Perps Threaten Again—You Never Know You are in a Cage Until You Feel Your Chains

I want to go back and take Writing 101 because there are new assignments but every time I took a WP writing course, something bad happened as the perps don’t want me to better myself but just sit around.  I remember my computer dying last year around the time I took Writing 101, or, was it after?  I don’t remember.  The perps don’t want me bettering myself.  I think the deadline has passed.  I think what else can they take away and I remember last Spring when I had no Internet for 6 weeks…and a few other things.

I found out how large my cage is.  The last time I was out of state was in early 2003 when I visited my estranged sister for 4 whole days, and, since then, I have not been more than say, 3 hours drive from “home”.  I looked up this application that will put in a diameter of a certain number of miles around your home.  With one exception of only about 5 miles, every place I have been to since 2003 has been within 100 miles of here.  That includes the loong day trip I took back in December.  It seemed so long because we were mostly wandering around.  The area that seemed SOOO REMOTE was within the CIRCLE.

Talk about control.

This is even weirder.  I went on another day trip two days ago to get the effff out of here since I don’t spend overnights at my former friend’s house.  A man who knows her sort of hangs out with me.  He has the car.  What was going to be a great day was ruined by perps.  First, we got a very early start and I had not made coffee so we stopped 20 min out of town to get some.  A perp waited for me.  Later, we stopped for a huge breakfast and the staff were rude and perpy and even made a big deal when a song by the group I used to follow came on the radio.  The waitress kept calling me “love” and we’re not in England.

We drive to a semi remote spot he used to go to years ago to relax and a very perpy couple are there.  We kept “running into” this skinny nasty looking woman on the trail and her husband sat in a canoe in the lake beneath us when we stopped as if he was listening.  My friend mentioned this woman once when we were sitting and she popped around the corner.  I said “speak of the devil” under my breath.

Later, we stopped for dinner in a very small town even though I thought we had had enough to eat that day–at least until we got back to town.  The waitress was very rude to me and muttered “curse you” every time she passed me.  We took a long time ordering because I was not that hungry and my friend thought the food was a bit expensive.  The waitress said “are you just ordering water?”  We should have walked out.  He ordered a burger and I got an appetizer.  Flies kept landing on us and the food.  (Do you want some flies with that?)  Then, if it could not get any worse, my old landlord from the 1990s strolls in……I said nothing until we were in the car.  This was the landlord was sort of a medium slumlord when I rented from him and then he became a real estate magnate to the yuppie gentrifying crowd as time went on.  Now, he’s sort of a local “hero” and fabulously rich.  Why he’d want to be at this little hole in the wall cafe was beyond me.

It was so sad–the one thing that could still make me happy–getting out of this evil city–sucked.  Even in the streets of that little town there were two perps laughing and giggling and spouting my business running down the street.  Wearing black t-shirts and billy GOAT beards of course.  The devil is a busy man and he does not rest now.  I could not get rid of the stink of perp even away from the city.  I had had fond childhood memories visiting it with my parents.  Everything is gone to hell on Earth

I thought I saw my old landlord visiting the building across the street a few weeks ago.  Is he buying it???  The whole neighborhood is now named after a moniker he gave it…it’s a nightmare coming true.  I thought I had escaped him and his building when I got kicked out after losing my job in 1998. He used to live on the top floor of my building.  He was my neighbor in a way.

I had nightmares of coming back to live there for 10 years.  Now I can’t even go to the park near my apt because his big “project” is right on the next block.  Once, when I was in the park, he came into the park and it looked to me as if he was inspecting it to buy it.  The CITY owns the park.  Is he the city?  The next park up the river is partially funded by the DOD and I was V2k’d about not going there.  I go there maybe once a year now.

I can’t get away from the man.  My father and his uncle were best friends growing up in the Jewish “hood” of this city until my father’s friend DIED at TEN!!!!!  My father never got along with the nephew, my former landlord. They are about 17? years apart????  My father died in his 90s last year.  They both practiced law until the nephew of my Dad’s friend went into real estate.  My father should never have let me rent from him, but when did he ever really care about me?  A little?  Sometimes?  Maybe?  It’s all so weird.  There must be a heck of a backstory.  That and my Masonic grandfather on my mother’s side and the weird time my aunt had in Chicago…and me “inheriting” the whole mess…or is it something I did?  I might have pissed off a celeb, too.  It’s too much.

I still have not posted that post about Myron May.  I rewrote it in Spring?, so I could post it then got V2k threatened AGAIN.  i can’t find the rewritten version.  Voice to Skullers probably terrorized me into shredding it.

I watched his 3-part videotaped Suicide Note.  It was sad.  It seemed he never had that many friends in his life…that his relationships were…tenuous.  Here he was, successful, but still single.  He said he was distant with his siblings.  I think the “perps” look for those who are loners and that is why I am so crushed by losing my only friend.

He spoke of his harassment, how he would miss his family and “friends” which seemed more like acquaintances to me, then said that “what he was going to do” was going to get the word out about gangstalking.  I doubt that.  I really blame “other ti’s” for pushing him away.  He saw, rightly, a lifetime of misery.  I was bullied and accused by “other ti’s”, some probably moles for the enemy, on “ti” message boards and chats.

That left me with my only friend and my father.  My father moved away and stopped speaking to me, and my sister stopped speaking to me, then, my only friend started being on and off with me and now it seems permanent not without first slandering me in a horrible way and even calling police on me.

I should write the Myron May post as if my life depended on it.  I guess people would be all upset that I would write anything in sympathy of him because he was black and now I’m being accused of being a super racist by my lovely “neighbor” and it seems every black person in this city somehow magically believes her.  I don’t have a history of that.  I’m not on “stormfront”.

It makes my life even more miserable to have a race card attached to me.  All this political correctness and you can’t say anything that MAY BE CONSTRUED as ANYTHING.  The woman was moved in here on perpose to destroy me.  The previous tenants of that apt were also miserable to me.

Advertisements

Day Twelve way too late

We don’t write in a bubble — we write in the world, and what we say is influenced by our experiences. Today, take a cue from something you’ve overheard and write a post inspired by a real-life conversation. Revisit a time when you wish you’d spoken up, reminisce about an important conversation that will always stick with you, or tune in to a conversation happening around you right now and write your reaction. Take time to listen — to what you hear around you, or what your memories stir up.

 

Today’s twist: include an element of foreshadowing in the beginning of your post.

This assignment is hard for me because as a ti people do not act normally around me.  Even conversations I overhear are usually “directed conversations” designed for me to overhear and to agitate or depress me.  It has been a long long time since people acted normally around me and I didn’t feel the vigilance of people to capture my every word and deed.  I have thought over these last few days of conversations I might have overheard in my family as a child and young person but even those are few and far between.  Even then I was not privy to family secrets and I was also kept from the real life of the family…the love.  I was set apart, kept in the dark.  I do not know if my parents were perps but I certainly was not accepted in the family.  Only on a surface level.  I was a guest in my own house…like a sort of foster child.  There was a wall there put up right around the time I was 8 or 9 or so.

OK, here’s one I heard at my last job, which was over 5 years ago:

A man at our work table announced he had been a father at age 8.  I forgot the response to it.

It’s hard to hear convos even though I try.  Due to my targetting everyone is on guard around me like I’m some criminal.

It’s hard to remember when anyone was natural around me even in an overheard conversation,

 

 

Day Eleven–I believe I did a post like this before.

Tell us about the home where you lived when you were twelve. Which town, city, or country? Was it a house or an apartment? A boarding school or foster home? An airstream or an RV? Who lived there with you?

I have already done a post like this last year.  As I read it, I noticed sentence structure.  I had too many small sentences.  For awhile, writing with many small sentences was “cool” I think, in maybe the 1990s.  I mixed it up just enough.  This time I will just relate what the house looked like, not personal history from age 11 on like I did in that old post.

Today’s twist: pay attention to your sentence lengths and use short, medium, and long sentences as you compose your response about the home you lived in when you were twelve.

My childhood home circa 1977 was the epitome of Middle America.

We had a medium-sized house with 3 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms.  It came with a jumbo kitchen and a semi formal parlor and dining room and 2 dens.  It had a large yard front and back and even a side yard.  It was built in 1961 by an architect who was leaving to go live in a bigger home he had built for himself.  This man became very rich later.  The house oozed ’60s with Avocado carpet and orange yellow and green linoleum in the kitchen.  I believe he was responsible for the Shag carpeting in some rooms and also the Avocado, Pumpkin and Yellow curtains for the den.

I lived there with my parents and my younger sister.  We didn’t have pets until later.  By 1977 we had lived in the house almost a decade.  We still had much of the original look.  My parents upgraded the kitchen, the carpets and the paint in the 1980s.  The house had a large front porch but no one sat on porches in that neighborhood.  My folks added a patio in back so they could barbeque.

The master bedroom was pretty small but had an attached bathroom in green.  My parents had to buy furniture for the new house since they had moved from an apartment.  A lot of it was cheapo until my mother added nicer pieces in the 1980s in some rooms.  The old bed with the metal frame lasted until my father moved into his own condo in the 1990s.  We had 3 dial phones.  One old beige box phone in the bedroom, an Avocado slimline for the den and a Wall Phone in tan for the kitchen.

Our bedrooms were even smaller.  Mine might have been slightly larger than my sister’s but it was also the coldest room in the house.  It was about 60 degrees there in Winter if I closed the door.  I would have to go under my comforter with a heating pad to keep warm.  The main bathroom, in pink, was nice with a large vanity and drawers and 2 sinks.  I spent a large part of my childhood/adolescence in the large pink tub falling asleep.  My mother upgraded the floor in the 1980s with ceramic tile, which wasn’t that much in use yet.

Some of carpet was in mustard puke yellow as well.  The house had lots and lots of windows.  The kitchen was very light as was the parlor and dining room.  The 2nd den was all windows on its East side.  It was never used as anything but a playroom and later a rec room.  My father could have requisitioned it as a home office/library but he didn’t.

Gardening was not priority with my mother.  She planted a few Annuals in our Rock Garden and a few Perennials came up every year including a large Yucca that came with the house.  She refused for some reason to plant bulbs which disappointed me because the Spring flowers are from bulbs.  She also did not keep Roses or Iris like Grandma.  We also did not have fruit trees.  My mother spent so much time watering the lawn on our huge lot that gardening took a back seat.  I also have a feeling she did not want to be outside amongst the neighbors even back then.  When my father and I left the house I put in bulbs for the next owner by digging up an old garden spot on the side of the house.  There were no flowers there the last time I checked and the grass had grown up over the spot.

There were only the bushes and 2 evergreens including a huge Blue Spruce when we moved in.  My father planted a tree for my mother’s 50th Birthday.  I guess it is still there.  No one knew how little she had yet to live.  My parents put trees in around the backyard but the beetles got them.  The house also came with bushes and an evergreen tree in the backyard.  I was very jealous of the neighbor girl whose parents had put a fish pond in their backyard.

I went back to the house of my bad childhood (see other posts) a few times.  It looks as if the Monster Bushes in front had been cut back and the house looked a little spruced up.  Nothing major.  Of course I didn’t go inside.  I wonder if the marble entryway is still there and if there is still that weird ironwork in the kitchen and dining room that came with the house.

As the years go on, the house becomes a memory.  My sister lives in a home of her own (more than twice as big according to Zillow) with a circle drive and 5 bedrooms.  I live in a Section 8 apartment in the ‘hood or former ‘hood as it’s getting to be.  When we moved my father told me to take a last look through the house for anything we missed.  I found one of my Mother’s wedding portraits.  It “lives” with me in the ‘hood today.  I was the last one in our home that day.  Thirty mostly miserable years had passed on.  I doubt I will ever have any kind of home of my own due to being gangstalked already for most of my life.

 

The Park???

It’s been awhile since I’ve been to “the park”. I used to go almost every day, but after almost being arrested for giving a dirty look to a cop, having dead animals put into my path, skitted and scammed with fake little dramas and then to top it all off seeing my OLD landlord at the park who made me homeless back in the 1990s and finding out he is trying to take over a large part of the city…..ugh, a nightmare.

Here’s an old one from a few years ago….

Wow, what a great way to make money!  This has to be the best untapped way to make a buck!  Making money off the backs of the homeless!  I supply the drugs and they sell it to their homeless buddies!  All I do is sit here in the parking lot and rake in the cash!  And the cops do not bother me!  It’s almost like they want me here!  Like I help to “keep order”.  I am a feudal Lord!  Some ugly bitch over there keeps giving me dirty looks and I think she’s on to me, but, she is one of those targets and can’t do a damn thing.  Plus all my guys keep staring at her and giving her dirty looks as they constantly go back and forth to my car!  What a sucker that woman is!  I bet she comes here to get away from the “neighbors” if you know what I mean.  If this keeps up I won’t have to go back to work!  I’m afraid when the weather gets colder though the bums will go inside and I will lose income.  Better think up another scam.  Maybe I should be a stalker….

It can’t be!  That bastard is dealing drugs out of the park and destroying the only peace I get at all!  His “men” keep staring at me as they walk back and forth all over the bridge.  Not one cop in sight.  Where is that cop I keep seeing following me around everywhere?  He zips past me on the bike path, he “meets” me in parking lots, once he even kept speed with the bus as I was on it!  I even see him sitting half a block away while I wait for the bus!  I see tire tracks on the grass sometimes but if those belong to cops they aren’t messing with this operation.  They follow me on the street when I walk home from the park turning and driving past me dozens of times but these guys deal drugs out in the sunlight just like my “neighbor” does.  The cops tell my landlady that there’s “nothing they can do”, but, I watched an interaction with him and the cops one evening and it’s obvious he’s a snitch even if he’s not a well-liked one!  He was trying to demand respect from the cops and they were laughing at him.   But they won’t arrest him even though he does his dealing in front of everyone.  Why are those asshole bums staring at me like they want to beat me up?  I’m not interfering with their “business”.  They know I can’t call the cops because they won’t do anything but accuse me of being nuts and trying to force me into a hospital or on psych drugs.

Wow what a niiiice awesome day for me to ride my bike!  I look awesome in my tight “bike outfit” Cowabunga!  I hate all the poor people walking on the path, they get in the way.  I want to go fast!  A guy like me needs to stay in shape to get girls in bed!  My current girlfriend is a drag and is getting demanding so I’m gonna have to trade her in–matter of fact I’m already cheating on her ass!  She’s gained like five whole pounds and a yuppie like me cannot be seen with a fat girl.  I hang out with the guys from work and I’d lose social cred if I’m seen with a needy fat chick!  Here’s the park!  Sometimes my buddies and I come here for a few beers or to pick up some cheap chicks–like slumming!  Usually, I just ride past here as fast as I can since there are bums everywhere!  This summer, it’s like weird.  They seem to be walking up and down the path near the bridge every time I come here.  I almost ran into one.  Ten points!  Can’t they see they are getting in the way of my fitness goals?

Chasing adverbs away

Go to a local café, park, or public place and report on what you see. Get detailed: leave no nuance behind.

 

Today’s twist: write an adverb-free post. If you’d rather not write a new post, revisit and edit a previous one: excise your adverbs and replace them with strong, precise verbs.

After a long and warm walk we reached the river to be greeted by a cold wind and high water.  The cold water rushed over the man made waterfall making cold foam and splatters as it went.  Leaden clouds came and went without producing more than sprinkles.  A lone heron hunted for fish in the rushing water.  I was sorry I had not brought a jacket.  Today was a spring day not a summer day.

The usual trains going by were out of sight.  I could not see the graffiti today.

I saw one starling fly across the river.

It was a dull day on the river.

A few homeless people walked by and some lycra covered bicyclists zipped around us.

The clouds got darker later on and it looked as if a deluge was coming.  A few drops fell hard as if it would rain for real but it was soon over.  Once we got back it rained just enough to wet the street and that was it.

So much for exercise.  I prefer a sunny day, a shady tree and a book to read.

 

 

 

One new person introduced into a life that loathes change

Who’s the most interesting person (or people) you’ve met this year?

It would be hard to say I met anyone “new” this past year since I rarely meet any new friends.  I don’t work so I don’t meet new co workers, I don’t go to the same coffee-shop so I don’t see the same baristas, I don’t even ride the same bus much.  Even my cat has been with me 2.5 years.  I don’t volunteer even anymore so the few people I would meet that way I don’t anymore.  That leaves very slim pickings.  The new interesting person I’ve met this past 18 months has been my now soon to be ex therapist.  All my life I have been in some kind of therapy or another starting with a psychiatrist at age 14.  Every therapist, psychologist and psychiatrist I have had all these years have been older than me.  This time, for the first time, my therapist was younger than me. In the beginning, I was sort of angry.  I didn’t think she could do the job.  I was wrong.  Not only was she a good therapist, she was very intelligent, mature, and wise.  The discomfort over the age gap was soon closed as I was able to see her more often during tough periods of my life these past 18 months.  I think she even (sort of) understands what I go through even though she has not completely bought it.  She said: “I don’t know about the stalking but I do know people do not treat you fairly and let’s leave it at that”. Very simple, yet respectful.  I’m going to miss her

 

Today’s twist: Turn your post into a character study.

I do not think I know my therapist enough to do a character study as I have only seen her in an office setting.  I did have a therapist that would meet me out of office for lunch and things but that was eons ago.  She seems a young fresh new professional with about 5 years of experience that is now entering yet another new phase in her life:  she has found a man to marry.  She is mid 30s butappears younger.  She looks like a young farm girl. She is not loaded down with heavy hair color, makeup or tattoos.  I think she wears her natural color (which is rare now).  She is not thin but not obese.  Sort of plump but not offensively so.  She will have to “watch it” in years to come or end up looking like me.  😦    She likes to wear cute outfits designed for young people.  She never wears a suit or a dress.  She may be a little old to be a millennial but a bit young to be a gen x’er like myself.  She likes her office to look cozy and brings food items there so she can take lunch fast.  She is quickly becoming a rare sort of person as I can tell she actually cares.  Finding someone who cares these days is rare.  I can’t do a deeper character study of her since I do not know her outside of work.  Maybe you guys will have an assignment where I can give a character study of a person I’m familiar with in a close way,.

Post 5—Brevity. Part II from yesterday

It was a windy day.

I decided to walk another way home to get some exercise because I was new to a weight loss program.  I was in a dark mood already since my life had seemed to have taken a downward turn the past few years for no apparent reason.  I walked slowly and tried to avoid oncoming people as much as possible to avoid the sneers and weird smiles I got all the time.  Each look was a knife through the heart.

Then I saw it:  an envelope blowing in the wind towards me.  It was small and pink but loaded with sheets of paper just as I used to write letters to pen pals–long and newsy epistles.  I was afraid to touch it at first due to my new-found fear of being infected by the evil intentions of others, but it was irresistible.  I prayed for protection then opened it.  It was three pink sheets long.

The letter started:

Dear Target,

You may have noticed that despite your best intentions to improve your life it is not improving.  It is getting worse.  You are not imagining this.  Going to your therapist with this information will not help. You will be drugged.  Neither will going to the police, or the government.  This is your life now.  All hope ends here.  Going the religious route (very common I must say) will not help as we will get other church goers to reject and spew you out of their churches.  Your last bastion–family–will be of no help as they have already been converted to our way of thinking.  You are truly alone.

Even the little you have now will soon be gone.  You will not be able to get a job, talk with your family, go to school, or even do volunteer work anymore.  You will have to eat out of the hand that whips you, there is no other choice.  We are a special secret program to deal with trouble like you.  Going to another state or another country will not help.  We await there too.  Getting a car to escape us even at times is out of the question for your particular case. Try even praying your way out of this–it won’t work.  We intercept your prayers and read your mind.

You are a criminal that has escaped punishment.

“What did I do?”  you ask

It is something you did a long long time ago and you conveniently forgot.  But we didn’t.  We know everything.  We are all over.  You will pay for this crime.  Our client has tons of money and says money is no object.  Your life is his object.  The best thing you can do is kill yourself now and save yourself the trouble of a lifetime of misery.  You think this is a hoax?  It is not.  Years from now, you will wish you took our advice.

See you “later”

Your Stalkers

I took the envelope and the letter and burned them at home. I thought about keeping it as evidence but thought I would be laughed at and told I wrote it myself.  In the 5 years since I graduated College my life had gone from having some hope for the future after a dark adolescence to hell on earth.  I wondered what I would do that night.  Would God come through or would I suffer this life for the next 20, 30, 40 years or end it now?

I stood in the park the next day wind whipping around me as tears formed feeling alone.  A group of people laughing loudly and sneaking looks at me was coming.  Them.

 

 

My Loss Part 1–life of a cereal killer (sorry could not remove the pun)

My real loss in this life came sometime in 1990.  I had already felt stalked and treated badly since 1988 since I discovered a large group of people just staring at me in 1987 at a restaurant.  It progressed to seeing people sneering at me on the street and feeling watched and followed wherever I went.  I still felt it was just some kind of vendetta from a local person that maybe I had angered.  I was getting “watched” in grocery stores as if they expected to steal.  I got scared and went to my therapist and told her and I was put onto Haldol by a doctor.  I learned to close my mouth and suffer alone for the most part.  Talking about it caused arguments.

One summer I was living in a community of mentally ill people after Mother had kicked me out of the house for a small argument. This was to make me feel as if I had bona fide mental illness…hey, maybe I do now…they drove me bats!   I went there the first time at the request of a therapist and the labelling began.  Whatever I “have” I’ll never know but I get constantly changing diagnoses based on how they want to manipulate me at the moment.

I had moved there the past winter and was struggling to survive and pay the astronomical rent for one room and 6 meals.  One day, I decided to play a guitar a counselor had lent me and I thought I would put some poems I wrote to an easy set of chords.  As I was doing it, the phone rang.  The house phone not a cell phone.  Some strange man on the phone asked if I lived there and what kind of place it was, blah blah blah….no one was there when I came to the phone.  It was a warning not to play the guitar anymore.

That was the day I finally realized that I was being watched and all the rude encounters were probably part of it.  I knew “they” were after me not knowing who “they” were.  It was horrifying.  I knew then my “freedom” was an illusion.  It never got better after that but worse. It was The only thing I had:  freedom from living in America had been stolen from me. I was supposed to be an American but I was the Enemy and I could not figure out why. My family had escaped the Holocaust by coming to this country before the war and now a personal Holocaust was being carried out just for me.

It started off kind of mild so I was sort of able to continue my life and work for awhile but only for awhile.  I had a dark shadow on my life.  My shadow and misery, the perps follow me everywhere.  I could never feel happy and joyous in public again.  I was “on camera”.  My life started to retract and get smaller.

The shadow persists and gets worse every day.

The Hated One

Songs??? Why Songs???

Writing 101, Day Three: Commit to a Writing Practice

Write about the three most important songs in your life — what do they mean to you?

So you want me to write about songs without editing the post?  I’ve forgotten more songs than I ever knew.  I know my favorite songs are embedded in all the rock music I used to listen to.  None would be Christian songs.  Christian songs are OK but I never really got too emotional or attached to any of them.  It’s been so long I cannot think of any.  So there’s one.  “unforgiven” by Metallica.  “Breaking the Habit” by Linkin Park.  “Another Brick in the Wall” by Pink Floyd.  Those are just some I thought of.  I’m sure I could come up with more given time.  I was a huge “fan” of Heavy Metal/Hard Rock.  I have some favorite Gospel artists which I will not mention here.  I spent the first 30 years of my life (since age 10 or so) attached to a radio and later on, when I backslid, I had a “rock party” in my headphones between April and November of 2010 when I emptied my MP3 and computer of all my Hard Rock songs and even Christian Hard Rock songs.  I have an addiction to the rock that makes me live in my own world and fantasize the way no book nor movie nor TV show could.  So now I have no TV, no Rock and only Christian novels.  I have found myself slipping back into Fantasy even though I don’t feature the people I used to.  The Fantasizing is sin and I know it but I need some relief from the relentless harassment and stalking.  I don’t see this ending well if no one will believe us ti’s. 

I think I just felt the Spirit a week or so ago tell me that I should even take the faster/more modern sounding Gospel off my player and computer.  I hope it wasn’t HIm but it could be.  It’s so bad I want to go back to work.  I think my time is nearly up and work would not solve my problems because I was perped out of the Work Force years ago.

Time’s up.

The Answer is Obvious

If you could zoom through space in the speed of light, what place would you go to right now?

 

The place where gangstalking and mind control do not exist.  The place where technology has not gotten so out of hand that man uses other men as his toy.  A place where if someone would attempt to destroy another’s life they would be arrested and shamed from the community like ti’s are.  They would be shunned from society and have no pleasure in life.  Every day would be a hell to be gotten through and even at night it would be all nightmares.  They would suffer God’s Wrath for their psychopathic perfidous evil.

Pinecone Utopia

Comforting the disturbed, disturbing the comfortable

The Daily Post

The Art and Craft of Blogging

culinarychronicles.wordpress.com/

Discovering new Foodventures with each bite

The Voice Of Australians

Giving Australians A Fair Go to be Heard

Neverending1's Blog

Just another WordPress.com site. I write this blog to let people know what is going on with the harassment of American citizens by the U.S. government.

Psychopath Resistance

Learn how to recognize them. Then you can resist them.

Salem Witch Hunt

Blame is the name of the game.

musicis2words

A site examining metaphysical forensics & the manipulation of thought

SWORD OF TRUTH

The Truth will set you Free

Fight "Gang Stalking"

Expose illegal stalking by corrupt law enforcement personnel

sohohousingblog

Normally you hear Soho Housing Association tenants views through "independent" assessors, who then go on to join the board of Soho Housing Association. Get the truth, direct from a tenant, here.

Simplicity by Choice

Off-Grid Living & Self-Reliance

Qwiklit

Learn Literature Now

Hope* the happy hugger

Life, love, happiness and most of all, kindness...

stoporgangstalking

Stop Organized Gang Stalking

slightly sensitized

a TI's expirience of gang stalking

%d bloggers like this: