Too Good to Not Be Memorex

Imagine something close to your ideal lover in the physical sense. Then that sometimes they’re even pretty compatible personality-wise. Now imagine this person, much younger than you, has fallen for you.

Yeah.

You–if you’re me or someone like me–run through the possible scenarios. You analyze the odds, and once it becomes clear that this is highly unlikely–even given the person’s other shortcomings, hang ups, and problems–that this occurred naturally. You wonder what the endgame is.

Hell at some point you get bored with waiting for the rug to be pulled and you call it quits. Too much hassle, too much using, too many empty promises. You stop answering the calls and texts. Then quiet.

A few days later, after some quiet, you answer. You figure it’s best to me mature and spell it out simply and directly.

You get something you weren’t expecting. You get that they were in jail the past few days and they say it was the thought of you that kept them sane in there. They go clean for a few days. You know that probably won’t last, but it’s a pleasant few days.

Then, of course, fear of being dominated inside the slammer gets overtaken by hungry receptors in his brain. Excuses are made, he compromises with his getting clean and goes on a bender.

Then he indicates that if only you’d quit your job and do drugs…

Really not surprising, in fact was among the first probable scenarios you imagined. Except it took so damn long for them to get around to the point.

After all it was sort of implied last relationship, which for reasons I cannot yet write about, I have not written about. Besides, you wouldn’t believe that story anyway.

One also wonders, though I will pay for writing this, if PSYOP specialists aren’t among the most gullible people, if only because they think they’re the only ones playing. Lol.

In any case, you can see it’s gotten a lot more private and personal. Such is life in a corporafascist spook state.

—–

BBD – GHBary Federal

{Just a little joke and nod to Barrett Brown in the title there. HBGary Federal is/was an intelligence contractor, now a subsidiary of Mantech. Say that over and over again…Mannnnteck. Rolls of the tongue, doesn’t it?}

You probably don’t recall the incident in early January 2010 {I think, or just before} where I thought I had lung cancer due to a near constant salt taste in my mouth. When it turned out that I didn’t, I chalked it up to so much salt on the streets and sidewalks there to melt ice.

Now I have another hypothesis.

GHB {gamma Hydroxybutyl acid}, when used as a daterape drug, is most often delivered in the form of a salt in drinks:

Wayback Machine of DEA’s GHB page

Victims may not be aware that they ingested a drug at all. GHB and its analogues are invisible when dissolved in water, and are odorless. They are somewhat salty tasting, but are indiscernible when dissolved in beverages such as sodas, liquor, or beer.

Not sure that that was all that I was given, but consider going from couch potato to casual runner and dropping several pounds in a month, month-and-a-half’s time, and GHB is also sometimes used as an athletic enhancement. Not to mention the loopiness.

—–

BBD – Local Update {Updated x2}

Details are going to be sparse on this one. There are reasons. Sorry.

Last weekend had two occurrences that require documenting. This is because they have the earmarks of being something that may or may not continue or become something else.

First, a female co-worker received a phone call while at work. The person identified himself using my first name. She filled in the blanks by confirming the man meant me and he confirmed it. He then proceeded to discuss how he wanted to take her in the back and have sex.

Second, possibly related or maybe not given that this man entered my place of work after this other event occurred, a man picked up a customer of mine {a transgender female}, offered her a drink–which she accepted–and was clearly drugged. While she has full memory of what occurred–she was not raped–she lost control of her arms and legs. He moved her around like a rag doll, explaining that he could have been Jeffery Dahmer or Ted Bundy.

If he was the same man I saw while working, he is over six feet tall, of Mexican descent, tattooed enough to suggest time in prison as well as affiliation with one of the cartels, and was wearing a long-sleeve “safety orange” work shirt. She described his vehicle as a large truck, probably a 4WD, with side steps.

8 November 2016 UPDATE:

Not the guy described above. In fact it seems that there are two people doing this and neither matches the description of the man described in the previous paragraph. One, I have identified. The other, I have not.

10 November 2016 UPDATE:

Turns out it is likely one guy using multiple vehicles.

That’s most of it. For the rest, I expect to be posting a new short story {8 November 2016 update: link here} later on this evening.

BBD – Cleaning House

This post is a bit spur of the moment and something of a stream of consciousness. Think of it as a sudden urge to clean the toilet without having properly prepared; not having gone to the store with a list of what you need.

It involves a strange thing many of us experience. Call it intuition. Call it just knowing someone really well to the point when you know somehow in your gut or your bones what they’re feeling. Call it ESP. Call it something unexplained if you’re so inclined. Whatever it is, we, most of us, have experienced it.

Whatever it is under normal circumstances–most likely the brain emphasizing the times it happens to be correct when daydreaming or thought-wandering while simultaneously downplaying those times it was very wrong–we come to accept it even if we try to ignore it because it doesn’t seem to have any logical explanation.

For example, last week I planned several days in advance with a friend to hit a bar or two. An hour or two before I was to head out, I had a quick image of what I imagine Orlando must have been like. Less than half an hour later, I got a call from someone who had the bare bones details about this story.

That wasn’t the first time something like that had happened. But it got me thinking…

What if instead of some kind of coincidence or other unexplained phenomena–even if those do happen and exist–it was instead surveillance followed by the kinds of things I’ve talked about here, V2K, acoustic psycho-correction or some as yet unknown-to-the-public technology? What are the possible uses for these kinds of ops? What can be done with these methods and means? How do we, as civilians, humans, respond and how can toilet scum covertards use it to cause harm?

Simple really. We would first become dependent on it or at least come to be used to it happening. We would expect it. We would, all being the centers of our respective Universes, assume whatever it is passes for a god, is smiling upon us and protecting us by making sure we know when someone we care about is in trouble, having a good/bad day, etc. It would, over time, become a new normal.

Then, once that new normal has been established, they could “feed” one or the both of you whatever they wanted. Like Le Pooch d’Pavlov, we would tend to continue to rely on that gut feeling even though the gut feeling has now been completely replaced by the instructions of that which should instead be wiped away whilst wearing rubber gloves and replaced with that blue tidy bowl liquid…so to speak.

And of course one wonders, because we don’t live in each others’ pockets, if that isn’t at least one part of the story where destroying my LTR was concerned though of course there was the surreptitious drugging and a ton of PSYOP to go along with it to make it all more effective.

Anything they can do, they eventually will. And that’s why we really need to clean up that toilet bowl over in Virginia.

WARNING: May leave a stain.

WARNING: May leave a stain.

BBD – Crazy Train

We have attempted to group the activities covered by the 149 [MKULTRA] subprojects into categories under descriptive headings…. These activities are placed in the following 15 categories: …

14. One or two subprojects on each of the following: “Blood Grouping” research, controlling the activity of animals, energy storage and transfer in organic systems; and stimulus and response in biological systems.

—Testimony of Admiral Stanfield Turner, Joint Senate Hearings on MK/Ultra: CIA’s Program of Research Into Behavioral Modification.

This is probably another one of those that, unless you really, really grep how the behavioral modification stuff works and believe that it really does to an extent, and that despite a plethora of movies and TV stating the contrary, that the intelligence community really does not have the average human being’s best interests in mind when it does what it does but rather the goals of multinational corporations, it just is going to read as Crazy Central. I am writing it anyway, in part out of boredom and in part just to get it down before too many details fade from memory.

It happened in January and/or February of 2012. I think why I haven’t written it up should be obvious: It makes me appear insane to have seen and experienced it.

I left Minneapolis and headed back to Tennessee in November of 2011. Of that, I have written some. I even wrote about some of this dog’s other actions here.

What I left out, because it without a doubt will seem to unlikely to anyone who reads it, is what else transpired.

One night the dog, whom I named Canis Doofus, barked at me and moved off as if to communicate, “Hey, c’mere, wanna show you something.” I followed. The dog went up to one of the vehicles and looked at me, waiting for me to open the door. I did so and the dog got in and put his paws on the dashboard, implying a trip was in order.

After that, he went back to normal canine behavior, in so far as canine behavior can be categorized as normal.

Of course, I had already been considering a trip to Toronto for Ad Astra. Curious as to what the covertards who trained the dog to do this intended only helped push me into going a little.

Mostly, I think their intent was just to ensure I blew the money I had finally gotten from my retirement fund from my previous job in NYC {the company itself had folded, the partners were splitting up, and so they had to divest the fund}. That said, I did want to apologize to Watts in person, which I forgot to do but assume he got the letter I sent via the bookstore.

There had also been that strange voice-to-skull event where I “heard” what was supposed to be a recording in someone’s voice I didn’t recognize stating only what was clearly the second part of a sentence, “…kill Peter Watts.”

Perhaps something of a Rorschach test, I don’t know. But surely the covertards knew at this point that I was wise to them, knew they intended to turn me into a “lone wolf shooter” or similar right from the start, and that denying them the one thing they really wanted was just about the only power I had, and still have, in this situation.

But then there was also the possibility that ‘Janus’ was not a professional spy at all but rather another ‘zombie.’ And what if he was going to show up and kill Watts at Ad Astra?

But then there was another v2k of Watts speaking with someone on the phone {one may want to review what voice synthesis devices–which the Center for Army Lessons Learned has pulled down along with all of its other definitions, having pulled V2K years ago–are}, suggesting they come to the convention. Pretty much a shotgun strategy to ensure my attendance.

Of course it was even crazier once I got to Toronto. I hit it off with a man I met at Ad Astra who reminded me a bit of my longterm ex, but whom I later discovered was married to a woman. He invited me to an event at which two friends of Watts were also in attendance. After we had checked Facebook to see who was going.

Hey, gay marriage was legal there before it was here and that was yet another way to get a visa. So sue me for trying.

there is a dog

there is a dog

BBD – Why So Slow?

…the most heinous and evil force of the [21st] century.


Since moving to Maricopa county things have been a little different than the past. Now, narrative plots perpetrated by the US intelligence community and the two primary fraudulent political parties have no resolution. They are specifically designed so that I am offered the bad and worse choices of ether guessing how they will resolve {and then they will resolve differently which would serve to undermine my credibility} or to force me to reveal personal information of others and myself which will then make that information fair game for further intrigues.

This is another reason why the blog has been slower than in the past. I’m currently in the middle of a glacially-paced plot involving the murder of a HIV-positive white supremacist who was having rufie parties involving young {sometimes reportedly under aged} men and boys of color. He is also apparently connected to the Arizona GOP and, given the cameras and Internet setup at his home, probably international criminals {I’ve heard German, Russian or both} which means likely also a CIA asset and/or FBI informant.

Imagine profiting from sex videos feeds on the dark web while infecting the poor Mexican and black communities with AIDS. While HIV is not the death sentence it once was, that is for people who can afford the medicine and many poor people cannot because we got Obamacare instead of single payer.

Additionally, he sold heroin and other drugs, so he was probably a DEA CI as well.

That’s all I care to write about it for now. Except his name and these details have been thrown in my path for two months. Two months prior to his murder. Imagine if I’d investigated any of it. I’d be a suspect.

And so another Langley ploy to try to frame me for something I had nothing to do with unfolds.

Jen Wahl, “Phoenix Police Investigate Deadly Shooting Overnight,” KPNX News 15, 11 August 2016:

http://www.12news.com/mb/news/local/valley/phoenix-police-investigate-deadly-shooting-overnight/294889319

You can find further ruminations on my Twitter feed. @kanyslupin

BBD – Will the Real Slim Shady…

Note: I am bothering to post this for one reason really. If I don’t, the shithole responsible for it will continue to prod and poke me until I acknowledge it. So this is so that they can consider it acknowledged and move on to the next idiotic covertard scheme.

If the post below actually makes sense to you…you might want to worry. Possibly you’ve read a lot of my stuff including the draft of the book over here and therefore you get it from that. Maybe you’re a genius and it makes more sense, or you’ve caught on to some of the behavioral modification and social engineering tricks and you can see how it fits.

But really it’s not supposed to make a lot of sense to a normal person. It’s madness logic, which is to say it is illogical but when surreptitiously drugged out of your skull and harassed to the point of mental, physical and emotional exhaustion, somehow feeling your way to the truth, which is not the truth at all but rather a trick being perpetrated on you by the intelligence community, somehow makes some sort of sense.

You’ve been warned.

2008-2009 – MANHATTAN

Back in late 2008 or sometime in 2009, as I’ve mentioned in Wicked Game, I had some celebrity clients. Since my career as a real estate consultant seems to be dead as Elvis, I suppose it’s okay to talk a little about one such project, leaving out various details.

Harrison Ford bought a small condo apartment in Manhattan. We were called in to check on some things that the condo board and seller had promised but not delivered on. For example, there were leaky windows.

I wound up doing a couple of visits and writing up a report about various items. Some weeks later, I got a call from the man himself. He really sounded like he does when he’s playing a POTUS. Very declarative. I really thought he was pulling my leg when he said…

“Caulk. Black caulk. That architect you guys sent {referring to me, not realizing who he was speaking to. I’m not an architect, the partners, my former bosses, are} said there should be black caulk on those windows.”

I was immediately reminded of the SNL sketch regarding cork soakers. If you aren’t getting it, maybe you should read this and the previous sentences out loud.

Anyway, that was that job. Bruce Willis was another, but that’s not relevant to the subject of this post.

Not long before everything in my life exploded, the attorney through whom Mr. Ford had hired us pulled me aside to say he was very pleased with our product and help with the apartment.

And of course later came that strange interaction with the person I refer to as Janus in a corner grocery in Brooklyn.

2010-2011 – MINNEAPOLIS

This is the tough part. The longer I remain sane, at least as sane as someone who has been through what I have can be, the harder it is to recall how my thinking was skewed back when I was being surreptitiously drugged by the US government. Some of the details have become fuzzy.

For example, how did I come to start thinking of Janus, or R as I referred to him back then, as a Jedi? Not a literal Jedi, I wasn’t that far gone, but symbolically. I was somehow imagining this person very specifically, imagining his tastes and interests and without any basis whatsoever. In other words, it was most likely being fed to me via something like voice-to-skull.

I don’t recall. I do recall quoting Han Solo in one or more whacky emails I sent to someone. I recall buying a Star Wars book at Barnes & Noble, convinced that R was going to show up any day and it would be there waiting for him.

{Of course all of that came crashing down when the Democrats tried to get me to go postal on the Republicans during Juneteenth and then again in November of 2011. This is the party I supported and volunteered to work for and most of us assume are pro-LGBT. Silly, silly me. Silly, silly you.}

The idea developed further, once it started dawning on me that R, or Janus, was likely a spy and had played a pivotal role in destroying my life on behalf of the Obama administration. Suddenly, the whole darkside thing came into play.

Note that I don’t much care about any of this anymore. Obama is just another greedy, phony, self-centered prick attracted to power. Again, I’m just playing along and posting this here because I’ll be poked until I do.

THE FALSE JANUS’

Right. Janus. First they threw Hamilton Morris at me.

Contemporary in Brooklyn…check. Drug expert…check. Followed the footsteps of a few CIA doctors who went looking south of the border for various plants…check.

And seems possible he’s the type to secretly {or openly} resent Dad, the progressive activist filmmaker.

Except he just isn’t Janus.

THE FORCE AWAKENS

Right. Andrew Driver.

First, recall that I was drugged and I think that Janus was wearing a mask. Mostly this would serve to hide features like his nose and any moles or identifying marks he may have. He had none that were visible, in fact his complexion was too perfect which is why I think he was wearing one of those masks.

He also had blond hilights in his brown hair. But he did have a large nose and his ears stuck out.

Let’s compare to Driver.

Driver joined the Marines in 2003 as his personal response to 9/11. His nickname was Radar, due to the fact that his ears stick out.

He graduated from Julliard in 2009 and did a couple of New York City based TV show guest spots in 2009 and 2010.

And it was not lost on me that the reward for f—ing someone like me over on behalf of a selfish elected prick might be substantial.

Another kind of fit. I also noted Janus’ graceful moves and Julliard is also known for its intense dance training.

And yet I just don’t think so. Instead, I think the selfish elected prick just cannot get enough of people murdering people via the intelligence community and what does he care if some of them are in Hollywood?. I don’t know, probably at that level it serves as a drug itself…maybe an aphrodisiac.

So ends yet another pointless waste of time and taxes. Thanks, Obama. For everything.

(Not if I actually see and manage to recognize you first, Janus.)