The Illuminati, CIA, and their kind are the enemies of humanity.
It is not that they seek money or power or sex, or that they kill or rape or molest children to achieve some larger goal. It is not that they are simply unscrupulous, Machiavellian, or lacking in conscience. It is all these things, but it is far worse.
These subhuman degenerates destroy everything in sight—and for no reason whatsoever. They destroy things just to destroy them, and they will smash and defile everything that is beautiful, worthwhile, or noble because they know that they will never share in our joys.
All over America, they break into people’s houses under cover of darkness. People are taken from their beds, programmed, and raped. Afterwards, the scum erase memories with techniques from the Tavistock Institute—drugs, hypnosis, and electroshock. It seems so outrageous that it is hard to believe, and no one remembers but for a few. Cisco Wheeler, Cathy O’Brien, and Katherine Horton have spoken about them. And I know because it has been done to me.
But it is not simply that they want to implant suggestions or even to rape women. As one of my friends, who was abused, put it, “This isn’t even rape.” This is not the rapist that wants a woman’s body—but one who wants to destroy and humiliate her in front of her husband. They will put fishhooks in a person’s sex organs to enforce compliance, and they will cut or scrape a woman’s privates with a razor, which they call “carving.” They will put parents on top of children. And they will threaten or torture a beloved child, or pet, to make person perform sexual acts, do stupid things, and accept hypnotic suggestions. Then they will kill the pet anyway. Never make a deal with them.
Last spring, I was dating a beautiful woman for whom I still care. She is fifty-five years old, she has never been married or had children, and she lives in a rented house in the countryside. I could tell shortly after we met that she has been abused under “the program,” although she remembers nothing. Our first date was to the symphony, where little things gave her “sex kitten training” away—a stray mention of wearing kitten ears to a costume party, her posture, and a way of kissing where she simply held her mouth open. Later, on our second date, I could see a scratch on her face, where her “handler” had cut her. She thought it was from her cat jumping on her bed. Later she told me about another cat, her favorite ever, who disappeared under mysterious circumstances, when she awoke to find a kitchen window knocked open, the screen lying in the yard. She looked everywhere for him, putting up signs, and calling people, until she got a mysterious feeling that he had been adopted by a rich neighbor. After “The Wizard of Oz,” our self-styled masters call this “wishful thinking.” Still later, my lady got a beagle, who, contrary to breeding, does not bay when strangers approach, and whom she felt the spirit of her dead aunt had sent her. The spirit world is real, but programmers will imitate it, and they always want “betas” to have harmless animals that these satanic scum can torture and threaten.
After a little while, we stopped dating. My lady said she was “very fond” of me, and she “really enjoyed our dates,” but she was “not romantically interested.” Later I saw her, and she expressed a sincere desire to return to the symphony on a friendly basis; but, when, still later, I invited her, she did not return my calls. That sounds a little batty; but, when you see people doing or saying strange things against their interest, especially under these kinds of circumstances, you learn to recognize a hypnotic suggestion and someone who is fighting, whether they know or not.
My own sadistic and insane handlers at the CIA and Tavistock Institute have spent my lifetime trying to mess me up, sexually and otherwise, and to isolate me. It’s called “targeting.” So, in my life, this is par for the course. I figured they were done with me and my companion, satisfied to have destroyed our relationship, and would move her to date someone else, manipulating him, for purposes of their own. Fat chance. I always overestimate them….
The scum at CIA, MI6, and Mossad returned to break into my date’s house in the country, to gang rape her in the most horrific ways, and they used V2K to share her experience with me. These idiots actually thought that I would be angry at her (because she would no longer go out with me), that I would feel lust for her (because I fell in love with her), and that I would want to rape her. They actually thought that I would identify with one of her torturers and fantasize about what they did to her. Alternatively, they wanted to inflict additional pain on me.
Aside from holding a knife to her throat, which she told them to cut—saying “Do what you came here for!!!”—they put another woman, possibly her housemate, on top of her, giving her commands like, “I will suck dick,” and forcing an object inside her body, while she shouted that the pain was “like giving birth.”
They threatened her beagle, which she held while they raped her, and, while drugged and hypnotized, she gave them blowjobs so they would not hurt her dog. Nonetheless, she later screamed, “You hurt her anyway!!!” They also tried to fuck her with her own dog, who, by the way, is female. And they told me later that they returned to force a male dog on top of her. I’m not sure if the last part is true, but it wouldn’t surprise me.
Later, when I saw my lady at a local shop, I asked after the health of her beagle, and she told me that Gidget had a mysterious back injury, which “must have happened when she fell off the bed….”
Still, this brave and beautiful woman fought, during her abuse, and, like me, she foolishly thought she could make a deal with her attackers. I have been there, too—thinking I could save my daughter by doing what they said. She gave them blowjobs, and, after a fashion, complied sexually, thinking first that her dog would not be harmed, then that she could date me, then that she could go to the symphony, and finally that she could still ride her horse. As the sadistic scum said at one point, “She thinks she has a deal.”
Later, in her waking life, my friend told me she was thinking about giving up her mare, Lola, because she could not afford her.
On another occasion, her rapists returned, forcing her to watch a movie we had seen together on a date, programming her responses, and trying to imitate the way I kissed her and held her hand. “Which one is most like him,” they demanded, as they attempted to convince her that I had raped her. Still they could not trick her, and she would not believe their lies, fighting for herself and for me.
At one point, they set up a “kissing booth” where she was hypnotized to kiss one after another of them—remember how she held her mouth open when we kissed—and they shared this scene with me, while I read a poem by Tennyson about a kiss.
Meanwhile, I fought back in my own way, keeping myself fit, writing articles, and helping people where I can.
I kept going the symphony because I bought season tickets after our date. That evening was so beautiful, so I hoped to return with my friend or someone like her. I did go a few times with my nephew and my daughter, both of whom suffer similar abuse, of which they have no memory, under PROJECT MONARCH.
During these evenings, as I listened to classical music, the scum at CIA played sound recordings of my daughter being raped, said words like “poon-tang,” and subjected me to microwave harassment—courtesy of technology whose patents are held by Lockheed Martin, Motorola, Raytheon, Pioneer, Turtle Beach, Procter and Gamble, Google, Georgia Tech, and the University of Michigan.
(Click on this link to see them: Patents for Mind Control Technology).
This week was the last performance of the concert series to which I bought season tickets, Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony. As I sat next to an empty seat, my face contorted in agony, tears streaming down my cheeks, during the second movement, I used my imagination to visualize atrocities committed by the Illuminati, which I sent to my controller, expressing the pain and hatred that underlie my position.
I will never give in. I will always fight. And I will not lose the company of Beethoven.
Aside from the insane commands given to my friend—not to date me, not to go to a symphony, and not to ride a horse—I am reminded of hypnotic commands these scum have given me and others with no purpose other than to destroy what they will never have. Another of my girlfriends, a ballet teacher, was ordered, “You will never dance again.” My father was told, “Your son won’t play golf with you.” And, as to the novel I had always hoped to write, my controller said, “I’m going to take that away from you.”
Now they send me another command: “No more Beethoven.”
That is not going to happen.
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Our enemy depends on our silence.