Escaping The Trap

 # 3”[5]!2-6/3(7),

# 485(9)”!/5[-4],

# (0)27”[2/-]!16.

___elevate.proportion.transfer

___connect.candleflame.bookend

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ỖỦἛἉ;~ỖỦἛἉ;~/ỖỦἛἉ;~ỖỦἛἉ;

Yeah, the slander is hurtling my way thick and fast. I got affronted by a hoodlum torpedo last week. He was there to SOS me (smash on sight). I was sitting peacefully in my abode when he stopped outside the open patio and accused me of looking at kids. Instead of smashing him on sight back, for being so dumb-ass to cite a brother of being a beast, I merely defended myself amicably, showing him respect and kindness. I Understand torpedoes, the less they know the better.  Apparently, ‘a lot’ of people have said I’ve been snatching sneaky peeks at minors. Of course, it’s not true. I value my relationship with the children on my estate as extra special. I feel like I am their soldier keeping them safe, because when I let my guard slip and end up on the comedown wastepile, unable to do a recce around my grounds, it occurs to me that they may be in jeopardy. Because my enemies will hurt anyone to get to me, and because they are reading my thoughts, they know exactly when I am not up for defending my home turf. I’ve seen multiple kidnappings in real life in my manors, so I am under no illusion what might happen if I trip up, I put nothing past them, if they are enterprising enough to build a seedy lab underneath my ground floor home, they are valiant enough to dump someone down there, and, of course, blame me for it. Everyone always blames me for all the world’s problems, it seems.

The real harm I’ve done over the course of my life tends to get overlooked, while my foes are falling over themselves in order to make something new up; the best one I’ve heard so far is the vigilante impeachement that I am a supernatural being called The Orchestrator, a star ship deity above both Lucifer and God. I think that the cabal out to destroy my life commit petrifying deeds in their little underground base (and above) and blame their hobbycrafts on me. They’ve listed me with a lengthy string of powers which fear the general public and all others who are thick enough to believe it (which is more or less everyone by the way). Basically, I can do anything to anyone. My perps DO do everything to EVERYONE around me I think, and because I was once involved romantically with one of this shuddersome mean cabal, they tend to side with her, so all the shit flows downward to me.

Other victims of my perps hold me responsible for their suffer. And there may be many. All I know is that I am directed with vile antagonism day in day out. We are not here to be worshipped though. So I guess it’s just tough on me. Don’t worry, I have an extra large set of bollocks so can handle it. The reason they do it, so they say, is because they are after my supernatural power. They trust in their own lies. Well, so much energy has departed me over the years, thanks to a mixture of my sinful loins and their harassment, that I am surprised I can still function with just a dribble of vital steam inside of me. Every time I think I am practically out of fighting substance I hear a knock at the door and feel that invisible prod in my ribs from the foorman’s blade; it feels all over to me, until I summon one more morsel of mustard seed faith from the very innermost chambers of my self-volition and start to breathe again. I’ve had strangers enter my flat and trap me in the dark with my trousers down, armed, with animals, multiple times, depleting my ‘powers’, and I’ve always lived to tell the tale, despite , at the time, current contrary beliefs.

I’ve found myself in some especially hairy predicaments over the years. The reinforcing death threats don’t help. One time I partially woke up from a drug-induced slumber to find what I can only suppose to be a torturer-for-hire cutting my hair. When it was done he hung around like he wanted a tip. Eventually he returned to hiding in the cupboard for laughs. They like to put animals in my flat when I am out of it. I forget to turn on the lights and soon enough I’ll be windblown by the dire hard truth: My boundaries have been breached by high-up riffraff who wish to physically render me seriously harmed. The realisation never fails to make an impression. Usually I am in the throes of passion so I hold my nerve, as long as the drugs are still in ready supply. Once I am spent though, with no substances left, it is time for the real fear to kick in. I am getting better with it. Best two rules in life I have ever learned: Stay calm and don’t react.

Several times I’ve woken up in the morning grateful to still have my head attached to my neck. These days I spend either arguing with or ignoring my persecutors. I am becoming emotionally distant from their erring, unnerving motherly attention. Enough is enough is already too much. Their antics are silly and childish. They are boring and tiresome. Seriously, the Third World War battle for the human mind is not really worth getting irate about, if you understand human behaviour. People are just control freaks who want attention, it’s as dyed in the cloth as that.

I appropriated an angelic daughter along the way of this uncanny process. In the end I sold her, forsook her, whatever you wanna call it, and she flipped to the demoniac. Now she hangs around sticking her tongue out at me in mockery of anything I ever do. You couldn’t make this joke up could you?

I am now happy to be flying solo mainly, apart from a gentle vague blessing of the angelic. I remain stalwart in the Holy Spirit, am steadfast to protecting my heart, plus my peace and my joy, and I am always trying to stop sinning with my winky dicky pocket rocket. I don’t know what else is expected of me. Evil spirits have taken to surrounding me in a tight circle, upping their noticeability in the visible light spectrum, and watching me intently without saying a word, in order to make me so anxious that panic stations is not far away. I remain untroubled by this odd phenomenon and take to falling asleep on them.

They give me atrocious nightmares, as soon as I am comfortable dozing. I wake, open the window, have a fag, and return to the mattress. It looks as if nothing bothers me, I only cry tears of happiness lately, but underneath I know that my troubles are vastly unique. Life is hard enough, but to be followed every minute of the day by ghouls and ghosts is a bit of a piss take.

I’m writing about them again, which I hate. I should be writing about the grace of God, who sees me through their every plundering attack. I am still here, and telling you the script to myself. I enjoy describing the chaos, but please no more, I am done, stick a fork in me to relieve the pressure.

I’d like to be a warning and an aid to fellow Targeted Individuals, Chosen, Empaths and Dissidents etc, by whistleblowing and exposing, but I am too busy relishing time getting creative about my surreal & outlandish & erratic & unconventional experiences, hopefully for your delectation. I would be honoured if you were slightly amused by my ordeal. I see the funny side after the paperwork is done. What I would hate is if this were to make you even minutely fearful. Don’t be. Stand up with a higher power of your own understanding and take authority over the footman. The atomic karma and justice of the universe is an excellent candidate for anything higher and such. I know a guy who has Father Christmas as his higher power. It’s a fellowship thing.

I stand with Christ as I love what he represents, such as all the virtues and the beatitudes.

Until next time, folks.