BBD – What a Tedious Little Agency

So, let’s end this one quickly. It’s another pretty, poetic thing. I’m starting to think CiA’s entire planning division consists of Millenials googling ideas all day based on what targets tweet and post. It is tedious.

Here’s the pretty part. The reason whatshisagency hasn’t shown up is due to his personal history. He lost everyone dear to him {this isn’t sounding contrived at all, is it? Yes, that’s sarcasm–from Batman to Bond, it’s the trope of tropes} and it is actually the fact that he does indeed love me deeply {or more believably, in those moments when he realizes that is so} knows we cannot be together or I, too, will die.

Now as I’ve said before, this was part of what made me concerned for him from the outset. And I didn’t even realize I loved him at that point. Thought maybe a crush at best that I had no intention of ever telling anyone about. But realizing that he may not have known about the harassment and thinking it best to protect an innocent bystander from that, I initially ignored it until I couldn’t any longer.

So, by throwing out the reversal, they think I can at least identify with excuse number 5,953. That’s all it is, even if it’s partly true: An excuse.

I don’t care because I think it likely we’d survive meeting again…got this far…I mean, c’mon. They make a pretty lie that means that they don’t have to change a damn thing. Don’t have to do a damn thing except continue the same old shit.

It’s total, or at least partial, bullshit. Why? Because he could just as easily come and explain all that in person. Easily.

Don’t know his history. Real-world ‘Brian’ from Infectis, it’s true, lost his wife and kid to a drunk driver. Sounds like a trope, a contrivance, doesn’t it? But it is true. Destroyed his life. One supposes there’s a reason Fleming started with Casino Royale and Vesper Lynd. It’s the broken who make the best blunt instruments.

So while there’s some possible truth to it, that’s not the whole story. Surely, in order for other people who were lost to him to have been important, he had to have had some time with them. That is, they didn’t die the second he met them, right?

And, again, at any moment any of us could lose someone important to us. The response to that should be to love them more, not to “hide your love away.”

(I mean, dude…made it this far. Have some faith.)

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BBD – Trapped? Nah.

“On the contrary, Goldfinger. It’s an inspired plan.”

We’re clearly approaching the end here. Let me draw a parallel and then launch into prosecuting myself. And then defending myself, because despite the evidence, I’m not the f***ing villain of this story any more than I’m the hero.

THE NTH PARALLEL

As I’ve stated somewhere before, I’m pretty certain that the US’ Area 51 UFO scenario and the former USSR’s alien autopsy video are PSYOP designed to mess with each other. Former is covering up some rocket or plane crash, perhaps latter was a dark humor response or some way to persuade the Board to provide more budgeting, or some of all of that in the old Cold War 3-D chess game.

As those on Twitter might have noticed, the day I suggested that whatshisname would not be in Hawaii, but that it should be checked anyway, there was an earthquake alert. The alert preceded my post by some hours, but I didn’t see it until afterwards.

That’s the card trick again where you reverse the perceived order of cards being selected—with one you already know the value of, selected last but perceived as being selected first—if that makes sense. Looks like earthquake weapon or ESP.

Despite CounterSpy’s article on the research program, they probably don’t—per se—exist. The research essentially showed what we all can plainly see from fracking: Mess with what’s underground and you get quakes.

So attempt at presenting something that doesn’t exist as something you possess for purposes of intimidation and to spark a M.A.D. kind of arms race.

RECENTLY

Ok. Here’s what happened Monday. Took a route I don’t normally take. GPS said one mile to the exit, so I turned it off.

What felt like a few seconds later, I saw an exit three miles past the one I should have taken. I “lost” three minutes. Right there, while driving.

Sure, I’ve daydreamed—yes, typically about him—and missed my stop on a bus before. But I didn’t lose the time itself.

Then there’s the crazy train the past several days. Everything from f***ing with RW spooks at church to the ‘MI6 pretending to be some old lady who spent decades planning revenge on CiA for killing her Russian lover during the Cold War.’ This tweet I felt compelled to send I think is especially poignant:

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? She wants to know [if there’s a God so that she’ll know] if she’ll ever see [her dead Russian lover] again.”

I mean that is f***ing brilliant. Clearly I’m just talking to the hidden part of my own splintered brain. Right? Can’t be mind control making it appear that way despite the Shithole’s decades of researching how to mimic mental illnesses. Right?

But it is brilliant. Look at the options laid out:

Chris actually is a hypnotized assassin and he killed someone he loved and that’s why he’s so crazy. Gotta love the Jason Bourne shit here.

Chris is so crazy he actually believes the previous. Think I would have to add stupid based on where this eventually leads.

Naturally, given the two previous posts, someone important might actually now give a shit about any and all of this. What would the reaction be? There are only two when it comes to power: Kill him or lock him up somewhere permanently. Mind you, in case it isn’t clear, this is because I’m actually trying to save their worthless hides.

Get that? I try to prevent CiA from assassinating Cheney, let’s say, and Cheney hates CiA, but the natural reaction of any politician, anyone with power—and he does still have very powerful friends—is to shoot the messenger. Same with Obama. Secret Service would prefer a threat be neutralized, I’m sure, rather than have to permanently keep tabs on it.

CiA makes itself look like the hero. “Hey, we created this program to protect the country. Yeah, it got a little out of control so we tried to roll it up.”

What complete horseshit. Their “rolling it up” meant destroying my life and is precisely what caused that which could have wound up with someone dead. They are such incredible liars and without a single f***ing good gene in their DNA. Similar to above, doing a good thing is somehow something that they are incapable of. Really. Incapable.

We want to believe otherwise. they can twist the truth so it appears that way, fund movies that show it that way, eyewash and PSYOP their own into believing it, but they are incapable of doing good. I haven’t entirely figured out why that is. Too biblical on its face to lay at the door of Satan worship. It’s more about how the world really works—some would say same thing, ok, enjoy—and how incredibly in touch they are with that. Ravenous, vulture capitalists where that is all that matters. Middle class and poor can go f*** themselves with a rolled up copy of the Constitution.

But wait, I’m the villain.

But also a villain who loves his country. So I should fall on my own sword! I should kill myself so that CiA can keep its hypnotic killer program {that it doesn’t actually probably have, but has gone to great lengths to convince the East that it does while appearing to be trying to hide it—think about that one; that may have been my primary use here}; so that Uncle Sam can continue plundering the planet for Wall Street and keep the economy strong.

And, of course, so I can go to Heaven and see whatshisname again.

Bravo! The Shithole abides. They’re such wonderful heroes, aren’t they? Amazing how much they love…well pretty much everything so much. That’s why they’re killing the planet, folks. They love it soooooo much.

Apparently, I am the villain here. So I’m not killing myself. I’m too “selfish.”

I’m fracking the Shithole! Wheeeeeee!

Surrender Dorothy, Shithole.

—-

BBD – Simulation of Assassination

Additionally, there was a point where said actor from previous post–who is a good guy–and I were not getting along. Yet another actor had a squirt gun shaped like a small machine gun. I tried to shoot him with it and several other actors grabbed me, you know, like Secret Service.

Over water.

They were playing a lot of games back then and there. The frustration at the time of being unable to scratch that itch was something. Probably something to tug on again years later.

BBD – More On the Crazy ‘Logic’

Lucky for me I made this goofy post way, way back in May of 2010. What does it mean?

Well, it meant I’d rather be strangling whomever was responsible for my torture and ruin. It’s a reference to the climax in a scifi book. In it, two protagonists go after the antagonist. IIRC, when asked if the winner of said deadly contest did it for altruistic reasons, he admits it was pure rage, revenge, satisfaction…”the kill switch.”

At that point, I had come to believe {falsely} that another actor at the New Jersey Shakespeare Festival was somehow responsible. This made no sense whatsoever since there would be no way he could have pulled it off.

But for a day or two…well it probably would have been really, really bad for said person and I to have crossed paths.

As I remembered more of those days, I recalled said actor stating that he was afraid that yet another actor at the Festival would one day hunt him down and kill him. He was, as {sorry to pick on you, bud} Barrett Brown once thought he had a date with the Great Beyond, and I when it came to the year 2000 back in the 80s {world didn’t end, did it?}, he had a James Dean thing going on except in place of car would have been bag lady and former co-worker.

At the same time, some jabberwocky from the Shithole {this is CIA’s latest nickname, at least until I tire of it} was filling my head with the idea that a particular tower housed someone I needed to meet. Of course, this person lived in the building’s top floor penthouse.

I don’t recall what it was they argued actually to try to get me to trespass. But somehow I avoided doing so. Though I did look up there and squint–you know, just in case–whenever I walked or jogged by it.

The former tactic, pitting people against each other is what lead to the short story Ground Control. That later became a chapter in my book.

In any case, you might have noticed if you follow on the Twitter, I’m tired of doing the same thing over and over again. Pointing this out has not, to my knowledge, lead to a reduction in the number of mass shootings; has obviously not lead to regulations of so-called mind control {we can’t even get meaningful surveillance reform and general oversight of the IC}; and it has not lead to me not being treated like shit most days.

But there it is anyways. Reiteration without representation, remuneration, and simulated reproduction. *

* Just tired and rambling.

As for why, is he here? I don’t see him. So f*** you.

BBD – Catch H** If You Can

Of course circumstances make for no time for the rest of the profile of ‘M. DeepState,’ the real author of this nonsense.

And naturally, there’s fictional precedence all over the place. Most recently and notably:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Six_Thatchers

Vivian Norbury. Too ridiculous, isn’t it? ‘Amo.’ Albury. Norbury. Secretary.

Punchlines for days though.

BBD – I Love a Good Narrative

Or, “…a Pretty Lie,” which is really what that means. Or, “Wild Goose Chase no. 578.”

And yet it makes sense. Sort of.

Except there are some plot holes.

Let me ‘splain. What I think is probably true, somehow, as ri-goddam-diculous as it sounds: Neither of our premiere manhunter agencies have any idea where or whom whatshisname is. That in itself is worth a lot of laughter. If they did, they’d have tried something by now. Something nasty and disturbing because that is all that those two piles o’ poop are capable of.

But in order to play a little “which will he do?” game designed to add stress in the Hopes that I’ll finally crack*, one–or more likely both working together–presented a neat little narrative. Since I know there’s no way in hell they’d ever tell me if they knew, I can safely deduce that the narrative is false. And we can at the same time waste some more tax dollars as those parts of FBi that aren’t read in go frantically check it out.

“The White Rose.” First this was a pacifist group that was murdered by the Nazis in the run up to WWII.

We can recall what was probably the best episode of ST:TOS: “City on the Edge of Forever.” Lots of interesting stories about that one. Including the author being locked in an office for a weekend to finish it and getting so hungry and/or spiteful about the situation that he ate the secretary’s potted plant. Of course this was because he had written in more extras than the studio could afford.

Next. “A kook in a grocery store.” Getting it yet? Kwazy pacifist is so smart, so good at it, that he gets locked up in a mental institution a la the Martha Mitchell effect. {Look it up}.

This could also explain a possible reason I haven’t heard nor seen hide nor hair from him since early 2010.

Such a good lie, no?

The remaining question then would be, where? Which asylum is he in? {See the final chapters of Infernis for a kind of parallel version of being locked away permanently; and note my, and others such as Barry Eisler, noting how some of what we write winds up happening later, or already happened and we didn’t know about it. This is called Setting Up Expectations and is on the same Gambits for Deception graphic as The Big Move Hides the Small Move}.

So where? There was a brief DoD program under the Obama administration regarding mental health and soldiers. It was based–guess where?–Hawaii. It’s enough to make you think you might actually like sex on the beach {the song on the Spoon CD that wasn’t actually by Spoon} despite the horrible conditions down there where there’s about as much trash as there is sand. Not to mention the–not shitting here–group of people who now live on the beach. Right out of part two of the Rifters trilogy.

How many months and dollars could I waste investigating each and every one of those beaches? All the asylums in Hawaii after the one in question turns out to not house “him”?

It’s patently absurd. And yet there’s that small part of you that recalls:

The Comedian? Crying?

Hm. Funny story. Sounds unbelievable. Probably true.

So let’s let the “flatfoots” go have a look. I’ll be right here, TYVM4nada.

* What they don’t seem to understand: I don’t break because I’m “Unbreakable.” I don’t break because I’m already broken.

BBD – Update

See, the truth is, Americans don’t care that CiA kidnapped poor children and did human experimentation on them, sent others to be molested and enslaved by the House of Saud.

Just like they don’t care that 9/11 may have been an “inside job” {it pretty much was; Al Qaeda were dupes and unknowingly cooperated, but CiA set the stage, pushed them to it surreptitiously}.

And this was my mistake. Trying to persuade people who only care if gasoline is under $4 per gallon to find a heart. They are in love with 9/11. They can’t get enough of it and all that it has brought. No point in trying show willing members of The Empire the error of their ways.

But what I can do is show other people, important people, that they, too, are victims of the shithole that lay at the sphincter of Langley, Virginia. I can show them that their “bad luck” was likely the covert act of the very same shithole that has inflicted it upon me.

In short, if you can’t get Superman, maybe “Lex Luthor” will do what needs to be done. He’s a man of action. He can do it and not even have to worry about it afterwards. Not if he does it right.

DIA gets covert ops. A new agency gets analysis. Good little girls and boys get to go work at DIA. Some of the rest go to jail. Others probably get knocked off trying to knock off someone else. Put the surveillance state to good use for once.

Everyone who deserves to go home happy gets to. Nobody has already paid the price for CIA’s many sins, so nobody else gets the blame.

Yeah, I know. But the meme’s right there and it’s pretty universal. At least He was undeniably a revolutionary…against the Roman Empire.