Vitriolage (Updated)

I don’t at this point actually see any connection between myself, NKINTRA, and the acid throwing attack on Bolshoi Ballet director Sergei Filin. The only odd thing was, when sitting down to read a recent issue of TIME while waiting on someone, that I turned straight to the page with five quotes, the fifth being his.

And, of course, this old thing from Minneapolis, September of ’10 ’11:


Of course hydrochloric is not sulphuric sulfuric, but then I don’t know if the license plate had been HSO or even H2S O4, that I’d have thought of anything much at all.

The car I saw twice. V2K was used to get me outside one day (September 1, 2011) just as it was peeling out. I could not help but notice it driving like that.

And it sat there running one night some days later, so I photographed it.

The 22 represented the age that I had been fed via V2K in the deli that day, along with another, 17. That was the first time I realized that something like V2K existed. I knew those weren’t my thoughts. I never had the chance during the event to think for myself at all really. Happened too fast and I was barraged as well as “stunned.”

The general purposes of the license plate PSYOP are the following: to try to convince me that remote neural monitoring works (in essence, ESP by reading the brain via EMFs or some such), it is supernatural, shake you up (is the driver one of them?), and to cause fear and dread (we will harm whatshisname unless you do what we want), and to make me seem schizophrenic or paranoid merely bringing it up. Recall again that Kurzweil pointed out in his book that there is a gatekeeper that decides if a particular stimuli is worthy of longterm memory. Being able to manipulate that via electronics, drugs, or a combination of the two does appear to be part of the program, and is why many victims of these programs tend to point out things that don’t mean anything to others. They get dismissed as insane. Which is the goal when you are illegally using American citizens for target practice and attempting to sew the seeds of civil war.

Now this is one of those things you don’t want to put in writing because you know that the criminals in this situation will attempt to use it. But…

The morning I woke up with handfuls of hair coming from my scalp, just days before the Squidgate sentencing hearing, when I went into the bathroom to see what was going on, the first thought was, my inevitable liaison with Janus (as I’ve more recently come to refer to him, the person who showed up in Brooklyn on January 3, 2010 and implied by action some connection to Peter Watts), would be ruined.

Of course, it wasn’t me doing the thinking. All of those thoughts were supplied by some kind of tech similar to V2K or some kind of audio subliminals. In essence, remote hypnosis.

That was when “I” thought, for just a few seconds, “No sense in going on.”

That was quickly pushed aside by recalling that I had had a thought some weeks earlier, that if Janus (then nicknamed R or “No One”) had been disfigured by acid, it would not matter to me at all in terms of how I felt about him. He was (in both of his assumed manifestations) a nice looking fellow, but it was more than that, I realized, that made brainwashing me over him so much easier. Something that is difficult to describe. Something not physical.

Since then, they have tried just about everything you can imagine to try to recreate those few seconds. Tried to imply (without anything approaching evidence) that he is dead, committed suicide based on something I wrote, a sociopath, a Conservative operative, a foreign spy, the son of someone who could be considered Illuminati if there were such a thing, the offspring of just about everyone even remotely connected to any of this (including me–that narrative I covered in an old short-short story sort of), and even Smith himself in disguise. And many other options, many equally or more silly.

None of which matter anyway, but even monsters have to hope I suppose.

And yet they have not simply used the real McCoy. Would seem simple. Would seem obvious. Would seem final. Why not? I don’t know. Don’t even have a decent guess.

I should also note that, given Janus’ agility, I had previously guessed that he was a dancer. And, like that phony photo of Watts, I had made no secret of it that I had a prejudice against Russians. Really, I talked about it all the time. No surprise they might use that too.

But the reason for it was I could never understand their deep-rooted negativity as a general rule. I had a short story idea once back in ’10 about it. Briefly, “Hey, Ivan, I won the lottery!” Ivan replies, “You know money will not make you happy, will likely destroy your life. You will also spend and lose it all in foolish investments, and your friends will abandon you when the money runs out. But how is your lunch?”

You know, the basic negativistic viewpoint coming from having lived in an oppressive, surveillance police state. I think I understand it just fine now, thank you.

I’m also reminded of the second of two useful things to draw from objectivism. The first being, sometimes you do have to go it alone and will find yourself opposed to the basest of human nature. Even without mind control, you will find fighting the status quo, conventional wisdom, as if there is a conspiracy when there isn’t apart from mass closemindedness.

But the second is, if you really love someone, it doesn’t actually matter if it is reciprocated. Sometimes, it’s enough just to love them. *

Anyway, quite possible to make this sort of thing, acid-throwing, happen via subliminals. They take a minor annoyance such as this dancer has and increase it via the subliminals, harass them to the point of near madness, and set them on a violent path.

And Aaron Swartz. Why not? There is no respect for law and decency remaining in this government.

(By the way, I learned the term in the title from reading The Difference Engine.)

UPDATE * I am reminded that this second thing is actually from classical romanticism, and not objectivism. I initially learned about both at the same theater company in the 90s.

I suppose the the objectivist opinion, not something to take away, might be justifiable rape (thinking of that scene in The Fountainhead).

Such classic stories, like Schiller’s Mary Stuart (Mortimer) and Hugo’s Mary Tudor (Gilbert), don’t always have happy endings depending on which character you are. Casting is 90%.


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