Zip Code

I discovered, in the previous post, during a little digging online, that there exists a small business in my home borough that bears a striking resemblance to something I do in private. Hang on a minute, I thought, how many psychic people can there be in one small town, doing the same thing as myself? Me, obviously, there’s one. But this other agency, operating as a connection to my main stalker’s father?

It’s taken me twelve years to ‘GOOGLE SEARCH’ my perpetrators. I don’t know why. I never saw the point. At first they told me they were demon’s blood, which I’m starting to slowly believe, so I got done wondering why would any demons give their addresses out live on the interweb? Nah, they wouldn’t, so there would be no point searching. But lately all my giftings and talents are coming back online so I’ve finally found a ‘voice’ with which to ask questions. BIG QUESTIONS. Like “Where the hell do you live, mother**ker!?”  This may sound absurd, but my main gang-stalking perp, a man who follows me around to the sounds of torture, a man who prescribes me all manner of satanic hallucination, a man who I can hear underneath my floorboards with his fellow agents, happens to live at home with his mummy and daddy, just like where he’s always lived, when he’s not hanging around my patio being complete and utter wicked arsehole. In fact, as me and you communicate right this moment, he’s probably taken a break to refrain from chopping up the hands and feet of an innocent helpless ritualised teenager to help dice the parsley for tonight’s supper; or he’s probably fluffing up the pillows on the sofa, or readjusting the drapes, or wiping his bummy after a pooey on the looey, or doing something else remarkably not extraordinary, like watching his computer screen and reading this.

I sincerely detest the idea of evildoers reading this blog. I wish they’d stop standing behind me and get a life!

And please, if you’re gunna rip off everything I do, at least give the projects imaginative titles. Why is everything about them related to me?

The plan was to expose my perp’s father now that I possess his online info but I’m not rushing into anything. The main thing, and I stress this, is having his address, so that if I fail at anything I do from now on, or I simply lose hope, I can exact revenge by turning up at his house to demand ‘red stuff’. I WANT TO FIGHT HIM, with weapons or without, on his own or with backup, in this life or the next, whether he has a cooking apron on or not. And now I can turn up. At any time I wanna.

So, that’s the relief. I’m thinking of getting a taxi there and just having a word. He never shuts up in the psychotronic realm, let’s see how chatty and brave he is when I’m up in his face with the loss of my sanity breathing down his throat.

I am shuffled irate lid-off madness bonkers incarnate to him. I am uncontrollable raw righteous rage against him. I am The Right fist Of God upto him. I am a bloodied little girl with slain parents, I am a monster who wants to decapitate him on his doorstep in front of the police, I want to bash his severed head against the concrete floor, I want to jump up and down on his bashed severed head, I want to keep hold of it for one hour and continue to stab it to make sure the plonker is good bye, then I want to pray quietly that this thing is finally over, I have become Devil against my Devil because his silly immature narcissistic personality involving heaps of egotistic sociopathic crazy f**ked up never-ending obsession with me and even more heaps of daft cowardly playground bullying antics would have ruined my life if I hadn’t of being strongest in my darkest hours and reserved this attitude towards him, instead of being his little bitch, like every one else who he sends fear to.

So f**k you. I’m coming sometime.