The books I have written do not only tell the story of my life, so they entertain the reader through the Great American Novel.
The books I have written do not only tell the story of our world, so they inform the reader through a great work of history.
And the books I have written do not only have more than one hundred and twenty thousand downloads, after four years, so you can take as many copies as you like, without registration, for free.
The MK-Ultra Series celebrates so many amazing places, plants, animals, and people—along with the stars, the sky, the sea, and the earth—to record their stories, so we all may grow in renown.
As an epic poet, I sing of the beauty, trials, and achievements of the amazing women who posed for Playboy.
Their photographs are masterpieces, which belong in a museum, just as my books belong in a library.
My books have a visual component, through which I sometimes describe the geometrical composition, the color palette, and the real effect of an iconic, erotic, and historic photograph.
I am not only the world’s greatest epicist, the world’s greatest lover, and the world’s greatest father, but I am also the world’s greatest art critic.
Many of my subjects have an erotic component, since I am a healthy man, who unravels sexual mind control.
But there is also a purely visual aspect, where I simply do not feel sexual attraction, and I see only colors, lines, and shapes—symbols, meanings, and backgrounds—intersecting through texts that connect creative artists with creative readers.
And, so, not only through my description of characters but through my description of centerfolds, I am a portrait artist.
This involves not only observation of myself but also observation of others, while I see the tension between weakness and strength.
And this involves a keen awareness of the attacks against all people, while I avenge their deaths.
In this regard, I am proud of my small effort at portraiture, with respect to Bridget D’Oyly Carte, who ended her life, as a prisoner in a palace, feeding papers into the fire, eating broken biscuits not good enough to be served, and careful with what she still called her father’s money, long after his death, while she served as the nominal head of a fancy hotel, still used for spywork.
Bridget hit the whisky, and she chain-smoked, going through four packets a day, while her nervous fingers moved. Polishing off box after box of cigarettes, made by a hotel regular, Gerald Du Maurier, she built elaborate origami sculptures from the cardboard, so her servant once said, of a paper castle, it was a shame to throw it away. In between packets, the heiress would fidget with her silk scarf, moving it from around her neck, to a buttonhole in her coat, to the handle of her bag, twisting and playing with the fabric. Or she might be fiddling with the rings on her hands, turning and moving them, on her fingers, sometimes working a necklace, which, if not restrung, would burst, so the beads would fly in all directions.
You can read more in my books.
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Our enemy depends on silence.
Fighting Monarch 
Hi Tim,
To say you have a way with words would be an understatement—and yes, I know this is already obvious and well-acknowledged. I’ve genuinely appreciated your depictions of physical intimacy with mature women—fantasies portrayed with both boldness and tenderness—and it takes quite a bit for me to admit that, as I’m a rather shy person! Seeing someone who has been through so much remain highly functional, successful, good-hearted, and such a welcoming communicator is truly awe-inspiring.
Of course, I don’t actually know you—and these days, anything could be AI (there’s plenty to be said about the overlords’ love of all things quantum, nonlinear, and simulated; I think I’ve even come across the idea that their rituals aim to cut through layers of simulation in search of a “base reality”)—but holding these positive thoughts on this Wednesday evening certainly doesn’t hurt.
Greetings from Brussels,
Sofu
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Dear Sofu–
Thank you for writing, while it’s nice to know there are free people in Brussels!
Otherwise, there is nothing wrong with being a shy person (while you are brave to write).
Friendly regards,
Tim
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