With regards to this story, the man who self-immolated on the Capitol has died from his injuries:
We don’t yet know his reasons, what statement it was he was trying to make.
Here’s one post in which I discussed generally when, two months or so prior to the post, the US government and probably one of its private contractors tried to convince me to do that in order to raise awareness over their active behavioral modification operations active on US soil and around the world.
I don’t actually recall all of the specifics. I suppose that’s the unconscious attempting to protect me from reliving more trauma.
Background: things with Heath were already sour. At that point we were still living together but by November, when I moved out of the apartment and my ex long term partner got married (without bothering to tell me, found out on Facebook), I had to call the Minneapolis PD because he was breaking things and threatening to kill me. While I doubt he would actually do the latter, he did try to hit me in the head with a can of soup once prior to that. Not the best conditions under which to try to sleep before a long drive out of town. (Note again the role that sleep deprivation plays in these games that CIA plays and how that historically relates to torture, brainwashing, and interrogation. There are so many methods of achieving it).
One day in August 2011, I laid down to rest after whatever b.s. came prior and got hit with what must have been the most intrusive voice-to-skull session I can recall. It was, I think a mix of both regular V2K and the silent audio/subliminal variety.
I think I counted a dozen or more reasons jammed into my head at once. I don’t recall most of them. A few related to old friends who I hadn’t heard from. Another that it might at last get Congress’ attention in some meaningful way with regards to electronic harassment. Yet another, a theatrical suicide doesn’t harm anyone else (they had, at least at that time, given up on me going postal after many, many failed attempts).
They ended it with, “There will be worse days than this.” That might have been the most compelling reason of all. A living Hell is what it can be. I understand why some of these people did what they did even if I chose, choose not to do likewise.
Though, through all of this were those dreaded words I first heard via V2K at Juneteenth 2010: “He’s not coming.”
That related to ‘Janus’, of course. And he still hasn’t. But they also presented a scenario in which he stopped me before I lit myself up. Brilliant, isn’t it? Get someone to stand on the precipice in order to be “saved” at the last moment. F—ing Hollywood b.s. which any decent PSYOPs expert would know I was a sucker for.
Probably the only darker period was when, for about a week, they had me convinced that ‘Janus’ was already dead. I don’t recall much from then (September of ’10, maybe?). There was a lot of alcohol.
First, I set some arbitrary dates. I made a “bucketlist.” I needed to say goodbye to Peter Watts, apologize in person for the crazy emails (see Wicked Game). He had an event in October. I had some money coming in October. I figured I could pull off a trip to Toronto.
Well, the money didn’t show up until December, so I didn’t make it up there until April of ’12. By then, the idea was dead anyway.
After having bought myself some time, I could concentrate on what would actually happen.
It took me ten days to get that idea as a possibility out of my head. Here’s how I did it.
First, I tried to imagine what would really occur. ‘Janus’ showing up? Someone else of my acquaintance? Scahill, for example. Nope. Reason was obvious. Presents a ‘carrot’ to go along with the ‘stick.’
Would Congress suddenly start taking any of this seriously? No. Not even those who know it’s true. The dead bodies keep piling up and, take my word for it, I’ve written until my fingers bled. They won’t move until the media “proves” it and even then you can expect the same limited hangout followed by it starting again that we did last time, ’77 to ’80 or ’81. That cannot be allowed, not again.
So what would be the point? Dead, I would no longer be able to speak for myself. The FBI would absolutely find out the truth and then cover it up. It’s sickening.
And of course, there are still a few unanswered questions I’m going to be very, very stubborn about until I get hard, direct answers to them.
So instead, no matter how miserable they make me, I’m here to stay and talk about it, spread the word, blow the f—ing whistle until the lightbulbs start flicking on in peoples’ heads.
The truth is going to come out because it must. There is no alternative. The Republic will not survive unless it does. At some point, the right people are going to realize that and it will happen.
That’s basically it: determining the best, most effective course of action. Hence the previous post about taking yourself out of the equation. Living to fight another day (outside prison) is winning.
What sucks for me, why I always seem to have to do this alone no matter how hokey. (Sure somebody gets it. For once, it would be nice if it weren’t just the bad guys).
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