frame. It was the one key window, the one that had the view. It was recklessly yanked along the adhesive, left to hang from the top in an obvious defiance. We all asked each other who did it in astonishment, and after asking around the neighborhood, discovered that there was "a locksmith" out front, "working on" the door that was right alongside the street, in a busy neighborhood, no more than a mile away from the center of the center of Chicago. This was all spotted by neighbors.
It was around this time that my girlfriend's mother had me working on her website. The daughter came by, and the suspiciousness of these visits was very much noticed by my roommates as well as by myself. The computer I was using was across from the window, hard-wired to the router with a short cable/leash. She insisted on a longer cable, and that it be moved nearer. I told her I couldn't be bothered, and wasn't, but now I realize that the whole project was a pretense, and nothing more. The website I spent weeks working and re-working was deleted shortly after these things were noted. Nevertheless, her loyalty was proven by this, and she was quietly escorted out of the city to Portland, where she currently lives. Those following me will now know where the blame lies. Burn her.
Shortly after that, while I was teaching German at a private language school downtown, I had a student make a quick friendship with me which ended up with an invitation to a gun range. These were corporate clients, so he was older than me, and carried with him the prospect of other opportunities in the professional world, at first glance. However, I knew better, and told everyone about this invitation, loudly and clearly, over the phone lines, where Carnivore could get a good taste. I knew about this system since the beginning of my time in college. Chomsky worked on it, and that's how I learned of it. Yes, Chomsky, your alleged savior of freedom, your stalwart intellectual defender of liberty, was instrumental in building the surveillance state you now live in, and it was all a lie. Sorry!
We continued partying, but eventually, I believe the Order got to one of the roommates, and pulled him into the drug game. True or not, I heard that he was moving hundreds of pills of ecstasy on trips from Amsterdam, which his frequent absence and later unemployment vouched for. Realizing that it was soon to get out of hand, I fled in the middle of the month, with rent still to burn, to another location, and began a trip to Asia, where there were two attempts on my life - that I know of. The day I left, I was completely incapacitated. My heart rate soared as I moved into the living room to move things, and I was literally knocked out. These days I chalk it up to some supercharged DEW. I will never know exactly what it was, but it almost stopped my heart, among other much more embarrassing things I don't feel like going into detail about. My step-parents arrived to move some of the furniture, and it ceased upon their entry to the building.
Less than a month later, the place was shut down. He was running weekly events, which I was always against, and was allegedly found with some cocaine while running a cash bar and convicted. Meanwhile, I was weeks away from my flight, ready for everything to just burn to the ground as I left, and it did. I was ridiculously fired from my job as a programmer a week before the plane left the ground, which considering the arrangements I had already made, did nothing more than make me laugh.
Later that time, during my daring escape, I had this conversation at one of the least safe places in the world for an MK - an airport. The obligatory spook had a conversation with me, as an attempt to explain why all the gangstalking and harassment had been taking place.
"It's because you fucked your mother." Mother, usually a male, is a code name for the agent that controls the asset, the one that gives you your mission and guides you on it. I laughed hysterically. He didn't.
I'm sure it was just a way to escalate racial tension, which is one of their favorite things to do, despite the obvious fact that the woman's audience is nothing but a bunch of white witches. In all truth, I'm probably blacker than Oprah is. It's just another masonic scam, as expected.
Years later, an agent told me about how I would need the skinhead alters, and I didn't argue with him for a second. In fact, those were the first ones to chime in on my course of action. I have to say that I'm paraphrasing here, because they didn't use that particular choice of words, but the general idea was that if she was so important to them, then they should go on the mission themselves. Let them die for her was the advice, and yes, I did take it. It was excellent advice, and the Cult made sure that nobody else was around to give it to me. However, lurking in my head, they were coaching me all along. There is a time and a place for everything. That's why it's called spacetime.
"I did, didn't I?" I said, and resumed laughing. I don't know how it started, but I still go into death metal Annie mode whenever shit gets crazy. The band played on:
I, motherfucker.
It's true, yes, it's true.
I, motherfucker.
Mothers need lovin' too.
I laughed even harder. He said something, but the glorious chorus drowned him out. I boarded the plane and braced myself for the battle to rage on. It did.
So yeah, spook, let me show you why that's stupid, and why you're stupid for thinking it. Assassinations create immortals. In the collective public psyche, nothing elevates the status of a figure higher than the victimhood of a sudden death by an enemy, crazed or not. Lennon, Guevarra, and Kennedy, just to name a few, should have taught you this. But you lack this wisdom, and through careful restraint exercised under the impenetrable veil of hedonistic madness, I have saved you from your own idiocy. We both think it's all blather, yes, and we both want it to go away. However, this will accomplish the exact opposite. Let her build her empire of dumbfuckery, and simply leave it to the forces of time to wane as it once waxed. There's no work to be done here. When she goes, so will these ideas - sounds great to me.
An Illuminatus being killed off to bolster their role as a cultural icon. This is one of the biggest things that public seems unable to wrap their heads around. They work for them in total obedience, only to be assassinated? Yes - because to them, they are disposable anyway, and if a sympathy for their death can bond their audiences to them further, then they are therefore more effectively promoting the one world philosophy. Worth more dead than alive, this is the outcome. John Lennon is another painfully obvious example of this. An Illuminati propagandist his whole life, he was managed to death in a desperate attempt to keep his audience under the spell that the Beatles cast on the public. By then it was too late though - most of their audience had already wised up.
Oprah, three years later, after being looped on broadcasts throughout Chicago saying "A BRAND NEW CAR!". This calls a clean slate (brand new) alter to be called up in the MK (car).
Now, I'm writing from the famous FBG that spawned me among others. My brazen unapologetic entrance did not go unnoticed.
It happened in a series of broadcasts spanning five to six days ago. I woke up hours out of my activity cycle, in the middle of my sleep at seven in the morning, because fuck the world, I am now playing video games all night long. With no effort, there is no sabotage. So there you have it.
First Oprah was on the television in a sudden exclusive, immediately following my entry into the living room where the television was, but the morning after, it was a broadcast mocking the beloved O, likening her to Sauron, in the lord of the rings trilogy (script). Possibly a taunt for the mission unfulfilled, or just a nudging to communicate their awareness of the issue, this was presented to me, front and center, for evaluation. This is my side of those events.
I am here, right now. Come for me, sluts.
