A most peculiar form of black mail: creating a bogeyman begins withendless ‘probable suspicion.’

As I have noted elsewhere, they are busy scrubbing the internet right now, as wel as combing through data bases like the DICE or SOD special folders, and HS black-ops binders that prove that what I say is true_ that I have been followed, studied, profiled, provoked, assaulted and attacked to force my conformity, or otherwise surveilled for decades–and they are currently deleting, modifying and otherwise destroying entire chains of evidence that indicate that they know that I know they are provocateurs, and saboteurs of democracy.

If transience is maesured by an individuals movements throughout their life, and employment is some form of standard, I woud gauge that millions of those who are happily employed waging death, and killing children overseas in this generation will fail to understand that nothing is more transient than the military industrial complex, or the surveillance state.Yet it is seldom sen as transient, because ITS life is eternal.

The life of the merchants of death is multi-generational, and has no loyalties to individuals, or societies who guage themselves in “the here and now” with prayers that there might actually be a cloud they will one day sit on in a place called heaven; forty acres and a mule, or 72 virgins, or just a chance to ask Jesus if the nails really hurt, and gosh how sorry we all are for that, but it don’t hurt no more up here in the clouds, and gee whizz, the buffet is better than in Vegas! (p.s. thanks JC for honoring the Vegas code–what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas!–forgiveness really really works!!!!)

In fact, no recent examples can be provided to even nearly compare with the double talking of modern Americans and their allies  who are dutifully employed in that apparatus–while I toil for free, as an object of scrutiny, an object lesson in what happens to someone who pays the dearest price of all, and works the hardest of any–for it takes great pains, and even greater sacrifices to bear the burden of a forced shame and endless suspicion–to eat the daily meal of mockery and humiliation via the platter of state and social mechanisms of blackmail, to eat the tasteless wafer of  forced, coerced and contrived; speculative and hypothetical–possible and “probable” wrongdoing; to be a scapegoat for a murderous nations problems or a societies failings is a finger pointed at an individual who at all times was deemed innocent and released–that is tougher than ANY job anywhere, bar none.

The scarlet letterhead od suspect, written into the databases of the police state, condemned to be harassed, and denied; paying the price of ‘less than the average persons level of state scrutiny’; to have fewer rights than ‘normal’ people, and to have just barely as many rights, and in some cases the same rights, as societies condemned and marginalized.

I exist on a par with convicted felons, dope peddlers, and pedophile–with the last surely having more free time away from the state apparatus than I have had in these decades.

And as noted elsewhere, I have been subjected to several decades of blackmail by agents of the state, and those who enable their illegal activity. I do not say this lightly: I have been subjected to a minimum of seven separate and ‘forever ongoing’ investigations into–me. Little old me, a virtual nobody, who they have at all times tried to make into a bogeyman, or a lightning rod for their agendas.

In the last several decades, I have been charged with–and released from charges of the most heinous imaginable to the “normal” or the “ordinary” mind; in short, my life cannot even be described in normal terms to normal people. I have had to bend over, toe lines, and spread my ass cheeks; I have been slandered in official documents, and I have been photographed and fingerprinted so many times that I have developed phobias and hang ups on a massive scale that directly influence the most simple decisions in life–as simple as getting out of bed in the morning alive; as simple as throwing away a piece of trash with great anxiety that some noble law enfarcer will scurry along like a rat to collect it, sniff it over, and discard it, or digest it in a law enfarcemnet manner; decisions like how to walk when under surveillance (three decades and counting) or how and when to end their constant objctification of me, my body, and mostly, their nearly fetishistic approach to how they attempt to profile me and my mind–their near obsession with leering through my windows at night–decisions like writing or not writing a single word that may or may not give them pretext to create yet another vile intrusion into my private spaces and my private life to leave even more boot prints on my toes, and in front of my windows, and which leave me for these decades scarred, but as always innocent, but clouded by their decades long slanders (now being scrubbed clean from cop chat boards, Craigslist postings, inter agency memos and so forth by state p[aid military trained evidence scrubbers).

I have searched and researched their means and their methods–but mostly for the sake of my sanity I have researched their pretextual basis at its most rotten core: The mind of the average, normal “law abiding” American, and how that mind is manipulated, altered, controlled and commanded to act via the insidious daily regurgitation of police state propaganda; grown like a spore a seed or an earlobe in a test tube in the American laboratory–that and those forms of media, and the narratives contained within that media–that allowed them and perhaps you to objectify me as they did.

The narratives–ah, the narratives. I live in an interior world where my own personal narrative was crushed and stepped on–over-written and simplified; violated to the point where you let them continue to victimize, and re-victimize me to fit your narrative–the narrative that you and they are god, while others are bad–where you allowed them to violate me past the point of the fringes of the Constitution of the United States of America(that faded old word mincing, double talking whore, wedded as she is to the transient and disloyal rascal of the multi trillion dollar big death pimping Military and Surveilance apparatus).

After a decade of this, I had lost touch with my own narrative–assaults on a persons sense of right and wrong, contrasted with social policies that raise children to be fed as fodder to the military cycles of breeding, birthing, brainwashing, and finaly, bullied or bought into silence–and their narratives took over. Vonstant voices and constant argumentation in my own head–as I said earlier in the decade on a wiretapped phone “they can take your house, your cars, your kids and even your wife–but they cant take your mind! (how naive was I? that last decade lost to them, and their constant interuptions of my own voice, my own narrative?)

They waged war on me for over three decades, and if internet trails mean anything, I hope that meta data in their official records–such as who accessed databases, when how and why will count as well. I am counting on that thin hope that such a trail can be traced–and I am up against an unlimited war budget.] The killers of kids always mock the normals–“its for the children..” which, of course infers that you damn well better feel lucky that it isn’t your kid/s YET that they are coming to kill rape or steal.

I didn’t have that option.

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